#like both of them click and everything from previous breaks and fractures

[krispiecake]

at some point i am really going to have to see a doctor about my wrist

[thenovelartist]

A Blanc Slate, Chapter 3

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7. Secrets

Oh how the dirty laundry was hung out to dry in the week after the Agreste Mansion fire.

Apparently, the corpse of Gabriel Agreste’s wife was kept preserved underneath the mansion. Which, of course, brought on all the questions of how and why she was there, followed by questions pertaining to Gabriel Agreste’s sanity and even more questions as to why he did it.

Unfortunately, the only person who knew was dead.

Early reports said that it was likely he suffocated in the fire. However, the coroner’s report came out recently saying that there was evidence of an altercation: a fractured arm, a few broken ribs, and a cracked skull. Due to the autopsy report, it was suspected Gabriel was dead before the fire broke out. However, with the crime scene as they knew it had been burned to the ground, along with any clues that could have lead to a more solid answer.

Marinette, Alya, and Nino had done everything they could to reach out to Adrien, but he refused. “Sorry, I just need some time,” was his go-to excuse. His other being, “I’m not feeling great.”

Nino hated it, but he still wanted to be a bro and respect Adrien’s wishes. Alya would have had no problem going over, busting down the door, and forcing a check-in, but Nino kept his girlfriend in check.

Egged on by Alya behind the scenes, Marinette decided that she was going to do that.

Well… maybe minus the “breaking down the door” part. She’d just insistently knock.

With a bag full of baked goods and a container of soup, she headed over. She’d been experimenting with this soup for his birthday, trying to replicate a recipe from his favorite café to surprise him with. But she thought now would be a good time to share it with him. Chat had even given it a good mark in his own way, so she was sure it would make Adrien happy.

Upon arriving at his new place—the address had been the one thing she’d been able to drag out of Nino—she knocked a couple times before waiting. When he didn’t answer, she knocked again. If he didn’t answer after this one, she’d give him a call.

However, she heard the lock on the door click and put on her best smile. “Hey, Adri—Oh, my gosh, how’d you get that black eye?!”

The expression he gave her clearly stated he didn’t want to talk about it while also regretting worrying her. “Don’t tell Nino. Or Alya. Please.”

“What happened, though!”

His lips pursed, curling downwards at the edges. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She nearly stamped her foot on the ground because that made two of the most important men in her life who refused to let her in. However, she couldn’t force anything. Instead, she asked, “Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth, but words seemed to catch in his throat for a moment. “I will be.”

“Adrien.”

With a sigh, he reached out to pat her head. “I appreciate that you care, Marinette,” he began. “But really, don’t worry about it, okay?”

She didn’t want to give him time. She wanted to fix it. She wanted to be able to do something, anything, for her boys. But she couldn’t if they kept keeping secrets like this.

With a sigh, she relented, unable to do anything else. “Okay.”

He stroked her hair, and if she wasn’t so damn worried, her heart might have fluttered at the action. “Thank you,” he said before pulling his hand away. “So, was that the only reason you came by? To check in on me?”

“It was either me or Alya.”

His smile was sheepish. “I’d rather have you. Alya scares me.”

His grin seemed weary, but it was still enough to put Marinette at ease and a smile on her own face. “She’s pretty pissed. Nino’s also really worried about you. Maybe you should give him a call.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and only then did she realize the hand he’d been so good at hiding behind the door this whole time was wrapped heavily in bandages

“Adrien!”

He jumped at her voice, taking a step back, but Marinette was quick. She grabbed his arm before he could hide it again. “How’d you get this? Oh, wait, ‘you don’t want to talk about it’?”

He groaned. “I got into a little argument with my dad last week, came home and hit the wall. I don’t think I broke anything, but it still hurts.”

Marinette sighed. “Damn it, Adrien. Why didn’t you tell us? We could have been there to support you.”

Adrien turned his head away, refusing to look at her. “I… I just needed some time alone, okay? There was a lot on my mind. Please, just drop it.”

“Okay,” she caved. He was already talking with her now, as opposed to pushing her away again, so she would meet him halfway and stop arguing. “Do you want a croissant? Maybe some soup? Or you’ve got a sweet tooth. Maybe a cookie?”

Adrien looked somewhat surprised by the change of subject, but soon, he relaxed in relief. “I wouldn’t mind a cookie.”

She gave him a smile, one she had to force a bit to be brighter than it was. “Okay. I thought you would.”

8. Princess and Knight

The knock on her balcony door could only be one person.

Rather, one cat.

With a grin, Marinette rushed to answer her trap door. “Chat Noir. How nice of you to come see me.”

He looked rather stoic. “I’m not ‘Noir’ anymore.”

“You’ll always be Chat Noir,” she gently countered. “You just happen to look a little different at the moment.”

He sighed, clearly not wanting to continue their conversation. He then handed the bag in his hand over to her. “Here. The clothes you leant me. Washed and clean. And a little extra ‘thank you’ gift for your kindness before.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at the bag. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Chat just shrugged.

Looking at the bag, Marinette hesitated to take it. She had wondered if Chat would appear before her or if he’d just drop the bag and run. Now, she feared he’d bolt the moment she took the bag from his hand, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Impulsively, she reached past the bag to grab hold of his wrist. “Come inside for a minute. Let me get you some cookies for the road.”

His brow scrunched together, showing his hesitancy.

She shot him her best smile, going as far as batting her eyes at him, a technique her friends had forced her to learn a few years ago in an attempt to get Adrien’s attention. “Please, Chat? I’m sure you’d like a treat?”

He sighed. “Thank you, princess, but I’ll decline.”

“Aww, really? I can’t convince you to stay a moment?”

“No.”

“Wow. That was cold.”

Chat stood, trying to remove her hand from his, and though he was trying to be firm, he wasn’t being overly forceful. “I came to thank you, not to linger on your kindness any more.”

“But what if I want you to linger in my kindness.”

He scoffed. “Why would you bother?”

“Because I care about you?”

“You barely know me.”

Oh, kitty, I know you better than you could fathom. “So?”

“So, I took advantage of your kindness once—”

“Do it again.”

The words that came so easily out of her mouth had clearly startled him. Frankly, they surprised her a little, too, but those words also allowed her a moment to crawl fully out of the hatch and stand right before him. “I don’t mind. In fact, I want to.”

Chat looked at her, exhaustion lingering behind the stoniness in his eyes. “Princess, you’re killing me here.”

She tightened her grip, leaning closer. “Good. Maybe I can offer you a little break away from your world.”

“Who said I needed one?”

“You’re still white, and you’re not in a signature smile. I dare you to tell me I’m wrong.”

His brow furrowed, eyes hardening, yet he didn’t pull away.

And she wasn’t going to surrender, either.

The stare down lasted a good many seconds, neither moving or backing down.

“Are you trying to seduce me, princess?” he eventually asked, the slightest edge of teasing in his tone while the corner of his lips quirked upwards.

Her heart could soar at the sight. “So what if I am?”

He flashed her a fake roguish grin, leaning closer in what she quickly realized was an attempt to coax her backwards. “I’d say there’s only room for one flirt in this town, and it sure won’t be you.”

She stood her ground, knowing that if she wasn’t careful, she’d fall right through her trapdoor. Which was likely his plan and why he’d just started flirting. She knew him too well by now to know his flirting was a cover-up. Always had been, and always would be.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t also wreck her heart when he stopped the flirting and pulled a genuine romantic gesture. It always wrecked her heart when he stood with his heart bared to her. And maybe over time, those gestures built up love for him in her own heart. And maybe that’s why she stood here so adamantly now, unwilling to let him go.

“Oh?” she flirted back, trying to channel her ‘inner Chat’. “How would you know? Maybe I’m better.”

“I doubt that. This cat has worked hard and purr-fecting his technique to make the ladies swoon.”

She hummed. “You pull out all the stops on Ladybug, don’t you?”

It was as though she’d doused him with cold water, because all teasing disappeared in an instant.

Her regret level was high, but at the same time, she wasn’t even sure what she’d said to change the mood so fast. “Chat?”

He sighed, pulling away and shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly not nothing,” she countered.

“It is,” he firmly stated. “And don’t think otherwise.”

Biting her lip, Marinette wracked her brain for how to possibly coerce him into talking. “Something wrong with Ladybug?” she asked, reaching out to grab his other hand. “Because I haven’t see—”

“Ahh!”

In a flash, Chat ripped both his hands from hers and cradled his left hand close to his chest.

Her gut sank. “You’re hurt?”

He grit his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

His ears sank in shame for a moment. “Let it go, Marinette,” he snipped, already taking steps backwards and away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not. What happ—”

“Does it get tiring?”

His eyes took on a hard edge to them, and that was the moment she knew she screwed up. “What?”

“Trying to weasel into my business,” he challenged.

“How was I weaseling?”

“I’m a grown man. I don’t need you mothering me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t if you weren’t hurt.”

The moment those words left her mouth, Marinette regretted it. Instead, her consequence was watching Chat’s expression harden, eyes glinting like the edge of a knife.

“Who do you think you are?”

She flinched at the harshness of his tone.

“You’re not Ladybug,” he hissed. “We barely know each other. Why are you so damn worked up over me getting hurt?”

Because I am your lady, dammit! But she couldn’t say that. And without that, she wasn’t fully sure what to say. “Can’t I care about you at all without my motives being questioned?”

“I don’t need your help, Marinette!” he shouted. “So, stop trying to fix things and let me take care of my own business! You don’t have any idea what I’m facing—"

“Of course I don’t! You know why?” Marinette felt something snap in her at his words, and her own feelings came tumbling out before she could stop them. “Because you’re a knight with a martyr complex who thinks he has to bear the weight of the world alone on his own shoulders. I’m no princess, Chat, and neither is Ladybug. So why is it impossible for you to let either of us help you? Do you not trust Ladybug to help you? Do you think she’s incapable? Do you hate working with her that much?”

“I love her more than you could ever imagine!” he shouted, shocking her so badly she had to take a step back to steady herself. “She is incredibly strong and capable, and don’t you dare do her the injustice of stating otherwise. But that is exactly why I’m keeping her out of this. What I’m facing is personal, and it’s something I need to do on my own. You wouldn’t understand and don’t even try to. You’re an outsider here, Marinette. Stop trying to pretend you’re the superhero here and micro-manage everything about someone you don’t even know!”

And with that, Chat whipped out his baton, and Marinette was left watching a white ghost float over the rooftops of Paris, further and further away until he finally disappeared.

9. Blanket

The night wasn’t chilly, but she still had a blanket draped over her shoulders as she stood out on her balcony. It had been a week since the little altercation between her and Chat, and she regretted so many things she said and how she handled the whole situation.

Chat was hurting, and while she had been prying, she’d also gone against his wishes to do so. He had shut himself off, and instead of just being a safe spot he could land with no questions asked, she’d pushed and pressed and prodded any way she could to get information out of him. In her defense, she had only wanted to help as well as try to keep her cat around so he wouldn’t run again.

But a trapped cat doesn’t submit easily, she supposed. Especially one with as much fight in them as Chat Noir had.

So, she wanted to apologize, even though she knew it was unlikely he’d come around again. And who knew if she’d see him again. He said he’d see Ladybug at least one more time to give up his miraculous, but she didn’t want to wait until then to see him again. Though, the longer she stood out here on the balcony with no sign of Chat on the horizon at all, she thought that might be her only chance.

If it was, then she had to be careful not to squander it. Let this be her lesson, and let it be her only one because she really couldn’t afford to make a mistake on her last chance.

“Marinette,” Tikki said, flying up to rest on her shoulder. “It’s past midnight. You should really come inside and go to bed.”

She didn’t want to, but there really wasn’t any other choice. Chat wasn’t coming, and she knew it. “Okay.”

[anna-justice]

Lost or Found - 24

Summary: As Jay, Hailey, Kim, Adam and Kevin start their junior year in the wake of a tragic summer, the past year of their lives comes back to haunt them. If you enjoyed Pretty Little Liars, this is for you! *UPSTEAD/BURZEK High School AU

...

24 - Evermore  ...

“Your dad should have killed you when he had the chance…”

Hailey whimpered, her eyes clenched shut and beads of sweat appearing on her forehead.

“So you want to play hero one more time?” 

She flinched in her sleep, her heart beating out of her chest, so fast that she thought it was going to explode. 

“That works for me.” 

Hailey shot up, screaming. The last thing she saw was the barrel of a gun. She clawed at her chest, trying to get a good breath. “Hailey?” Someone yelled, and then right after, her Aunt appeared in front of her. “Hailey, it’s okay.” Trudy reached out to grab her hand, but Hailey pulled it back, looking at her with scared eyes. 

It had been a month since she had heard those words muttered aloud, but they plagued her dreams frequently. 

The two weeks following that day, all five of them took turns rotating through the police station. Everyday there were new questions, more people to explain things to, more statements to clarify, it was never ending. Then, it just stopped. There was nothing else they could do, they had to wait for trial. And in the meantime, Erin was placed in a psychiatric hold facility, and her lawyers were defending her actions as a symptom as psychosis.

It bothered them all, that technically she was free, all because they could blame her attempted murder on a psychotic break. Especially when Kelly Severide was looking at time. A few days after, two detectives showed up at Hailey’s house, wanting a full recount of the last five months, and that included the night that she was attacked. When Severide was questioned, he had no alibi and he confessed to strangling Hailey. His excuse was that he was threatened the same way that the rest of them were, only in person. He claimed that he knew Erin was alive the whole time, but she threatened to kill his mom and sister if he didn’t cooperate. 

Unfortunately, the only way to corroborate the story for a jury is to prove Erin mentally competent, meaning she was capable of carrying out her threats. To all involved, even Kelly, it was clear that she knew what she was doing, she was a mastermind, but to everyone on the outside, they were just a bunch of teenagers wrapped up in a murder. 

The girl that everyone thought was Erin still hadn’t been identified, they had to dig up the casket for the second time. The only way they were able to ID it the first time was by the previous fracture and bracelet, but there are a lot of people in the Chicago area that have broken their left wrist. 

So, with no new information and the date for the trial to begin still months away, they all lived life normally. Well, as normal as it could be after everything they went through. And normal for Hailey meant waking up every night screaming. 

Trudy looked at her husband, who was standing in the doorway. They shared a look, a very familiar one. They repeated the same steps every night, like some cruel rehearsed dance. Trudy waited patiently for Hailey to calm down, just seated on the floor next to her. “Hailey, sweetie, you’re safe.” She repeated. 

Every night it was the same, Hailey would snap out of whatever daze she was in and apologize profusely. “I’m sorry, I got scared…” She started.

“Shhh,” Trudy said, placing a hand on her leg, “It’s okay.” 

Hailey nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m good, you all can go back to sleep.” She said, glancing at her uncle. 

Trudy just nodded, she learned many nights ago not to fight her on it, “Alright. Goodnight Hailey, we love you.” She said, squeezing her shoulder. 

“Love you too.” Hailey said, watching them retreat back to their room. They left the door open like they always did, Hailey sighed rolling over and grabbing her phone. She sent a quick text to her boyfriend. 

Hailey:      :(

It was a system that they started a few weeks ago. The first few nights Jay would stay up with her on the phone, or she would call him after Trudy and Randy finally left, but the lack of sleep began to play a part in their relationship. So, they decided that every time Hailey had a nightmare (or Jay, he wasn’t clean of them) they would text the other a frowny face, so that in the morning they would know what the other had gone through the night before without having to talk about it. It has proved to be useful.

Hailey laid down again, willing herself to close her eyes, but she couldn’t. Sleep was too vulnerable, so she laid there awake, just waiting for the sun to rise on (hopefully) a better day. 

…

“What do you mean you haven’t picked out a costume?” Kim asked, as Jay slammed his door shut. Like every morning, they were all crowded around his truck, waiting until the last minute to head to class. The gossip still hadn’t died down, they were still the topic of every conversation, so they avoided it as much as they could. 

Hailey shrugged. “I thought we weren’t dressing up.” She said, looking up at her boyfriend, who nodded in agreement. Halloween was tomorrow, and of course Kim had plans for all of them.

“No, I said we weren’t dressing up as the characters from scooby doo…” Kim said, giving Adam a pointed look. 

Adam held up his hands in surrender, “Like I said, I’m sorry, it’s too soon.” He said, stifling a laugh. 

Kevin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, you all know I’d have to be scooby. And I’m not dressing up like a dog.” He snapped. 

“But Kev,” Adam said, faking a frown. “I thought you were my dawg.” Kevin glared at him, faking a punch as Adam jumped back. 

“Anyway,” Kim started, looking back at Hailey and Jay, and ignoring the antics behind her. “I promised Stella we would all be at her party tomorrow night, you guys will be the only people without a costume.” 

Hailey sighed, “Kim, we will get costumes, I promise.” Kim opened her mouth, but the warning bell cut her off. Hailey smiled, grabbing Jay’s hand. “We’ll see you guys later.” She said, before pulling him away. 

“Please tell me you have costume ideas,” Jay said quietly. 

“Nope.” They rounded the corner, Jay leaning down and stealing a kiss before they entered their classroom. Criminal justice was a little harder to sit through than it was before, but somehow Jay had managed to get his grade up. 

They took their normal seats in the back of the class, waiting for the teacher to begin. “I have an idea,” Jay said, leaning on his hand. 

“Okay?” Hailey said cautiously. 

“I’ll be a firefighter, and you be a Dalmatian.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Hailey scoffed, “No.” 

“Okay. You be the firefighter and I’ll be the Dalmatian.” He said, smirking.

Hailey shook her head, “Try again.” Jay fake pouted, retreating back to his half of the shared desk. 

Finally, their teacher decided to start class, cutting their conversation off for the time being. After about 30 minutes of notes, he passed out an assignment, leaving them to work on their own. Jay turned to face her, smiling. “I’ve got another idea.” He said, Hailey gave him a pointed look. “Squints and the lifeguard from the sandlot.” 

“Why? So every time someone asks us who we are you get to lay on the ground and make me kiss you?” She questioned. 

“Exactly.” He deadpanned. 

“Jay-”

“Okay, okay.” He said, laughing. He loved it when she got all riled up. “Peter Pan and Tinkerbell, cause you’re so short-”

“Jay!” She said, smacking his bicep. 

He laughed harder, “Okay, in all seriousness...we can be Jack and Rose from the titanic…” He watched Hailey’s face slowly morph into slight agreeance, “And Kev could be the iceberg.” 

“I’m done with you.” Hailey said shortly, stifling her own laugh. 

Jay laughed at his own joke, watching his girlfriend pretend to be aggravated with him. “You love me, you know it.” 

“Unfortunately…” Hailey said under her breath. She took a deep breath, “What about Danny and Sandy from Grease?” 

Jay smirked, “You in leather pants? Perfect.” 

“You’re hopeless.” 

…

The next day, Hailey sat in Kim’s bedroom getting ready. They had about an hour before the boys were supposed to come pick them up. Kim and Adam were going as Romeo and Juliet, while Hailey and Jay had finally settled on Rapunzel and Flynn Rider. Kevin had grouped up with some of the boys from his team, they were going as zombie football players, very original…

“Kim, you’re going to have to do this.” Hailey said, laughing in defeat. 

Kim smiled, taking over for her. She was waiting for her to ask for help, she’d been struggling to french braid her hair for almost twenty minutes. “I got it.” They sat there for a while in silence, Kim carefully laying pieces of blonde hair over the others, she glanced at Hailey in the mirror, noticing the blank look on her face. “How are you doing?”

Hailey’s head snapped up to meet her eyes, she caught her off guard. “Uh,” She shrugged, “I’m okay, I guess…” 

Kim scoffed, shaking her head. “I’ve said that word so many times recently that I’m not even sure it’s a word anymore.” 

“Yeah…” Hailey said, letting her thoughts wander. “I get that.” And she did, it was like she used the word as a shield. It was her response to everything, and she wasn’t okay, not that it was really a secret. None of them were okay, but saying it made it feel like they were. And deception was something worth clinging onto. 

“You know, we never talked about-” 

“We don’t need to.” Hailey said, cutting her off. 

Kim eyed her cautiously, “Okay.” She wanted to talk, but she didn’t feel like she had any right to push Hailey to. Not after what happened. “Done.” She said, a few minutes later, taking a step back to admire her work.

“Thanks,” Hailey said with a genuine smile, picking up the jar of flower clips they had bought that morning. “You think I should just put these everywhere?” 

Kim nodded, “Yeah, I think so.” She reached down, clicking shuffle on a playlist, a random Taylor Swift song playing. They were both done talking. 

An hour later, the two of them were sitting in Kim’s kitchen talking to her mom when Jay and Adam arrived. Adam just let himself in the front door, Jay choked on a laugh as he waltzed in like he owned the place. 

The boys appeared in the kitchen, “Honey, I’m home.” He said, passing Kim and hugging her mom. Kim rolled her eyes as they all laughed, Jay’s hand finding Hailey’s back like it always did. He was so happy, even though life was still crazy, he was ridiculously happy. Watching Hailey smile and Adam joke around like he used to (before they used it as a distraction) was so nice, and familiar and just so damn good. 

Hailey peered up at him, grinning as he pecked her lips. “Alright, let’s get a picture so you all can get out of here.” Claire said, ushering them together. Jay stood next to Adam, both of them holding their girlfriends securely against their waists. They all smiled brightly, relaxing after the click. 

They quickly bid their goodbyes, making their way out to Jay’s truck. Hailey slid easily into the passenger seat, despite her nude heels (that she was already regretting), while Adam and Kim got in the back. They pulled out of the driveway, and somehow Adam ended up with aux cord. Somewhere in between an old Maroon 5 song and the Weekend, Jay’s hand found hers on the center console. 

Hailey looked down at it and smiled. It was a simple thing that they did every single time they rode together, but it really symbolized how much things had changed. Hailey thought back to the day that he kept his eyes trained on the road, back when she cut him off when he tried to apologize. It was only two months ago, but they were different, everything was different, everything was better. 

 Jay followed her gaze to their conjoined hands, mimicking her smile. She didn’t have to say anything, he knew exactly what she was thinking. Part of him wishes he could go back and stay with her then, he felt like they had wasted so much time, but the other part of him knew that they were better for it. Neither of them were ready for what they have now, then. And what they have was worth the wait. 

Finally they reached their destination, Jay having the park pretty far away due to how many people were already there. They got out, Jay rounding the truck to help Hailey down, even though she hadn’t needed it in a long time. The four of them headed towards the decent sized house, they could hear the music thumping from outside. Hailey slipped her hand in Jay’s, gripping his forearm. 

Jay noticed the look of discomfort on her face, leaning down. “Hey, you okay?” He asked, eying her. 

Hailey nodded, holding on a little tighter. “Yeah, just don’t want to get lost in the crowd.” Jay nodded, believing her lie. She couldn’t really explain it, but she had a terrible feeling in her stomach and the thought of being lost in a sea of people made her want to throw up. Even though it was over, Hailey still found herself looking over her shoulder and watching out for her. And even though all of that meant she was nowhere near being in a party mood, she wasn’t going to bring everyone else down, they all needed a fun night. 

They made their way through the crowded makeshift dance floor, and found Kevin in a living area near the back of the house where he was sitting with Stella, Conner, Matt and Sylvie. “Hey guys,” He called, jumping up and clapping Adam’s back. 

Stella stood, hugging Kim tightly, “I’m glad you guys could make it.” 

Kim squeezed her, “Me too.”

Stella backed away, touching Hailey’s arm affectionately and giving her a kind smile that she returned. “I know it’s kind of crazy,” Stella laughed, “If you need something or just a break, the keys to the upstairs doors are hidden right under the doors, just inside the rooms.” She glanced at the obvious couples, winking. “I trust you guys.” 

They all nodded, Kim blushing, a chorus of “great” and “thanks” sounding. The group dispersed, the five of them huddling up. “Obviously Hailey and I are gonna stick together, if we get lost, meet back here at midnight and we’ll head out?” Jay suggested.

“Sounds good,” Kev said, nodding.

Adam agreed too. “That works for me.” 

That works for me…

Hailey flinched at those words, instinctively squeezing her eyes shut. Her breath caught in her throat. The image of a pulled gun flashing through her brain. She grimaced, trying to push the thoughts away. “Hailes…” She took another deep breath, doing everything in her power to keep her fear at bay. “Hailes.” Someone said, harsher, snapping her out of her daze. 

“Yeah?” She asked quickly. 

Kim eyed her cautiously, “I asked if you wanted a water…”

“Oh,” Hailey shook her head, “No, I’m good, thanks though.” She watched as Kim and Adam slowly disappeared into the crowd, her eyebrowed cinched together. 

Jay stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the rest of the room, “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, concern clear in his bright green eyes. 

Hailey nodded vigorously, “I’m good, I promise.” She said, his face didn’t change. He didn’t believe her. Hailey reached up, pulling him to her level and attaching their lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she deepened it, pulling him even closer. Jay did his best not to get lost in the kiss, but with her it was so hard. She pulled away slowly, peering up at him. “Jay, I’m okay.” Kim was right, it didn’t sound like a word anymore. 

Jay sighed, admitting defeat. “Okay.” He laced their hands together, leaning down and kissing her slowly before guiding her to the dance floor. They stood near the edge, Jay’s hand sitting on her hips as they swayed in sync to the fast music. They danced for a while before some of Jay’s teammates interrupted them. 

Hailey stood securely at his side as they spoke, absently listening to the trashy rap music that was playing loudly throughout the room. “Fuck, shit, bitch…” The sound of a gun being cocked rang through the speakers and Hailey screamed. Suddenly the eyes of everyone around her staring at her. She was frozen in place, forcing the terrible memories away, but she couldn’t. 

“Hailey.” Jay said, but her feet had a mind of their own and she was running towards the staircase, her lungs burning, she couldn’t get in a good breath. “Hailey!” Jay called after her, not even bothering to say goodbye to his team before taking off. 

Hailey booked it up the stairs, dropping to the ground in front of the first door she saw, grasping aimlessly for the key. She slumped against the door, tears streaming down her face as she fought to breathe. Jay booked it towards her, crouching down and finding the key easily. He unlocked the door, then swept his hysterical girlfriend off the floor, carrying her into the room and setting her on the bed. She was still heaving in front of him, and Jay placed two hands on either side of her face. “Hailey, Hailey look at me.” He said, but her eyes stayed trained on his chest. “Baby, you’re safe, look at me, please.” She clenched her eyes shut, more tears falling down her face. When she opened them again, they met his and she launched herself into his arms. 

Jay held her to him, rocking them gently as she cried into his neck. “I-I thought-” She stuttered, sobs wracking her body. 

“I know, I know.” He said, trying to calm her. 

“I thought it was over…” She said, and Jay felt his heart clench in his chest. 

He ran his hand through her braided hair, no doubt destroying it. “It is, it’s all over, you’re safe. We’re safe.” For some reason that made her cry harder, maybe because she hadn’t for the past month, she had been bottling up her feelings to protect herself and everyone else. Because even though she was, she hadn’t felt safe in a long time. 

Hailey pulled away after a long time, utterly exhausted. Jay couldn’t take the look of defeat on her safe, she looked so tired, so broken, that it scared him. How could he not have known how much pain she was in? 

She couldn’t bear to look at him, so she kept her gaze fixed on her lap. He placed his hand on her thigh, and Hailey laid one on top of it. She sniffled, using her free hand to wipe the never ending tears from her eyes. “I’m okay.”

…

The following Monday, Hailey sat in the passenger seat of Jay’s truck. After the events of Saturday night, Jay had no choice but to loop in Trudy and Randall, he had to after he had failed to do so before. They spent the rest of the weekend convincing Hailey to see someone, to talk about everything they had been through. 

It was probably the trauma left over from her parents, but the stigma that therapy made you weak was ingrained in Hailey’s mind, and convincing her to make an appointment was no easy task. 

That’s how they ended up sitting in the parking lot of a private practice right after school, Hailey’s leg bouncing nervously up and down. Jay lifted their intertwined hands off the center console, kissing the back of hers. “I’m going to be here waiting, all I ask is that you go in there and try.” He said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. 

Hailey smiled softly, nodding. She leaned across the console and kissed him slowly, hoping that she was able to portray just how much love she had for him and trust she had in him through it. Jay pulled away, taking her in. “I love you, Hailey Upton.” 

“I love you, Jay Halstead.” She said. 

“Now, go kick some ass.” He said and she laughed, opening the truck door. She shut it, giving him one last look before walking inside the doors. 

She sat down in one of the waiting room chairs after signing in, a few minutes later an older man with big glasses popped his head out of the back. “Hailey?” 

She stood, “Yes sir.”

The man smiled, “Come with me.” He led her back to an office, gesturing for her to sit on the couch while he sat in the chair across from her. “I’m Dr. Charles, but you can call me Daniel or Dan, or really whatever makes you comfortable.” He explained. 

Hailey nodded, shifting nervously. “So, how does this work?” She asked.

“However you want it to, we can talk or not talk about anything you want.” He said, leaning back in his chair. 

“Okay,” Hailey glanced at the ground, “The-There’s a lot…” 

“That’s okay.” 

Hailey grimaced, finally looking at him. “Where do I start?” She asked.

Dr. Charles smiled. “How about the beginning?”

Hailey sighed, taking a few deep breaths, ready to start confronting all the demons that she had been fighting for so long. 

“Tell me everything.”

...

A/N: This is long but please, please, please read it!!

First, this is the end of this story, but it is not THE end! There will be a sequel and if you want to see a sneak peak, you can find it HERE. I am so so excited to continue exploring this version of these characters, and don’t worry, the next installment will be just as exciting as this one! 

Second, thank you so so so so much to everyone who has shown love to and supported this story. It really means the world to me, you have no idea. This has been such an amazing experience and I have learned so much from writing this, so thank you so much for reading. You guys are truly incredible, and writing has helped me through a tough time in my life. I’m going to say thank you a million time, but thank you, thank you, thank you <3

This story evolved so much lol: in the beginning I had no plan, and then it changed like five times, and we ended up here, so here’s a few things that didn’t make it in.

Nadia was supposed to die in chapter 19, but I decided against it…

I debated Kevin and Stella getting together, don’t hate me for this ahaha

I almost made Kim lose her hearing, but I wasn’t sure I could do the storyline justice with everything else going on

I debated killing Adam (I’M SORRY, i’m sorry…)

And finally (cause you don’t need to know all of my secrets) I ALMOST broke up Upstead at the end

Anyway, there’s some behind the scenes action if you’re interested. 

Back to the point: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SUPPORTING ME AND THIS STORY, I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART, and i cannot wait to embark on this next journey together!!

So much love,

Anna

@lissethsrojas @puckluck28 @fuckyeahkillianemma @chilly7188 @thebigapocalypsewolf @karihighman @ruzek-halstead @anotheronechicagobog @snowwhite013 @tracysupton @angelsjedi @carissalizz​

[let-me-write-shit]

Somebody To You: 1

A/N: It’s finally here! The first chapter of my second Harry Styles fic! We’re starting off with a LOOOONG, heavy one. I want to thank you all for patiently waiting. Most of the characters in this story is based off of some of YOU! Zoey, Nancy, Aurora, Andy, and Katie - Thanks for reading and being apart of this story. I’m sorry if I didn’t get your personalities right, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. I’ll be posting every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday! Enjoy. 

<3 Shannon

To Read My Previous Story, Click Here

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CHAPTER ONE

Never in a million years did Zoey think she’d move across the country on her own. But here she was, driving down the interstate in her dingy 2010 Toyota Camry, car filled to the brim with her belongings. LA had always been a far fetched idea. Actually, if we were being honest, it was never her idea to begin with. It was Jessica’s. Moving to LA alone was never a part of the plan. Jess should have been here. They should have been blasting music through the stereo, complaining about the shitty A/C in the car, road raging together, and dreaming about all of the things they would do when they arrived.

Instead, Zoey drove in silence, briefly passing through all of the tourist spots and monuments they had always talked about visiting along the way, pulling into walmart parking lots for bathroom breaks or cat naps, alone. The only noise disrupting the silence was the hum of the engine and the occasional whisper under her breath as she spoke, in vain, to her best friend.

Jess was a force. Anyone who had the pleasure of knowing her would say the same thing. She lit up a room. She was the outgoing one. She’d talk to anyone and everyone that passed her, striking up random conversations that only she could come up with. And her laugh was infectious. Zoey always made Jess laugh and it got them in a lot of trouble over the course of their fifteen year friendship. 

Jess always had her platinum blonde hair straight, never putting it up - something Zoey always did out of habit, rarely letting her hair down because she didn’t like how it looked. Jess always had a knack for the dramatics, which is why she wanted to move to LA since she was little. She had dreamed of becoming an actress. Zoey saw her in every high school and college play. And she was good. Really good. Honestly, she had potential to make it. But, to Zoey, all of the long talks of moving to LA was just that: talk. She could never let go of the comfort of being close to family in her small, Pennsylvania town with her best friend and boyfriend. Besides, how could they even afford it?

But all of that changed on June 9th of last year. It was Jess’ 26th birthday and the two girls went out to celebrate with a few friends at the bar they worked at together. Zoey and Jess were the last to leave and had drunk a little more than they intended, so they had Zoey’s boyfriend, Michael, pick them up. Not even 3 minutes into the car journey it happened. A drunk driver ran a red light and had rammed into the rear passenger side door at 50 mph. The car flipped and Zoey hit her head against the window, sending her unconscious. 

She woke up in the hospital the next afternoon with a broken wrist, a few fractured ribs, and a concussion, surrounded by her parents who were crying, her little sister, Katie, who sat timidly in the corner of the room, and Michael who only had a few scrapes and cuts, but was ultimately fine, squeezing her leg that was tucked under the heavy white blanket. When her eyes fluttered open, her mom gasped and both of her parents hovered over her, her dad stroking her cheek. The first thing Zoey managed to croak out was, ‘Where’s Jess?’. Her mom lost it, uncontrollably sobbing. It was her dad that had to break the news to her. Jess didn’t make it.

It’s weird. You’d think hearing the news of your best friend’s death would send you into a fit of rage or hysterics, but that didn’t happen for Zoey. She felt numb. It could have been the shock, but it didn’t feel real. Jess couldn’t have been gone. She was here only hours ago, laughing her infections laugh and smiling her gorgeous smile. And even so, when Jess’ parents came to visit her at the hospital to discuss the funeral, it still hadn’t set in. She wanted to laugh at them to stop being so dramatic. That everything was fine. That Jess was still here, she was just sleeping. She couldn’t just be gone. Not Jess. She was too full of life to just be gone. But the bags under their eyes told a different story. They had lost their only child. How do you recover from that?

Zoey was stuck in the hospital for a little over a week, causing her to miss her best friend's funeral, which didn’t help in her denial. The day she was released, her boyfriend picked her up from the hospital and drove her to Mr. and Mrs. Lewis’ house. The walk up to the front door felt different. Over the past fifteen years, Zoey never knocked on the front food or rang the doorbell, she just walked in. She wasn’t sure if that would be appropriate now. Unsure, she knocked, hesitated, and cracked the door open where she was met by the exhausted couple who gave her a warm hug and led the two towards the back, past the pool where she had so many fond memories of laughter with Jess, the glistening water seeming so inviting on this warm afternoon, towards the pool house where Jess stayed.

Some had questioned why Jess still lived with her parents if she was 25 and worked a well paying job. But, to put it lightly, Jess’ family was very well-off. Her dad had built and owned a business from the ground up and it became a major success practically overnight. She had her own space, rent free. Besides, the pool house was big enough to fit three of Zoey and Michael’s apartment into it. Why would she not stay there?

But when they walked in, it hit her. Everything was exactly as they had left it, nothing had been moved. Except this time, the room did not feel full of life like it always had. It felt cold and empty. And Zoey broke down.

She felt stupid for crying in front of Jess’ parents. How could her pain feel compared to theirs? But they didn’t judge. Instead, they held her in an understanding and loving embrace. After all, Zoey had been a part of their family for fifteen years. With every sob, the pain from her still-healing ribs hurt more and more. Michael stood off to the side and let the three have their moment, and when the tears settled, they began going through some of Jess’ things, letting Zoey take whatever she wanted, which included a hoodie, a dress, a pair of converse shoes, the other half of their friendship bracelet that they had made in 10th grade, and finally a note that she had written in middle school to Zoey, stuffed with the hundreds of other notes in a shoebox under her bed.

The year that followed was tough. Zoey found herself lost for a while. She quit her job at the bar her and Jess used to work at, because working without Jess was too much for her to handle. She didn’t go out anymore, and hardly talked to anyone except for her younger sister, Katie. Growing up she didn’t really get along with Katie. It’s not like she didn’t like her, but Katie was eight years younger than her, plus Zoey was so focused on friends and boys that she didn’t make any time or effort for her younger sister. But after Jess died, Zoey got to know her sister a lot better. She learned that Katie, aside from appearance, was almost exactly like herself. Katie took after their Irish dad in the way of looks with long, dark brown hair and adorable freckles, compared to Zoey’s pale skin and dirty blonde hair. You wouldn’t think they were related by looking at them. But, in personality, they were almost identical. Both were afraid to take risks, shy at first keeping a very small group of friends, but very caring. The complete opposite of Jess who was care-free and miss positivity. Katie was essential in her grieving process.

Anytime someone brought Jess up in conversation, they always skirted around certain topics or words. They always used her name in past tense or said things like, ‘no longer with us’ or ‘passed away’. It was infuriating. One night, Zoey’s parents had invited her, Michael, and Mr. and Mrs. Lewis over for dinner nearly three months in. Her mom had brought Jess up for the fourth time in two hours and said something along the lines of ‘I’m still finding it hard to process Jess not being here anymore.’ And Zoey lost it.

“She’s dead, mom! She died! Okay?” Zoey shouted, pushing away from the table, causing her glass of wine to spill, and darting up the steps to Katie’s room that they used to share when Zoey lived there.

She collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily with tears streaming down her face, angry, when there was a faint knock on the door. Her fists clenched in annoyance, half expecting it to be her boyfriend as Michael had been extra clingy since Jess died, almost as if he was scared of what Zoey would do if she was left alone. Which was stupid. What good would it do anyone if she wasn’t here either? But to her shock and horror, it was Jess’ mom who walked into the room. 

Zoey shot up straight and wiped the tears from her face, instantly regretting the outburst she just had. “Mrs. Lewis, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Don’t,” Jess’ mom cut her off, motioning for her to sit down beside her at the edge of the bed. Her expression was warm and not at all angry, “I can’t even begin to tell you the amount of times I wanted to say that over the past three months to anyone who mentions her. I know it’s hard, and I understand.”

Zoey nodded, twisting Jess’ bracelet that was now tightly wrapped around her wrist, a strand of her dirty blonde hair had fallen out of her hair tie and she pushed it behind her ear as Jess’ mom continued, “I only came up here because I thought it’s be a good opportunity to talk to you in private before we go.”

“What about?”

“Well, Mr. Lewis and I were going through some more of Jess’ things last week and we came across a bunch of old ‘Dream Journals’ the two of you wrote in over the years.”

Zoey felt the heat of embarrassment rise to her cheeks, remembering some of the things they wrote in there. The ‘Dream Journals’ were more of a fantasy bucket list than anything, but there were definitely a few inappropriate things involving Jared Padalecki and Jeremy Sumpter in there that she wasn’t too keen on the idea of Jess’ parents reading.

She continued, “Mr. Lewis and I noticed nearly every page was filled with things you two wanted to do in LA.”

It sounded more like a question than a statement. Zoey cleared her throat, “Yeah. We always talked about moving there one day.”

Mrs. Lewis nodded, “I know how much she wanted to go. And I know it probably always seemed out of reach. But, Zoey, I don’t want this to stop you from going. Jess worked hard to save up so you both could go. And I don’t want that to be for nothing. Mr. Lewis and I talked about it and we decided. Jess had managed to save up $18,000, and we wanted you to have it. And we know how expensive LA can be, so we wanted to add an extra $7,000 on top of it. Hopefully that’ll be enough for rent for at least a year.”

Zoey’s mouth fell open, trying to process everything Mrs. Lewis just said. So many questions ran through her mind. How did she manage to save so much on the same salary that she had? Stupid question, she had no bills. She twisted a little too hard on the bracelet, causing it to pinch her wrist and snap her back to reality, “$25,000? To move to LA?”

“It was her dream and she never got to fulfill it. We want you to live your life and hopefully bring a little bit of our baby girl to LA with you in spirit. All that we ask in return is that you try to find peace out there.”

That was the moment of revelation for Zoey. The turning point. The moment that made her get off her ass and stop the pity party. She didn’t want to take Mr. and Mrs. Lewis’ gift for granted. So, Zoey worked her ass off. She got three jobs as a warehouse worker, waitress, and got her old bartending job back to save up even more money. She had eventually even found a room that two girls were renting out in a beautiful skyrise condo on the nicer end of LA, and had got a bartending job lined up and waiting for her when she moved. Zoey vowed to herself to start adapting some of Jess’ personality into her own. She wanted to be more outgoing and try to say ‘yes’ more often, to learn to let her hair down (figuratively speaking), and she wanted to try and be more adventurous. It wouldn’t be an overnight success, but she would try. Baby steps. 

Finally, almost a year later, it was time to move. Zoey had finished saying goodbye to her and Jess’ parents. Even Michael had come to see her off. The two of them had broken off their nearly four year relationship a couple months ago, but still remained close. Zoey could tell that he was heart broken, and so was she, but she also knew that things had changed between them after Jess died. They weren’t the same people anymore and it seemed like they were holding on to each other to force the fraction of normalcy they had left. They didn’t deserve that. They deserved to be happy, not just content, but genuinely happy. 

They gave each other a tight hug and Michael sweetly kissed her cheek, whispering her a farewell. Saying goodbye to him stung a bit more than she had anticipated. Not because of some kind of lost love, but because he was the only other person in her life who she could talk to about Jess and who would actually understand. He knew Jess in almost the same sort of capacity that Zoey knew her. Poor Michael was forced to be the third wheel so often that he saw sides of her and Jess that no one else could possibly know about. And that sense of understanding comforted her. Now that she was letting that go, it was a little harder for her to leave.

Katie stood off to the side, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, twiddling her fingers together and avoiding her older sister’s gaze. The freckle faced teenager bit the inside of her cheeks, trying to focus on anything other than Zoey leaving. As horrible as this past year has been, she knew that the bond they built would not have happened otherwise. Katie had become just as reliant on Zoey as Zoey had been on her, and for her sister to be leaving was heartbreaking. She held back her emotions, but all Katie wanted to do was cry.

A frown formed on Zoey’s face. Her sister looked like a shelter puppy who’s owner had given up on them and knots formed in her stomach. Should Zoey really be leaving now, just as things started to come together for her? But as Katie’s demeanor cracked and she embraced her sister with a loving and understanding hug, she knew that this was the right move. Zoey still had some healing to do and Katie would always be there. Jess would have wanted this for her. 

The silent journey to LA was full of self reflection and internal pep talks. Not only did Zoey want to adapt a little bit of Jess’ personality, but she knew that this move gave her the opportunity to start over and live the life she always wanted. But what was that exactly?

As she neared her destination her heart began thumping faster, nervous for this new chapter. She looked at her surroundings of the bustling city, gorgeous people on every block, recognizing some buildings from her sleuthing around Street View on Google Maps after speaking with Nancy about moving in.

She’s been talking to Nancy via text and facetime over the course of a month since they met online and made plans for her to move in. Nancy seemed like one of the coolest people she had ever talked to. Tan, with the curliest, raven toned hair, she had nine ear piercings and the most interesting eyes-one brown and the other a deep green. She styled herself more on the rocker chic side, but somehow made it look so feminine and fitting. She could be a bit intense at times, but somehow made you feel comfortable and constantly laughing. 

Zoey didn’t know much about her other roommate, Aurora, or Rory, as most people called her. She only knew that Nancy had met Rory when she first moved to LA when they were 18 and they were best friends. The two of them just recently moved to their new condo and since Rory was gone most of the week for work and they had a spare bedroom, Nancy felt more comfortable and safe if there were another roommate there so she didn’t have to live on her own.

Nancy and Aurora had an interesting dynamic because they were practically polar opposites. Rory was born and raised in both Paris and a small town in England. She was new on the modeling scene but apparently making her way up the ladder rather quickly. And from the pictures that Nancy showed her, it was no wonder why. She was beautiful, with long brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and the sweetest, freckled baby face that reminded her of her little sister.

The GPS announced that she had reached her destination as she pulled up to the parking garage of the skyrise condominium. Zoey plugged the code that Nancy had given her into the keypad to enter the parking structure and drove in, finding a spot two rows in. She took her phone off of the car charger and checked the time. 3:14 PM, Thursday, April 23rd. It took her almost 4 full days to get here and it almost felt surreal that she had finally arrived. She stepped out of the car, legs buckling a bit from being sat in one position for so long, before stretching and calling Nancy’s phone.

“Are you fuckin’ here?” Nancy’s loud voice boomed excitedly.

Zoey laughed, stifling a yawn, “Yeah. In the parking garage.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you down in the lobby. Same code as the parking structure to get in.”

The call ended and Zoey felt her nerves settling as she glanced down at her wrist adorning Jess’ friendship bracelet. Everything will be fine. She grabbed as many things as she could manage to hold, realizing she’d have to take several trips to completely unload her car, before bounding towards the door. In order to put the code in she had to set some of her bags down, and as soon as it was unlocked, she yanked the door open, scooped up the bags, and headed down a hallway towards the huge, modern lobby. The walls were light gray with twelve foot ceilings lined with abstract black and white artwork and industrial light fixtures, a huge water feature right in the center. It seemed so extravagant that she almost felt silly for wearing the same gray sweatpants, matching small t-shirt layered with a long, white cardigan and white flip flops that she had worn since she left Pennsylvania, her hair now in an insanely messy bun, and not in a cute way, desperate for a shower. She could hear her flip flops echoing throughout the room along with the chime of the elevator door reaching her level. 

Nancy stepped out, curly hair framing her face, barely any makeup on but maybe some mascara, and so naturally pretty. She wore an oversized aerosmith shirt that had been splattered in bleach and barely covered her black shorts. Nancy’s eyes widened at the sight of Zoey and she ran over, smiling.

“Hey!” Zoey giggled, hiking up a bag that was slipping down her shoulder.

Nancy gave her a careful one-armed hug so as not to knock down the tower of belongings in Zoey’s arm before grabbing two bags to lighten the load a bit as she was led towards the elevator. Nancy talked her ear off about her day so far and what she had planned for dinner tonight when they reached the twenty second floor and got out. There was a small lounge area in the center of a large landing with a single door on the other three walls, each leading to three separate units. Nancy led her to the unit on the far left - 2201. 

“Okay, so the code is pretty easy. It’s all four corners of the keypad. So 1,3,7, and 9,” Nancy punched in. A green light appeared and Nancy pushed the door open, stepping inside. “Zoey’s here!” she called out as Zoey readjusted the bag that was slipping down her shoulder again. 

She looked around as she made her way past a small bathroom and suppressed a gasp when she reached the beautiful, modern kitchen that opened up into the living room, the wall lined with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city. Seeing the apartment in person was a completely different experience than virtually. The pictures didn’t do it justice. How could she afford to stay here? Jess would have lost her mind if she saw this. Zoey was so distracted by the view that she almost didn’t notice the two figures on the couch until they both stood up and started making their way over.

“Zoey! It’s so nice to meet you,” a sweet voice called. Aurora’s accent was an odd mix of French and British, only adding to her appeal.

“Hello!” A soft, deep voice greeted her.

Zoey smiled kindly, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of beauty in the two. Like the apartment, Rory’s pictures did not do her justice. She was more beautiful in person, almost making her feel inferior. And as for the guy beside her, he was scruffy with tousled brown hair and dark green eyes. His perfect white teeth could be seen through his smile and his dimpled cheeks made him even more discernible. 

“I’m Harry,” he spoke.

Zoey blinked, so exhausted from the long car journey that she was unable to decide what emotion to feel and unsure of how to respond. Her arms trembled from the weight of her luggage. The trembling caused a shoe to fall out of one of the bags, making a thump on the floor. Harry let out a startled gasp and quickly bent down to grab it, “Here, let me help,” he offered, grabbing the stack of bags out of Zoey’s hand, leaving her with just two on her shoulders. “Where would you like these?”

Before she could answer, Nancy spoke up, “Her room. Come on,” and led the way down another hall, Harry en suite.

Aurora smiled brightly at Zoey, “You must be exhausted,” she said, motioning for Zoey to follow the other two, “I hope the ride in was okay.”

Zoey tightened her bun and wiped beads of sweat from her forehead, glad that Aurora was being nice to her. “Yeah, lots of traffic as soon as I hit the city, though.”

Aurora laughed as they reached the doorframe, “You’ll get used to it.”

As the bedroom came into view Zoey saw Harry gently placing her things at the foot of the full sized bed. Thankfully the room was already furnished with the larger items. He huffed as he stood back up, dusting his hands together before pushing back the strand of hair that had fallen in front of his face. It was only a split second of realization. What the hell was happening? Was this just another dream? How could she be in LA, in a beautiful skyrise condo, with a gorgeous model and the coolest girl she had ever met as roommates, and Harry-fucking-Styles was standing in her bedroom? Surely she was still in her small one bedroom apartment back in Pennsylvania.

“Is this all you brought?” Harry asked, his accent snapping her back to present. 

“Oh, uh, no. I have more in my car.”

“Let me help bring your things up,” his eyebrows raised as if he was waiting for an answer, but his tone was more insistent.

Zoey hesitated, still in shock from the whole situation. Thankfully Nancy spoke up again before the silence got awkward, “Yeah, let’s go.”

She led the way out of the room followed closely by Harry who smiled nicely at her before his glance shot to Aurora. Zoey was sure he had meant to be more discreet, but she could have sworn he had winked at Rory. And the coy smile on her face seemed to confirm the hunch. Zoey kicked herself for being so awkward, mentally reminding herself to channel Jess’ sociability.

The four of them made conversation while they took a few more trips from the car to the apartment until all of her luggage riddled her room and her arms felt like jello. They all sat lined up on the large, pewter sectional with Zoey on an end cushion, Nancy sat cross-legged in the corner, and Aurora and Harry on the other side, close but with safe distance between them. She found out that Harry was in the middle of a U.S. tour and had a few days break, so he flew here to hang out and would be leaving again first thing in the morning. She also found it interesting to learn how they met each other a few months ago at a charity dinner event that Aurora had attended with Nancy as he plus one. They had all been sitting at the same table together and this was only their third time seeing him in person due to his tour.

“And now I have another friend,” Harry grinned, motioning towards Zoey.

“Yeah, until you scare her away with your horrible dad jokes and eating habits,” Nancy snorted.

Everyone laughed as Harry lightly nudged Nancy’s leg with his foot, “Just because you can’t beat the master at jokes doesn’t mean they’re horrible,” he shook his head in mock disappointment before turning his attention back to her, “So what made you move out here, Zoey? Work?”

Zoey gulped, not wanting to bring up Jess. She knew if she had, she would break down and cry and they didn’t know anything about Jess yet. I mean, how would everyone feel if she blurted out, ‘my dead best friend’s parents insisted I make their daughter’s dream come true and paid for me to move here’? 

She quickly composed herself, “Change of scenery. Thought I’d try out a new time zone,” she joked, causing them to chuckle. “I’m trying to be a bit more independent and adventurous,” she admitted.

Harry noticed her hesitation and looked at Rory and Nancy to see if they noticed it, too, but they seemed to be oblivious to it. He shrugged it off. He respected her desire to be more independent; something he understood all too well. The singer listened,  impressed as she revealed how many jobs she had been working in order to save just to come here and how proud she was of herself for taking the leap and coming here. Zoey didn’t seem braggy about it, in fact she seemed humbled, crediting her family and even her ex-boyfriend for the support. It wasn’t often you met someone down to earth in LA. It could be because she was so new to it. But Harry thought she would make a great fit with Aurora and Nancy. They had been here for seven years and the Hollywood Bug hasn’t bit them yet. He had his fair share of friends on the west coast, but it was nice to be close with ones who made him feel more grounded like these two.

The four ordered postmates and continued talking and laughing over Nancy’s stories as the sun began to set, casting a beautiful orange and pink hue over the city. As soon as she was done with her chinese food Zoey quickly excused herself to call her family. Once out of sight the three friends turned to each other.

“I like her,” Aurora decided.

Nancy kicked her feet up on the couch where Zoey had been sitting, “Yeah, thank god she’s not like any of the other crazies that messaged us to live here.”

Harry smiled, looking over at Aurora who laughed and he felt a little flutter in his stomach. She was obviously beautiful and fit every characteristic of his type. He could relate to her from living in a small English town but also found her intriguing that she had also been raised in Paris and spoke fluent French - a language he was always attracted by. Aurora and Harry were clearly attracted to each other, but the timing wasn’t exactly right. They met right as Aurora’s modeling career started to take off and just before Harry left for tour. They hadn’t even been on a first date yet, or even kissed for that matter. Just shameless flirting via text. 

In an effort to make an excuse to come back again, Harry spoke up, “Well, next weekend I have off. I don’t know what Zoey’s new work schedule will be, but if she’s up for it, how about we take her to Secrets as a little welcoming party? My treat.”

Secrets was a popular bar in the area that had private rooms you could rent for karaoke. Most of the club-goers were known to be gay, though a lot of straight people went with friends if they wanted a fun clubbing experience without any unwanted nuisances. It was always a good time whenever they went.

“That’d be lovely,” Aurora grinned.

“Yeah, sounds fun! I’ll talk to her about it and find out her work schedule,” Nancy agreed.

Harry nodded, excited about another opportunity to hang out with Rory. And honestly, he was excited to get to know Zoey, too. She seemed easy to talk to. And his instincts in people were pretty good.

What do you think?! Let me know

KEEP READING

[cakesunflower]

Reach For You [Dad!Calum AU] Ch. 15

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 

Chapter 15

HE WAS HAVING trouble breathing. They’d been in the waiting room for forty-five minutes, but it might as well have been forty-five hours because of how agonizingly slowly the time was passing. He was pacing, wringing his fingers and twisting his rings, repeatedly running his hands through his curls. His heart was thundering in his ears and chest, deafening him to anything else and shaking his entire body, and he couldn’t breathe. There was a fucking boulder sitting in the pit of Calum’s stomach, nauseating and weighing him down heavily, knowing it wouldn’t let up until he saw her. Calum wasn’t capable of calming down, of sitting and waiting. He couldn’t relax. He couldn’t breathe.

“Why isn’t anyone telling us anything?” Richie burst out, worry and frustration coating his voice thickly. Calum didn’t look his way, hoping to focus on his unsteady breathing but not succeeding. “It’s been nearly an hour.”

“They’re taking care of her, honey,” Mrs. Russo’s gentle yet shaky voice spoke, clearly unable to keep her own nerves and fright at bay. “We just—we need to be patient.”

Calum was severely struggling with that.

Every cell in his body burned with the need to find Aspen and hold her, to make sure she was okay with his own two eyes. There was a painful tightness in his chest since the second he’d received Mrs. Russo’s phone call, rendering him breathless, yet also feeling as though he was being suffocated. Paralyzing fear froze the blood in his veins; Calum felt numb yet at the same time, he was was aware of his body trembling in terror, worry and everything in between because no one was telling them anything. He didn’t know what to do with himself. It didn’t feel real.

“Daddy?”

The sound of Luna’s small, timid voice instantly broke Calum out of his mindless trance, gaze snapping to the little girl who sat in a chair next to Michael. Calum looked at her, lips parting at her scared expression as she asked, “Is Mama gonna be okay?”

The air he didn’t remember inhaling rushed out of Calum’s lungs, ignoring everyone else’s eyes on him as his remained glued on Luna. She looked so small, sitting in the chair, and Calum’s stomach twisted painfully once again. He didn’t want her here, in the hospital as they waited impatiently to see Aspen, but they had no choice. Everyone was here, including Mrs. Russo, who’d been staying at Richie’s for the weekend. Everyone was here, wrecked with terrified nerves and overwhelming worry in hopes that Aspen was okay. That the accident hadn’t been as bad as they all were fearing.

Forcefully putting aside his worry, Calum found the nonexisting strength to muster up a reassuring smile as he walked over to Luna. He crouched down in front of her chair, gripping her small hands in his large ones, the contrast always drying his throat, and gave them a squeeze. The unshed tears burned his eyes but Calum kept them at bay as his throat worked. “She’s gonna be fine, bug,” Calum told Luna, the rasp evident in his voice. Her watery green eyes made his throat tighten uncomfortably. “We’ll see her soon.”

Calum fiercely hoped he hadn’t just lied to his daughter.

Fuck. If only someone could tell him what the hell happened.

They’d waited for what seemed like hours, long enough for Luna to eventually fall asleep curled up in Michael’s lap. Calum would’ve let her sleep on him, but he was afraid his trembling body would wake her up. He knew they hadn’t been at the hospital for long, maybe an hour or so, but time was passing by so slowly. It felt like the world had come to a standstill without him knowing what was going on with Aspen, if she was okay. She needed to be okay.

“Aspen Russo?”

The mention of her name by an unrecognizable voice had Calum spinning around, everyone suddenly straightening in attentiveness at the sight of a doctor approaching them. “How is she?” Mrs. Russo asked before Calum had a chance, though he was sure the way his throat felt, he’d barely be able to get the words out. “What happened to my baby?”

“Your daughter is alright, she’s stable,” the doctor announced, and Calum felt himself take in a sharp breath, though didn’t allow himself to feel any relief yet until the woman, Dr. Shaw as it said on her coat, finished. “She was in a car accident; the other driver lost control of their car on the icy road and collided with Aspen’s. She’s got two broken ribs and her left arm is fractured. Some of the glass cut through as well, and we’re going to need to keep her for a couple of days to monitor the concussion she’s suffered.” Dr. Shaw took a breath. “Luckily, there weren’t any internal injuries. It may not seem like it, but Aspen was fortunate because her injuries could’ve been much worse. But she’ll be able to go home by the end of the week, though she’ll need lots of rest to let her bones heal.”

Okay. okay, okay, okay. “Can—Can we see her?” Calum spoke up finally, unsurprised at the break in his voice, aware of his heart thundering at the news. She had broken bones. She had cuts. A concussion. She was hurt and Calum felt this ridiculous surge of guilt that he should’ve been there when he was well aware that there was nothing he could’ve done.

Dr. Shaw looked at him before nodding. “She hasn’t woken up yet but she will soon. Just a few people at a time, okay?”

Mrs. Russo took a sniffling breath, rubbing her hands down her face and down her sides before her glassy gaze went to Richie and Calum. “Boys?”

Richie was ready to go while Calum stopped to take a breath, running his fingers through his hair before looking at Michael. “Can you just—”

Michael cut him off with a reassuring nod. “I got her.”

Calum shot him a grateful look as Ashton squeezed his shoulder. “Go ahead, man.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Following Richie and Mrs. Russo, Calum tried to find the steadiness in his breath as they walked to Aspen’s room. The discomfort and pain in his chest wouldn’t let up until he saw her—until he saw the greenness of her eyes that he loved. Sitting in the waiting room, completely in the dark about her condition and not knowing the extent of her injuries had been driving him crazy. Had his blood freezing and body shaking and his thoughtless head spinning.

He truly felt numb. Calum was surprised he was even moving in the first place.

No one hesitated in opening the door Aspen was behind, and Calum shuffled in behind Mrs. Russo and Richie, shutting the door behind him with a dry throat and shaking hands. Finally bringing himself to look ahead, Calum felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach.

She didn’t look anywhere near as bad as the images his fear induced brain had conjured up, but seeing her injured in any sense had bile rising up Calum’s throat. Aspen lay on the bed, the upper part heightened slightly so she wasn’t laying flat on her back, an I.V. of fluids connecting to her right arm. Calum approached the bed with shaky knees, surprised he hadn’t collapsed yet; like Dr. Shaw had said, there were fresh cuts on her skin, scattered sparingly across her cheeks and collarbones. The ones on her face weren’t too many, would heal eventually, but even the smallest signs of injuries on his girlfriend had Calum taking in a sharp breath. Her head, forehead to be exact, was wrapped in a white cloth, a small spot of blood near her left temple. And, finally, her left arm had a cast on it for the fracture.

His beautiful girl was injured, was lying unconscious on a hospital bed, and Calum was having trouble keeping it the fuck together. As Mrs. Russo and Richie flanked either side of her, Calum stood at the foot of the bed, gripping the railing in a hold that whitened his knuckles. Aspen was in front of him, but Calum knew he wouldn’t be able to breathe until he saw those wonderful green eyes, heard her pretty voice. The doctor had said she was fine, that she would be able to go home in a few days, but how could Calum believe that she was fine when the only action coming from Aspen was the slow rise and fall of her chest, or the only sound she emitted was coming from the heart monitor that beeped out her steady rhythms?

How could he breathe when he was panicking, losing his mind over the thought of the woman he loved leaving him once more—this time more permanently?

Calum had been staring absently at the white sheets that covered Aspen from the waist up, lost in his blundering thoughts and not even realizing how many minutes had passed until a touch on his shoulder jolted him back to reality. His head snapped up, his eyes meeting Mrs. Russo’s gentle ones as she murmured, “Why don’t you sit with her, Calum? You should be here when she wakes up.”

He stared blankly at her, her words registering in his mind a moment later as he gave one nod before moving around her. Calum’s eyes remained glued to Aspen’s sleeping face, void of makeup as her long lashes brushed her prominent cheekbones. He slowly sat down in the plastic seat to her right, taking in a cut by her ear, the side of her nose, right along her jaw and one on her cheekbone. His head tilted ever so slightly, counting the cuts on the left side of her face; right by her eye where her eyebrow sharply ended, two on her cheek, one by her chin and another by her jaw.

His heart ached with every cut he took into account, relieved that all of them seemed to be surface cuts, the marks pink and nearly blending into her complexion. But the fact that she got them in the first place twisted Calum’s gut, made his lower lip tremble and heart lodge itself in the middle of his throat as his nose and eyes burned with the aching desire to let the tears fall.

It wasn’t until he heard the click of the door shut once Mrs. Russo and Richie left that Calum let the quiet, guttural sob escape. Carefully, gently, he took her right hand in both of his after shifting the chair closer, making sure he didn’t disturb the I.V., feeling the wetness of his tears against his warm cheeks as he let them flow. Out of fear, out of relief, out of guilt he logically knew didn’t belong to him but he felt anyway. She was his family. Wasn’t he supposed to protect his family?

“Please wake up soon, baby.” His voice was a raspy, broken whisper in the quiet of the room, disturbed only by the heart monitor. Calum took in a shaky breath, sucking his quivering lower lip into his mouth as he lightly grasped her fingers, running his knuckles over them, more hot tears falling when he noticed some more cuts from the glass on them. He let his gaze slide back to her face. “The doctor said you will, so you gotta prove her right, yeah? Open those pretty eyes you gave our little girl.”

Calum blinked quickly, throat tightening as he thought of Luna, fast asleep in Michael’s lap. He truly hoped Aspen would wake up before Luna did, not wanting their daughter to see her mother like this. It was terrifying, gazing at Aspen as she looked eerily similar to as if she was asleep, though this was deeper. She had a concussion, would probably be drowsy on her medication, but Calum needed for her to be okay. He may be overreacting, especially after the doctor said Aspen would be fine, but he needed to see her conscious and coherent and showing off those pretty green eyes to believe it.

Because while Calum had spent his first days with Luna by himself, he wasn’t at all ready or willing to be a single parent.

Stop being so fucking dramatic, a fierce voice hissed through his mind, making him frown at himself as his gaze went back to his hands holding Aspen’s. She’ll be fine. She’ll wake up. She’s not fucking dead.

But maybe he was justified in his worry. He’d lost her once, years ago. Losing her again, in these circumstances. . . Calum was positive it’d destroy him.

                                                          *****

“It was nice of Aspen to invite us for dinner last night,” Ashton commented as he walked alongside Calum, approaching the diner. Michael and Luke were walking ahead of them, both holding onto one of Luna’s hands as she giggled happily every time they used their grip on her to lift her off the ground every few steps.

Calum chuckled shortly, hands in his pockets. “It was nice that you two didn’t bite each other’s heads off. Too much.”

Ashton let out a laugh, nodding along. “I’d say that’s progress.”

Much to Calum’s pleasure and surprise, Aspen had told him to invite the boys over last night for spaghetti Sunday, making more than enough to feed everyone. When Calum had responded with a taken aback raise of his eyebrows, Aspen had rolled her eyes and told him to stop being dramatic and call the guys over, and his three best friends arrived later that evening more than excited to spend time with them.

Aspen and Ashton got along a lot better than they had been for the past few months. After their conversation at Luna’s party, the two of them were a lot more civil with one another than they had been, although they were still moments where snappy remarks were exchanged over dinner, though that wasn’t too unexpected. Calum didn’t believe that the two of them would just move on overnight; it’d be a tentative, patient journey, but at least they were trying.

Above all, Calum appreciated that. He knew Ashton and Aspen had problems of their own, but if he and Aspen were able to work things out, Calum was sure she and Ashton would be fine, too. Because despite some of the heated moments that may have occurred last night, the rest of it was spent like they were friends, or were trying to be. Chatting, smiling, laughing—just trying to work past the differences they both had. Calum saw that. And he was so grateful for them both. He wanted his girlfriend and best friend to get along like they once had, and that dinner truly seemed like a step in the right direction.

                                                           *****

The room door clicked open, but Calum didn’t look away from Aspen’s sleeping face. He’d been in the room for about an hour, bottom numb from sitting in the uncomfortable chair, yet he refused to move—that wasn’t even an option. He was going to be here when Aspen woke up.

There had been a nurse that had come in a few minutes ago to check on Aspen’s vitals, and Calum had just assumed she’d returned for something else. Until he felt a hand on his shoulder and his best friend’s voice speak softly, “I know you don’t wanna leave her side, so can I get you anything? Water, tea?”

“I’m fine,” came Calum’s quiet response, dark eyes glued to Aspen, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. “Is Luna still asleep?”

“She just woke up,” Ashton answered with a small sigh. “Michael and Luke took her to the cafeteria for some ice cream to distract her, so I thought I’d check on you.”

Calum’s chest tightened at the news of Luna being awake, teeth pressing together under a clenched jaw. He suddenly felt conflicted; he wanted to check in on Luna, make sure his daughter was okay, but he also didn’t want to leave Aspen’s side. Didn’t want to bring Luna in here, either. His eyebrows drew together, shoulders tensing as he was struggling with what to do.

And as if Ashton could feel Calum’s internal war, he gave the brunette’s shoulder a squeeze. “We’ll take care of her. If she starts asking for you a lot, I’ll let you know.” Calum felt his muscles relax a bit, gratitude swarming him as he gave a silent nod. Ashton gave his shoulder a pat before stepping away. But instead of immediately leaving the room, the hazel eyed man stopped at the foot of his bed, and from his peripheral Calum could see Ashton gazing at Aspen. “She’ll wake up, Cal,” he spoke, voice coated with reassurance. “She has you and Luna to come back to.”

He left with that, and Calum rolled his lips into his mouth as he felt the familiar pressure behind his eyes once more.

It wasn’t until another fifteen minutes had passed when Calum’s teary yet sharp eyes noticed the subtlest of shifts in Aspen’s peaceful expression. He saw the way her breathing deepened as she slowly came to, eyebrows sleepily drawing together as his back straightened, chair close to the bed as he sat at the edge of his seat. It wasn’t until he felt her fingers squeeze around his that Calum let out a short gasp. “Aspen?”

It wasn’t until moments later when her eyes blinked open, his dark eyes coming into contact with beautiful green irises that he could finally breathe.

Glorious air rushed into Calum’s lungs as Aspen crawled out of her slumber, eyes blearily blinking and eyebrows drawing together as she tried to make sense of what happened. Suddenly remember what he needed to do, Calum quickly pressed the button next to the bed that would alert nurses and doctors, standing to his feet as he looked down at Aspen, her hand holding his with a bit more power.

“Hi, baby, hi,” Calum whispered, unable to speak at any higher of a volume, not wanting to disturb her or cause her any headaches. But, God, was it so wonderful to see her eyes again. “Do—D’you want some water?”

Slowly, Aspen nodded and Calum shifted so he could pour some into the plastic cup, a straw already in it as he held it in front of her mouth, guiding the straw into her mouth before she took some sips to moisten her throat. Once she was done and Calum put the cup away, Aspen hoarsely asked, “What happened?”

As if on cue, Dr. Shaw came into the room, smiling in satisfaction when she saw an awake Aspen. The next few minutes seemed to be a blur, Aspen’s mom and Richie walking in behind Dr. Shaw as she recounted to Aspen what had happened, going over the accident and the details of her injuries after making sure she was coherent and asking if Aspen felt any pain anywhere. There was a discomfort in her torso, which was to be expected because of the broken ribs, and only a slight headache to which Dr. Shaw said she’d give some pain medication. The entire time, Calum couldn’t leave her side.

It wasn’t until everyone else left the room—Mrs. Russo, Richie and Laila spending some time in there—that Calum finally voiced his fright. “I thought I lost you.” Aspen’s green eyes flickered to look at him, lips parting at the sight of the utter fear etched onto his face, a look she’d never seen before nor did she ever want to see again. He was standing at her side, her hand in his, as he frowned down at the mattress rather than meeting her gaze. The way his raspy voice shook when he spoke had Aspen swallowing. “They wouldn’t tell us anything for the longest time and I just—I didn’t know what to think. I thought you were gone again.”

“Hey, no,” Aspen immediately spoke up, wishing she could lean closer to him without her body protesting. Instead, Aspen let go of his hand, sliding it up his chest before gripping the front of his shirt to tug him closer. Calum met her gaze, dark eyes watery and red rimmed from the tears he must’ve shed earlier, making Aspen’s heart sink to the very bottom of her stomach. The fact that he was so scared of her leaving, again, brought on a sharper pain than any injury she was inflicted with. “I’m here, okay? Just a little banged up but still here.” Her hand slid up to cup his cheek, the scruff on his face and the softness of his skin one of her favorite things. Calum leaned into her touch. “No way was I about to leave you and Luna.”

She offered him a smile, unable to imagine the fear he’d been in. Aspen knew, if the situation was reversed, she’d be losing her Goddamn mind. Her heart fluttered as Calum pressed a kiss to the heel of her palm, sniffling before asking, “D’you want me to bring Luna in here? I know she wants to see you.”

Aspen’s immediate response was to say yes, lips parting to already spew the answer, before the word got caught in her throat in hesitance. “Am I—” she cut herself off, feeling stupid for even thinking it, but the twist in her gut making her force the words out. “You don’t think she’ll be scared of this? Of me?”

Her fingers had brushed along her face when Dr. Shaw was explaining the cuts, feeling the small jagged scars of the cuts that pierced her skin. They’d heal soon, she knew, but the last thing Aspen wanted to do was scare her five year old daughter. To make her think Mama was some kind of monster. The thought made her stomach churn uncomfortably, but she didn’t want to scar Luna the way the glass scarred her skin.

“Of course not,” Calum answered, frowning when he understood what Aspen was saying. “Cuts or not, you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, yeah? And I know Luna will definitely think so, too.” He smirked, small and boyish. “She’s my kid, after all.”

Aspen scoffed out a giggle, though tried not to laugh too much since it kind of hurt, as she pushed Calum away as he laughed as well. “Just go get my kid.”

Calum smiled, one of the first since that horrible phone call, feeling a lightness in his chest that he knew he’d feel at the sound of her voice and the sight of her eyes and smile. He told her a quick be right back before exiting the room, heading towards the waiting room where he immediately caught sight of Luna sitting on Luke’s lap, facing him as they played a round of patty cake.

“Lunes,” Calum announced his presence, catching the attention of her and his friends, grinning as Luna screeched Daddy! before scrambling off of Luke’s lap and running towards him. Calum grunted exaggeratedly as he bent down to pick her up. “Wanna go see Mama?”

At the mention of her mother, Luna nodded enthusiastically and Calum smiled before looking at his friends. “I really appreciate you guys staying here. Thank you.”

“No problem, Cal,” Michael immediately grinned. “We’ll come see Aspen in a bit, alright?”

Calum nodded, understanding that they were giving him and Aspen a moment with Luna, before he turned and took Luna to the room. As they approached it, though, Aspen’s words rung in Calum’s head, biting his lower lip at the insecurities she’d voiced. A few feet away from the door, Calum stopped and looked at Luna. “Hey, bug.” Her green eyes met his brown. “Mama’s a little hurt, okay? She’s gonna be fine, but she needs rest. She’s got some cuts on her face and her tummy hurts, so try not to jump on her, yeah?”

Luna, the ever wonderful listener, despite showing the worry in her eyes for her mother, nodded her head as she said, “Okay, Daddy.”

He kissed her temple, giving her a squeeze. “That’s my girl.” He walked to the door and opened it, grinning as he impishly looked at Aspen and announced dramatically, “Guess who came to visit!”

Aspen grinned happily, the sight of her giggling daughter brightening her face and uplifting her heart. Calum brought Luna over, sitting on the edge of his seat as he placed Luna on the bed, right next to Aspen, one arm around her back to ensure she didn’t fall off or something. “Hi, Mama,” Luna greeted excitedly, sitting on her knees. “I was waiting to see you but I fell asleep and then Uncle Luke and Uncle Mike took me to get ice cream.”

A breathless laugh escaped Aspen, Luna’s brief story bringing her more joy than she thought possible, the sound of Luna’s cute little lisp making Aspen’s heart beat just a bit quicker. “Really? What flavor did you eat?”

“Chocolate,” Luna answered. “Uncle Mike said vanilla is better but he’s wrong.” Calum snorted out a laugh at her matter-of-fact tone, exchanging an amused look with Aspen who pressed her lips together in a failed attempt to conceal her smile. Luna’s hand then came to lightly rest just above Aspen’s heart, calming down as she asked, “Mama, are you okay? Daddy said you were hurt.”

Calum chewed on his lower lip as Aspen’s expression softened, right hand cupping her daughter’s full cheek, never wanting any of her chubby cheeks to go away. “I’ll get better soon, bubba. Just need some rest and I’ll be good as new.”

“Are you gonna come home soon?” Luna asked as Aspen tucked some curls behind her ear. “Daddy and I can take care of you.”

Aspen smiled, eyebrows rising. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Luna nodded, turning her head to look at Calum expectantly. “Right, Daddy?”

“Right,” Calum agreed with a nod, standing up and behind Luna, letting her lean against his chest as his hand found Aspen’s. His heart was thundering up a storm in his chest, his girlfriend’s pretty green eyes meeting his brown ones as he put one arm around Luna, pressing her to him, though his gaze was on Aspen. “Wanna know why?”

Aspen gave his hand a squeeze, feeling a smile curl at her lips as she decided to play along and ask, “Why?”

Calum crouched down so his chin was resting on Luna’s small shoulder, obviously not putting his entire weight there, her curls tickling him and his curls tickling her. He looked at Aspen, who was smiling at both him and their little girl, and Calum decided that he’d spend too much of today in fear and worry to spend another second about fretting over anything else. Didn’t want another second to go by where he didn’t let the true extent of his feelings known to the person his heart belonged to.

So he smiled, true and honest and utterly genuine. “Because we love her.”

Calum watched as Aspen processed his words, caught the second they hit her as her smile faltered so her expression could fall into one of breathless shock, green eyes widening as she gaped at him. He watched the way her lips parted and throat worked, wanted to smile at the surprise on her face, wanted to kiss it away and replace it with complete reassurance that, yes, he loved her.

Maybe it was the emotions from the day or from the confession itself or both, but Aspen’s eyes turned glassy, rolling her lips into her mouth and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Calum as she asked in a whisper, “You do?”

Luna nodded enthusiastically, understandably not picking up on the intense moment her parents were sharing, and both Aspen and Calum let out a small laugh at her as Aspen ran her her down Luna’s curls. Her gaze returned to Calum, and there was an overwhelming fullness in her chest she couldn’t explain. Like all the air was rushing back, like she felt whole again.

“Of course,” Calum responded, his voice soft and smile just as charming. “Never stopped.”

Aspen nodded, more to herself than anyone else as she let herself revel in this, her cheeks beginning to hurt already from the smile splitting them. She wanted to cry, to laugh, to scream because the man she loved—it hadn’t even been a realization for her, just a fact—loved her right back and he never stopped? After everything, he never stopped loving her? 

How perfect. She never stopped loving him, either.

Aspen let him know just that, and Luna was not at all complaining being stuck between her parents as they shared a kiss that said more than words could ever hope to.

tags: @crownedbyluke @rishlo @bitchinbabylon @ghostofcalum @dxmncalum @letsfxckindance @unsexilexi @calumthoodsyonce @grreatgooglymoogly @therainydays4 @sadbreakfast-club @lifeakaharry @codycasperky2 @calntynes @complete-trash-101 @kinglyhemmings @empathycth @friendly-neighborhood-michelle @cxddlyash @checkeredcalum @lovelettercalum @nostalgia-luke @captain-what-is-going-on @slimthicccal @bloodytbs @miahelizaaabeth @ghostofhood @elsysoza @writing-in-riverdale @tourettesboi @angelbbycal @bbteamlove @xoforeverx @stfujace @thebodaciouscth @helplesshood @runawaywithme-xo @lietomemyvalentine @emma070900 @cosmixcalum @babygirlcashton @calumamongmen @5sos-stan4lyfe @ihatemyself21 @lipstickstainfading @crystalisinfinite @misskarynie @wrappedaroundcal @wcstethenights @michealcliffturd @akacalciumhood @poppedpins @dollbitxhes @5saucewho @hearts-to-the-sky @booklove-2 @walkedhomealone @andreabjoerg @qualitylu @softboycal @early-thoughts @5saucefanfic @dher216 @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @babyloniancal @xlov3quotingx @aybbblondie @rexorangecouny @flowerchild8341 @romanticalumhood @kaxseychill @babyloncalm @calistheloml @calumh-excess @egyptiangoldhood @irwinkitten @soulmatecashton @gettingjillywithit @asht0ns-world @visualm3nte @xhaileyreneex @cal-pal-cuddles @invisiblexcth @cliffordcntrl @calumsmermaid @5secondssofssummer @cals-babylons @mysteriouslycali @hoodcentral @cathartichaoss @inlovehoodx @gigglyirwin @roselukes @thepixiedreambitch @calumhoodless @paqueretteash @antisocialbandmate @sunnysidesblog @escap0-with-me @thewhitestbitch-u-know @rosecoloredash @biwriting @calteahood @2k17muke @theagenderwhocriedwolf @caelumhood @kinglycalum @fucking5sos @ohhmuke @ghostofch @isabella-mae13 @5secsofsomewhere @tupeloohoneyy @sublimehood @shower-me-with-roses @hotmessmichael @pauliip @jetblackyoungblood @astroashtonio @valentinelrh @softforcal @glitterprincelu @meetashthere @hereforlukescruff @old-zeppelin-shirt 

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (6)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Buckets of fluff.

A/N: Bucky’s reaction to the story takes her by surprise, a poor old truck gets hot-wired, and Bucky uses an ax because if Steve can do it so can he. Here’s what happens after the reveal. After this chapter, things take a turn for the angsty (shocking I know), so please bathe in the fluff while it’s here.  

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

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Previously...

Just like that, he offers his whole heart and she gives hers freely in return. Both know their world is dark and unforgiving, and this war could make liars of them both, but neither cares. To find love in this bleak life is a rare opportunity and the temptation is too strong.

Bucky kisses her one last time and rises to his feet. She watches him pause at her bedroom door to give one more crooked smile, and then the door is clicking shut and he’s gone. Alone again, she curls into a ball under the heavy blankets.

It’s hell, she thinks, to love a soldier.

Burying her face in the faded green pillow, her heartbroken tears fall fast and thick, soaking silently into the soft cotton.

*****

MISSION REPORT

LAST MISSION PARAMETERS RECALLED AND RE-ACTIVATED. APPROPRIATE TOOLS COMMANDEERED TO ADDRESS ISSUES AND SECURE ADDITIONAL SUPPORT. SECOND ATTEMPT AT CONTACT WILL BE UNDERTAKEN BEFORE PROCEEDING WITH FINAL PLAN.

He fingers the blunt edge of the tool. Scratches his temple with it and closes his eyes.

His whole body is shaking.

His whole body is sweating.

Now he digs that blunt metal into his temple until the skin splits. A thin line of blood follows the path of his jawline, dripping into his lap.

*****

Is it really any different than the morning he left? Orange flames dance in the fireplace, a comforting tune. The fire is soothing, but the silence is the opposite – thick, heavy, and colored with confusion.

Bucky sits in the armchair. Elbows propped up, one metal, one human, both digging painfully into his thighs, he keeps his face buried in his hands. There’s a dull throbbing in his head and for the first time he can remember, he has a fucking headache. The door in his head, the one that opens into the past when the memories come calling, is still shut tight. He can feel them behind it, pounding like a battering ram to break free, but nothing happens.

The door stays closed, the past stays hidden.

And he stays perfectly still.

The leather of her chair creaks as she rises to her feet, walking to the bookcase without a word. Dropping his hands, Bucky watches her select a fat novel from the bottom shelf. When she turns to face him, he sees her open it to reveal a hollow space - inside lies yet another small lockbox. Scrolling through the dial, she selects a series of numbers and it clicks open. Pulling free a thick packet of paper, she sets it gingerly on the coffee table and steps back to wait.

In front of him lies a pile of envelopes, cracked and yellowed with age. Raising wary eyes, he finds her watching at him, her posture rigid.

“I just threw everything at you. I’m sorry, Bucky. I don’t know what I thought would happen, maybe I should have told you in the beginning, but the last time we met you didn’t know, so I wasn’t sure at first and then I didn’t know how to say it and then time passed and it was so – it was nice to have you here and I didn’t want to freak you out and I know life is completely different now, neither of us are who we were during the war, you don’t – ” she breaks off, aware she’s rambling.

Shaking her head, she just stops. Stares beseechingly at him, waiting.

There’s his cue, the one telling him to speak.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes. He closes it, staring at her. Then he tries again – but his voice is gone. Shaking his head, he looks back at the letters.

“Okay,” she whispers, and he hears a catch in her breath. “Okay. I don’t – expect anything. You don’t have to respond. I can just – give you some space.”

She walks to the front door of the cabin and gathers her coat from the rough wooden peg. Hand on the doorknob, she looks back once more to find him hunched immobile on the couch, staring at the pile of paper, and her shoulders fall.

Cold air breezes through the door and then it snicks shut. Like always, Bucky is left with nothing but the echoing silence of his thoughts.

Long moments pass before he reaches for the letters. A thin, dirty white string binds them together and it takes several tugs to release. The paper crackles warningly under his fingers, a result of old age and frequent readings, and he handles them gently. Selecting an envelope from the top, he opens it carefully, unfolding a delicate sheet of paper.

It’s like an electric shock, when he sees the writing.

Faded letters spill across the page, narrow words in a firm backhand slant that Bucky recognizes. So many things about him have changed over the years, but his handwriting was never one of them. Through the decades it’s remained the same, unalterable as the blue of his eyes and that small bit of constancy was a weird blessing to his fractured sanity.

One sweep of the letters and there’s no doubt in his mind. They’re from him. That fact is irrefutable.

His eyes scan down the page, picking out snippets of text. Occasional words and phrases are redacted, inked over in swipes of black where the US Army got exasperated hands on his stories, but most of it is there.

And there, in the warm little cabin, the truth of her memories shines like a beacon in the darkness of his past.

February 27, 1944

…so damn cold up here. I had ice in places I’d rather not say.

I swear to god, there’s nothing I’d like more right now than to be back in your arms. Can’t stop thinking about our last night – the boys are giving me hell every day, telling me to stop mooning around, but you make it real damn hard to think of anything else.

Sure as hell won’t say it in front of those idiots, but I got to thinking the other night and I don’t know what it is you bring out in me, but I figure you’ll indulge me getting all sappy for a minute. That morning we headed out, I left something pretty damn important behind - so I’m asking you to hold real tight to my heart darlin. You stole it fair and square that day we met, and I know there ain’t a safer place in the world than in your hands. 

Stay warm and stay safe.

Love,

Jimmy

May 2, 1944

…and I don’t know if I’ve ever laughed so hard! We’d set up a row of bottles we found and were throwing Delilah around, trying to knock them off and G got a little cocky. Tried to throw it behind his back and it ricocheted off a god damn tree, hit him in the knees and knocked his legs out. He fell face first, got a mouthful of mud and I swear to god, we laughed for an hour. Every time I thought we were done, G got this look on his face, acting all high and mighty, and it set us off again. He recovered just fine, but his knees were bruised all black and purple. It’s good for him though, keeps him humble.

G says hello, by the way, and hopes you’re doing well.

And now the rest of them are hanging over my shoulder and asking if they can all come over someday and you can make them that potato soup you made for me, and I’m sorry, I promise I’ll find new friends when this damn war is over…

Love,

Jimmy

July 23, 1944

You know, the first thing I want to do when I get home, is go to one of those drive-in movie theaters. I don’t know if you’ve heard of them, they’re new in America, but it’s a real basic idea - there’s a big screen and you drive into a parking lot and watch a movie from the car. It sounds weird, but I went once and it was great. And good lord, the teenagers love it. They pretend to watch a movie and spend the entire time getting all frisky, and no one’s the wiser.

So, here’s what I’m thinking.

You. Me. A big box of popcorn and a couple bottles of Pepsi. It’s dark outside and once the movie starts, no one will pay us any attention. Maybe we watch the movie, or even better - maybe we don’t. I can’t think of anything I’d love more, than spending two straight hours kissing you. You’re already an addiction for me darlin, but add a little salt to your lips, and I don’t think you’ll ever get rid of me. We could steam up the windows, give those kids a run for their money. I can’t wait to show you.

You’re going to love it, I promise.

Love,

Jimmy

September 18, 1944

Morning Darlin,

I’m on watch and it’s early, suns not even up yet. Should be paying attention and I am (I swear!), but the stars are so damn bright and like everything beautiful in this world, they make me think of you. You know, I never understood how many stars there were until I got to Europe. Never saw much of anything growing up, the city lights were too much. Now though, I sit here, and there’s this – infinity, I guess – staring back at me and it makes me feel small. Like I’m this tiny thing in the universe and why the hell would the universe care about one more soldier with a busted conscience and too many kills to his name.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s okay, in the grand scheme of the world. I don’t need to be famous or remembered or anything. I’m okay being one of many, because there’s a big damn difference between me and every other schmuck out here sweating and humping through the mud.

That big difference is you. This thing we have, it keeps me going. Every damn day.

Your last letter came just when I needed it. Been real hard out here lately. More than it’s ever been. How the hell’s this thing not over? How’d the world get here? I don’t understand it. Never will. All I know, is that I’m so damn ready to hang up my gun and put this all behind me. No more killing, no more tramping through the rain and camping in the snow. No more sleeping with a gun in one hand a knife in the other. I know it does no good to complain and I don’t want to put it on you. Guess I’m just tired.

But you know, I’ve been thinking about the future lately. What life will mean when this thing ends, how we all move on. What happens next. Sometimes I can’t see much past the next mission, but god willing, I’ll see you soon. There’s something important I want to ask you and I need to see your face when I do.

Wish I was there with you.

All my love,

Jimmy

Bucky reads through 12 different letters. When he finishes, he starts back at the beginning and reads them all again.

These words, these promises - they turn him inside out.

On the surface, perhaps some of the words make no sense, but wartime correspondence is unique - no names, no locations, nothing permitted that could be an identifier if letters were intercepted by the enemy. So maybe Bucky doesn’t remember writing these specific letters, but history and common sense tell him enough.

Which is why certain things buried in those simple words are so important – they trigger the patchy album of memories Steve’s given back to him, and it all begins to make sense.

Particularly those names.

Delilah. During the war, it’s what the Howlies called Steve’s shield. Steve got all red and flustered when he grudgingly reminded Bucky, saying Dugan liked to joke it needed a pretty, fancy name, because ‘oh gee whiz boys, Captain Rogers is so pretty and fancy.’ Bucky still calls it that now and then, a muscle memory screech that bursts unconsciously forth when he’s diving to the ground, trying to avoid a vibranium concussion as Steve flings it around the room.

G. That must be Steve. It makes sense in the context. His middle name was Grant, and very few people would have known. It wasn’t released to the public until after his plane went down, so it would have been hard to decipher.

And god dammit all to hell. Jimmy.

Bucky Barnes was a blood-soaked legend throughout the European theatre, and his quirky name was instantly recognizable. But Jimmy - it was one of those silly things that popped up when half the Commando unit had the name James. A silly moniker, one only used for messages and mission reports.

Now here it is in another context. Exactly like Steve told him.

The strange thing though, is that even with these letters and her story and confirmation from Steve’s tales - there are still no memories of her that he can recall. Normally they come flooding back when someone hands him information like she’s done, but they’re still inaccessible in his brain and that fact sits bitter in his stomach. All he can claim are the tentative words offered from her heart, through these quiet recollections and worn handwriting scrawled across yellowed paper.

But the icy rock lodged in his gut begins to melt when it dawns on him.

Before everything, before he fell from that train, before his life crashed and burned, he had something. He had someone. He had a life and a future and a woman who loved him.

He was in love with someone.

His brain still refuses to show him the past, but his heart – that’s another matter. Like an iron fist, muscle memory grips him and the curtain lifts. It’s a god damn tragedy that he can’t remember her, that he can’t recall the feel of her lips or the scent of her skin or any of the words she must have gifted him in her letters. It’s a tragedy and he’ll never forgive himself, but in this moment, he realizes that it’s okay.

This is why his breath catches every time she smiles at him. This is why he felt his stomach plunge the first time she spoke. This is why her laugh sets his blood on fire.

Because his heart never forgot her. Not once, not for a single moment.

Against all odds, across the endless chasm of space and time, they found each other again. Maybe this is it. Maybe after all the shit he’s been dealt, Fate decided to lift her endless ban on allowing Bucky Barnes a measure of happiness.

Maybe Fate is giving them another chance.

Well if that’s the case, he’s sure as god damn hell not going to lose it.

“Shit,” he breathes, jumping to his feet. Flying to the door, he throws it open, panicked she’s somehow slipped away, disappeared and left him all alone.

And then he skids to a stop.

Wrapped in her fluffy winter coat, she sits huddled on the front steps. At the sound of the door, she stumbles to her feet and spins to face him. Her hands are clenched in tight fists at her side and there is such naked, desperate hope in her eyes. To be seen, to be loved.

To be remembered.

Bucky steps slowly onto the porch. Cautiously, as though he’s afraid she could shatter, he reaches for her. Burning hot palms lay gently on her frozen cheeks, wandering blue eyes search every inch of her face, and he hears her breath snap harshly.

He leans closer, lets gentle lips ghost over her forehead, over fluttering eyelids, over the tip of her nose, to the softness of her lips. Searching, searching, searching, searing the scent of her skin back into his brain. When he touches hesitant lips to hers, he feels her mouth open to him, and he drinks up her shaky breath with a contented sigh.

Pulling back, he looks into wide eyes brimming with fierce, terrified love. Without a second thought, he lays himself at her mercy and begs the forgiveness he should have requested decades ago.

“I’m here. I’m here now, and I’m so god damn sorry I took so long.” Rubbing his thumb lightly over her lips, he stares in wonder. His gaze roams hungrily over her face, drinking in the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the curve of her lips. Every detail he never knew he missed until suddenly he did. “I see you. I see all of you. Let me memorize it, I never want to forget again.”

In the next moment, her shoulders begin to tremble. Small tremors at first, until her whole body is shaking, her breath rattling in her lungs, and the dam breaks.

“Bucky,” she whispers and her voice cracks, the sob ripping from her throat. “Bucky.”

Gravity brings them together, two dying stars collapsing into each other. He folds her in his arms and in the steel cage of his body, protected against the world, she lets go and she cries. She cries for everything.

For her past. For Bucky. For the life they could have had and for everything they lost. For all the secrets and hiding and half-truths. For everything both of them have done. For the decades spent apart, the solitude she fell into, and the horrors he endured.

Tears pour out, great heaving sobs and she burrows into him, the first real taste of heat she’s felt since that barren Parisian apartment at the dawning of 1970. His hands rub up and down her back, and he hushes her softly, murmuring soothing words again and again.

“You’re okay, I’m here, I got you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not letting go.”

Gently picking her up, he slips back into the warmth of the living room, locking the door against the cold night. Stepping carefully to the couch, he falls into the velvety cushions, hugging her close. She sobs seventy years of heartbreak against his chest, and Bucky rocks her, answering her pain with hot, silent tears dripping down his cheeks.

*****

The night crawls by, a full white moon traveling a slow arc above the small cabin, while he cradles her in his arms. In the final hour before dawn, he rises from the couch.

Emotionally drained, she fell asleep hours ago. Now, she curls into him as he carries her up the stairs to her bed. Unwilling to let go for even a moment, he keeps her tucked to his chest when he sinks into the soft pillows. In the depths of sleep, she hugs him tighter, winding herself around him.

Where does he end, and where does she begin? It’s impossible to define.

Her refusal to let go is fine with him. Bucky doesn’t plan to leave anytime soon.

In her sleep, she sighs in contentment, because for the first time in a lifetime, she feels warm. Safe and protected, she doesn’t need a pile of blankets.

Bucky is enough.

*****

Light filters through the tall evergreens outside her window and when she wakes, she’s surrounded by heat. Opening puffy eyes, she finds Bucky lying beside her, bright eyes calm and watchful.

“Good morning,” he whispers.

“Bucky?” she whispers, disbelief clear in her eyes. “You’re still here?”

He runs a light finger down her cheek. “I meant it. I’m not going anywhere.”

There they are, the words she’s wanted her entire life. She has no clue if they’ll fade away, but for now, she lets herself believe him, because hope feels so much softer than the black abyss of depression.

“You’ll stay?” she repeats numbly. Needing to hear the words one more time.

“I’ll stay,” he answers, his fingers still brushing her skin. “Long as you’ll let me. We have a love story to remember.”

*****

So, he stays.

Bit by bit, they begin to discover who they are now, after decades apart. Bit by bit, she offers small memories that he clings to with ferocious enthusiasm. Bit by bit, they find the new rhythm of a life together.

And bit by bit, they fall back in love.

*****

Gripping a mug of coffee between fingerless gloved fingers, she gives him a dubious look.

“Have you ever chopped wood before?”

“Nah, but how hard can it be?” Bucky shrugs, hefting the ax. “Steve said he did it. I can do it.”

He balances a chunk of wood on the stump and scrutinizes it from all angles, before choosing his approach. Lining up the blade, he takes aim and with a smooth swing, slices it neatly in two.

His eyes dance excitedly when he looks at her. “I feel like this could be cathartic. Can I keep going?”

She looks at the huge pile of logs stacked behind him. “Knock yourself out.”

He considers her for a moment and then stands up a fat log, twisting it to sit level in the snow, away from any bark shrapnel, but close enough he can see her.

“Keep me company?” he asks.

She plops happily on the log, savoring the image of his tall, heavily muscled form. “Anytime,” she says softly.

*****

“I saw in that journal, you watched the moon landing? Back in ’68?”

Her eyes light up. “I did. It was unbelievable.”

“Wish I could’ve seen it,” Bucky says wistfully. “Would’ve been so cool.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, “it really was.”

The ax embeds in the stump with a thwack and he wipes his forehead with his sleeve. He comes over to her and leans down, his mouth warm when it touches hers.

“You were right,” he admits. “I’d have signed up with NASA in a heartbeat, if I could’ve.”

“I thought you might,” she murmurs against his lips and he hums.

“Hey. Would you go up to space with me?”

She kisses the tip of his nose. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”

*****

“Since you’ve come back, what’s the strangest mission you’ve been on?”

Bucky contemplates the question, while he searches for the perfect chunk of wood.

“Well, last year there was this one where a crazy ass botanist engineered this breed of super Venus Fly Traps that came to life.”

“A crazy what? No.”

“Dead serious. It caught me in the middle of the fight and broke its teeth on my arm,” he says, shuddering. “Got all this sticky saliva shit on me. So fucking gross. When I got home, I threw away all the plants in the Tower, you know. Just in case.”

She presses her lips together, but a fit of hysterical giggles makes her double-over, clutching her stomach.

“Cross my heart,” Bucky insists. He plants his hands on his hips and pulls a face. “I can’t believe you’re laughing, I was terrified!”

*****

“Tell me more things about you,” he grunts as he swings the ax. “Like for instance, why did you keep a bunch of t-shirts from Bon Jovi’s 1986 tour?”

Looking over to her, he finds her eyes comically wide. Deer in the headlights. He can practically see her mind racing while she debates the answer.

“Um. Okay, so listen,” she starts, and Bucky feels a silly grin beginning. “No, stop. I mean it. Bucky, shut up!”

Laughter spills out at her embarrassment.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles. “I won’t laugh. I’m interested. Just wanna hear more about you. Continue. Please.”

Arms crossed, she sighs heavily and shoots him an embarrassed look.

“Look, it’s not that big a deal. I may have had a crush on Bon Jovi. Okay? It was 1986 and I loved that album and his voice was so sexy and he had this beautiful hair, and I just – you promised you wouldn’t laugh!”

She grabs a piece of wood and throws it at his leg and he laughs harder.

*****

After a long day of chopping wood, her shed is bursting at the seams. Warm and cozy on her couch, Bucky stares off into space, while she sits beside him, absorbed in a book.

“Did I get blood all over the seats in your truck?” he asks suddenly.

Wrinkling her nose, she glances up and gives him an apologetic look. “Yeah. You did. I need to get it cleaned. Or buy seat covers, so I don’t have to explain why it looks like a murder scene.”

“Ugh,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs good-naturedly and grins. “I don’t mind. Least no one will steal it.”

She goes back to her book. He goes back to spacing off.

“But you have another truck in that old shed, right? Didn’t I see one?”

“Yes, an old clunker from the ‘50s. It hasn’t run for years though.”

“Hmm.”

Bemused, her lips quirk up. “Any reason you’re asking?”

“Just thinking,” he mumbles vaguely.

He goes back to spacing off. She goes back to her book.

Two minutes later, he jumps up and she topples over into the cushions. Looking down, he rubs his mouth while she untangles herself from her blanket.

“Shit. Sorry. Got an idea,” he says, offering her a hand. Pulling her to her feet, he starts collecting the multitude of blankets strewn about the living room, folding them into piles. Tucking them under his arm, he heads into the kitchen, rummaging in the cabinet for a bottle of wine and two plastic cups. Striding over to the front door, he sets the pile down and grabs her winter coat, extending it out without a word.

“What is this?” she asks suspiciously, shrugging into the coat. Bucky takes a knobby wool scarf from a hook and helps her wrap it securely around her throat.

“Get your gloves,” he replies. “And those furry snow boots.”

Finally buttoned up, he appraises her from head to toe, satisfied with the result. Grabbing his own coat, he pulls it carelessly on, picks up the pile of blankets and wine, and opens the door.

“Follow me,” he says, heading down the porch.

Stomping toward the rickety garage near the cabin, he pulls open the doors and props them open. Sitting in the small space, is an old light blue Land Rover.

Bucky takes her puffy gloved hand and pulls her to the passenger side door. Opening it with a dramatic flourish, he nods for her to get in.

“It doesn’t even run, Bucky,” she argues, climbing up into the dusty seats.

Bucky goes to the driver’s door and slides inside. Giving her a grin, he flips the flashlight on his phone and hands it to her, lighting up the interior of the cab while he reaches blindly below the steering column.

“Any chance you got a screwdriver?”

“I do, actually,” she answers, flipping open the glove box to snag the wobbly screwdriver that went to die there years ago. But where it’s normally nestled, she finds only blank space.

She blinks. How strange. When was the last time she was even in this truck?

“No matter,” Bucky grunts, and with a few strategic jerks, he pulls the metal cover away. A nest of tangled wires falls loose, ribbons of white and red and yellow. She shines the light on his fiddling, and with a practiced hand, he selects several and strips the ends until they fray. Tapping them together a few times, she hears the sharp crackle of electric current and suddenly the ancient truck sputters to life.

“What? How?” she asks excitedly. “How’d you do that?”

Bucky grins and tucks the wires away. The gas gauge shows a nearly full tank, so he fiddles with the dials and cranks the heat up full blast. It smells like wet leaves and a hint of motor oil, but there’s a welcome nostalgia to the scent. Unfolding the blankets, Bucky wraps one around her shoulders, and spreads another over their laps. He situates her legs across his thighs and wraps an arm around her.

“Reading those letters, I saw I made you a promise. Said I’d take you to a drive-in movie. Here we are, seventy god forsaken years later, and I still haven’t taken you on a date. Seems overdue,” he thumbs through the video app on his phone until he finds an old favorite. Pressing play, he props it up on the dash and turns to her with a crooked smile. “This is my favorite movie. Thinkin’ you might like it too.”

The screen is blank and then a tornado of sound surrounds them and big white letters flash across a black and white screen.

“Oh,” she sighs delightedly. Humming contentedly, he drops a kiss to her forehead and she lays her head on his shoulder, while the opening theme from The Wizard of Oz begins to play. “You’re amazing Bucky Barnes.”

“Well, that’s what I’m always telling people,” he agrees, his voice sweet against her skin. “I’m glad you agree.”

Watching the movie together is an experience. Bucky hums along to the music while she repeats the dialogue under her breath. The movie is clearly an old hat for them both, and the familiarity is comforting.

It’s not until Dorothy’s skipping down the yellow brick road in her sparkly red shoes, that she notices he’s gone quiet. Glancing at him, she finds blue eyes riveted on her. A slow smile spreads over his face, and he leans down to leave a featherlight kiss at the corner of her mouth; then the hinge of her jaw; then the smooth spot behind her ear.

“I thought we were watching a movie,” she murmurs, tilting her head to offer up the curve of her neck.

“But we’re at the drive-in,” Bucky answers, his lips tracing the shell of her ear. She shivers at the feel and tries to scoot closer. “This is what the kids do. They ignore the show and make out, right?”

“Yes, I think I read that somewhere,” she replies breathlessly. “A letter I had from a rather charming soldier. Some American, I think.”

Rubbing his scratchy face along her neck, he makes a disapproving noise and his teeth nip her ear.

“Charming American soldier, huh? What’s his name? I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“No ass kicking.” She pokes him in the belly and he grunts a surprised laugh. “I sort of like him.”

*****

The truck still idles along, while the windows have long since fogged over. Dorothy makes it back to Kansas safe and sound, returned to a world of black and white. There’s no place like home, Bucky hears the voiceover in the background. Immersed in reacquainting himself with the taste of her lips, he agrees.

There really is no place like home.

*****

“Was it always like this?” he murmurs the next night. Laying face-down on the couch, his face is nuzzled in her lap, his arms wound around her waist. Cool fingers scratch lightly at his scalp and he rubs against her like a cat.

“Well, you were a little sappy sometimes,” she teases. “But I loved it.”

Muffled laughter rumbles deep in his chest and he hugs her tighter.

“This feels so easy. Never thought I’d get something like this.”

“Sometimes you get lucky, I guess. You fit with someone, like they were made for you. That was us.”

“I just wish I could remember.” Disappointment vibrates in every syllable. “All those years with Hydra, that shit’s coming back. Nightmares and — memories of what I did to people. I don’t understand why that’s there, and my stupid ass brain refuses to give me you.”

Her hand pauses briefly, before resuming the gentle strokes.

“I know,” she says, and Bucky hears the thread of sorrow wound through her words. “None of this was fair. You deserved so much more than what they did and I - I’m so sorry Bucky.”

“No, don’t. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” He rolls onto his back and pillows his head in her lap. His expression is dark when he grinds out the words. “I just left you. Fell off a fuckin’ train and left you alone. I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

For the longest time, she doesn’t speak. Lost in thought, she gazes out the living room windows, fingers still absently stroking his hair. When she finally looks down, he sees ancient resignation in her face.

“Listen to me. I never want you to apologize Bucky, it was a war. I walked into loving you with my eyes wide open and I don’t regret a single day. I never have. You were worth it.” She pauses, and a strange look comes over her face, an odd blend of sadness and regret and - fear. It disappears as quickly as it comes, and her voice drops to a low whisper. “I’m full of memories. After all these years, after everything I - after being alone for so long. Sometimes I think I’ll drown from them.”

Drowning in the past. There’s a feeling he knows. Curling his fingers around the back of her neck, he tugs her face down.

“Give them to me then,” he breathes against her lips. “I get it. Better than anyone. Remembering things, sometimes it’s a burden. You don’t have to do it alone. I’m with you now, let me help.”

The sentiment breaks her heart.

She says nothing. She kisses him instead.

*****

In the middle of the night, watching the stars wink through the window of her bedroom, she lays awake and thinks.

Bucky is sprawled on his stomach beside her, still dressed in his old sweats and his Captain America shirt. One arm is curved tight around her waist, a leg thrown over her knee, his deep even breaths warm against her neck. It’s funny, she muses. He sleeps the same as he did during their brief time together in 1944. With his nose to her skin and his limbs clutching her tight. Like her softness is the balm he needs to combat the horrors that come for him in his dreams.

It’s strange, in a way. He knows her more intimately than anyone on Earth. Emotionally. Physically. But even with a knowledge of what they used to be, he keeps a tight rein on his desire, nothing more than chaste brushes of his fingers that leave her restless for more. But while his hands may be innocent, his kisses still leave her breathless - they’re untamed, wild and enthusiastic, overflowing with passion. Before though, where his lips carried a hint of frantic panic, now there’s one big difference.

They have time. Something they never had before.

There’s no miserable march back into the suffocating arms of war. No desperate need to hide from Hydra after a stolen rendezvous in the night. Time is finally on their side, to rebuild his memories of their past, to create new memories together. An infinite world of opportunities sits before them and she revels in that fact.

Beneath it all though, remains that nagging flicker of fear.

Because as happy as she is now, she’s terrified of the future and the possibility it could all end once more. After finding him again, after slipping back into his arms, after falling in love again, she knows if he were to leave now? It would break her for good. There’d be no coming back from it. Life has stolen him from her too many times already.

This time, hope would not be enough to tether together the shattered remnants of a heart.

Shifting deeper into the pillows, he hugs her tighter. His lips brush her skin and he presses a sleepy kiss to her shoulder.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbles groggily.

“Just thinking,” she whispers. “I’m okay, go back to sleep.”

Bucky hums in drowsy agreement and goes quiet. Minutes pass and his breathing resumes the steady pattern and she resumes her dreary train of thought.

What is it, about the middle of the night, she wonders drily, that makes your brain relive the worst parts of your life?

On and on it goes. The steady beat of his heart, the heat of his skin, the dangerous trajectory of her thoughts. Until his soft voice breaks the silence of the night, pulling her back to the present.

“Can you tell me another story? Another memory about us?”

Another memory. A simple request. Memories are the one thing she can always do.

“What do you want to know?” she asks, petting his tangled mess of hair.

“Everything. Tell me more of our love story,” he murmurs, his voice raspy with sleep. He snuggles impossibly closer. “I wanna know it all.”

I wanna know it all. An innocent request.

There are so many things she wants to tell him. Things she needs to tell him. But those words, those memories, they’re buried too deep and she can’t. Unearthing them would destroy her.

Instead, her mind weaves through their love story, pulling forward a memory she’s replayed a thousand times before. The memory of his one other visit to the village, right before their world went pear-shaped. She was hesitant to tell him about that night, about the question he asked, because she knows he’s not the same. They’re not the same and she doesn’t want him to think -

But her heart beats faster.

Twisting a lock of his hair around her finger, she gropes for the right words, his fingers stroking lightly down her arm.

I wanna know it all.

In the middle of the night, watching the stars wink through the window of her bedroom, she takes a deep breath.

*****

Next chapter

*****

Tags are open right now, if you want one, please send me a DM or ASK.

[doubledeaky]

The Other Woman

Roger Taylor x Female!Reader Smut

A/N: Hi, everyone! In honor of it being my birthday, have this quick Roger fic inspired by the song “The Other Woman,” by Lana Del Rey. Hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback is very much appreciated!

Summary: Roger is yours most nights, but you want him always. You know you can’t, but it doesn’t stop you from wishing things were different.

Word Count: 1,643 words (including lyrics) 

Warnings: light smut, angst, and infidelity 

The other woman has time to manicure her nails

You smile at the bright red color coating your nails; Roger loves this color on you. He says it suits your complexion better than any other hue.

The other woman is perfect where her rival fails

He calls you beautiful often, over the phone and in person. He says your features rival that of Aphrodite and the compliment has your cheeks heating intensely.

And she’s never seen with pin curls in her hair, anywhere

You love to look your best for him. You love the way he eyes you hungrily, the way his gaze softens when you enter a room.

The other woman enchants her clothes with French perfume

You always wear that scent for him, spraying it over your sternum. It has him nuzzling into your neck without fail, his teeth nipping softly at the skin of your clavicle.

The other woman keeps fresh cut flowers in each room

He says they brighten up the formally dreary feel of your home. He says the house should match the resident. He calls you his flower and you wear the badge proudly.

There are never toys that’s scattered everywhere.

Roger enjoys not having to step over toys when he comes over. He enjoys the quiet and he enjoys you. You do so much to satisfy him, but it’s never enough to make him stay. He always retreats before dawn breaks and your eyes have fluttered opened under the morning sun. He always goes back to the “normal” life he lives, the life he lives without you.

And when her old man comes to call

“Fuck, I need you.” He grunts into the south end of his phone, quiet as to not alert his wife sat oblivious in the next room. You grin, cheek pressed into your palm as your other hand grips the phone lazily.

“Come and get me.” You whisper in an obscenely sultry tone, equally as quiet. As if some unseen force in the room would pick up on the impending infidelity dancing along the telephone connection. You hear shuffling then a faint click as the line goes dead. Your lips stretch over your teeth as you lay back, arms stretching above your head and stomach swimming with desire. Despite your growing want for Roger, there is always that sharp twinge of guilt laced throughout your nerves. When Roger whispers sinful thoughts into the phone, his loving wife is reading peacefully in their shared bed. When Roger lies defiantly in your embrace, his children go to bed without a goodnight from their father. It’s always an afterthought, you only remember the force that tethers Roger to the ground after you’ve already severed the connection.

He finds her waiting like a lonesome queen

When a faint knocking sounds from the front door you know it’s him purely by instinct, it’s a certain rhythm, a certain urgency that reminds you he has to be quick. Nevertheless, you still call out to him. You still invite him into the realm in which he’s violated the sanctity of his marriage so many times previous. His gaze is dark and filled with only want. You’re perched atop your white silken sheets, legs already spread for him. His features are rigid and he’s biting his lip with enough force to pierce the flesh. He climbs onto the mattress, sighing as his face settles into the crook of your neck, his breathy heavy and hot. The sensation sends a shiver climbing up your spine and the delicate moan that escapes your parted lips is divine music to Roger’s well-versed ears. He groans softly, his cock already straining painfully against the material of his trousers.

“God, I’ve missed you.”

“You don’t have to anymore.” You whisper, taking his face into your manicured hands and kissing him with a rushed fervor. He needs no further coercion, already working dark, purple marks into the smooth skin of your neck. You gasp, the heat in your belly growing unbearable as his groin brushes against you, stoking a dying flame deep within you. You grasp at the material of his shirt, desperate for him to shed it. He does, grasping at the material of your bra, silently begging you to mirror his actions and you do. His eyes widen, still not accustomed to the sight of you bare before him. His lips mouth at the swell of your breast while his left hand cups the other, thumb swiping against your nipple softly. You inhale sharply, the sounds leaving you stuttered and broken.

“Please, Rog.” You beg, lacing both hands into his golden blonde hair. He moans lowly, the sensation running through his scalp sends blood straight to his lower half. He looks up, eyes level with yours, both of your gazes holding a similar want.

“What do you need, dove?” He breaths, his finger skimming dangerously low on your abdomen before settling atop your pelvic bone. You whimper, absolutely thrumming with the desire to feel him in every capacity.

“You.” You moan softly, body involuntarily arching into his delicate but purposeful touch. He digests your words carefully. He knows what you mean but understands he can’t give you what you want, at least not in the way you crave it. Nevertheless, he dips his fingers below the waistband of your silken underwear. The pads of his middle and pointer finger pressing against your aching clit. He lifts his head gently to study your face which is contorted in pleasure, small pants leaving your swollen lips. He tenses his jaw, the position forceful enough to fracture.

“You’ve got me.” He lies.

‘Cause to be by her side, it’s such a change from old routine.

When it’s over and the lust has retreated, Roger feels shame but he knows it’s exactly what he needed. You’re the release he so craves, the gift he looks forward to unwrapping every evening. Despite everything he’s got to lose, you bring something new to the table. Everything missing in his life, however little that may be, is filled by your presence. You're fresh, new and remind him of the person he was before domestic life, but he often wonders if he really misses that period. He stays awake in your forbidden grasp and thinks of the family he leaves behind when he arrives at your doorstep. He thinks of his wife and he thinks of his children. That’s what drives him away from your embrace, that’s what makes him leave. However much he wants you in the moment, he doesn’t need you. Not like you need him.

But

He sits up and you register what part of the night it is, the part where he leaves. You watch him dress and you examine the sour expression that his face adopts, the disdain he harbors. Your eyes always prick with tears as you watch him prepare to leave your company as quickly as he enters it. You sit up quickly, a sheet still wrapped around your torso protectively.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” You whisper, hand smoothing down the area of sheets covering his side of the bed. He frowns, eyes still focused on the buttons of his shirt and not you. It stings.

“You know I can’t.” He huffs, pulling on his shoes. It burns.

“Why?” You whisper pathetically, tears now threatening to seep from your closed eyes. He scoffs silently, looping his belt around his narrow waist.

“You know why.” He spits, grabbing his keys and wallet. His feet move towards the direction of the door but the sounds of shuffling halt his movements.

“Rog, please. I-I love you.” You cry desperately, both hands gripping the sheets, your knuckles white under the strain. He freezes in the doorway, his eyes shut tightly as he draws in a breath. He replies without turning to face you, afraid your tears will stifle what he so desperately wants to express.

“I know, but you can’t.” He whispers, before turning the corner and exiting through the front door. You’re stunned, completely stagnate, the blood in your veins sizzling with a burning intensity. It hurts.

The other woman will always cry herself to sleep

You collapse limply into the cold sheets, weeping bitterly into your pillow. You’ve lost him; in the blink of an eye, you’ve lost him. You fall asleep, wishing the barren space next to was filled with his warmth.

The other woman will never have his love to keep

You envy her, you crave her position. You wish his love for you was permanent but it’s fleeting, passing by so quickly that if you blinked, you’d miss it. You stare blankly into the ceiling the next morning, hoping he’d call. Hoping he’d apologize and flatter you with sweet pet names, but he doesn’t, and he never does again.

And as the years go by the other woman

You see them often, in town together, dwelling within the bliss of married life. You feel nauseous, the hand that grips hers was once laced through your hair. The lips that press to her cheek were once leaving purple bruises upon your collar. It’s sickening how easily he slips back into his role of husband and father, but you yearn for the space beside him. You crave to be his but, you can’t, and it eats away at the walls of your heart.

Will spend her life alone

You weep into your hands most nights, you stop going to the nail salon, and you stop buying flowers to perfume the rooms of your home. Everything beautiful reminds you of him. Everything good reminds you of him.

Alone

It’s takes months for the sharp sting to dissipate. It takes even longer for you to stop waiting for his calls, his pleas for your touch. You still think of him everyday and that is the cruelest part. You think of what was and what could have been. You think of him.

Alone

[ouroboros-panacea]

Stone [石头]-Enigma-[3/?]

Summary:  [JJBA x HNK] "Phosphophyllite, my name is Phosphophyllite." Such is your useless life, no matter how many changes you make, how strong you become. Your life will still simply be a tragedy, and you, forever useless. The tale of a gem who suffered because of change, and an ancient being who wanted to change. An odd friendship it'd be. Rebirth seems more like a curse than anything. It would be nice if this didn't end with tragedy. {Disclaimer- I don't own hnk or jjba}

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Smashing onto hidden pebbles and rocks, Phosphophyllite broke apart into both large and small parts, arms and legs fragmenting into twos and threes. Her crystalline body was fractured, shards of herself scattering across the grassy forest floor. Facing down on the ground, her face split apart, her eyeballs clinking against the remains of her face. Yet part of her segmented left arm stayed in Kars' strong grip, his fingers still curled tightly around her wrist.

"Hm?"

Kars, hearing the sound of and feeling a tugging sensation through the singular arm he held, turned around to look at her. His violet eyes widening at the unusual-abnormal-sight of a shattered gem-like body. Hands instinctively twitched at the surprise, the strength of the young pillar man making visible indents in her wrist-Little pieces dropping down and littering the earth with her "flesh". He had expected her to have fallen earlier, due to how much effort it took her to keep up with him. Yet he didn't expect to see the masses of mint green gems spread around-each of them resembling a part of human limb like a morbid jigsaw puzzle.

Was she dead? Kars thought so for a moment, until something else came to disprove that thought.

In a desperate attempt to glue back her body, golden alloy leaked out of her body once more. Almost like blood, pouring out in copious amounts, it flowed down from invisible spaces to form a shapeless puddle. Then thin tendrils rose from it. From there, it started to blindly claw the ground for the other body parts.

Kars silently stared, face now holding an expression of interest. The rest of the environment around him ignored in favor of recording even more information about this..."newcomer". It was now a deeply ingrained fact in his mind that Phosphophyllite was neither part of humanity or his race. This only cemented his desire to know everything possible about her.

The more he got to know about her, the more he found himself becoming even more curious about her.

Which was expected, seeing as she was like a breath of fresh air-a ray of false sunlight suddenly shining down onto his dull, mundane existence. A challenge he would most definitely solve, no matter how long it took him. It gave him that welcomed feeling of having to go through an actual struggle to get to the 'prize'.

Kars then held up the piece of her arm in his large hand to study. It was split off from the rest of Phosphophyllite with a clean break. Her hand had the normal five fingers, nails a basic mint green (Strange that her nails weren't the "normal" transparent pink peach)-Overall plain and exactly like the hands of his kind and the humans. Nothing notable other than the small detail concerning the color of her nails.

Turning it upside down to look at the insides of her limb, Kars saw exactly what he expected-after the initial shock of seeing her scattered body parts-a crystalline interior, glinting in the moonlight and faintly reflecting a green tinted kaleidoscopic version of his deep violet eyes.

'It's a beautiful colour.' Kars thought with the sort of admiration one has for natural beauty. 'Like clear sea water.'

But a small thought nagged at the back of his mind as he turned his head to look back at the ongoing search for green gemstones.

'Why is she not dead? But assuming death for her was breaking apart, I believe she would have died much longer ago. With how brittle her body is and how clumsy she is from what I've seen, that's a given fact. Could it be that she doesn't die from that?'

That would mean the closest to death she would get was if she was entirely turned to dust without any chance of being pieced back together.

If Phosphophyllite was entirely made up of mineral on the inside and did not "die" if broken, then did that mean that they were technically immortal? Seeing as there was no organic material inside her to rot up until the day she died-much like the short lived humans he saw that usually passed by within a blink of an eye.

If there was no decomposition, no aging, then-?

Was she immortal then? Unable to die no matter what, unless her body was unable to be put back together?

How...interesting, yet, unnerving. To know that there were people out there whose's ability to stay as a part of the living were far greater than his kind, who suffered from such a simple thing.

The sun.

He'd have to study this (her) more.

The puzzle that Phosphophyllite gave him was, suffice to say, complex. But definitely intriguing. 

Perhaps, through her, he could find a way to combat the weakness to the sun that his species possessed. Then he'd finally, finally be able to feel that warmth on his skin, the pure light that was so, so very different and new and absolutely wonderful.

His head spun with the possibilities, eager to build upon those ideas and fantasies like a dog with a bone. (His body ever so slightly jerked, as if remembering the severe harm sunlight could do to him-admonishing him for even thinking of going under the sun.) 

He stopped that train of thought as it threatened to spiral further down. It would do him no good if he went ahead of himself because of his emotions without a plan (Like his Father said he always did).

'Breathe, in and out. Calm yourself. Remember what Mother and Father always said. Don't just focus on possibilities, if you want to make it happen, you must plan to do so first.'

A thin string of metal coiled around his wrist-interrupting him-and on reflex (and out of surprise) he yanked his hand away. The metal snapped from the burst of energy, pathetically flopping around on the floor like a blinded man, searching for a larger pool of alloy to be a part of. Kars' impassive face was broken in that instant, violet eyes narrowing, teeth sharply clicking together as his mouth closed with a "clack".

Why was this... anomaly giving him such trouble? He was supposed to be in control of himself.

Kars wasn't sure about the answer to that question-It wasn't like one of those questions where he'd simply have to look up to know. It was... different. (He didn't like that).

He glared even more at the alloy, tiny waves of annoyance washing over him. Kars wanted to do something to it to make it pay for interrupting him. But he squashed down those feelings-How could he let such small things annoy him so?

Kars looked back the slowly working puzzle, he wondered if it would be better to carry all of her pieces back home, or would it benefit him more if he'd help her. On one hand, he'd get back quicker, yet if he did help her, there was a chance of her trusting him more, and making it easier for him to "observe" her with less repercussions.

After all, people let their guards down more if they were around someone they trusted.

Kars started to move towards the body, all the while his eyes scanned the forest floor for the shining gem pieces, picking them up as he went closer and closer. Soon his arms were full of the roughly cut jewels when he finally approached Phosphophyllite's still body. He slowly knelt onto the plants, looking down carefully as to not crush the fragile things-his arms tight around the mass of mint green mineral. When Kars settled down, he gently placed down his load-Kars didn't need to waste even more time by breaking her in even smaller pieces, he wasn't sure how long this night would last. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck under the sunlight.

Kars took a piece from the pile and offered it to metal tendrils, who quickly snatched it away from him and went back to work. When they ran out of pieces to put, they turned to Kars for more. Soon they ended up just taking parts from the pile itself.

This cycle went on for a bit until larger parts of Phosphophyllite were fixed and Kars himself could start doing something instead of kneeling until his legs went numb.

"Thanks for fixing me back together." Phosphophyllite said, droopy eyes staring up at Kars. His own narrow eyes looked back at her in a silent of gesture of acknowledgment.

Well.

'Obviously he wouldn't respond.' A familiar voice echoed in her head again. 'He's kind of a stoic and serious type, don't you think?' It gained a rather teasing tone as it said this, making Phos unconsciously frown.

"I guess..." Phos mumbled as she watched him repair her body.

Kars heard that sentence, but chose not to comment.

It was a peaceful, yet awkward silence that enveloped the atmosphere around the two. That was promptly broken by Kars' curt words of "I'm finished." and his body rising up from it's previous kneeling position.

"A-ah, really? Um, thanks again for helping me."

It took a brief period of hesitation, but Kars answered back with a polite "You're welcome."

Phos smiled brightly at him in answer.

Inwardly, Kars imagined her to be like a flower and somehow...

His lips lifted into a small smile as well.

"You're smiling!" Phosphophyllite cried out in childish surprise, snapping up into a seated position as she pointed at the normally stoic boy.

At this, Kars' smile instantly returned to his original impassive expression.

"Damn it."

It was a while after they started their journey back to Kars' home (This time at a much more leisurely pace) that they had their first, real conversation together. It was nothing much, merely small chit-chat to help pass the time and to alleviate the slightly tense silence that hung in the air.

After all, they were still knew next to nothing about each other.

"So...how are you feeling?" Phos asked, her shiny green eyes gazing up in curiosity at the taller boy as they continued walking (To who knows where).

He glanced back down at her and answered in return with, "Why do you ask?"

"Well I was just curious, plus you don't seem like the type to say anything unless I start the conversation or something." She replied.

Kars blinked and said, "You don't need to concern yourself with such things."

"Well, maybe I don't need to, but I want to. Besides, you don't seem all that bad yourself. I mean, you helped fix me, right? That means you're a nice person!" Phosphophyllite cheerfully stated, her hands clasped behind her back and head slightly tilted as she smiled at Kars.

"It was better than waiting for you fix yourself and wasting away time that could've been used for better reasons. Like our little walk." Kars flatly responded back at her.

Phos cried out in mock hurt, "Ouch!" She slapped one of her hands on the left side of her chest, fingers lightly touching the black fabric.

"Your feelings have been noted." Kars wryly smiled, his tone dry like an arid desert. It would be a lie to say that he did not find some sort of amusement from Phos' rather expressive actions.

"Hmph," Phos crossed her arms in indignation. "On second thought, you're just a meanie!"

Kars raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Am I now?"

"Yup."

Without any of them knowing it, their friendly banter slowly melted the previous tension in the air, and somehow, Kars managed to let lose (even if only slightly) with someone-A near stranger, nonetheless.

It was strange how easy it felt being with Phosphophyllite.

It was when they'd moved on to commenting about the scenery around them that Kars realized they were nearing their (his) intended location.

"It's literally just green" stated Phos, gesturing at the varying shades of said colour that the forest came in as they moved. Even though it all looked the same to her anyways.

"It's not 'just' green, every plant or tree here has their own unique shade." Kars shot back, frowning.

"Whatever you say~" Phos airily replied, eyes lidded whilst waving her left hand at him.

As they passed by a large, large tree, Kars noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A faint symbol, spiraling and curved like air, twirled around like a silent indicator.

It was at this moment, when all of a sudden Kars turned to Phos and with arms outstretched, swept her off her feet into his muscular arms.

Phos cried out in surprise, "Wha-? W-woah!" Her arms flailed around and her eyes widened in shock.

"Don't ask."

Phosphophyllite silently nodded at Kars, her mind rolling around in confusion.

'What is he doing?!' One voice yelled out.

'Wait and see.' Said another.

'...ah-'

Kars bent his knees slightly, getting ready to run.

In his mind, he counted, 'One, two, three', and started running through the forest, keeping an eye out for more symbols on the trees.

Closer and closer they went towards the rabbit hole.

In front of them was a large cave, tall and imposing. If one were to look closely though, the rocks were decorated with detailed carvings of nature and such, becoming a large masterpiece in itself. But if one were to only look in front, all they would see was never-ending darkness greedily sucking in the moonlight that strayed into the dark.

Phos did the former. Kars did neither.

But at last, the both of them had finally reached their (Kars') intended destination, the entrance to the underground civilization of the Pillar race.

Kars slowed down to walking pace whilst still clutching onto Phosphophyllite, and in he went into the entrance, down into the winding maze that led to home.

His home.

-Chapter three end-

[foxofthedesert]

Arrow FF | DinahSiren

My take on Laurel/Dinah post-Star City Slayer.  Does not follow canon because, let's face it, canon is shit.  Arrow writers/producers, especially Uncle Guggie and his crew of Green Arrow and Black Canary legacy manglers, the middle finger I'm holding up right now is for you.  Fuck you all.  Oliver Queen and Dinah Laurel Lance both deserved better.  Yes, I am bitter.  Sue me.

Click here to read/comment on this hot mess on AO3.

Dinah wakes with a startled gasp from a dreamless sleep.  Instantly popping up to a seated position from where she’d been laying on her back, she frantically surveys the inky darkness of her bedroom. Instincts firmly in the driver’s seat, her heart hammers a frenzied staccato rhythm against her sternum.  Upon finding no visible sources of danger in the immediate vicinity, she strains her ears to listen for further evidence of whatever something or someone had quite literally gone bump in the night.  Again when no signs of an intruder are evident, her panic-fueled hyper-awareness dissolves into pure frustration.  For the first time since the incident, she had been sleeping soundly without a trace of the pestering nightmares that play behind her eyes every time she succumbs to exhaustion.

Probably that damn alley cat again.  Growling irritably, she flops back down against her plush mattress, determined to salvage the night if at all possible.  Tomorrow morning, she will deal with the pesky stray that has been poking around her place the past few months.  Shouldn’t be too much trouble to set up a trap and then call the pound to deport the striped, four-legged annoyance from her premises.  

Thanking God for finally deciding to cut her a break, it doesn’t take long – perhaps a minute or two – before her eyelids begin to grow delightfully heavy again.  A weary smile stretching her lips, she wiggles happily against the mattress and digs her head into her pillow in anticipation of some long overdue rest.  She is just about under for the second time when she hears it again.

*Thump*

Her previous frustration returns with a gusto, and being already primed from the previous interruption rapidly accelerates into anger as she throws the covers aside and slides out of bed.  Operating on autopilot, she snatches her gun out of her nightstand and then pads barefoot through her room as quietly as possible so as to not scare the damn cat away before she can at least get off a shot.  She will gladly navigate the radioactive professional fallout of discharging her weapon in the middle of the night against a harmless, mangy furball if it means that she doesn’t have to do this again tomorrow.

Upon reaching the door, she toes on her slippers and steadies her gait. Her pulse thrums in her veins, overeager as she is to have a go at the malicious, runty little mongrel that keeps rooting through her trash and leaving bloated dead mice at her door.  But just as she grasps the door handle, she hears another sound that stops her cold – a distinctly human sound that emanates from just outside her front door.  

Alone in the dark, her throat tightens painfully as she is suddenly transported to another time and place, a warped repository of one man’s psychotic obsession with Oliver Queen in which she almost met an ignoble death.  All of its own accord, her free hand idly comes up to brush against the ugly scar marking where Stanley Dover gave her a grisly alternative grin.  Heart thudding manically in her chest, she brings her gun up to chest level at the door as she slowly and resolutely takes the final steps toward the thin threshold separating her from what may very well be her doom.  

Terrified though she may be, Dinah is equally stubborn and unwilling to let fear dictate her actions.

Once close enough to grasp the door handle, she risks peering through the curtains for a glimpse at the potential perp.  All she can make out through the glass and low light of the alleyway are abstract shadows and the vague shape of her neighbor’s lamp blazing through their unobstructed window.  Another thump just as she replaces the curtains scares her so badly she wrenches backward as her fingers tighten around the grip of her gun and her finger settles unsteadily over the trigger.  Steeling herself for an invasion, she braces against a second attempt on her life in as many months.  

All at once, time slows down to a torturous crawl.  Her pulse rings in her ears, deafening and maddening and distracting as sweat beads at her temples and dampens her palms.  The world narrows into a pinprick field of view, reduced down to the six feet between her and whatever boogeyman might be lurking just outside her home.  Nothing happens for the longest time.  Everything is silent save for the cacophonous drumming of her heartbeat against her rib cage and the slight metallic rattle of the gun in her tremulous hand.  The moment is so unbearably fraught with danger and laden with sickly fear that she feels like she is about to crawl out of her skin.

And then, when she least expects it, she hears something that makes her blood run cold for a completely different reason than before.

“Please, no!  Don’t.  Not her...please, no!”

The slurred, delirious, plaintive pleas are uttered loudly enough that Dinah can hear them distinctly.  Instantly her terror subsides only to be replaced with a coil of dread that turns her stomach sour.  

As a cop who has been involved in her fair share of fatal shoot outs and witnessed the aftermath of senseless tragedy, she recognizes the sound of a human heart breaking.  She relaxes, if only somewhat marginally.  If anything whoever is currently outside her door more resembles a wounded animal uttering pathetic death whines than an ax murderer on the prowl or a thief surveying a mark or a miscreant hoodlum skulking about for some innocent soul to terrorize.  

Still, she can’t help but conjure up scenarios as to what she may encounter just outside.  Once when she was a beat cop, she was the unlucky first responder to a fatal domestic rampage and had to forcibly drag a mother half-mad with grief from the bodies of her young daughter and the mentally unstable partner that killed the girl and herself right in front of the poor woman.  If anything like that awaits her tonight, she would really rather stay inside.  Introducing herself to a reality which might shatter what’s left of her already fractured psyche does not seem like a wise course of action at present.

A heartbeat later, she hears the noise that woke her again followed by a strangled cry, neither of which she can ignore if wants to retain any semblance of her pride.  Cowering behind her front door may be the smart choice, but is not one she would ordinarily make.  Dinah has always been a fighter, has always confronted her demons head on rather than let them dictate her actions.  It’s the only way she knows how to cope, and she’s not about to go changing now just because some psychopath almost halfway cut her head off.

Screwing up her courage, she quickly throws the door open and immediately swings right toward the street the alleyway empties into.  Expecting to be greeted by some gruesome scene out of a horror movie, she is instead surprised to find nothing but the empty alleyway between her building and the neighboring complex.    Her brows furrow until deeply ridged as she peers down the length of the alley toward the street, gun aimed as she assesses her situation as trained by the US Government.  Poorly lit by the handful of ancient outdoor lights bolted in to the building’s exterior, she can’t make out every detail, but she can certainly see enough to recognize there is no evidence of anyone or anything having been in the vicinity.  The absence of such evidence naturally leads her to question her sanity.

Had she imagined it all?  Was she really still so spooked by what Stanley Dover did to her that she is overreacting to the most minuscule of stimuli?  Or could it be that she is still caught in the grips of some bizarre, hyper-realistic dream?  To find out, she pinches her hand as hard as she can and winces upon learning that she is indeed awake.  

Seeing as she is not imagining things and that she had most definitely heard an unarguably human voice, she settles in against the door frame with her gun steadied and aimed in the direction of the alley inlet. After drawing in a steadying breath, she waits.  

Just when she is about to give up and turn back inside, a tormented moan from behind reassures her that she is not going crazy after all while also startling her so badly she literally jumps.  Startled out of her wits, Dinah whirls around with her gun raised only to discover the lanky form of a woman sprawled on the ground less than five feet away.  Like a disoriented boot straight out of high school, she had forgotten to clear her nine o’clock – an unforgivable mistake that could so easily have gotten her killed.  

Berating herself for the uncharacteristic misstep, Dinah steps toward the inert form to investigate.  With her back pressed against the brick siding and her head turned so that Dinah cannot see it, it is impossible to make a positive identification, not that she requires one to know who this is.  The black boots, dark jeans, black leather jacket, mile long legs and curtain of golden hair are a dead giveaway.  

Dinah gasps as recognition dawns.  “Laurel?”  

Receiving no response from her breathy query, she carefully shuffles over and gingerly crouches next to the currently comatose District Attorney of Star City.  A quick tuck of honey blonde hair behind an ear sporting a plethora of piercings confirms that her nocturnal visitor is none other than Laurel Lance in the flesh.  

Of all the people to find in such at state at this hour, Laurel would have been the last on Dinah’s list.  

Whatever mysterious reason behind her presence, Dinah has only ever seen the woman as rumpled and anguished in the days following Quentin Lance’s death.  A pang of sympathy stirs her heart like it always does when she thinks of Laurel’s numerous losses.  

What Dinah knows of Laurel’s past is stocked by a gallery of ghosts stretching all the way back to before she was forming permanent memories, from her mother who died when she was still a baby to her Oliver whose premature demise was the impetus for her having uprooted from her Star City in a futile bid to obtain a fresh start.  Each death left behind a brand new section of scar tissue that accumulated until eventually engulfing the entirety of her heart.  Not long after, Black Siren was born.  

Having experienced the bitter draught of loss herself, Dinah has often wondered how the woman did not go completely bonkers after burying in the span of thirty-two years a total of three parents, an unborn baby sister, two foster siblings before she graduated high school, four close college buddies in a single day, a surrogate father, and the love of her life and then on top of all that was turned into a metahuman by a freakish explosion only to be captured and experimented on for number of years before a homicidal maniac finally set her free.  Had Dinah been subjected to half of those traumas, she thinks she might have been damaged enough to lose the will to live and soon thereafter swallowed a bottle full of sleeping pills or the barrel of the closest firearm she could get her hands on.  

Not Laurel, though, she thinks as she slowly and lightly smooths her fingers through the soft hair at Laurel’s temple.  She is unbreakable.  Indomitable.  A warrior.  A survivor through and through.  A headstrong, feisty, relentless boss bitch who would fight her way through hell just to spit in the devil’s face.

That thought turns Dinah’s expression into one of tender fondness as a smile curls her lips.  Quietly she studies features so fine and elegant and lovely that were carved as if solely to grace the covers of fashion magazines.  Caught up in her languid perusal, she soon finds herself slipping from the adrenaline rush of a life or death situation straight into the waiting arms of a helpless and hopeless crush that has developed over the past few months.  

Had someone told her a year ago that she would feel this way about Laurel or that she would be slowly introduced to a different side of the prickly blonde that was kind, considerate, sweet, hilarious, and devastatingly charming, she would have laughed that fool to scorn. And yet over the past several weeks she has discovered all of the above to be true.  And more.  

Since returning from DC, Laurel has almost daily visited Dinah bearing gifts of lunch, or coffee from their favorite joint between the station and courthouse, or dinner and a corny movie they would watch while eating on the couch like old friends.  At first Laurel’s persistence was beyond annoying, but as the days rolled into a weeks Dinah began to look forward to her frequent drop-ins.  The incrementally unguarded version of Laurel she has become acquainted with over this period is every bit as complicated as could have predicted.  She is entertaining but moody; her sarcasm is as boundless as her productive energy; she has a thirst for knowledge that is only rivaled by her passion for martial arts; she is a rabid fan of the Seattle Seahawks who yells at players, coaches, and referees and throws popcorn at the TV while they watch games together; she has an attention to detail that impresses the hell out of Dinah when it isn’t being used against her; and most importantly she is the unique brand of friend Dinah never knew she so desperately needed.  

This new dynamic they were building, peculiar as it seems considering their messy history, has been one of the few bright spots of Dinah’s short convalescence and subsequent readjustment to life after a highly traumatic injury.  Whether at work slaving over reports or lounging at home being a total potato, Laurel turning up unannounced is always the highlight of her day.  None of her other friends ever made her feel as appreciated and understood as Laurel does or ever made her laugh until her belly ached like Laurel does when she launches into one of her comical – and lengthy – diatribes about Super Bowl XL being rigged in favor of the hated Pittsburgh Steelers. Not even Vinny, as much as she loved him and painful though it is to admit, could warm her up from the inside out like Laurel’s honey-smooth voice does when it wraps so melodically around her name.

Honestly, that last realization was like a slap her in the face that woke her up to how rapidly evolving their relationship was.  In less than six weeks, they have gone from respectful acquaintances to friends to something...more.  And scary as the breakneck tempo of that progression is, Dinah has been sorely tempted of late to throw caution to the wind in an effort to define just what that something more is.  The sole impediment to taking that plunge is her own fear of what might happen if either or both of them screw it up.    

Still idly toying with silken strands of golden hair, Dinah is too wrapped up in her own musings to notice that Laurel is beginning to stir.  A prolonged groan at last alerts her to the change, and she breaks out of her own thoughts just time to watch Laurel’s face scrunch up in complaint over her awkward position.

“God. What the hell…?” Laurel slurs as her eyes begin to flutter open. They immediately widen when she realizes what happened.  “Shit.  I fell asleep.”

Dinah cocks her head in amusement.  “That you did.  Not in the most comfortable spot, either.”

Laurel has the grace to blush at the heavy subtext applied to Dinah’s comment.  They are both aware she has a perfectly luxurious bed back at her apartment she could have crawled into instead of passing out on the cold, hard asphalt.  

“I can explain...”

“Not here,” Dinah interrupts, then pushes off her haunches to stand. Once upright, she offers Laurel her hand.  “Come on.  Let’s go inside.  There’s no sense in you staying out here the rest of the night and it’s too late for you to go home.”

Taking the hand, Laurel allows Dinah to help her to her feet.  “If you’re sure,” she replies, brushing loose gravel off the seat of her extremely tight jeans, an action that draws Dinah’s gaze southward to a shapely rump her hands suddenly and inexplicably itch to explore.  “I don’t want to inconvenience you.���

Hastily averting her eyes from Laurel’s ass lest she get caught letching, Dinah crosses her arms over her chest and funnels her embarrassment into faux irritation.  “Probably should have thought about that before falling asleep outside my door.  You were having a nightmare or something.  Your thrashing against the side of the house woke me up.”

Laurel winces apologetically.  “Sorry.”

Swiftly deflating in the face of Laurel’s chagrin, Dinah shrugs neutrally. “It’s fine.  No big deal.”  The falsehood slips free so easily it causes her to wonder when it became acceptable behavior for her to lie to make Laurel feel better.  Probably about the same time you developed this silly little crush. Frustration mounting at her inability to curtail these surging feelings, she turns wordlessly to the door then starts back inside.  When she senses Laurel hesitate to follow, she pauses in the doorway and sighs dramatically.  “Oh, for God’s sake, woman.  Don’t be difficult. It’s too cold and late for me to deal with your stubborn ass. Just come in already before I actually get upset.”  When Laurel obeys, duly chastised, Dinah leads her into the living room where she plops down onto her couch before patting the cushion next to her. “Sit.”  

This time Laurel does at Dinah says without argument.  “I’m really am sorry I woke you,” she tells Dinah a bit later once they are both settled in and getting warmed up under a couple of fluffy throw blankets, Dinah beneath her well-worn red one while Laurel wraps herself in the one sporting the Seahawks logo that she brought over for their recently ritualistic Sunday afternoon football watching.  Wearing a guilty expression, her shoulders draw in tight. “I didn’t mean to.  Or to fall asleep like that.  Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“Never mind that,” Dinah replies with a wave of the hand she’d left uncovered.  “I’m more interested what you’re doing here in the first place.  In the middle of the night.  Halfway across town from your apartment.”

The blush Laurel answers with betrays how humiliated she is at being caught in such a state.  Dinah is a bit perturbed at the thought that zips through her brain right then that Laurel has the perhaps the most adorable blush she’s ever seen and ought to wear it more often.  It is followed by a brief internal freak out seeing as now is so not the time for her crush to once again take charge of her brain.

Sadly, having noticed her staring, Laurel then begins to worry her bottom lip, causing Dinah’s eyes to instinctively flick downward. Mesmerized by the motion, she marvels at how full and pretty and symmetrical Laurel’s lips are, and wonders for a split second whether they feel and taste as soft and delicious as they appear. Unbidden, Dinah’s heart rate begins to accelerate as her chest and neck rapidly start to flush.  

A second later, the biological basis behind her strong reaction becomes glaringly apparent: that this is no simple crush.  Oh, God. Oh, God.  Stop it right now.  I’m not ready for this.  Hell, I’m not even sure this is real or if it’s just me assigning false meaning to how grateful I am to have her in my life.  I mean, I haven’t felt that way for a woman since college.  And this is not just any woman.  This is Laurel Fucking Lance!!!

And yet as it ever is when Laurel’s beauty bewitches her, the proof is all too evident.  From her throbbing pulse to the pool of warmth spreading from her chest into her lower belly, it is becoming increasingly clear that the experimental phase she went through like many other a normal university aged female may not have been a phase after all.  

Since Alanna Chambler, she has indulged a few minor crushes, but that’s all she thought they were.  Innocent crushes.  Simple admiration for the human aesthetic that any sane individual would objectively appreciate, of which Laurel is a preeminent example.  

Could it be possible that she was wrong to assume that’s all it was? That there was something deeper at play behind her noticing how stupidly pretty some girls like Laurel are?  Something she refused to acknowledge way back when because the fallout from her breakup with Alanna was an unmitigated disaster that may have scared her straight, so to speak?  The possibility is intriguing.  And terrifying.

So as not to scare the hell out of Laurel, or make a scene that will mortify her for weeks, Dinah quickly clears her throat and schools her features.    

“That’s fair, I guess,” says Laurel after a tense moment of them staring at one another with muddled degrees of curiosity, apprehension, and awkwardness.  “I won’t bore you with a sob story as to the reasons, but I don’t sleep much normally, and since I heard what happened to you even less.”  Pausing a beat, her eyes take on a liquid quality that causes a tight lump to form in Dinah’s throat. “I wasn’t here when you needed me.  Instead, I was across the country at a stupid conference I could have easily ducked out of if I really wanted.  While I was listening to some decrepit old hag prattle endlessly about how arcane certain statute of limitations rules are, you were bleeding out in a psychopath’s basement.  Had it not been for Curtis, you would be dead.  And that...haunts me.”  A shaky breath later, she adds, “I should have been here and I wasn’t and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for that.”

How long has she been holding this in?  And why hasn’t she told me until now when she’s had plenty of opportunity?  Dinah wonders, and for unknown reasons is suddenly compelled to reaches out for Laurel’s trembling hand.  She experiences a foreign but intense relief when her gesture is not immediately spurned.  

“Oh, Laurel...”

“I know it’s bizarre and inexplicable and idiotic to blame myself for something totally out of my control,” Laurel interrupts, clearly frustrated with herself for a variety of reasons Dinah can probably guess at with a modest degree of accuracy.  “Lately I find myself being idiotic about a lot of shit and taking way too much interest in things I shouldn’t.  Like, I can’t stop mother-henning Felicity over her pregnancy.  And I’ve been irrationally obsessing over what happened to you, and that is just not like me.  I don’t know why I’m so...”  

Trailing off with an anxious sigh, she runs a shaky hand through her long blonde tresses.  “Look, I don’t really understand what the hell is going on myself.  As for why I’m here tonight?  I just...the thought of you being back home after what that fucking piece of shit did to you was hard enough when Ollie was arranging an around the clock protection detail.  Now that the detail is off, I should be relieved.  But I’m not.  I tossed and turned all night last night. Same thing tonight.  I couldn’t stop running ridiculous scenarios my head.  Like what if that sicko bastard somehow managed to get out? I mean, he did it once, albeit with Oliver’s help.  Stands to reason he could do it again if the circumstances were right. Slabside security leaves a lot to be desired, you know, so that is not out of the realm of feasibility.  I...”  she sighs, scrubs a hand wearily over her face, and seems to crumple inwards as if the pressure she has been laboring under lately has finally exceeding her limit.  “Believe me, I wish I had an acceptable answer for you beyond me being totally irrational.  I just don’t.”

Stunned by that outpouring, and more than a little touched, Dinah stares at an increasingly uncomfortable Laurel, who fidgets with every passing second as she was scrutinized.  A moment later she groans in dismay. “God.  You think I’ve gone nuts, don’t you?”

That snaps Dinah out of her stupor.  Brow crinkling, she shakes her head fervently.  “No.  Not at all.  Just...I’m surprised is all.  I mean, given our history I wasn’t expecting you to ever care about my well-being as anything more than an occasional co-conspirator in one of Felicity’s schemes, let alone become friends like we have recently.  Forgive me if I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around you caring so much that you are actually losing sleep over me.”

Though Laurel does chuckle a bit at the mention of their shared tendency to enable Felicity’s fiercely adventurous spirit, the lighthearted moment passes all too quickly as a second rosy blush colors her cheeks.  Averting her gaze to study the backs of her hands, she shrugs, unsuccessfully attempting nonchalance.  

“Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve lost sleep over you. When we first met, you were the only person who didn’t look at me like everybody else on this Earth did, as if I was a tool to be used or some twisted, sickening cosmic joke being played upon them because of the face I wear and the body I inhabit.  In your eyes, I was only ever just me because you had never met her, and I really liked how that felt even if you didn’t like me very much.  Also, you gave as good as you got, which was a nice change of pace from your comrades, who always held back when they fought me, though I’m sure they’d insist otherwise.  And maybe it’s just my imagination running wild, but I’ve always felt there has was a strangely exciting spark between us.  Maybe that’s why, quite against my will, I found myself respecting you.”  Worrying her hands together, she smiles ruefully.  “I used to lie awake for hours replaying our interactions on a loop in my head, you know?  For lack of a better term I was...” she flails her arms a little here, “fascinated with you.  Still am.  Although I can see how you wouldn’t know any of that considering my stunted ability to express myself with my words instead of my fists.”

Ignoring for a moment how she had no idea Laurel felt this way, and how special knowing she does makes her feel, Dinah nudges Laurel’s shoulder with hers, sporting a playful smirk.  “Which you’re getting better at, by the way.  I was really proud of you for not decking Rene yesterday when he implied you were secretly pleased about what happened to me.  That I lost my Canary Cry.  I know you wanted to.”

To be frank, Dinah did, too.  Rene was perfectly aware the subject was a sore one for her.  Literally and figuratively.  Her throat still aches like a bitch from all the repair work doctors had to do to shore up Curtis’s emergency field cauterization.  Learning that the damage to her vocal chords will likely prevent her from every being able to use her meta ability was the pouring of proverbial salt upon the still gaping wound.  There have been so many times she’s saved lives or prevented catastrophe with her Cry.  It’s become part of who she is.  That she’ll never get to experience it again has left her with an ever-present ache she can’t help but compare to having lost a limb.  

What’s worse, she’ll never be able to sing again, either, at least not at full tilt for more than a few seconds.  Even at moderate volumes, it will likely be uncomfortable and unsustainable, not to mention that she might never be able to pitch correctly again.  Although she doesn’t have the greatest voice in the world, some of her fondest memories of her childhood involve her mother singing her to sleep, and they are so precious to her that she has fantasized often about doing the same for her own children.  Now, if by some miracle she finds love again and marries, she might never get to realize that dream.  Those compounding losses are so unfair, so frustrating, so enraging, and so very depressing that even minor dwelling upon them eventually leads to tears.

Rene should have known better than to use them as a weapon against Laurel. Not only does he know how deeply she disapproves of his continually shitty attitude toward the reforming Black Siren but he should at minimum respect her enough to never indulge his issues with Laurel at her expense.  Sometimes his tactless cruelty leads her to wonder why she still calls him a friend when for Dinah’s sake Laurel is nearly always more cordial to him than he is to her – at least at first. Those two can’t be in a room for more than five minutes without their acerbic sniping turning into clenched fists and flared nostrils.

Laurel frowns deeply at the reminder of that unpleasant encounter.  “Wasn’t easy.  I can’t believe he had the gall to suggest I gave a shit about me being the only one who can do that now.  Maybe a year ago, that would mean something to me.  But now?  If I could, I would give my ability to you.  You deserve it so much more than I do after all I’ve done.  In retrospect I can see that it’s brought me nothing but grief and regret.”

The haunted quality of Laurel’s eyes tells Dinah she is regressing into the vast vault of horrible memories that are stored inside that brilliant mind.  Memories of all the lives, innocent and otherwise, she took using her Cry.  Of the years she refuses to elaborate upon in which she was regularly experimented upon in a government facility solely because she was one of the most powerful metahumans alive on an Earth that openly persecuted them.  Of the day she got that ability, doubtless experiencing something unimaginable.  

Sometimes when Dinah thinks about how she screamed in anguish as Sonus shot Vinny right in front of her, she inadvertently draws parallels to how Laurel received her gift. None of the scenarios she has conjured up offer any comfort to a conscience riddled by guilt over her having refused to sympathize with her fellow metahuman when they first met.  Who knows, maybe if she’d tried, Laurel might have responded to her overtures seeing as they have common ground upon which to stand.  Unlikely as that outcome would have been, she still should have tried. They have the exact same ability – granted Laurel’s is far stronger and her control of it significantly more advanced; how the hell does she do that thing where she blows a kiss and emits a sonic wave strong enough to knock a grown man on his ass? – which means that their origin point has to be eerily similar. If nothing else that alone would have provided the basis to form a tentative rapport.  

But Dinah hadn’t extended the proverbial olive branch, nary even a twig at that, leaving her to wonder what happened to transform Laurel into the infamous Black Siren.  Had she lost someone she loved dearly on that fateful day as well?  Was she involved in an accident that subjected her to unbearable pain?  Or was something far worse occuring, something so horrific as to produce the sort of shrill banshee wail Black Siren became famous for?

The latter possibility never fails to send a shiver of revulsion down Dinah’s spine.  If...that….did happen to Laurel as she was being bombarded by dark matter, she isn’t sure she wants to ever hear about it.  The mere ambient suggestion of Laurel enduring something so vile is sufficient to make her sick at her stomach, never mind being regaled with the visceral details. Thankfully Laurel seems equally as determined to not talk about that day, which is an arrangement Dinah is more than happy to keep for the foreseeable future.

Whatever went down to give Laurel her ability, there is no arguing that it is the sole factor to which her presence on Earth-1 can be attributed. It was for her meta ability alone that Zolomon rescued her, recruited her into his employ, and then transported her here to facilitate his evil schemes, and as rocky as the road has been between then and now for Laurel, Dinah cannot say she’s sorry that any of it happened. The very idea of not having Laurel in her life just seems so...wrong.           

“Not always, it hasn’t,” she replies, unfurling from her blanket so she can take Laurel’s hand.  The gesture produces the intended effect of drawing Laurel away from the self-imposed hell that is her memories.  Smiling gently, she adds, “I get why you might feel that way, but try and remember that if nothing else, it’s the reason you’re not still locked up in that hellhole Zoom sprung you from on your Earth.  And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. With me.”

“You are?” Laurel asks, looking slightly awed at Dinah’s optimistic perspective.

“I am.  Doubly so actually.”  As she responds, Dinah reassuringly rubs her thumb along the back of Laurel’s hand.  “You may have scared the hell out of me, but I’m really glad you’re here tonight, too.”

Something happens to Laurel’s face then that Dinah has only ever heard about from Felicity.  Blinking against the tears gathering, her lips curl up slightly and then pause a split second before spreading further into a soft smile that teases her incredible dimples, causes her eyes to shine and makes her entire being glow as if she is illuminated by an internal light that is unveiled at just enough wattage to convey how touched she is.  What makes it even better – or worse depending upon the perspective – is that Laurel’s expression is screaming at Dinah that she would like very much to throw caution to the wind, lean in and close the short distance between their bodies until they are breathing each other’s air, and then plunge straight off the deep end to consummate the budding attraction that has been building between them until the tension has grown unbearable.

Not for the first time of late, Dinah feels a very familiar tug at her heartstrings.  There aren’t any other smiles in the world that can do to her what Laurel’s does.  And like this, with so much raw emotion behind it?  Ordinarily it is difficult for her to deny Laurel anything when confronted by one of those gorgeous smiles, but this is just taking it too far.  There’s isn’t much she wouldn’t do right now if Laurel asked, even risk their fragile friendship to find out if those lips of hers taste as yummy as they look.  

Amazing as this feeling is, she is not all prepared to give in.  Not yet anyway, ‘cause once she does, she knows it’s all over.  There won’t be any going back for her as she is not the type to cautiously wade in to a relationship, preferring instead to dive headfirst into the deep end, and she gets the same impression from Laurel.    

Clearing her throat breaks the moment, and Dinah is a little sad and quite a bit relieved to see Laurel’s demeanor abruptly shift back into safer waters.  “And hey,” she says, hoping to assuage the tint of hurt in Laurel’s eyes, “since we’re being honest with each other, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to admit I was a little bit scared when I crawled into bed knowing I didn’t have the crutch of a protection detail camped outside my place.  First time that’s happened since I was stupid ten year old who thought she was the bravest girl in the world only to discover she wasn’t by a long shot after she watched Nightmare on Elm Street before bed.”

Laurel’s nose crinkles at the last part of the confession.  “Oof. If that is the same thing as it was on my Earth, not a wise decision.”

Dinah chuckles wryly, in full agreement.  “It certainly was not. Thankfully my Dad was a total softy for his little girl.  He was so wrapped around my finger he stayed with me every night after until the fear abated.”

“Well,” Laurel nibbles her lip quickly, her expression going soft again, “I don’t know many sane people who would describe me as a softy, and you are far from a little girl.  But there is perhaps a tiny chance that I may be slightly wrapped around your finger as well.  Meaning if you want or need, I would be willing to, uh...you know.”  She gestures lamely, blushing yet again.  

Overwhelmed, Dinah’s eyes shimmer with gratitude at being privileged with a glimpse of the real Laurel.  She figured out a while ago that Black Siren is merely a coat of armor Laurel wrapped herself in to protect her from a world she became convinced – and understandably so – was out to get her.  Every now and then, when she’s relaxed and in good spirits, the Laurel that once existed before being repeatedly traumatized and abused until transforming into a writhing black ball of hatred makes an appearance.  Every time that happens, Dinah finds herself thinking the same thing she is right now, that she would like to spend a lot more time with this woman.  A whole lot more.  Because this is someone Dinah can feel unashamed about caring for.  Someone she would not object being openly attracted to.  Someone she might, if she was willing to peer closely enough into her wonderfully traitorous heart, already be falling for.

“Are you offering to stay the night to keep me safe, Ms. Lance?” she asks, hoping the answer is yes.

“I...I, uh, guess so.”  Laurel’s initial spluttering is so cute, Dinah has to refrain from squealing like a pathetic, love-struck teenage. Sadly Laurel recovers her composure quickly.  “I mean, yes, Captain Drake.  I am.”

Rather than fold like a cheap card, Dinah decides to attempt subtlety. “Hmm.”  Eyes narrowed, she taps her chin contemplatively.  “Well, you’re right that I’m not a little girl anymore.  But...” she draws out the vowel to really sell it that is totally not a hairsbreadth away from begging Laurel to stay over and cuddle up behind her and hold her tight all night long, “I would be lying if I said I would mind the company.”

Looking cautiously hopeful, Laurel quirks her head over to one side as she is so apt to do.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, then.  I’ll stay.”

“Great!” Figuring it is way too soon for her to give in to the surprisingly powerful urge to invite Laurel into her bed, even if it is for innocent purposes, Dinah switches gears.  “So...when I found you outside, you appeared to be having a bad dream.  Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”  The answer is expected.  However, when Dinah starts to argue the case for sharing being healthy, Laurel shakes her head and physically draws herself up straighter as if gathering her courage. “But you know what?  Maybe I should.  If for no other reason than to honor the spirit of honesty we have going here.”

“Who knows, it might help,” Dinah says, hoping to encourage Laurel to trust her with whatever had caused her so much distress.  “And I promise I won’t judge.”

As if preparing for battle, Laurel takes a deep bolstering breath and then exhales slowly before returning her focus to Dinah.  “So, I’d just ask that you be patient with me.  Okay?  ‘Cause I’ve never told anyone this before.”  

Dinah quickly her extends her agreement, not daring to do otherwise in her interest to learn more about this endlessly fascinating woman. Especially something that no one else knows.  As unexpected as all of this is tonight, what is happening right now is of an importance that Dinah truly appreciates.  Felicity has been the only person Laurel confided in up to this point.  Being included in that exceedingly tight circle is a privilege she is not about to pass up.  

“I was dreaming about someone.  Someone important to me.  Someone I lost back in Central City.  I’m sure you figured out a long time ago that I lived there back on my Earth due to me being a meta.”  Dinah nods in the affirmative, recalling that her mental dossier on this Laurel Lance includes a stint residing in Dinah’s old hometown and that it was there she received her meta powers.  “What you don’t know, nor does anyone else still living to my knowledge, is that while I was there I was not as...unattached...as I have led those who have inquired to believe.”  She grimaces.  “Quentin once quizzed me about my life back there, and for the most part I was honest.  Not about this, though.  This I kept to myself because it hurts too much to even think about most days.”  

Swallowing thickly, Laurel briefly averts her gaze and when she turns it back up, there are tears born of tumultuous, raw emotion in her eyes.  “I told him once that I never really held a real job before.  And that was true in a sense.  I don’t really consider what I did in Central City a real job.” She smiles ruefully, her gaze turning wistful almost.  “I actually used to be the staff singer at this little jazz club in the Lower West side.  Place called Reno’s.  Ever go there?”

“Yes,” Dinah replies, her voice rough with surprise and a bit of her own emotional response.  

Reno’s was her and Vinny’s favorite bar back when they were embedded deep cover with Sonus’ organization.  They’d go there every Friday night to decompress after an excruciating week of living a lie in the most hostile work environment imaginable.  

Jazz has always been Dinah’s go-to coping mechanism for stress, and Reno’s was the hottest spot in which to bask in the smoothest tones and most sultry melodies the genre had to offer.  Their musicians were the best in the city, all self-taught virtuosos, and their singers skillful and soulful enough to rival Ella or Billie at their pinnacle.  For Laurel to have been regularly employed there speaks to how talented she is.  As far as Dinah is aware, the Reno’s here never had a staff singer during her tenure with the CCPD.

“Ours never had a staff singer, though,” she adds.  “Reno liked to keep things fresh.  He had a stable of singers that rotated through on a monthly basis.”

“It was the same back on my Earth,” Laurel says, fondness dripping through her tone.  “When I first started there, I had auditioned like everyone else and expected to be part of the rotation.  Which I was for the first couple of months.  My gigs started selling out by the third.  Reno liked to say my voice and presence were good enough to get me on any stage but my dimples were what conquered hearts and made fans empty their wallets.  ‘I’m tellin’ ya, girl, those things coulda made Paris turn away from Helen,’ he’d croon as he counted the cash in the till with a gleam in his eye.”  On queue those very dimples peek out through an intensifying smile, proving old Reno’s point.  

Those things really ought to be illegal, Dinah thinks.  Or reserved for me alone.  The possessive nature of that thought makes her flush with as equal measures of shame and excitement.

“Anyway,” Laurel goes on, unaware of Dinah’s internal conflict, “I only say that because that’s where I met her.”

Dinah’s brows disappear into her hairline.  “Her?”

“Does it really surprise you to discover I’m bisexual?” Laurel asks, lips teasing to one side.  “A, This is 2019.  B, I’m a Lance, so it’s basically codified in my DNA.  And C, I’ve been flirting with you pretty much non stop since the moment we met.”

Dinah splutters a moment at that, her mind rewinding manically and then playing through all of their early interactions.  In retrospect, it is easy to see that Laurel was, indeed, flirtatious virtually every time they interacted.  It was only after Vinny’s death that they turned vicious, and even then she thinks their unusual attraction probably exacerbated the meteoric descent toward outright hatred. Thin line and all that.

“When you put it that way, I guess it shouldn’t,” she says after recovering from the initial shock of Laurel so open admitting to her flirting.

“To be fair, I suppose I should give you the benefit of the doubt since your Laurel was not brave enough to admit she was every bit as bi as her sister.  Before her death, she may have still been hung up on Ollie but she was also nursing quite the crush on Felicity.”  At Dinah’s dumbfounded expression, Laurel chuckles.  “It’s true, by the way.  I read her journals and shit – you know, to study up before officially replacing her at a professional capacity.  Quentin gave them to me to boost my chances of a successful transition. Apparently bisexuality runs in the family.  Shocker.  An uncle on my Dad’s side swung both ways as does my Mom, who dated a lady in grad school right before she met my dad.  If your Laurel’s information is reliable, which I assume it is what with her having been such a veritable bastion of virtue and honesty, we share that background.”

“Wow.” Flabbergasted, that is all Dinah says for several seconds before the reference to Sara catches up with her.  “Speaking of Sara, does she know about any of this?  I imagine she’d be really interested to learn something about her sister she might not have known about.”

Settling back against the cushions, Laurel crosses her legs and hums affirmatively.  “I told her last time she visited.  I think it helped us bond to know I was more like her than her Laurel, who hid from her sexuality instead of embracing it.  Not that I’m casting stones here.  She had her reasons for remaining in the closet, one of which was our distinct preference for men.  Turns out our taste in women is very...specific.”  

Laurel pronounces that last word very deliberately and stares at Dinah pointedly as if to elaborate on precisely what type of woman she finds attractive.  She doesn’t want to think too long or hard about the ramifications if that statement is true.  If she does, she might connect the nebulous dots to form a somewhat disturbing picture, one that might reveal if she’d met Earth-1 Laurel while she was still alive they would have gravitated toward one another the same way she has with this one and might even have eventually lead to a romantic entanglement that would have resulted in radical changes to the way their lives unfolded.  That right there is a can of worms Dinah would prefer stayed permanently sealed lest she lose her damn mind.  

“Actually, I’m the same.  I think.  Maybe,” she answers Laurel after recovering from the brief mental trip Laurel’s innuendo took her on.  She scratches the back of her head, a mite nervous all of the sudden.  “I’m not really sure.  I’ve always been strongly attracted to men, but I did date a girl in college.  I just...” she sighs, “when it ended, I wrote it off as an experiment because the breakup was bitter and ugly and I never wanted to go through that again.  Now, I’m starting to rethink that assessment as a bit premature.”

Laurel sits up straight, at full attention.  “Oh, really?  That is quite intriguing!”  For a moment she looks like she wants to launch into an in-depth interrogation only to think better of it at the last second.  “But as much as I’d love to pursue this line of conversation further, we’re getting dangerously off topic.”

Dinah sighs in relief and takes the proffered out.  Things were getting way too serious way too fast for her liking.  Ready as she is to admit she is attracted to Laurel, she is not ready to act on it.  Yet.

“Agreed. By all means, please continue...”

After smoothing her hands down her jeans, Laurel launches back into her tale.  “As I was saying, I met her at Reno’s.  She was a fairly regular customer, but she didn’t catch one of my gigs until I was on staff because her work schedule didn’t line up.  That night, she approached me after the show and introduced herself.  Asked me on a date right then and there.  I couldn’t say no.  I was instantly smitten.  Being around her felt so right, as if a long lost part of me finally slid into place.  That, and she was...” Laurel draws in a breath, eyes sliding shut, “a force of nature, magnetic, witty, driven, intense, drop dead gorgeous, and so full of life and light that she illuminated everyone who came into contact with.  Like a star that burned impossibly bright and drowned out all the others with her brilliance.  We went on a date that very weekend.  And another three days later.  Pretty soon we were seeing each other every other day.”  

Pausing, her expression grows dreamy, whimsical almost, as if the memories have transported her to a time and place she might actually have been happy.  A time before her life was shattered all over again, leaving her destitute and bitter, a woman spiraling out of control on her way to the bottom where Black Siren was eagerly waiting with arms wide open.

“God, Dinah.  I fell in love so fast that I didn’t even realize until I was already neck deep.  She made me forget how broken I was.  Made me want to live again.  Made me want things I had given up on, like getting married and having babies and buying a house in the suburbs and adopting a dog and the whole nine yards.  I hadn’t wanted any of those things since Ollie died.  Sometimes I think I may have even loved her more than I did him, which was scary as hell but a relief at the same time because she understood me like no one else ever has. She not only practiced a saintly level of patience with me but she embraced me for who I was and never once asked me to be somebody I wasn’t.  No one other than my father ever loved me so wholly and selflessly.  So how could have said anything but yes when she asked me to marry her a year later?  It was a no brainer, really.  Best choice I ever made.  And the worst.”

Dinah feels awful for the surge of irrational jealousy that overtakes her at hearing some other woman besides her was the first to make Laurel feel that way.  Hating herself for even entertaining such a notion, she quickly masters herself and focuses on the information being given to her, just like she was taught to while training to become a detective.  From how Laurel’s brief description practically gushed with praise, she can tell this woman was special.

“She sounds amazing,” Dinah says, trying her best to be a supportive friend.

Laurel’s wistful smile signals her confirmation.  “She was.  Every single day, she made me laugh and smile and never once made me feel like I was defective or like I didn’t deserve her.  She showered me with so much love I honestly felt like I was about to drown sometimes. And when I got panicky about that and would take off for a few days to sort through my baggage, she would always be waiting for me back home when I came to my senses.  She was kind and passionate and strong, and while we were together, she wasn’t just my lover and my best friend and my emotional rock.  She was my everything.”

Lips beginning to quiver, a solitary tear slips down Laurel’s cheek as she ducks her head and tries to rein in her emotions that are clearly getting away from her.

“What happened to her?”  Dinah coaxes gently, sensing a tragedy at the end of the story yet needing to know, even if she feels guilty about it putting Laurel through such an emotional ringer just to satisfy her fully invested curiosity.

When Laurel starts up the tale again, her tone is detached, as if she’s had to separate herself from the memory in order to recall it without breaking down.  Dinah feels like a heel for having cause it, and yet at the same time listens with rapt attention.

“The night the particle accelerator at S.T.A.R. Labs exploded, I got home early from work.  That night was our anniversary, so Reno let me duck out right after my set ‘cause I wanted to surprise her and, like virtually everybody else that met her, he had a huge soft spot with her name written all over it.  On the way home, I picked up dinner from our favorite place and stopped to pick up candles and roses and chocolates at this kitschy little shop that catered to couples in the mood for romance.  I was setting up the table when I got the call.” Catching Dinah’s gaze, Laurel smiles with a dark wryness that intensifies her guilt.  “Just my luck, as I was being told my fiancee was shot to death on the job, I got hit with a wave of dark matter that turned my manic screaming into a superpower.”

“Jesus, Laurel.  That’s awful.  I’m so sorry.”  

There isn’t much more Dinah can think to say about a horrible tale that frankly has her on the verge of crying herself.  So they had both lost someone that night.  Dinah a lover and Laurel a fiancee.  With so little time to process this revelation, she can’t figure out which of them had it worse.  

At first blush, it would seem logical to believe Laurel was better off having not witnessed her fiancee’s death.  Dinah is not so sure that line of logic holds water, though, when she would not even be tempted to trade places.  As bad as it was to watch Vinny die, twice, at least she was with him; at least they were able to say their silent goodbyes through eye contact that communicated the undying devotion for one another that resided within their hearts; at least she had the closure of being with him in his final seconds, offering what strength she could as her love for him poured out in waves of tears and mewling sobs.  

Laurel came home just like she did every other day, excited to share an anniversary with the woman she loved only to receive a phone call no one wants to get.  She never got to say goodbye, never got to say I love you one last time, and had to hear from someone else how the person she was prepared to commit the rest of her life to died doing her job.  Many may see that as preferable to being there when it happened, but not Dinah.  To her, Laurel’s was by far the worse fate.

Just as she is about to brave inquiring how it happened, something else occurs to her about the way Laurel worded a particular phrase.  Like a search dog having picked up a scent, she follows the trail with blind determination.  

Arms crossing defensively over her chest, she tilts away from Laurel and spears the blonde with a sharp glare.  “Wait a sec.  She was killed on the job?  What exactly did she do?”

Confused, Laurel’s brows furrow.  “Uh...she was an undercover cop with the CCPD.”

Dinah nearly launches out of her seat at that shocking tidbit of info.  There weren’t a lot of women working undercover with the CCPD during that time and most of them she knew personally.   “Are you serious? What was her name?”  Looking conflicted and pained, Laurel refuses to answer, which piques Dinah’s curiosity.  Other than the obvious, she gets the feeling there is something about this woman’s identity causing Laurel to cling so doggedly to secrecy.  The only reason she can think of is that Laurel wishes to spare her feelings.  But why? The answer resonates so suddenly and heavily through her bones that she gasps aloud.  “Laurel, did you know me?  I mean, the Earth-2 version of me?”  Still no answer.  “Laurel?”

Stubbornly shaking her head, Laurel launches off the couch, arms wrapping around herself as she begins to pace.  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.  I know I said I’d tell you, but I can’t do this anymore.  It’s too painful.  Losing her almost killed me.”

I know how that feels, Dinah thinks.  And just then something truly terrible then occurs to her that radically turns the conversation away from another even more startling revelation that might well have altered her entire perception of Laurel Lance had it been allowed to surface.  It doesn’t, though, because Dinah loses her grip on that thread as a surge of fury courses through her veins.  

“Why did you lie to me?” she demands, thoughts spiraling back to not-so-distant past, to a visit from Laurel at her office at CCPD that contained an apology that served as the catalyst for their current, far more healthy relationship.

Frowning deepening into a scowl, Laurel stops pacing and glowers at her. “Excuse me?”

“You said once that you could only imagine how I felt when you killed Vinny.”  Dinah stands now, accusation as present in her tone as it is her posture.  “If what you just told me is true, then you know exactly how I felt.  Were you just playing me back then to gain my sympathy?”

The unexpected course change punctuated by that harsh accusation sends Laurel reeling back a step.  “What?  No!  I meant what I said. What happened to me was not the same as what I did to you.”

“I fail to see how,” Dinah shoots back obstinately, her anger having usurped all other concerns.  Like an unforgivably stupid sap, she had fallen for the line and let Laurel into her life and into her heart on false pretenses. 

Under attack, Laurel digs in her heels.  Those intense green eyes flash with indignation.  “Well, you should.  My fiancee was killed by a heartless monster.”

“And Vinny wasn’t?”  Dinah almost apologizes the second the barb leaves her mouth.  Almost.  She probably would have if the petty part of her was not fully in control and currently enjoying watching Laurel blanch as if stricken.

“Okay, wow.  That hurt, even if I deserved it,” Laurel replies in little more than a whisper.  Her posture radiates unadulterated hurt. “But I swear to you, Dinah, my apology was genuine.  I did not want to kill him.”

That is the last thing Dinah wants to hear right now.  Not when she is incensed by the sting of betrayal.  And to think she had almost convinced herself she was over Vinny’s death.  The worst part is she doesn’t know who to be more angry with right now for the deception, Laurel or herself.  Unwilling to accept any blame for one of the most traumatic moments of her life, only one target remains at which she can direct her ire.

“Then why did you?  Huh?!” she asks, aggressively stepping into Laurel’s personal space.  Way in the dark recesses of her mind, she knows this conversation has been a long time coming and their mutual avoidance of it is what led to this disastrous breakdown of what was otherwise a very pleasant – and enlightening – conversation.  Too bad she doesn’t care about that right now.  All that matters in the moment is getting answers to questions that have been eating away at her for far too long.  

“Why, Laurel?” she presses.  “You say you didn’t want to.  You say you’re sorry.  If that’s true, give me an actual answer that isn’t some lame bullshit excuse to cover your sorry ass.”  No reply.  “Answer me, dammit!  You owe me that much!” Frustratingly, Laurel continues to remain mute, which essentially pushes Dinah over the edge.  Laughing bitterly, her entire frame vibrating with barely restrained rage, she clenches her hands into fists at her sides.  “God, you’re such a lying cowa -”

“I didn’t have a choice!  Okay?  I didn’t!”  Laurel’s explosive interruption shocks Dinah into stunned silence.  Taut as a rope pulled between two diesel trucks, she listens to the explanation that follows. “When Cayden told me not to make him doubt my loyalty that night, it wasn’t an idle threat.  He could have killed me on the spot with little to no warning.  He had that power over me and we both knew it.  So I did what I always do.  I chose myself.  I chose to live.  I’m not proud of it, but there it is.”  

Pausing, visibly distraught, Laurel wraps her arms around herself as if in a desperate bid to keep from falling apart.  She has never looked more vulnerable, more fragile, more unsure of herself and frightened of Dinah and close to utterly unraveling.  The sight affects Dinah more than she would have liked, and she soon finds her anger uncoiling as Laurel grows increasingly emotional.

“I didn’t want to kill Vinny, Dinah.  I liked him.  Respected him, even,” Laurel goes on, expression matching her tone, both begging for Dinah to understand and to not hate her.  Loathe as she is to admit it, Dinah is convinced that she is being honest.  “He was the only person in that rag tag group of miscreants and degenerates that treated me like a human being with value.  I guess it’s because he was the only one of us with a halfway functioning conscience.” Curling in on herself, Laurel takes a shuddering breath.  “Just a second ago you were about to call me a coward.  Well, you’re right. I am.  I am worthless coward and a horrible person who will always choose herself and nothing I do or say will ever change that.”

Silence descends over them in the wake of an admission that rings to Dinah as patently false.  Laurel has proven so many times over the past six months that she is anything but a coward incapable of meaningful change.  Her most vocal detractors grudgingly admit she is a fair if not aggressive District Attorney, she has not once hurt an innocent during her extracurricular excursions to seek justice for her slain father, and she has even made friends who would be very upset with Dinah right now for causing her so much distress.  Hell, Dinah is one of those friends, or thought she was anyway before tonight cast shade upon that assumption.  If she was Laurel’s friend would she been so quick to accuse Laurel of such an underhanded tactic as using Vinny’s death to manipulate her?

Shame cascades in waves through Dinah’s chest, drowning out every last stronghold of animosity bitterly clinging to the surface of her heart.  It wouldn’t take a detective to figure out how badly she just hurt Laurel, what with Laurel wearing her pain the same way a relentlessly browbeaten prisoner might heavy shackles. Unfortunately, Dinah’s pride gets in the way of her issuing the apology dangling off the tip of her tongue.  With neither willing to speak, the silence that stretches on until they have both wallowed in miserable, awkward discomfort for so long that it doesn’t appear there is any salvaging what was once such a promising conversation.  

Laurel is the one to break the stalemate when she sighs in defeat. Shoulders slumping, she glances toward the door then says, “I should go.  Before I do, I have to tell you again how sorry I am.  I am so sorry, Dinah.  So very fucking sorry.  There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I was as brave as you.  That I would have done the right thing.  If I had, Vinny would still be here, you’d be happy, and Cayden would have killed me, meaning at long last my miserable existence would be over.  I know that means nothing to you right now, but I hope some day it might.  I’ll let myself out.”

Still stunted beyond the ability to respond, Dinah can only watch as Laurel rushes out the door and disappears into the night.  Once the ability to function returns some minutes later, she shuffles over to the couch on shaky limbs, collapses heavily onto the welcoming cushions, and sits there numbly until the tears finally arrive.  Besieged by so many emotions she cannot hope to begin sorting them out, she cries and cries until it feels like she has permanently exhausted the ability of her tear ducts to function.  

Emotionally spent, she lays there wrapped up in her blanket and stares blankly at the wall, willing the oblivion of sleep to abduct her away from the sight seared into her imagination of the deceptively delicate flower that is Laurel Lance blooming right before her eyes only to immediately wilt under an onslaught of insensitive recrimination Dinah can scarcely believe came from her.  Like a switch was flipped when her brain made that connection to Vinny, she had launched into attack mode and proceeded to mindlessly obliterate the remarkable progress she and Laurel had made tonight.  For a while there she had felt so encouraged over the direction they were heading that she allowed herself to be swept away on wings of hope.  What a fool she’d been!  Now, only barren emptiness remains where once there was a verdant field lush with promise, and she has no one but herself to blame for the dramatic and pervasive wasting.  

With no tears left to cry and nowhere to hide from her guilt and shame, Dinah remains motionless upon couch until long after the sun has once again arisen in the East.  Those hours are some of the most lonely and wretched of her life.

[sonicrainicorn]

Made of Love, Chapter 18

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Table of Contents

Ship(s): Logicality, (platonic) Prinxiety

All Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Dr. Picani, Joan, Talyn, and Deceit

Synopsis: Humans Roman and Virgil get wrapped up in some serious magic business without meaning to. Their other companions aren’t exactly as they seem, either. Together they all must defeat a great threat for the safety of humanity.

Chapter Desc.: Sometimes the past is hard to let go. Oh, and Virgil almost kills a man.

TW: Cursing, child abuse (mentioned), vomiting

Prefer to read it on Ao3? Click here!

So things weren’t all that normal the next day. Or the next after that. Or even the next one after that. Turned out having your worst fears and regrets dug up out of your buried memories box wasn’t the best thing in the world. Being subjected to them as if they happened again (without the option of changing anything) didn’t help all that much, either. How was it possible to be normal after that?

When every loud noise caused Roman to jump and Logan to freeze, or when the sun went down and Thomas had to turn on every light around him, or when Patton needed to make sure everyone was where they said they were more than once, it became clear it wouldn't be easy to act as if nothing had happened. No matter how hard they tried to.

Virgil felt as if he was grasping at straws trying to keep everyone together. They were all nervous and snappy. Patton almost punched him in the face once because he accidentally snuck up on him. It was an, uh, experience so to speak. Virgil was sure his life flashed before his eyes. He learned to be a little more cautious with everyone after that. There were at least two people who could kill him on the spot and one person who could for sure deal some damage. He didn’t want to be at the receiving end of any of those outcomes.

It was around lunch time when Virgil noticed someone was missing. He counted heads twice to see if maybe he was wrong, but it was true. There were only three other people. He looked at faces and realized it was Patton. Which was odd. Patton hadn’t tried to leave the house nor did he show interest in doing so. He wanted to keep a close eye on everyone. Yet when Virgil looked, Patton wasn’t anywhere inside. Of course, that didn't mean he left.

Virgil slipped on some shoes and walked out toward the backyard. He continued to walk past the fence, tracing over familiar steps to a place he had been several times. A structured path was starting to form from how often and how many feet have passed over this specific ground. He soon came upon a clearing. An old door sat against one of the few trees with a hole punched through it.

At first, he didn’t see Patton. Part of him was about to set panic mode into overdrive, but he happened to hear something. Or rather, someone. Patton was softly singing from… the tree. He sat atop a branch with his feet swishing back and forth every so often. It didn’t seem as if he noticed Virgil quite yet. He faced away from the clearing -- toward the wilderness of the mountain. The words of “Everything Stays” flitted out in a low whisper.

Virgil waited for the last few lyrics to be sung before deciding to make his presence known. “Uh, hey, Pat?” He walked up to the base of the tree.

“Oh! Virgil.” He covered his eyes before Virgil could see his face. His hand moved along the branch. “Didn’t hear you walk up.”

“I noticed.” He watched with mild fascination as Patton took extra care to put his glasses on a certain way. It occurred to him that he had never seen Patton without glasses before, but thought nothing of it. It didn’t make much of a difference. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing much. Just needed some fresh air, I guess.” He smiled down at Virgil with his glasses now in place.

Virgil knew something was off right away. “Do you mind if I join you?” He wasn’t afraid -- well, yeah, he was a bit afraid of heights. He was a little bit afraid of everything, but that also meant he didn’t have large amounts of fear in any one thing. Jack of all fears, phobia in none.

"Oh, uh, sure. You can come up if you want." Patton moved over a bit to make some room.

Virgil swallowed the nervousness building inside him and climbed up the tree. He hadn't done so in many years. The last time he ever did it, he ended up with a fractured finger when he was nine. Somehow, that ended up being the only injury he sustained. He sat next to Patton and took extra care to not look down. "So what's up? And don't give me any dad jokes."

"Darn." Patton swung his arm to express sarcastic displeasure. "What's the point of having kids if you can't even say dad jokes?"

Virgil rolled his eyes. "I'm almost thirty."

"And Thomas is almost a hundred. You're both children."

Alright. He should have expected that. Instead, he shook his head to go about the question a different way. "Why are you out here?"

Patton shrugged. "Hadn't been outside in a while. I just… I just needed to feel at home, I guess."

Virgil wasn't sure how to respond. Maybe there wasn't a proper way to.

A tiny silence hovered between them before Patton decided to break it. “I knew a girl once,” he peered down at his swinging feet, “way before I even met Logan. I must have been -- gosh -- maybe six. She was ten, maybe nine. And we were really close. My brother and I would always look forward to hanging out with her. She was lovely.” A sad smile flickered across his face. “She knew what we were and that we had magic. But she wasn’t afraid or disgusted. It was the first experience I ever had with a human. I thought they were all that way.”

He looked up at Virgil. Virgil found he couldn’t speak. There had to be a point to this, and with the way it was going, he sensed it wouldn’t be a happy one.

"My brother tried to tell me that they weren't. They were dangerous. She was the only exception. I didn't really take it seriously until it was too late." He put his hands in his lap and stared at them. "I did magic a bit too close to her village once. The people saw it, they thought it was her, and I never saw her again. She didn't even defend herself. She let everyone believe it was her so they wouldn't go looking for me." He fidgeted with his fingers. "I promised myself after that that I wouldn't let anyone danger themselves to protect me.

"But then Arlene came along and Logan --" He clenched his jaw. Virgil felt pain and anger all at once. "So I tried to make another promise. That I'd never let anything happen to Logan again. I haven't been very good at keeping it. I don’t think I’ve ever been very good at protecting people I care about."

Virgil frowned. “What makes you think that?”

“My success rate isn’t very high.” He started picking at the tree bark. “I had to watch myself fail over and over again when we were with that efiora. I hated it. I hated not being able to do anything and I hated to be reminded of it.” He stopped and looked back up at Virgil. “I guess the only thing I can do now is to make sure nothing worse happens.”

A weight fell down onto Virgil’s shoulders. It pressed onto his back like a heavy bag. He should say something. He needed to tell Patton. He had -- “Right.” He couldn’t. He knew he had to, but he couldn’t. It might’ve been dumb not to, but he couldn’t add any more bad news.

Patton sighed. “Well -- anyway,” he brought up a little smile, “I feel like making some cookies. Wanna help?”

The next day, Roman woke up the same way he had been for the past few days. That is to say, he didn’t sleep at all. Maybe he got an hour or so in last night, but not much either way. Upon deciding that he wouldn’t get any more than that, he created a cocoon of blankets and edited some photos. He waited until it was a reasonable time before shutting his laptop and leaving his room.

Then he went about the same way he always did. He tried to act like he had a normal amount of sleep and that he wasn’t hurting. Not that he’d admit he was, but even he couldn’t hide from the truth. He hurt. Every aspect of being alive and walking around hurt in some way. He felt bruises and heard sharp words as if it all happened yesterday. As if his mother came back and did every single thing she had done when he was a child.

He never liked to think about it. Whenever someone asked about his childhood, he only ever mentioned from the age he was adopted onward. And he made himself sound like everybody else. He had a mom, and a dad, and several siblings. They did the same thing any other family did. They were nice. They were normal.

Now that he thought about it, very few people knew more than the basic details about his family. One of them was Virgil, actually. He told Virgil a lot of things about them that he’d never think about telling anyone else. He admitted that all his siblings were adopted as well. Growing up, there were so many languages and cultures going around because his parents didn’t want anyone to forget who they were. Their ethnicity meant something and it wasn’t going to be taken away just because they were in an adoptive family.

It led to one of Roman’s greatest tricks: knowing five languages. He was fluent in both English and Spanish, knew basic pleasantries in Mandarin, could have a simple conversation in Tagalog, and knew a plethora of curse words in Arabic.

“You know Tagalog?” Virgil had said once he found out. “I don’t even know Tagalog.”

Roman offered to teach him what he knew. They never had a chance to work on it.

So having the short years with his mother come back was like a (proverbial) slap in the face. He didn’t think he’d ever revisit them. And why would he? As far as he or anyone else was concerned, his childhood started with the family that loved him rather than the woman who hated his existence. He never understood why she kept him if she never bothered to try loving him.

But other than that he was great. Everything was fine. He would push through the same way he always did. It would pass eventually. And then he’d be able to catch up on some missed beauty rest. Not that he needed it -- because he didn’t. No matter how much that little voice tried to tell him otherwise.

“Um, you guys okay in here?” To say that Roman expected this specific scene in the kitchen on his late afternoon would be a lie.

Patton sat perched on the counter like a frightened cat while Virgil gazed at the floor with disinterest. He had his arms crossed with his hands holding a cup and a ripped off piece of cardboard from some sort of food container.

“I saw a spider and Virgil refused to kill it so now it’s missing,” Patton answered.

“I’m not going to kill it -- they’re helpful.”

“It would be a lot easier if you killed it.”

Roman had a hard time understanding them sometimes. They were an interesting pair, to say the least. “So you’re just going to stay there in the hopes that it goes away?”

“I am not stepping down until I’m sure that it’s gone.” Patton’s tone was finalizing. Well, that was that. “So I’m gonna need you to go get Thomas and Logan for me.”

Ugh, responsibilities. “What? Where’d they go?”

“Logan decided to do some training and Thomas went with him. They’ve been up there for a while --” Patton cut himself off with a squeak. “It’s right there!”

“Hm? Oh.” Virgil took his time wandering over to where it must have been.

Roman decided to leave all that commotion behind. He walked right outside without any hesitation. When he got there, he saw Thomas sitting on a log with a pensive expression and in just enough time to see Logan get tossed to the ground with both dummies pointing their swords at him. He groaned in annoyance and dropped his head back. That was certainly a sight.

“What’s going up with him?” Roman whispered as he snuck around to sit by Thomas. He didn’t think he’d ever see Logan lose.

“He’s been at it for a while,” Thomas responded without taking his eyes off Logan. “He keeps trying things at a more difficult setting, but he can’t get past this one. I think it’s starting to make him angry.”

Logan rolled out of the way and pulled himself up. He dusted himself off before picking up his sword.

“You doing okay, bud?” Thomas asked.

“Fine.” He didn’t seem very keen on expanding his answer further.

Thomas frowned but didn’t ask anything else.

The two watched him go again. And again. And again. Each time Logan got a little closer, but would still lose at the last minute. He would be taken down or cornered, and after he’d say one more time. Which wasn’t true. It became several more times.

Roman noticed something odd. There were moments where Logan would stutter or stop as if expecting something to happen. From the position of a skilled swordsman, it didn’t make much sense to do that. Yet it happened whenever he was in a tough position. It then occurred to Roman that there was a point. Logan was trying to use magic. There were subtle movements that he did -- almost as if they were instinctual -- that were followed by a rush to regain lost time when nothing happened.

After every failure, Logan became more and more ticked off. To the point where it became obvious he was only doing this to prove something. Prove what, Roman didn’t know, but he saw Thomas get increasingly agitated as it continued.

Once one of the dummies managed to cut Logan’s arm, Thomas stood up. “Objective complete,” he commanded.

The dummies stopped and returned to piles of sticks.

Logan huffed in annoyance. “What are you doing, Thomas?” He turned to face the two onlookers.

Thomas and Roman gave each other a worried glance. “You need to stop,” Thomas continued. “It’s okay that you can’t do this.”

“I can.” Logan scowled. “I’ve been doing this for more than a hundred years.” He noticed the blood beginning to drip from his cut and managed to appear even more displeased. “This should be easy.”

“Maybe when you had your magic,” Roman mentioned. “You’ve never had to fight without it, right?”

“My magic isn’t some handicap.” Logan stabbed his sword into the ground.

Thomas grimaced. “He has a point, Logan. You’ve never had to fight without magic and that’s fine. It makes things a bit different than you’re used to.”

Logan put his hand over his cut and turned his back on them. “That doesn’t mean I can’t do it. Sword fighting has nothing to do with magic at all.”

“But you’ve always had it in your veins. It’s your instinct to rely on it when you need it, isn’t it?”

Logan didn’t respond to that. “Start up.” The wood piles sprung to life.

“You’re acting like a kid, Logan.” Slight frustration edged in Thomas’s voice. “Just take a break. This is something you can’t do.”

“You’re wrong.”

Roman noticed that Thomas looked offended for a moment. He wanted to speak up but didn’t know what to say to defuse this escalating situation.

“I’m not,” Thomas insisted. “You’re just not seeing from an outside point of view -- you’re being stubborn.” He sighed and eased away the tension in his shoulders. “It’s okay to give up, Logan. Sometimes you just need to sit out.”

Logan whipped around, fury in his features. “Why can’t you just let me do this for you, Patton?” The moment the words escaped his lips, his eyes widened in shock. All previous anger vanished as if it was never there in the first place.

Roman and Thomas stared at him with just as much shock. Neither of them knew what to say to that.

“I…” Logan took a small step back. “I didn’t mean -- I don’t -- I just --” He sighed, dropping all defenses. “I can’t exactly lie out of this, can I?” He lowered his gaze to the ground.

The other two shared another glance.

“Did I remind you of someone?” Thomas asked tentatively.

Logan laughed, but it held no humor. “You can say that.” He dropped his hand and looked at it. There was a streak of blood on his palm. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard those words.”

“Patton said that to you?” Roman asked in disbelief. He never thought Patton would want to do anything without Logan.

He looked back up. “It was a long time ago -- I shouldn’t even be focusing on that.” He wandered over to the log and sat down.

“What happened?” Thomas sat down beside him.

Logan hesitated before deciding to explain. “Back when we first started fighting against Altair, Patton and I were rarely Picani. He was afraid that I couldn’t handle it, and past paranoia made him fear that someone would find out what we were and force us to unfuse.” He grimaced. “It’s unpleasant and leaves wounds that don’t quite heal -- physically and mentally.” He placed his hand on his chest for a brief moment. “But that’s beside the point. The point is, Patton refused to let me fight at all.

“As you know, his body is full of healing magic. He can heal a papercut in the blink of an eye.” Logan frowned at his own cut. “Compared to him I was a fragile creature in constant need of his help. His biggest fear was me getting hurt. Whenever we needed to fight, we unfused and Patton went while I stayed behind. I wanted to join -- I knew it would be better if we were together -- but he wouldn’t let me.

“Patton grew up learning how to fight. Your parents, Thomas, had been fighting for centuries. I was the weakest out of all of them.” He closed his eyes. “But I knew they needed me. Patton isn’t an attacker -- he’s a defender. If I could just get Patton to see that I could protect myself, then maybe we could form Picani and provide better support.”

He opened his eyes and stared at the ground. “So I asked your parents to help me train. I had never fought with weapons before. I barely even knew how to fight with magic. But I got better. I tried everything I could to prove that I could do it. Yet no matter how hard I trained or how much I argued, Patton still wouldn’t let me go. He said I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough.”

He frowned. “He never let me try. All I wanted to do was prove that I could fight, but he never gave me a chance. Every time, it was the same answer. It would be better if I stayed out. He thought I couldn’t handle it.”

There was a beat of silence before Thomas asked, “So then how did you convince him?”

Logan relaxed a bit. A tiny smile came on his face as he turned to Thomas. “Your mother.” Thomas’s eyes widened. “She saw how hard I was trying and decided to give me a chance. She found something I could do on my own behind Patton’s back -- just so I could prove that I wasn’t as weak as he thought.”

“How did that go?” Roman asked.

“It was the first thing I ever successfully did on my own.” Logan smiled to himself. “I ended up doing a few more before Patton found out, and it’s safe to say he wasn’t all that happy about it at the time.”

“Sorry,” Thomas mumbled. “For making you think you weren’t strong enough -- for Patton thinking you weren’t strong enough.”

Logan stared at him in surprise before turning it into a small smile. “Well, you were right, in a way. My body isn’t the same without magic. I can’t do everything I used to. So… I’m sorry. For yelling and making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say nothing .” Thomas nudged him with his shoulder. “But I get what you’re saying.” He jumped up and extended a hand toward Logan. “We should get back and have Patton heal your cut.”

~~~

To say that Virgil was a little pissed off was an understatement.

He was having a pretty good day at work. Things were running smoothly, people were being nice to him, it was going well. He should have known that it wouldn’t last. The minute that he walked in Virgil had an instant need to break his nose. He sauntered up to the counter with that irritating smirk.

“So?” He asked without a care in the world. As if he didn’t send Virgil and his friends walking into a trap just the other day. “Where’s my ending?”

Oh, Virgil would give him an ending alright. He exited the bar and swooped around to grab the Theorist by the shirt collar. Not taking any objections, he started dragging him to the back room. Roman trailed after them, albeit a bit confused about the whole thing.

Once the door shut, Virgil slammed the Theorist into it.

Roman jumped. “Virgil!”

“Woah!” The Theorist held his hands up in surrender. “What is happening right now?”

“You were the one with the contract weren’t you?” Virgil reached into his pocket but kept at least one hand clutching the Theorist’s shirt. “You did this.”

The Theorist furrowed his brows. “What are you --?”

Virgil held the dagger up to his throat. “Don’t try to lie out of it.”

“Virge.” Roman stared at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The Theorist kept his hands up. “I don’t know anything about a contract. I didn’t do anything.”

“How the hell am I supposed to believe you?” Virgil pressed the dagger closer. “You tricked us.”

The Theorist’s eyes flicked down to it before moving back up to Virgil. “What do you mean? I didn’t. I told you exactly where Altair would be. I have no reason to lie about that.”

“We didn’t find him there.”

The Theorist cringed. “Ooh, we’re in a bad timeline, then.”

Virgil scowled at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Listen, the future isn’t set in stone, alright?” He glanced between Roman and Virgil. “It’s impossible to determine which path is the right one. I took a risk telling you --”

“You took a risk?” Virgil was about two seconds away from lodging his dagger into this dude’s throat.

The Theorist frowned a bit, clearly well aware of how much danger he was in. “Do you happen to know the butterfly effect?”

“The idea that one tiny detail can cause something bigger to happen later on?” Roman crossed his arms and looked at the Theorist with intrigue.

“That’s the basics of it, yes.” The Theorist gave him a proud smile, but it fell once he noticed Virgil continuing to scowl at him. “It’s really a lot more complicated than that, but let’s look at it through that lens. The moment I made a decision to tell you I spurred a chain of events that eventually led to what happened with you. One minuscule detail that triggers a bigger impact.”

“How is this supposed to stop me from hurting you?” Virgil wouldn't hesitate to bring the dagger any closer. As far as he was concerned, this man was responsible for his friends seeing their most traumatizing moments. There wasn't any way he was going to get off easy.

“I’m just trying to prove I didn’t do anything.” The Theorist's frown deepened. “The future is tricky. Much like the butterfly effect, something that seems unimportant now can make something disastrous happen later. Not even someone like me can know what will happen with a hundred percent certainty.”

“What made you think Altair would be there in the first place?” Roman asked. He sounded a lot more gentle and friendlier than Virgil.

“I saw it.”

“What do you mean you saw it?” Virgil narrowed his eyes.

The Theorist looked right at Virgil. “All it takes is a touch. Just one little brush of the hands to catch a glimpse of someone’s timeline. I saw your past, I saw the possibilities of your future. Not enough to pick out details, but enough to get information. You didn’t exactly give me your consent, after all.”

“That doesn’t make me trust you any more.” Virgil kept his dagger in place. “How am I supposed to know you aren’t lying?”

Rather than frowning further, the Theorist seemed a bit annoyed. He sighed and before Virgil could hear, “watch out” in Patton’s voice, a hand seized his wrist.

In a matter of seconds, Virgil started to see images. Fast-paced pictures that came one right after the other. At first, his brain couldn’t keep up. They were moving too fast to understand. It wasn’t until he realized they weren't pictures, but scenes, that he was able to process them a bit better. Still, they moved too fast to decipher as they happened. By the time it switched, he had a vague idea of what went on in the previous scene.

There were moments he recognized -- graduating high school, his mom’s second wedding -- and moments he didn’t. Moments that never happened. There was Altair where he was meant to be -- at the old store -- he was there a few different times. There were also many times where he wasn’t. Of the times where he wasn’t, Anxiety appeared only a couple of times. Something else happened in the others. And then he saw past that. Somehow, he could comprehend it even less.

It seemed to move faster. Every scene flashed before him in quick succession. Like someone pressing the fast-forward button on an old videotape. He recognized the shapes, and had a vague idea of the story, but pieces were missing. Important points that he couldn’t quite make out. It was kind of terrifying. He saw… he saw Logan die. Multiple times, but always the same way. They lose. In so many different ways, they don’t win against Altair. They were all horrifying.

Then it stopped.

In a dizzying flash of light, Virgil was back in the room. He backed away from the Theorist and the dagger slipped from his hand. He swore he could see stars in front of his eyes. “What the hell was that?” He put his hands on the sides of his head. It was pounding.

“A peek into your timeline,” the Theorist groaned. He rubbed the front of his forehead with his palm.

“That was a peek?!” Virgil immediately regretted yelling. That made everything worse. “Ugh, it feels like I have a hangover and a migraine at the same time.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t feel pleasant.” He dropped his hand and gave his full attention to Virgil. “Not everyone was meant to peer into time. You’re lucky you only have a headache.”

He was going to be sick. He was going to throw up all over the stupid floor because he was Rose Tyler gazing into the heart of the TARDIS. It hurt so much.

“Do you believe me now?”

Roman put a hand on Virgil’s back. “Yeah, I believe you,” Virgil grumbled. “I saw it.” He dropped his hands, but couldn’t manage to pick his gaze off the floor.

“Then you know it wasn’t me. I never made any kind of contract with anyone. Trust me, I wouldn’t ever be on Altair’s side. The guy’s a maniac. He’d set the world on fire and call it mercy.”

Roman and Virgil exchanged a wary glance. “Thanks for trying to help,” Roman said. “Even if it didn’t quite work out as it should have.”

The Theorist gave a tiny smile. “If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know. I’m always around if you need information.”

Virgil ended up having to go home early after that. He physically couldn’t stand to be at the bar anymore. It took him almost throwing up two times to decide he needed to leave. The loud noises and the smell of alcohol was a bit too much at the moment. He must have looked like shit, too, because none of his co-workers argued against him leaving. In fact, they encouraged him to.

So Roman took him home. It was already past eleven by the time that they got there which meant the living room was empty except for Thomas. He was sitting on the couch watching John Mulaney but stopped to look at the newcomers with confusion. Virgil gave him a pathetic two-fingered salute before slinking away to his room. He heard Roman explain how he wasn’t feeling well.

Virgil didn’t bother with anything. He fell face first onto his bed and groaned into the pillow. It hurt less to be in complete darkness but he still felt like dying. A hammer was being whacked against all sides of his skull. It wasn’t pleasant. He figured he’d either need to sleep forever or know the sweet release of death to get his head to stop hurting. But since no one would be willing to kill him and it wasn’t possible to sleep the rest of his life away, the next best thing would be taking some Advil and calling it a night.

If he could manage to get himself out of bed, that is. He didn’t know if he’d be able to move again. It hurt to do anything. Maybe he should stay and accept death as it came to him. That would make things easier. Even thinking about moving was torturous.

Oh, God.

It didn’t seem as if he had a choice. He shot up from the bed and ran straight into the bathroom with just enough time to aim for the toilet bowl. Then out came whatever still happened to be sitting in his stomach. All the sudden movements made his head hurt more which, to his dismay, caused him to vomit more. It wasn’t ideal and it made him crave death more than ever.

He was spitting out the foul taste by the time someone walked in. He spared a glance to see Roman standing at the doorway. “Hey,” he croaked out.

“You look great,” Roman commented.

Virgil wasn’t sure if it was the splitting headache or what, but he was pretty sure he could see Roman looking at him in concern. “Oh, yeah, I feel wonderful.” He wiped his mouth. “If I ever try to doubt a Seer again, just punch me right in the face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flushed away the gross contents of his stomach and sat back on his legs. His throat burned.

“Would you like to get off the floor?” Roman raised a brow.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay here for a minute.” He didn’t think he could handle moving right now. What he didn’t expect, was for Roman to step in and join him. “What are you doing?”

“I came to check up on you so I don’t feel like I should leave until you’re back in your room.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t want you dying or anything, even though that would solve a lot of my problems. Thomas might get all sad about it.”

Virgil would roll his eyes if he could. “You’re so considerate.”

“I know.”

A brief moment of silence fell.

Roman kept his gaze on the ground. “When he showed you your timeline... what, what did you see?”

“Uh…” Virgil couldn’t say it. He didn’t think he ever would. No one else needed to know that the most likely outcome would end up with Logan dead, Patton gone, and Thomas missing. Roman didn’t need to know that if they failed, they’d be on the run for the rest of their lives. Because in those short few seconds, he saw that most of the possible time streams went that way. They had such a small chance. “Just what could have happened. If we found Altair there or not.”

Roman hummed.

“I-I think I’m gonna head off to bed now.” He tried to lift himself to his feet using the sink counter as support.

“Oh, sure." Roman seemed confused at the sudden change. "You need any help?”

“I’m good.”

He wasn’t.

(Next)

[presumenothing]

once more with feeling

(or, spooky action at no distance)

belated halloween-ish fic, aka questionably-serious crackfic with a heavy side of casual morbidity and inappropriate science. also entirely unedited phonefic which i refuse to even reread before posting. beware of character death (sorry shiho) and property destruction (not sorry). working title: the ectoplasmic method. this is what happens when grad school deadlines meet the looming shadow of finals?? idk just have it anyway

Somewhere, in the cell of a singularly dismal back room –

A figure falls to slump against the wall, the handcuff on one wrist letting out the sad jingle of a clink as it takes on most of her weight.

The same somewhere, scant minutes later –

"Oh, bollocks," says a disembodied voice, two feet up and several inches to the left, with more heartfelt feeling than its owner ever really displayed in life. "This isn't even scientific at all!"

…ahem. Anyway.

The first thing that Shiho does with her newfound freedom from both matter and gravity (along with most of physics and the sciences, really, natural or otherwise) is to float back out to the main lab, and sigh a non-essential breath of relief at the absence of a tiny horde of spectral lab rats scurrying about.

Admittedly the process of doing so is rather less smooth than imagination might suggest, with more error than trial in the grander scale of things, but such is the steady march of science.

Either way, some brief confusion of force and acceleration aside, the lab proves empty of any (other) less-than-corporeal entities.

Hypothesis: either said rats were once here and had since dissipated with the pass of time (because she refuses to use such a vague phrase as move on, even setting aside the question of whether it would even – theoretically – apply to animals of questionable self-awareness), or this… ectoplasmic… existence is yet another astronomically-rare effect of the apoptoxin.

Shiho's still mulling over the question when she reaches for the coffeepot from long habit…

…only for her hand to pass right through it. Predictably enough, in hindsight.

Her eyebrow twitches.

…

……

………………

Revised hypothesis: the afterlife sucks.

The moment of decaffeinated betrayal is interrupted by the insistently loud tick of the wall clock.

Her baleful glare at it yields nothing much of use, since she hasn't had any way of reliably telling the time over the past couple days, given her spectacularly cozy accomodations.

If nothing else, it's probably going to be a couple hours until someone discovers her very dead body and alerts Gin, she thinks in no little vindication – followed by an itemised list of unprintably detailed expletives.

Because, in that moment of thought, she'd suddenly found herself elsewhere in a quantum blink, with no experience or memory of having crossed the intervening space.

And staring Gin almost in the face, no less.

Shiho definitely does not shriek as she throws herself aside, all the while cursing stupidly broken FTL teleports that didn't even have the decency to deposit her somewhere more pleasant. Like Majorca, maybe. Or even back to America.

…actually, on that thought – Shiho narrows her eyes in concentration.

Several (failed) attempts at geographically displacing herself later, she gives it up as a bad job, earmarked for further study. At the very least Gin didn't act like he'd heard any ghostly screeching that may or may not have happened, even if he also failed to display signs of the sudden chill – more's the pity – that featured so consistently in those terrible movies she'd had the misfortune of being coerced into watching by certain people one time too many.

Though she supposes that could also be due to the fact that she'd dodged with the express purpose of not having him walk through her. Not that intersecting spaces with a corridor wall had turned out to be a much more comfortable option, on the whole, but it's mostly a matter of metaphysical principle.

Either way. Shiho inches forward until she's no longer coexisting with shoddily-constructed cinderblock, all the while cheerfully ignoring whatever nefariously above-her-paygrade evil Gin is monologuing about to Vodka, over the increasingly loud click of heels.

…wait. Heels? she repeats mentally, before promptly noping back through the wall before she has to experimentally verify whether Vermouth, of all people, can see her or not.

Which is how she finds herself somewhere that looks suspiciously like Gin's dressing room, complete with shelves of overpriced hair product, full-length mirrors, and a wardrobe she assumes must be full of identical white turtlenecks and black trenchcoats.

"Hm," she says, aloud, as she sets to work. All in the name of science, of course.

(Careful recollection of events, multiple attempts, and a fair assortment of choice swears later, she figures out what her previous attempts at properly haunting ghosthood had been lacking: emotion.

Fortunately, she doesn't lack for any degree of anger in this circumstance. It still takes some trying to have the conditioner bottles explode messily rather than just fall off the shelves with a series of dull thunks, but eventually she manages it.

Though she limits herself to breaking only one mirror. Just in case the bad luck accrues to her instead of Gin.

Then again, she is dead. How much worse can it get, really?)

Armed with her newfound discovery, she attempts to teleport again. A few minutes' intense concentration on the comfortable familiarity of her lab brings her back to where she started, but thinking fondly of her doctoral research lab garners her nothing but a faint headache and an impending sense of hypocrisy.

At least she confirms that her body is still where she left it.

Honestly, she's almost unsure whether to be offended or not, Shiho thinks, as she watches the slow creep of rigor mortis across her muscles.

Unbidden, the lone photo from that newspaper clipping flashes to mind –

"…oh, come on!"

Look, it's not like Shiho can deny the miniature cataclysm of feelings surrounding even the echo of that image, but really? Really? After everything else she's tried?

And why to an elementary school, of all places? Jeez.

Shiho rolls her eyes at the corridor – which stands empty, this time – and swears off shattering any more mirrors before floating off again. There's an awkward moment when she vaguely recalls something about children supposedly being more sensitive to unscientific phenomena, though that's quickly falsified by the inhabitants of the first half-dozen classrooms she passes through, teacher or student alike.

Ironically enough it's the de-aged Kudo Shinichi who does react somewhat to her presence, when she finally manages to locate his classroom – and honestly, couldn't he have at least faked his way into a higher grade? Pretend to be very unusually short for his age or something? That can't be enjoyable at all.

Shiho tries to imagine herself stuck with this bunch of seven-year-olds and can't help a shudder, which is why she almost misses one of said children leaning slightly backwards in her seat to whisper far too loudly. "Are you alright, Conan-kun? Do you need a sweater?"

"No, I'm fine," Kudo-kun demurs, rejecting the profferred garment – quite rightly too, Shiho thinks, since that's just plain asking to be a vector for germs. "Just a cold draft, that's all."

He doesn't look even once in her direction, but relaxes visibly when she finally floats back out of the classroom to observe via a window.

Huh. Interesting. Maybe it's something about having seen too many corpses?

Shiho almost discards that out of hand on grounds of Gin, who had seen easily ten times as many dead bodies, most by virtue of having put them there by his own hands.

Admittedly, now that she thinks on it, it does seem entirely possible that Gin would not notice a localised drop in temperature due to being cold-blooded to start with, anyway.

She has insufficient data, she decides, and three working guesses: either Kudo-kun has seen too many deaths, too many corpses, or he's just looped into the same cosmic joke for having taken the apoptoxin as well.

History and statistics suggest that she'll eventually run into both mass murderers and homicide officers if she hangs around him long enough. Which leaves the third category quite unverifiable, but at least it'd make more sense than some high school detective managing to be the single outlier that should not be counted in any statistic, ever.

Though even waiting out the school day in the hope of some murders happening feels like an increasingly unattractive prospect, she thinks, pulling a face at the chalkboard's worth of mind-numbingly basic math when the bell stubbornly refuses to ring the end of first period.

She didn't skip through the first half of her education just to subject herself to it in death, of all things, and besides it's about time someone found her body anyway.

Shiho contemplates the hallway ceiling for a minute before managing to rebel further against gravity until she reaches the rooftop, already preparing to move herself back to the lab once she gets her bearings straight.

Then someone behind her gasps Shiho? in a voice all too familiar, and she –

Shiho isn't actually too sure what happens, in the following minutes.

Somewhere in the glassy shards of thought left fractured by her sister's voice is a swift-rising horror that it'd all been a lie – that the bullet which killed Akemi-oneechan was one she'd made with her own hands –

And maybe she says some of this out loud, maybe she doesn't, maybe it's simply that her sister has ever been the sole person in this world who understood her (even if she'd only realised that too late), but when the unrelenting static finally clears Shiho find herself not-quite hyperventilating on the rooftop of one Teitan Elementary, head spinning from the lack of air that she doesn't even need, and the one voice she'd never thought she'd hear again.

Even through the haze she can hear onee-chan saying things like it's not your fault, never was and Shiho almost shakes her head in reflexive denial, even as her mind whirrs back to that thrice-damned photograph and whispers agreement in logic, that death by apoptoxin is instantaneous and a gunshot wound would've left a significantly different blood spatter post-mortem, which meant –

"How are you here?" she chokes out, unable and unwilling to look up and meet those eyes. "If it wasn't the APTX – "

"APT– oh, is that the drug you were working on? No," Akemi says, with a sudden vindictiveness that startles Shiho into looking up anyway. "No, it was that utter scumbag Gin who shot me, you can take my word for that."

Shiho supposes that she must look unconvinced somehow, because Akemi adds, "I'd say that you could confirm with that little detective about that, but… well…"

Her gaze follows the wave of onee-chan's hand down to a cluster of small figures in the field, one of which is barely identifiable as Edogawa Conan, from this distance. It raises another dozen questions in turn, but still Shiho persists. "But how are you still here? Why haven't you… moved on?"

"Unfinished business, I suppose you could say."

"Huh?"

Akemi-oneechan blinks at that, in some apparent surprise. "Isn't it obvious?"

Shiho shakes her head in full earnesty.

"Oh, Shiho," Akemi almost-sighs, as she floats over and – catches hold of her hands, with a bout of warmth against all logic, the first solid thing Shiho's felt since this all started. "It's you, of course, it was always you."

…her words won't work and either way she knows not what to say to that, so Shiho just stands (floats) there, gaping silently like an idiot.

Somehow Akemi-oneechan is still smiling. "Well, I mean – I did manage to track down Dai-kun by accident, and I've been keeping an eye out for anything around Conan-kun, you wouldn't believe the amount of trouble he gets into. But the only one I worried over was you, and yet I couldn't find you, no matter what I tried…"

Shiho tries – and mostly fails – to process all this, and pieces together the next logical question. "Then what about me?"

She'd thought that it'd been because of the apoptoxin, but that's obviously invalid now, even if it galls her to replace that with such a ridiculously nebulous notion as unfinished business –

"There must be something you haven't done, a wish you haven't fulfilled, or… well," Akemi pauses, and Shiho can tell just from the lilt of her tone that she's not going to like whatever follows next, "like I've always been telling you, maybe it's just that you need to live a little. Have some fun, you know!"

And Shiho surprises them both by snorting a laugh at that. "In that case, I've gotten a start on that already."

To describe Akemi-oneechan's expression as starry-eyed would not be amiss, nor her voice as a squeal. "What did you do?"

"…destroy all of Gin's hair products?"

"Really?! Oh my god, Shiho-chan, I'm so proud, I always knew you had it in you – "

.

.

.

(AO3)

listen i literally?? don’t even?? know???? i did not see this coming, no plans here only bad jokes. the semi-crack antidote to this previous fic or something i guess, except not. don’t @ me 

[wordlesscaptain]

Insult to Injury: Part 4 (Steve x Reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k+

Warnings: angst, language

Summary: An ignored injury leaves you with more trouble than you bargained for.

A/N: I wanted to make the 4th part the final part, but I’m nowhere near done...typical of me. So I decided to break it up and post what I’ve gotten written so far. You guys deserve it! You’ve waited so long. I’m not sure when I’ll get the final final part written. A lot of stuff has happened in the past few weeks and I’ve been pressed for time. I’ll explain all that in a post later. I am anticipating having to take a hiatus, so I just wanted to let you all know that.

Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Your eyelids felt heavy, like they were being weighed down by an anchor. You struggled to find the strength to open them. You felt yourself being taken somewhere. The sound of wheels clattering against a hard surface filled your ears. You heard voices—voices you didn’t recognize—talking hastily around you, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then you heard it, his voice. It was authoritative and commanding, the usual. But you could’ve sworn you heard a sense of urgency and worry in the way he spoke.

You had to talk to him. You had to. This couldn’t wait any longer.

Your eyes snapped open and you instantly grimaced at the bright fluorescent lights that bore down above you. You were greeted by three unfamiliar faces, all dressed in navy blue medical scrubs. You must’ve actually fallen asleep on the Quinjet, which in any other circumstance would’ve been fine. But you wanted to talk to Steve before you went to the medical ward. It was too late now.

“Captain Rogers,” one of the unfamiliar faces spoke to get his attention.

Shortly after she spoke his name, you found him walking next to the gurney you were being wheeled on throughout the med ward. He greeted you with a smile. You smiled weakly back at him.

“How long was I out?” you asked, your voice raspy from the events that transpired earlier.

“Almost the entire flight,” he answered.

“Oh,” you replied softly. You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep at all. You were surprised you didn’t wake up when you landed. Your injuries must have taken more of a toll on you than you initially thought.

“It was terribly boring,” he joked.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. There he was making light of the terrible situation. You felt yourself falling deeper and deeper for him. You were glad he was in a good mood despite everything that had happened during the mission. You hoped his mood would stay that way when he found out the truth about your ankle.

You watched as you were wheeled through a set of double doors that lead to an examination room, Steve still walking hastily by your side. Once you were inside the room, the nurses slowed the gurney to a stop.

“We’ll take it from here, Captain Rogers,” one of the nurses spoke up.

Steve nodded in response. He gave you a small wave before leaving you in the hands of the nurses.

After a couple of hours of being poked and prodded by various doctors, you were finally released from their examining eyes. You were now lying in a hospital bed, a bright red cast adoring your right ankle.

The doctors explained to you briefly the condition your ankle was in earlier, but you were in so much pain from both the stab wounds and your ankle that everything was a blur. You wanted to think you heard the word ‘broken’ thrown around a couple of times, but you really weren’t sure. You also didn’t know how long you’d be stuck in that ugly cast. You were sure you’d find out soon enough. Before your mind could wander much further, two smiling—and worried—faces entered your room.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony greeted.

“Hi, Tony,” you said softly. “Steve,” you nodded towards his direction with a smile. He smiled back at you slightly. His gaze shifted to your obnoxiously flashy cast then back to you, his features now held an expression you couldn’t read.

You felt small and guilty when he looked back at you. You wondered if he knew what happened, that you had ignored a previous injury and were now worse for wear. If he did, oh boy, you were going to have hell to pay.

“Has the doc explained everything to you yet?” Tony asked, distracting you from your thoughts.

“Yes,” you nodded. “But, uhh, I don't really remember what she said. It’s all a little hazy.”

He nodded at you. “Alright, I’ll page her.”

“Has she talked to you two?” you asked. You weren’t sure which answer you preferred: them already knowing or having the news delivered to them with you in the room.

“Nope,” he shook his head. You saw Steve also shake his head out of the corner of your eye.

The doctor came into your room shortly after with a clipboard in her hands. She began explaining the severity of the stab wounds you received. She explained that would heal fairly quickly in roughly two weeks and reminded you to apply antibiotic cream twice a day.

Next, she moved on to your ankle. This was what you were dreading the most. The truth was going to come out and you weren’t sure how you, or a certain someone in the room, would handle it.

“Unfortunately, your ankle won’t heal as quickly as your other wounds,” she informed. “You’ll have to keep it in the cast for at least two months, and then we’ll put it in a brace while you work to get your complete strength and mobility back. All in all, it’ll probably take about four months.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t believe you would be out that long. Had anyone on the team ever been out that long? You had no idea what you were going to do with yourself. You felt helpless and ashamed.

“I’ll show you some x-rays so you have a better visual of what’s going on,” she continued. The lights dimmed and a holographic screen popped up—all thanks to Tony’s brilliance, no doubt.

“If you’ll look here,” she pointed towards the x-ray, “you’ll see that the fibula is completely broken. And,” she paused, moving her finger across the image, “over here, you’ll see that there are fractures in the tibia as well. Now, I’m not exactly sure what happened, but it looks like those fractures happened before the fibula was broken.”

“So, you’re saying she was injured before today?” Steve asked, his brows furrowed in confusion.

The doctor nodded. “It appears so.”

“That’ll be all. Thanks, doc,” Tony spoke.

After the doctor left the room, the atmosphere felt heavy. You looked to Steve, his brows still furrowed. You could tell the gears in his head were turning. You knew he’d put the pieces together and figure out what happened eventually.

“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” Tony hummed. “Secrets, secrets hurt someone,” he finished as he gave you a knowing smirk.

“Since when did you become the moral compass of the group?” you scoffed.

Tony’s words were all Steve needed to hear for the pieces to finally click. His head snapped to you.

“Y/N-”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Tony announced before leaving you alone with Steve.

“Is it true?” he asked as he walked closer to you, his voice low.

You looked at him and opened your mouth, but couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

“Y/N,” he said more sternly, “did you know?” he asked.

You looked down to your hands to take your eyes away from his heavy gaze. “Steve, I’m sorry,” you confessed. You looked back up to meet his gaze. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“And how exactly did you want me to find out?” he asked.

“From me. I wanted to be the one to tell you, but I...” you paused, “God, I was going to tell you, I swear, but-”

“But you didn’t,” he cut you off. You could hear the anger and frustration building in his voice. “But it sure sounds like you told Tony.”

“No,” you started. He looked at you sternly. “Okay…kind of. I saw him the morning after the mission and he noticed I was limping so he asked about it. I just told him I didn’t think it was too serious and I thought it would be fine.”

He hummed in response, the gears in his head turning to put more pieces of the puzzle together.

“So that’s why you were acting weird that morning.”

You nodded.

“And that’s why you asked to work on arm strengthening.”

You nodded again.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked sincerely.

“I didn’t want you to worry and make a big deal about it,” you answered.

“I wouldn’t have made a big deal-”

“You’re making a big deal about it right now,” you retorted.

He sighed. “I still wish you would’ve told me.”

“In my defense, I didn’t think my ankle was that bad,” you countered.

“In your defense?” he scoffed. “I know you knew something was off. You’re not stupid, Y/N.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “You’re right. I knew something wasn’t right. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t justify sitting on my ass waiting for my damn ankle to feel better while everyone else was fighting to protect the world.”

“That’s your excuse?” he questioned.

You were seeing red now. It frustrated you that he didn’t take your response as the truth. He was listening to what you were saying but he wasn’t really listening. You knew him. He’d given you that same response many times before. But when you said it, it was no longer a viable answer. You narrowed your eyes at him before speaking again.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing,” you challenged. He stayed silent. “That’s what I thought. You can’t. Because you have done the same thing. Remember that mission in Prague? You came back with three broken ribs and didn’t say a word until they got infected and you could hardly breathe.”

He stiffened at your words and crossed his arms.

“Or-or that one time you jumped out of that 40 story building and fractured your arm, but continued to go on missions like nothing happened.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have followed my example.”

“I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. You are the Captain after all,” you spat.

“You’re right, I am the Captain. You should’ve follow my orders, but you didn’t. You ignored me when I told you to get your ankle checked the first time,” he argued.

“How come you can ignore your injuries, but I can’t?” you demanded.

“That’s not the issue here. You’re missing the point.”

“What?” you growled. “What am I missing? I think you’re the one who’s missing-”

“Dammit, Y/N!” he yelled.

You froze at his sudden outburst. He had never, ever yelled at you like that before. You looked at him with wide eyes, not daring to say a word.

“Do you not realize how senseless you acted? How reckless? It’s a miracle you made it out of there in one piece. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. Did you ever consider that?”

You averted your gaze, finding a particular spot on the floor suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. He was right. You hadn’t thought about that. Your stubborn actions really could’ve killed you. And now the weight of that thought hit you like a freight train.

“I think you should go,” you whispered. Tears started to prick your eyes, threatening to spill over as each second passed.

He nodded and made his way out the door, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looked over his shoulder at you before disappearing out of the room.

Part 5

Taglist:

Permanent:

@memyselfandmaddox @shilohrudd98 @bibibucky @12thatsanumber

Steve:

@thebakerstboyskeeper @wowikindasuck @musical-whovian @coffeebooksandfandom @manchuria @19mrs-rogers18

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[the34thprecinct]

The 34th - Part 14

Since the kiss with Austin and Lauren's subsequent freak out in front of Normani, Camila and Lauren were trying particularly hard not to be too affectionate with one another at school. Camila had broken up with Austin two weeks ago now and he had taken it reasonably well. She had told him she wanted to focus on swimming and her studies for the time being and she just didn't feel like she could juggle a relationship on top of that. He had been disappointed sure, but he quickly requested that they stay friends as they were part of the same swimming club.

Their friends on the other hand hadn't taken the break up as well. Ally and Dinah were absolutely gutted and kept hounding Camila as to why she would break up with him when they were so cute together, Lauren nodded and agreed with whatever they said so as not to be suspicious. Camila just shrugged her shoulders and said she didn't believe in being in a relationship with someone unless she had strong feelings for them. Normani was the only one that didn't really comment. She was eyeing Camila skeptically as she explained her reasons, but she didn't press her on it.

"Hey guys," Camila said as she approached their group at lunchtime. Lauren and Normani were sitting together writing notes for their English exam and Ally was doodling in her journal. She tried her best to avert her eyes from the dazzling green ones. She knew if she looked directly into them, she would melt right onto the concrete.

"Hey Mila," Ally smiled back at her.

"Hey girl," Normani chimed in.

"Hey," Lauren said, trying not to look too happy as she smiled back at the younger girl. It was hard though, she was so damn cute. Lauren was having to bite her gums to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. But they had both agreed they needed to maintain some distance at recess and lunchtime, and try to spend equal amounts of time with each of the girls in order to avoid detection.

"Hey D," Camila waved her hand in front of Dinah's face. The youngest girl had her headphones in and was jamming away. "What are you listening to?"

"Only your favourite artist of all time," Dinah grinned back and offered Camila one of her headphones. Camila clapped her hands happily and sat down next to Dinah, grabbing one of the headphones and placing it in her ear. In a matter of seconds the two girls were screaming Taylor Swift's 'You Belong With Me', attracting many stares from other kids in the playground.

Lauren couldn't help but look up and smirk as she watched Camila jamming out to Taylor Swift. She was just so innocent and easily excited about anything, particularly the blonde Pop Star. Her voice was harsh and pitchy next to Dinah's, but Lauren couldn't take her eyes off her. She really was like Lauren's own personal sun, the older girl thought to herself. She was constantly brightening Lauren's day and made her feel all warm and gooey inside.

"Lauren?" Normani clicked her fingers in front of the dazzling green eyes that were gazing adoringly at Camila.

"Huh?" Lauren asked, shaking away her daydream.

"I said, do you think there's going to be an essay on Hamlet in the exam?" Normani sighed.

"Oh, sorry. Um...I'd still prep for it. I think it's likely." Normani just nodded and turned back to her notes.

Later that day Lauren was practically giddy with excitement as she ran out of English. She had planned to meet Camila in the locker room for a quick rendezvous before Camila headed to swim practice and Lauren headed to basketball training. She was so caught up in her thoughts about the younger girl that she had left her phone behind on her desk. Normani spotted it as Lauren darted out the door and quickly grabbed it before chasing after her best friend. When Lauren disappeared inside the vacant locker room, Normani was perplexed. As she stepped inside she heard Camila's cheery voice.

"I missed you today," Camila said as she wrapped her arms around Lauren's neck.

"I missed you too," Lauren said, smiling back at the younger girl and planting a soft kiss on her nose.

"I hate having to hide this," Camila sighed.

"I know, but we don't have a choice," Lauren frowned, looking down at the floor.

"I know how to cheer you up," Camila grinned as she grabbed the back of Lauren's neck and pulled her in for a tender kiss.

"Well now this explains A LOT."

Normani's voice caused them both to jump and quickly break away from each other. The dark skinned girl raised her hand with Lauren's phone and waved it at them, before grinning at her two best friends. She wanted both girls to know that she couldn't be happier for them.

-

Camila and Sofi ended up staying at Lauren's apartment for another few days as they all recovered from the trauma of the shooting. The death toll had remained at nine in the subsequent days and all the victims that had been taken to hospital for treatment were all in stable conditions. Lauren was particularly relieved to learn that the boy they had rescued, who had been shot in the thigh, was going to make a full recovery.

Lauren and Camila were both being awarded a Medal of Honour and Jordan a Medal of Valour for their efforts in bringing down the shooters. Lauren was completely shocked when she heard this and could only assume it was Coleman's doing in order to protect the fabricated story he had divulged to the media. She didn't want any sort of award for that day. She didn't feel she deserved one. Seven innocent people had died and she wasn't able to save them. Leaving the arts building with her own life, and Sofi, and Camila's, was all the reward she wanted.

Kyle was absolutely filthy when he found out. Jordan hadn't informed his partner of Lauren and Camila's plan to storm the arts building, as he knew full well that Kyle would rush to NYU to join them. He still had trouble moving freely with his fractured ribs, and Jordan had decided that two of his friends in mortal danger was two too many and he wasn definitely not going to add a third. When they spoke to Jordan on the phone the day after the shooting he said Kyle was still ignoring him and sulking about having been left out. Always typically arrogant, even in the face of tragedy.

Over the next few days the three girls spent a lot of time watching Disney movies and playing board games, without addressing the shooting. Lauren repeatedly kicked both of their asses at Scrabble until Sofi refused to play anymore and instead opted for charades. She was hopeless at sitting still for too long. Of course the younger girl exceeded at that game and successfully managed to have all three girls in stitches for the majority of her turns. After the horrors they had witnessed in the arts building, it felt good to laugh. At least for a little while.

Lauren and Camila showed off their culinary skills in the kitchen each night preparing an array of Cuban dishes for Sofi to sample. Naturally the youngest girl didn't offer to lift a finger, but was their harshest critic when sampling the food. Lauren couldn't help but laugh off her comments though, Sofi's sass was too endearing. She felt like they were all making up for lost time over those few days and she learnt so many new things about both of the sisters. It was strange how tragedy brought people together. Their near death experience had almost completely washed away all of Lauren's previous resentment towards Camila, it was only her trust that couldn't be regained over night.

When they opted to spend time on their own, Sofi usually hogged the TV remote and switched between different series of trashy reality TV. Camila raided Lauren's well stocked library and lost herself in different worlds, Lauren looking over occasionally to study the various expressions that crossed the younger woman's face as she read. Lauren on the other hand sat in the corner of the lounge room by the window and painted. She painted anything and everything to distract herself from her thoughts. From sunflowers, to roman streets, to chocolate brown eyes. When Sofi came up behind her and acknowledged her painting of the eyes, Lauren looked up startled. She hadn't even been completely aware that she was painting them.

"Well aren't those eyes all warm and sparkly," the younger girl said, leaning over Lauren's shoulder. This caused Camila to get up from the lounge to go and inspect the art as well. "And whose eyes might they be?" Sofi asked, cocking an eyebrow. She had a good idea who they belonged to, but she wanted to hear Lauren say it. Lauren tried to hide the nervous stutter in her voice as she answered her.

"Only the sassiest girl I know," Lauren teased, trying to let Sofi believe she had been painting her eyes.

"I wouldn't describe Camila as sassy," Sofi smirked, taking a bite of her apple and returning to the lounge. At least the shooting hadn't broken her spirit Lauren thought as she flushed red. Camila just studied the painting, ignoring her sister's comment.

"It's really good Lauren. You're really talented," she smiled, focusing her sparkling chocolate eyes on Lauren. The same eyes as in her painting. "I mean, you always were. It seriously bothers me that someone can be so smart, so artistic, so kind and so beautiful all in one." Lauren's cheeks blushed even harder at Camila's compliment.

"And they say I'm charming," Lauren chuckled and rolled her eyes, trying to diffuse the tension between them.

On the second day of their staycation there was a knock on Lauren's door late in the afternoon. Her jaw dropped when she opened it and saw Dinah standing on her door step. The younger one playfully lifted Lauren's jaw with one of her index fingers and pulled her into a hug.

"Come on Lo, you knew I was in New York. This shouldn't be too big of a shock," Dinah smiled before turning towards the living room. "Hey Sof, hey Mila," she said waving to the other girls on the lounge before spinning around to face Lauren and raising her eyebrows. Camila had texted her that Sofi and her were staying at Lauren's for a few days, but Dinah had to see it for herself.

"Dinah!" Sofi yelled and crashed into the Polynesian woman's arms.

"Hey kid," Dinah grinned and reciprocated the hug. "I bet you've been deprived of entertainment and stimulating conversation the last few days with these two," Dinah jerked her thumb at Camila and Lauren as she smirked, teasing. That was what was great about Dinah, despite everything that had happened to the trio, she just acted completely herself and that was exactly what they all needed. Normalcy.

"Yep. Words really aren't the go to form of communication in this apartment, more...longing stares," Sofi smirked, causing Dinah to keel over in laughter.

Lauren picked a pillow up off the lounge and pegged it at Sofi's head, the younger one releasing a playful 'ouch'. "Look what you've done Dinah, you've corrupted our little girl." Lauren shook her head and Camila couldn't help but grin watching the three most important people in her life all interacting in one room.

"Whatever, I'll take responsibility for this one," Dinah said, collapsing onto the lounge. "Now, before we get into all the who's been doing who and what have you..." Sofi immediately laughed at the implication. "I have something I want to chat to you guys about."

"Shoot," Lauren said without thinking as she took a seat next to Camila on the lounge. Sofi and Camila both looked at Lauren slightly shocked at her choice of words, but the older woman hadn't even noticed.

"Well I would've been by sooner to check on you guys, I've honestly been worried sick thinking about the whole thing." Lauren noticed Sofi shift uncomfortably on the lounge as Dinah brought up the shooting. It was clear she was trying her best not to think about it. "But when it all went down and I heard you three were involved, I wanted to do something to help." Dinah stared intently back and forth between the three girls eyes, clear concern radiating in her own eyes. When she assessed that none of them were going to burst into tears, she continued.

"So...I've very quickly been organising a benefit concert for this coming weekend. All the proceeds are going to go to the victims families and there's a special mosh pit set up at the front for NYU students and families that have been involved, as well as emergency responders. I've managed to rope in quite a few other pop stars for the event too."

"Wow Dinah, that's amazing," Camila breathed affectionately and pulled her best friend in for a hug.

"Yeah D, that's really great," Lauren agreed. They could do with something happy after everything that they had been through.

"All three of you are coming of course?"

"Definitely," Sofi nodded. "Can I bring some friends?"

"Uh duh," Dinah laughed and ruffled the youngest one's hair.

"I was thinking all us girls would grab dinner beforehand?" Dinah asked hopefully and Camila and Lauren quickly nodded. "Excellent!" Dinah exclaimed before turning around to Sofi, "Sorry kid, just us big kids."

"That's fine. I'm sure I'll see the other girls soon enough," Sofi winked at Lauren as she said it and the older woman raised her eyebrows confused. She was beginning to worry that all of Sofi's not so subtle digs about her and Camila were more than just a joke. She didn't want Sofi to get her hopes up that something might actually be happening between them.

-

Lauren couldn't help but feel an ache in her chest once Sofi and Camila left. Her apartment felt so empty without them. The two girl's had enough energy and personality between them to fill the whole of Manhattan. They had been a great distraction over the last few days and without them, Lauren was scared of the thoughts that might pervade her mind.

She had invited Lucy over for dinner that night, the two women hadn't spoken very much in the days after the shooting whilst Lauren recovered, but she now welcomed the company. After Lucy's big confession the night of the shooting Lauren couldn't help the nerves from bubbling in her stomach. She hadn't said those three words back to her girlfriend and she didn't know how Lucy felt about that. She didn't want to hurt the older woman, but she just didn't feel ready to say them.

The door bell rang and Lauren opened the door with a huge smile. Lucy was holding onto a bottle of rosé and was wearing a black tube dress, which accentuated her perfectly endowed chest and hips.

"Hey baby," Lucy smiled, her voice sounded so sultry it sent a shiver up Lauren's spine. She stepped forward and pulled the blonde woman in for a deep kiss, trying to wash away any insecurity she might be feeling after the other night. When Lauren broke away from the kiss, she smiled and looked up into the deep blue eyes.

"Hey beautiful. Come on in." Lauren led Lucy into her apartment and to the dining room where the Cuban woman had set the table with a few candles and a vase of white orchids.

"Aw babe, this is a bit cute," Lucy smiled at Lauren's romantic gesture. The green eyed beauty was never particularly romantic or emotional, so this was a big step. Lucy had an idea as to what had motivated this sudden effort though.

The two women enjoyed a few glasses of rosé as they ate their Chinese take away and caught up on the last few days. Lauren didn't want to go into too much detail about the shooting, because she didn't want to worry the blonde woman and she didn't want to relive those memories again. The blonde woman picked up on her apprehension and so took charge of most of the conversation as Lauren listened along intently. When they got to the end of the meal, there was a few moments of silence and Lauren could sense the tension in the older woman's body language. It was clear she wanted to bring something up, but wasn't sure how to go about it. Lauren decided to bite the bullet and just ask what was wrong.

"Something on your mind Luce?"

"Mmm maybe..." the blonde woman admitted shyly.

"Do you want to tell me what it is?" Lauren inquired as Lucy drained her wine glass.

"I've just been thinking... you risked your life going into that building for Camila's sister. That's a pretty big deal...particularly when you haven't seen either of them in ten years. Like you barely even know them anymore." Lauren shrugged and looked down at the table, fiddling with a crumb on her placemat. "You must have been pretty close all those years ago to risk your life like that? You're reckless, but not that reckless." Lauren sighed when she realised what the older woman was getting at.

"We were close. Me, Camila, Dinah, Ally and Normani we were all best friends. Their families were like my family," Lauren stated apathetically.

"Then why did you stay friends with all the other girls and not Camila?" Lucy pushed.

"I don't know Luce. We had a falling out. People change and we just went other ways with our lives," Lauren uttered, slightly more angrily than she meant to.

"So you two never dated?" Lucy was straight to the point now, she could tell Lauren was trying to throw off her questions. Lauren looked into her blue eyes for a moment and considered whether or not she should tell her girlfriend the truth. She felt Lucy already knew something was up, so straight out lying wasn't an option, but she couldn't tell her the honest truth either.

"I mean... you could barely even call it that at eighteen," Lauren admitted. Lucy just nodded like the younger girl had just confirmed all of her suspicions. Lauren noticed the hurt look that flashed across her face and the green eyed woman reached across the table and grabbed a hold of her hands, squeezing them with her own. "That was ten years ago Luce. We're just friends now. I care about you and I like where things are going with us and I don't want anything to jeopardise that."

Lucy smiled as she looked into the piercing green eyes that were so irresistible. She leant forward across the table to plant a tender kiss on Lauren's lips.

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Rise Up

Chapter Four

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader  |  Word Count: 4872 Warnings: Swearing, fighting, angst

Song: Game of Survival by Ruelle

The original team had, again, gathered off on their own away from the compound within the bunker (Y/N) had been stashed in during her training exercise with Garry so many weeks ago. This time, however, it was not a training exercise which had them all milling about, but a demonstration, one a few of the team had decided to insist on, and one Matt had been, if not eager to be involved in, at least highly agreeable to.

Steve watched the man known as Daredevil from his stance beside his girl; arms crossed over his chest while Bucky warmed up a few feet away. He wasn’t quite sure what Matt was doing, but he was very still, his chest barely rising and falling.

Black cargo pants, combat boots, a fitted long sleeve t-shirt, and wrapped knuckles completed the look, that was until he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a skull cap he tugged down over his eyes.

Everything about him seemed to change before Steve’s eyes. The man went from quiet, blind lawyer, too, well, masked vigilante. His shoulders rolled forward, the clothing he was in allowing one to see the mass of muscle he carried in his thighs and back, where the slightly frumpy suit had not.

Striding across the floor, Matt made his way to (Y/N)’s side without a misstep, pulling a second piece of cloth from his pocket. “Captain, if you would.”

The blindfold was blue, a piece from some scarf. “If I would what?”

“(Y/N) needs to unlearn the dependency on her eyes. While it seems… unnecessary, the physical reminder often is all the brain needs to know the eyes do not work. The touch of the blindfold will have her seeking hearing, scent, and feel, rather than the knee-jerk reaction of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Steve,” she insisted.

Moving to place the blindfold, Steve bit back the frown when Matt took her hands.

“Touch is important in our world, Captain. I know it can be disconcerting, but it is necessary,” Matt said softly, keeping his voice from carrying.

“You’ll have to excuse my protective instincts,” Steve murmured, doing the same.

“Steve… sjelevenn,” she said, reaching up to touch his hand where it rested on the ties of the blindfold.

“Min vakre skjoldpike.” He kissed the fingers touching his but didn’t take his eyes off Matt.

A smirk twitched his lips before the man in the mask returned his attention to (Y/N). “Listen hard, focus, and pay close attention. There will be a quiz later,” he chuckled.

“Ahh man,” she huffed. “Thought I was done with school.”

“One never truly stops learning. Only changes teachers,” Vision murmured, wandering closer.

“Or becomes the teacher,” Matt said, tilting his head toward Vision.

“When the student becomes the master,” Vision agreed.

“A philosopher.” Smiling Matt nodded his head.

“I would say more of an avid reader than a philosopher, but then I am only a few years old. Perhaps…. when I grow up,” Vision smiled.

“Nice one!” (Y/N) chuckled, giving a thumbs up.

“I believe my ability to make a joke is improving.” Seeming pleased with himself, Vision wandered off.

“That was a joke?” Matt mumbled.

“Should have heard him when he first started,” she snickered softly.

“We doing this or what?” Bucky called out, having accepted the position of opponent for this spar.

From the small of his back, Matt pulled a silver and red stick, one reminiscent of his folded up cane, but this one was thicker, heavier, and made of metal. “On your say, Sergeant.”

Bucky nodded. “Let’s go.” Striding into the center of the ample open space where mats had been laid out to protect the two combatants, he windmilled the metal arm to get everything loosened up.

Glancing to Matt, Steve murmured, “Watch out for the arm.”

“I will keep it in mind, Captain.” Nodding, Matt headed for the center of the makeshift ring where he settled into a relaxed stance, body turned just slightly, feet wide, knees bent, hands loose. “When you’re read-”

Bucky didn’t give him a chance, charging in and swinging for Matt’s head.

Leaning back, Matt avoided the fist with an easy which appeared to surprise Buck for all of a second before the metal-armed super soldier readjusted and went after him with a ferocity that had Steve flashing back to the battle he’d once fought with the Winter Soldier. Bucky wasn’t holding back, and he wasn’t pulling his punches, but the most amazing part of all of it was how Matt not only kept up but seemed to know where Bucky was going to punch even before he moved.

From her place on his left, (Y/N) whispered, “Incredible,” her face, what he could see of it, full of awe.

“What?” Steve murmured, leaning closer.

“He’s anticipating Bucky, isn’t he?” she asked.

“Yeah. How can you tell?”

“I… I can hear Bucky move. The change in his breath before he punches, the sounds of his arm as it gears up, the way his clothing rustles.” Her hand sought out his and closed tightly around it. “God, Steve… I… I can smell him,” she breathed out reverently. “Matt, too, but he’s… subtler. Everything is muted with Matt.”

Scent wise, Steve guessed that would make sense. With Matt’s enhanced sense of smell, it would likely make what he did more difficult if he had to block out his own scents.

A hard grunt had Steve’s attention snapping back to the center of the room. Matt had caught Bucky in the stomach with that stick of his. The next move had his eyes widening in surprise when Matt used Bucky’s bent form to leap into the air above him and slam the heel of his boot directly between Buck’s shoulder blades. “Holy…”

“Shit…” (Y/N) finished for him.

“How much can you… see?” Steve asked. They’d discussed what she’d done the night before with Matt and found her experience wasn’t so different from how Matt saw the world.

Bucky stumbled forward, spun back, caught Matt on the way down, and punched him square in the chest. Flying backward, Matt flipped at the last minute, boots skidding as he slid to a stop.

She frowned, tightening the grip on his hand. “Parts, pieces. The big moves. But not see, more like… sense? Like… echolocation, I guess.”

A click from Matt’s stick preceded a hook and cable flying from the end, heading for Bucky’s legs. The metal arm swung down, deflecting the attack, but Matt was already on the move. His knee connected with Bucky’s chest, Buck’s fist with his ribs. An expulsion of air was all the sound Matt made as he kicked Bucky in the thigh.

A knife appeared in Bucky’s hand, heading for Matt’s face. Back together, the stick of his swept up, knocking it away, but Bucky had already flipped it, tossing the blade to his other hand as he planted his boot in Matt’s chest and kicked him hard.

Matt went down, skidding backward, rolled and crouched there, panting for breath as a smile crossed his lips. “This has been far more fun than I expected, Sergeant.”

Chuckling, Bucky muttered, “Done already, Murdock?”

“Not hardly.”

Again the speed of strike and deflect increased, ramping up to a level few were capable of maintaining. Another click of his weapon had a chain appearing in the center, wrapping around the blade of Bucky’s knife and dragging it from his hand. It clattered loudly when it skidded across the cement, sending Barton leaping out of the way.

“Watch it!” the archer snapped.

“I missed, didn’t I?” Matt said, ramming his elbow into Bucky’s ribs.

Clenching his left fist, Bucky threw a right hook, catching Matt in the jaw, sending him reeling.

The tables turned, Bucky having now figured out how Matt was doing what he was. Fists and feet flew, blows exchanged, a few more landing for Buck than earlier, but it was still damn impressive.

“Time!” Bruce called out.

Dropping their hands, both Bucky and Matt took a step back, straightening up slowly.

“Fuck, man,” Bucky chuckled. “That was something.”

Wrapping an arm around his ribs, Matt held onto his chest. “Remind me not to piss you off for real.”

“Matt?” (Y/N) called out, concern in her voice. “Did you… break something?”

“Cracked, not broken,” he confirmed, causing Bruce to hurry forward.

“Let me see,” Bruce said, probing at Matt’s chest, drawing the shirt up out of the way to reveal the swiftly forming bruises.

“Shit!” Bucky hissed. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Striding forward, (Y/N) still hanging onto his hand, Steve could only shake his head at Matt’s response.

“I was having too much fun.” The masked man winced when Bruce prodded a little harder. “Besides, I know my limits. I’ve fought with worse.”

“How can you be sure you cracked these?” Bruce asked, eyeing the blackening marks carefully.

“(Y/N), what do you hear when I breathe?”

Glancing down, Steve watched her push the blindfold up, her ethereal eyes opening, taking his breath like they always did. He didn’t care what anyone said, they were stunning, possibly the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, and when she’d suggested getting glasses to cover them like most blind people, he’d vehemently fought against it. They were a part of her, a beautiful part, and not something to be hidden.

“They… grind?” she said hesitantly.

“Exactly. Broken ones crunch when bone shifts against bone. These are cracked, causing a grinding sound were the small fracture moves together.” Pulling his shirt down, Matt took the hat from his head. “I will heal quickly enough, but it was a pleasure, Sergeant Barnes. I do believe you’d give Danny a challenge.”

“Iron Fist,” Bucky nodded. “I’ve seen the tapes.”

Giving Bruce a poke in the ribs, Natasha took Matt’s arm. “Well, Daredevil, shall we find you some ice?”

“Ms. Romanoff, I would be delighted to have your assistance,” Matt smiled, patting Bucky’s shoulder on the way by. “We may have to do this again.”

“Name the time and place, Murdock,” Bucky agreed.

The sly smirk on Natasha’s face and clear appreciation in her eyes had Steve biting back a laugh. Nat had been reluctant about bringing Murdock in to help (Y/N), but only because she was suspicious of the intel. How could a blind man possibly do the things Daredevil had done? But now, with this impressive display out of the way, she was warming up to the idea.

Looking around, he noted respect and keen appreciation, the others impressed, on the faces of those gathered, all but Loki and Thor whom (Y/N) was still mad at and refusing to speak to. Loki looked to be pouting, while Thor kept casting sad-eyed glances her way.

The orders had been handed down. No one was to speak of her return as the Valkyrie Queen. That was for their team only to know. The rest of the base was already well aware of her return as a Valkyrie, but the rest went no farther than the ears of those who were witness to Thor and Loki’s pronouncement from the night before.

The scroll with her past lives listed on it was safely tucked away where no one could get to it, all information on it had been wiped from the recovered hound’s files. As far as anyone would ever know, (Y/N) had been taken because she was wanted for her Valkyrie powers. Nothing more, nothing less.

Matt’s presence was being explained away as her tutor and guide to help her adjust to these new challenges. What training they would do would be done in private inside the bunker, while publicly, around the base they would be seen working on things like her braille, and using the cane Tony would be making for her.

Stark had been inspired after seeing Matt’s the night before and was already planning to do things like add FRIDAY to the cane, linking the AI to a simple earpiece, giving (Y/N) the freedom to not need to see to read computer files or use the phone. It was funny, but out of all the team it was he, Bucky, and Stark most adamant to see she recovered as best she could.

Clint too, as her previous mentor, was a constant flow of positivity, and Steve had never been more grateful to the archer. But Clint had obligations outside the Avengers he’d spent too long away from. They all knew Laura understood, it was (Y/N) after all, part of her family, but the archer needed to go home.

Now that the morning’s entertainment was through, Clint sauntered forward to grab (Y/N) up in a bear hug, lift her from the ground, and swing her back and forth like a child.

“When I come back, brat, I expect you to be able to run through the forest, dodging my arrows again.”

“Feathers,” she sighed, hugging just as tight. “Maybe this time you’ll be able to hit me.” She smiled when he set her down, but it didn’t hide the uncertainty from her features.

Cupping her face, Clint gave her cheeks a firm squeeze. “Darlin, you may not have been able to see that, but I could. You’re the best padawan I’ve ever had. Listen to this new Obi-Wan, and you’re going to be back to fighting form in no time.”

“Did you just Star Wars me?” she snickered, the worry falling away.

“That I did, young Jedi,” he chuckled, kissing her forehead.

“Yes, Master Yoda,” she quipped, giving Clint a mocking bow.

“Ha! You all heard it! She called me master!” Clint crowed, jumping in a circle.

Rolling her eyes, she swatted at him, catching the archer in the arm. “Go home, feathers!”

He swept her up in a second hug, held tight, and Steve could see the way Clint was torn.  

Setting his hand on the man’s shoulder, he didn’t say anything about the fear he saw in the archer’s eyes, the memories of what happened the last time he’d left swamping the man.

Nothing was going to happen to her. Not ever again. Not if Steve had a say in it.

The thought must have shown on his face, for Clint released her, but nodded to him. “You be safe, brat. Call me if you need me.”

“Oh for God's sake! I’m not dying! Go home before Laura disowns you!” she barked, shoving and shooing him away.

As the others filed out, going with Clint to see him off, Steve remained at his girl’s side, eyeing the two Asgardians. “You ever going to forgive them?”

“Eventually,” she muttered, turning into him and wrapping her arms around his waist. Resting her head on his chest, she rubbed her cheek on him like a cat wishing a petting.

Obliging, he stroked her hair and held her close. “They look like sad, sad, puppies.”

The talons of the gauntlet she now wore regularly, skimmed gently up and down his spine. “Good. They’ve been very bad. A smack with a newspaper was well deserved.”

“But they’re your family.”

She lifted her head to frown up at him. “Why are you on their side?” she pouted.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Not.”

“Are.”

“Fine,” he huffed, “I kind of am, but only because I can see how miserable they are. Add in the glare I’m getting from Loki, and I figure I may as well try and get on the guy’s good side.”

Turning her head, she called out, “Ikke vær slike babyer. Gudene burde ikke poute. Og slutte å se på meg sjelevenn, Loki!”

Thor’s face lit up, but Loki’s scowl only deepened.

“What did you say?” Steve nearly growled, bending closer, unable to believe how hot he found it when she snapped something out in that language.

“I told them to stop acting like babies, that gods shouldn’t pout, and for Loki to stop glaring at you.” Turning around, she fell back against him with a thump and crossed her arms.

“Does that mean we’re forgiven, Sváfa?” Thor asked, striding closer.

“She insists she is still (Y/N) in this life, brother, no matter how much she remembers.” Loki looked at him through narrowed eyes, making Steve sigh quietly.

Apparently, it would be an uphill battle with the former God of Mischief.

Leaning down, he kissed the crown of her head, murmuring against her hair, “Why don’t I leave you in their hands. I’m sure you three have catching up to do.” Before she could protest, he squeezed her shoulders and walked swiftly away, pretending not to notice when she muttered “Traitor,” under her breath.

***

Glaring in the direction of the two beating hearts of the Asgardian dumbasses, you vowed to get even with Steve later. “Your jealousy is going to get old real fast, Loki.”

“It is not jealousy!” he snapped. “He is the reason you are in this predicament! He did not see to you as he should have. He is not fit to-”

You had him by the throat so fast you shocked yourself. “Think long and hard about your next words, God of Mischief.”

“Still full of fire, Sváfa. It is good to have you back,” Thor chuckled, wrapping his large hand around your wrist. “Forgive Loki. The way we found you after the battle, bloody, unconscious, it disconcerted us both. We have waited a long time to have you back, and to lose you in nearly the same instant was… difficult.”

The words dulled some of the anger, enough to have you letting go of Loki. “I care deeply for you, Loki, but make no mistake, if you force me to choose, I will choose Steve.”

While his next move likely would have shocked the crap out of the rest of your team, it surprised neither you nor Thor in the least when he gathered you close. “You worried me, lillesøster. Don’t do it again.”

Throwing your arms around his neck, you held on just as tightly. “I will try very hard not to.”

It seemed to be the day for good hugs when Thor smooshed up behind you, wrapped his arms around both you and Loki, and lifted the two of you straight up. “We have our Valkyrie back, brother!” he bellowed, laughing heartily.

“Thor,” you gasped, “can’t breathe!”

He instantly dropped you back to the ground. “You used to be tougher.”

“You used to be smaller!” Huffing, you brought your hands to Loki’s chest, his arms unwilling to let you go. “Be nice to my sjelevenn. What happened, happened because I was naïve and our bond was new. Don’t hold it against Steve, please, Loki?”

He sighed, one that sounded exceptionally long-suffering and just like him. “If I must.”

“And play nice.” The roll of his eyes, the sound now distinct, made you snicker.

“If I truly must, I shall endeavour to,” he shuddered, “behave.”

Laughing, you shook your head. “You make it sound like a dirty word.”

“Oh, it is, darling. A ghastly word. Atrocious and all that.” He hugged you again.

You could nearly feel the happiness radiating off him. “So, how long?”

They both went perfectly still before Thor’s hand came down on your shoulder. “It has been… some time.”

“We were concerned…” Loki trailed off.

“We feared your soul hadn’t returned. That your journey was finished until the day we found you here,” Thor said.

“How… how long?” you asked again, voice hoarse.

“A millennium.”

“What!?” you gasped. That wasn’t how it worked. You may be gone for a hundred, even two hundred years, but to be gone a thousand… it was unheard of!

The ripple of Loki’s magic washed over your skin; then he was leading you a few steps to where he encouraged you to sit on the seat he’d created.

“It gets worse,” Loki said, clutching your hand. “Because of your extended absense, Gunborg has been talking.”

“Talking?” You likely already knew about what, but you had to ask.

“She wants you removed.”

“In other words, dethroned,” you snarled. “I’ve always hated that bitch. How the hell she ever end up sjelevenn the fates only know!”

“You can’t ask us to keep this from the Valkyrjur,” Thor said softly.

“You must!”

“You’re people are suffering! And if Gunborg succeeds, she is next in line!”

“Do you think I don’t know that!” you shouted, getting to your feet and turning on Thor. “I have put up with her for so many lives, Thor, but I can’t! I can’t come back. Not like this!”

“You must.”

Turning on Loki, you sneered, “And I will be challenged by Gunborg, fail in the protection of my throne, and die! I will lose it all anyway!” Pacing a few steps away, you shook your head. “No. In my next life, all can be made right. Gunborg can’t defeat me when I’m whole.”

“And what if you don’t come back as a Valkyrie?” Loki asked quietly, the rustle of his clothes announcing him as he made his way toward you.

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, your mother’s gauntlet suddenly much too heavy. “I will.”

“You don’t know that,” Thor murmured. “It has been a thousand years, and in that time, you have barely been here, but not once have you returned to Asgard, so where have you been, Sváfa? Where was your soul?”

“Waiting?” you whispered, the answer more question than you wished. “Steve and I were off this last life. He was too early; I was too late. Fate balanced us out.”

“Why?”

The question came from Thor. “Because we belong together.”

“No,” he rumbled, taking your hand. “Why were you off balance? Why weren’t your souls aligned? How were you thrown out of sync?”

“I… I don’t know.” You hadn’t thought about it.

“And the scroll?” Loki asked, taking your other hand. “I saw it, (Y/N). It is not of this Earth. It had the seal of the temple scribe upon it.”

“What?” you gasped. “What are you saying, Loki?”

“Missing a thousand years, out of balance with your sjelevenn’s soul, and the sacred record of your life appears in the hands of Hydra? What do you think I’m saying?” he scoffed.

“Is it… even possible?”

Thor sighed softly. “I asked the Fullmakt a hypothetical question while I was at the temple. Whether it was possible to disrupt a soul’s journey, to mess with a sjelevenn bond. When she asked why I wanted to know, I lied, told her it had been so long since you walked our world, I was worried something happened to you. She called in the high priestess.”

“And?” you whispered.

“It takes a great act of evil, a heinous act, a sacrifice of epic proportions… but yes.”

Inhaling sharply, you clutched at your chest, heart seeming to want to beat right from it. “What… what sacrifice?”

“(Y/N), you don’t need to know,” Loki tried to put you off.

“Loki, tell me.”

He growled out a sound of displeasure, paced away, paced back. “It’s dark magic. Darker even than I have delved.”

“Loki…”

He snarled, snapped his teeth together, not wanting to speak of it, and finally bit out, “A child!”

Eyes slamming shut, you whimpered, the idea of it sickening, and fell into Thor’s arms when he dragged you close. “An innocent life.”

“The younger, the better,” Loki murmured.

“A baby.” Fighting back the need to be sick, you clutched at Thor. “So why am I here with Steve? What happened?”

“We don’t know,” Thor said.

“Nearest I can guess is it doesn’t work every life. You and Steve matchup here on Earth every so often, but you are never reborn on Asgard. I don’t know… I don’t know enough about how it works,” Loki admitted. “And I haven’t been able to find out.”

“Now do you see? You need to return. Someone is messing with your destiny.”

Resting your forehead on Thor’s chest, you sighed. “I can’t.”

“You must!” Loki snapped.

“I’m not riding this merry-go-round with you again!” you bellowed. “I’m a blind Valkyrie! Blind! Gods forbid if any of the Valkyrjur were to find out the target on my back would be so big, I might as well slit my own throat!”

“Then you learn from this… Murdock, and return when you are ready!” Loki roared.

“And what if I’m never ready? Steve is my destiny, where I belong. How am I to be on Asgard and here at the same time, Loki? Hm? I can’t!”

“So you’d let your entire race suffer?”

“Don’t you put that on me!” Pushing off Thor, you pointed at Loki. “You know what it means to be sjelevenn! You know! You can’t ask this of me!”

“I ask it of you.” Thor’s voice, hard, deep, full of command rumbled in gravelly tones behind you.

“You can’t make me, Thor. King or no, you have no say over the Valkyrjur.”

“I’m not asking as King.”

“Well, it sure as fuck sounded like a command from a king!”

His strides were loud across the floor before his hands closed around your upper arms. “I’m asking as your friend! As the brother I thought I was to you. You’re people need you! And you need to find out what is interrupting your journey, or this may very well be the last life you ever share with your sjelevenn!”

“Take your hands off her!” The harshness in Steve’s voice sent a chill down your spine.

“Steve,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around yourself when Thor let you go.

“This? This is what happens when I leave her with you? With people she claims as family?”

The singing sound of his shield was beautiful. You’d never noticed it before, but it hummed gently, a most melodious sound as if it sought to comfort you, offer reassurance.

“Captain, it is not what you think,” Thor said, backing away. “There is much going on we do not understand.”

“I understand enough to know you’re upsetting her. Damn it, Thor! I could feel it from across the compound!”

“That was not our intention, but she needed to know…” Loki trailed off when Steve’s angry strides crossed the room.

The heat from his body appeared in front of you, and you set your hands on his back.

“To know what? That her throne is in danger when there isn’t a god damned thing she can do about it? Fuck you both!”

“Steve!” Sliding your hands forward, you held him back when he flexed his shield arm.

“I swore I would never let anyone else hurt her the way I did, the way Garry did. Now I’ve broken that promise by leaving her with you.” Reaching back, Steve wrapped his arm around you, bring you to his side. “You put this on her when she’s already has to relearn how to live? How to fight? How to survive?” He hesitated a moment, and you were sure the angry Captain America glare was on his face. “I thought better of you. Of you both.”

You were unprepared when he simply slung you up into his arms, but swiftly wrapped your arms around his neck and held on. The angry staccato of his boots across the floor was the only sound to be heard until the door to the outside slammed open, and the wind and the birds filled your ears.

Resting your forehead against his temple, you let the silent tears flow. “Steve…”

“No.”

“But…”

“No!” he barked. “You need to focus on you right now. If in the future you feel you want to address that shit storm, then we will, but right now, I swear to the almighty, baby, if you let those two dumbasses get in your head, I will personally speak with Heimdall and have their passes to Midgard revoked!”

You gave a wet chuckle at his words. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way.”

“I’d figure it out,” he grumbled.

“I’m sure you would.”

His strides slowed the farther from the bunker he got. “You okay?”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know someone is messing with us.”

“Yeah.”

Coming to a stop, Steve turned his face, causing you to lift your head. “We’ll figure it out, sweetheart when you’re ready.”

“And if I never am? If this is the last life we get?” you asked, the fear in your heart making it pound.

“Then I will love you with every ounce of my soul to the end of this life.”

“Steve,” you whispered, touching his cheek and guiding his lips to yours.

He kissed you beneath the trees, soft and gentle, a quiet but passionate mating of mouths.

When he finally pulled back, you were still lightly touching his face and asked, “You could feel me?”

“Like a second heart in my chest, one full of pain,” he murmured. “Is that… normal?”

Sighing, you rested your forehead against his. “Steve, nothing about this life has been normal.” Again, you didn’t know what that meant and really didn’t want to think about it, any of it, right now. “My head hurts.”

“Then let’s have a nap, baby. I’ll even join you.”

Sighing softly, you nodded slowly. “Yes, please.”

Humming a comforting sound, he headed for the compound.

Next Chapter

[texanredrose]

Based off a suggestion from Salty Crusader on the RarePair Rave discord. (@cass-burger, could you blease send him the link? Thanks!), with our monochrome duo on a partner swap mission where things go awry. Consider this the ‘governments actually use anti-virus software’ AU, where Cinder’s plan is thwarted by the mundane, routine check of Atlas’ systems and nothing big and bad happens. (Also, yes, I’m aware I probably have a few mistakes in this; I’ll clean it up when possible.) Honestly, this is just Blake being a dork and Weiss being extra, as usual.

Blake bit her lip, trying her hardest to bite back and swallow down the question on her tongue. However, despite how many times she'd already asked, it left her lips once again. "Weiss-"

"For the last- urk- time, Belladonna- hmph- I'm not- huh- I'm not leaving you- shit- behind!" Every labored breath grated on all four of her ears and made her chest tightened as she did everything in her power not to move. The last thing she wanted to do was make things more difficult for the young woman carrying her. "That’s- ugh- final!"

The Faunus sighed, ears straining against her bow as they tried to lay back against her skull in contrition. Three years into their Huntress training, one would think she'd have the foresight to keep better track of her position when dealing with a bed of King Taijitu, but her concentration had slipped ever so slightly. Before she knew it, her right leg was clamped between one head's powerful jaws and she was thrown about, knocking into trees and boulders, wearing down her already depleted aura.

Their week long mission through the Emerald Forest, clearing out the Grimm that had encroached on Vale's boarders in preparation for the first years' trial in a few months time, had put both of them through the wringer, with the infestation much worse than it had been in years past. As an added challenge, the third year students had swapped partners, putting their skills to the test in a fashion they seldom exercised during their usual classes. For the most part, this didn't upset the balance Team RWBY had established over their time together; Yang's brute strength coupled with Ruby's speed made the sisters a deadly pair, and Weiss and Blake had learned to move to a new rhythm together, their swords sailing through the air as two halves to a whole threat.

However, they'd run into trouble early on with a pack of alpha Beowolves, and the combination of greater numbers with more cunning adversaries meant they couldn't recuperate, couldn't replenish the energy nearly as quickly as they expended it. Add to that a split second of distraction- really, if it hadn't been for the white Nevermore Weiss summoned, Blake would probably be much worse off than a simple broken leg and some bruised ribs.

Careful not to hinder the woman's trudging pace in any way, Blake looked down at her wounded leg, bound in a makeshift splint by wood and fabric ripped from the formerly white jacket Weiss wore, now soiled almost beyond salvation by dirt and the smokey remnants of downed Grimm. More strips from the woman's jacket were wrapped around her arms, staunching the bleeding that resulted form being tossed around without her aura to protect her- dull aches but nothing life threatening. Moving on her own, though, wouldn't be possible in her condition, and she'd tried her very best to argue that Weiss should leave her in the cleared out cave, where she could at least deter any wandering Grimm from a decently defensible position.

Apparently, she must've hit her head as well, because she honestly thought she could win an argument against the resident heiress of Beacon.

"A break?" She suggested, feigning that it was her intention initially to ask that. "Is a break too much to ask?"

Although it took a moment, the woman's gait slowed until she finally came to a stop, allowing Blake to feel the trembling in muscled far overtaxed with exertion. They were still at least a click from the extraction point with no signs of their teammates or anyone else. If only their scrolls hadn't gotten damaged during that first ambush, if they hadn't stubbornly thought they could complete the mission without the communications devices in hand- so many fleeting regrets that wouldn't serve them any good now.

"Fine. A break." Changing course, Weiss managed to make it to a large tree, carefully shifting their combined weight until the Faunus could get her good foot under her, the iron grip on her wrist released so they could disengage completely. Being carried slung across the woman's shoulders wasn't dignified in the slightest, but it kept a hand free for each of them, which meant Gambol Shroud and Myrtenaster could both be brought to bear, were they to encounter trouble.

Although she could probably managed just fine on her own, Weiss helped her sit down with her back to the tree. Truthfully, aside from the change in position, sitting down didn't offer much benefit. Her leg throbbed angrily with the change in direction, radiating from the point of the break despite the immobilizing splint, but she didn't suggest the stop for her sake. Instead, amber eyes fell on her teammate's form as the woman paced around a little, trying to subtly work out the cramps in her legs and back. It also helped hide the faint tremble, her muscles obviously fatigued- Blake grimaced at the thought of how sore the woman would be once this was all over.

Their relationship had changed drastically over the course of their years at Beacon. At first, they were more enemies than friends, arguing and fighting until the fateful day she'd spoken without thinking, revealing her heritage to the stunned young women in their dorm room. A few days and a completely thrashed shipyard later, Weiss acted like their previous differences didn't matter at all, that they could be teammates. She hadn't quite believed a few words were all it took to wash away years of bad blood, but she was willing to try. And to her surprise, it went much better than she could've imagined; after the docks incident, Weiss did almost a complete one-eighty- well, by her standards, of course, because there weren't enough good intentions in the world to dull the bite of her cutting replies- and either supported or questioned the Faunus on anything regarding her people, absent the clear disdain she'd shown just before their first appearance in the Vytal tournament. She still made mistakes from time to time but she got better, more open, and Blake, in turn, learned a bit more about the woman's home life. She'd always assumed that the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company, the most powerful corporation in Remnant, would want for nothing her entire life.

She was very wrong.

"It shouldn't be too much farther now." Blue eyes scanned the horizon, picking out the distinct jutting of the cliff in the distance that served as their only landmark. "A quick rest and we'll be on our way."

"We're close enough now," she said, bracing against the sharp look leveled at her. "If you go on ahead-"

"Blake Belladonna, so help me Maidens, I will find a way to glyph your mouth shut if you make that suggestion one more time." Weiss scowled, glancing at the cliff briefly. "We began this mission together and we will end it together. I'll not have it said that I left- that I left a teammate behind. Am I clear?"

Well, that went about as well as every other attempt to make the suggestion, so she couldn't even feign surprise. Instead, she leaned her head back against the tree and sighed, eyes closing as she tried to mentally work out whether reaching the rendezvous point was even feasible, considering their condition.

"Blake." She opened one eye to see the woman as she took a step forward, crouching down until they were on eye level with each other. The Faunus could see something glinting in her teammate's eyes, words she wanted to say but wouldn't. "How's your leg?"

That wasn't it but they both silently agreed to pretend like it was. "Still hurts, but I guess that's a good thing."

Carefully, Weiss checked the splint and the bandages- thankfully, she'd somehow avoided a compound fracture, but she probably wouldn't be able to move around without the aid of a crutch or cane for a week at best- and stood, nodding to herself.

The whole while the Faunus watched, she could feel the sour tint to her mood worsen. Even if she wasn't in the best condition following their run-in with the lats batch of Grimm, she could plainly see the cuts and scrapes along Weiss' skin that she'd purposefully held back her aura from healing. They were both running low on energy and strength and the fact she couldn't return the favor, ensure the woman's wounds were as inconsequential as she suggested, burned her.

Reciprocity, it turned out, proved to be the foundations of their bond as teammates and friends. The more Blake spoke of the early days of the White Fang, of the mines and the camps, of leaving Menagerie and joining Adam, of rejecting his methods and her struggle to survive until Beacon, the more she learned about the Schnee heiress, the perfect princess who grew up in an expansive, cold castle with nothing more than impossible goals to keep her company, facing down tests and trials of her own. Because if the man who currently sat at the head of such a corrupt company could be so cold and cruel to an entire people for the sake of his pocketbook, what really made anyone think he would be kind to his own flesh and blood? But she never tried to compare or liken her childhood to the plight of the Faunus- she'd learned her lesson in that regard. A difficult childhood, she'd said, produced a difficult child, but she aimed to 'grow up' and thanks Blake for her help in that matter. But it went both ways; even if most humans at Beacon didn't outright discriminate against Faunus, few stood against it vocally or visibly the way Weiss started to towards the end of that first year. She seemed determined to go out on her terms, if she ended up not being able to return to Beacon at all.

When Weiss was cut off from the family accounts during that first tournament, the entire team thought things might change dramatically. After all, what would the woman do without the one constant she'd had her whole life? And the ultimatum that followed didn't bolster their confidence any, especially after seeing how abrasive Winter- eldest of the Schnee children- could be normally. But they'd underestimated just how stubborn Weiss could be and how much she emulated her elder sister, who diverted from their father's path and found her own way in the world. After the break following their first year, Weiss returned to the school grounds with just a single suitcase and her sword. No more cold mansion, no more demanding father, and no more money, but Blake vividly recalled the smile on the woman's face when she'd seen her teammates and proudly announced herself entirely divested of the title 'heiress'.

They'd spent that second year bonding even further as a team, growing closer on missions and while trying to stay awake during classes, bent over homework or cleaning their respective weapons. Free of the burden of her family's name, Weiss blossomed into a much kinder- if still blunt and occasionally narrow minded- person. Likewise, the Faunus liked to think that, without the weight of hiding her past and heritage from her closest friends, she'd become more open with them, less inclined to deflect or hide away what she felt and thought.

Of course... that didn't quite apply to everything.

"Blake?" She looked up as Weiss hurried over- well, nearly stumbled would be more apt. "Are you alright? Have you lost too much blood?"

"No?" She raised a brow. "Why do you ask?"

"You're sitting there with a broken leg and a smile; I'm fairly certain those two things are mutually exclusive in all but cases of severe blood loss," the woman replied, a worried crease to your brow.

Now that she'd mentioned it, the pain had lessened, either from her brain blocking out the nerve signals or numbness. She couldn't be sure which. "I was just thinking of a happy memory. No cause for alarm."

With suspicion shining brightly in her eyes, Weiss shook her head. "We need to get moving again. You need the medical attention."

She wanted to argue some more, maybe bait the woman into a rant, but it would do neither of them any good at this point. Especially with Myrtenaster's tip pointed at the ground, a familiar glyph appearing a few short feet away. In a flash of light, Weiss' summoned knight appeared, kneeling down to acknowledge the woman before turning its sights on Blake.

"Weiss?" Although an extremely useful skill in battle, the summoning of former enemies was still a new aspect to Weiss' fighting style, having only truly manifested towards the end of last year. That didn't make it any easier to accept the ten foot tall, gleaming white knight that stood and walked over to the tree, kneeling beside her. The pinpricks of blue set deep into the visor always worried her, because the light there seemed more than just a projection, as if it was... alive, in a way.

"We were too far away before; I wasn't sure I could maintain the summon." The knight reached out with its unoccupied hand while Weiss came around to help her move into leaning against the summon's arm. "This should make the remainder of the trip much quicker."

Amber eyes darted to the sky, beginning to tinge orange with the setting sun. "Good idea."

Seated in the crook of the knight's elbow and pulled tight against its chest, Blake grabbed onto its breastplate and it stood and turned, heading towards the cliffs with Weiss trailing behind them. Despite the knight's cumbersome size, it could move at a surprisingly quick pace, the looming cliffside drawing closer with every step.

Unfortunately, this meant the Faunus couldn't see Weiss, nor could she heard the woman's softer gait over the knight's heavy tread.

Blake bit her lip, debating on calling out to ask for her teammate to walk beside the summon or in front- somewhere the Faunus could see or hear her moving. It would be foolish, though; Weiss and her summons always shared a bond, moving as if they were one entity. Without the knight setting the pace, they wouldn't move as quickly, and she could imagine every point and counterpoint to exist in that impending argument, which she would lose simply because she couldn't think of nearly as good a reason to request the change as the truth, which she couldn't say, either.

Surreal as it seemed, Weiss wasn't the cold, spoiled brat she appeared to be when they first met three years ago, and she wasn't the same jaded Faunus, either. They'd grown together, relearned how to trust, and while their respective partners were big factors in that development, it didn't deepen the bonds the partners shared quite as much as between the former ideological enemies. When Blake wanted to unwind with a book, she could count on Yang to try and coax her out into the city- a park somewhere, which would be outdoors enough for the blonde but not as quiet as the Faunus preferred- on Ruby to try and either get invested in the book as well or leave her to her own devices, and Weiss to exist in the same space without making too much noise and engrossed in her own quiet task. Coexisting with the woman, after their initial unpleasantness subsided, was easy as breathing, and they shared many interests if not the same taste.

Lately, Blake had started wondering if, perhaps, there was a reason for that. Her mother asking if anyone caught her eye during her days at Beacon probably contributed to the thought that maybe... well, Weiss was intelligent, with a quick wit and a sharp tongue, and while her outlook on several issues had changed and evolved over time, her core beliefs remained as solid as ever. Graceful when she fought, thoughtful in her interactions, able to switch between a cool placid lake and a fiery volcano in the blink of an eye, and just...

The Faunus sighed, slumping slightly against the knight's arm. She quite possibly had developed a bit of a crush on the woman in the past several months. There really existed no better explanation for why she got so excited about a simple partner swap assignment in the Emerald Forest, or why she'd gotten surprised by the King Taijitu in the first place- she'd gotten distracted, watching as Weiss wove her way through the four lunging heads and slicing into them with the same ease as one might cut through butter wielding a hot knife, making the whole battle seem like a dance. Even tired, dirty, and drained, Weiss looked stunning, poetry in motion- she'd never seen anything half as beautiful.

Suddenly, the knight shifted, the hand holding its longsword switching to a backwards grip and allowing the tip to drag through the dirt.

"Weiss?"

"Just... marking the path." She could hear the slightly breathless quality to the woman's voice, as if the exertion of the day was finally catching up to her. "That bed might become a hot spot next time. Easier to find this way."

Reluctantly accepting the explanation- she had seen Weiss summoning the odd glyph now and then earlier, and summoning more glyphs would likely break her concentration- Blake settled back against the summon's arm, noting those pinpricks of blue light watching her for a moment before looking forward again. Honestly, aside from the strange sensation of the... light... that constituted the knight's physical form pressing against her, like electricity barely contained behind glass, she might be able to fall asleep to its gentle and steady pace. Everything hurt, a dull throb that radiated from her leg and seemed to bounce around every joint, calling her to sleep- she might've even drifted off, briefly, but found herself startled wide awake when the knight's stride faltered.

It caught itself and kept going, dragging its sword and carrying her without difficulty, yet she could sense something was wrong. It didn't feel the same as before, as if the energy was fading, and a glance up proved that little flakes of the summon were breaking off and drifting away, disappearing into nothingness. She'd seen enough of Weiss' summoned allies disperse to realize the knight wouldn't remain a physical construct much longer, but rather than be concerned by her impending fall, she called out.

"Weiss?" She struggled, trying to get a grip on the smooth white armor to no avail, unable to turn her hips enough to use her good leg for leverage. "Weiss?" No answer came from behind the knight as it started to stagger. "Weiss!"

"Blake!" She turned, catching sight of the rendezvous point and several of her classmates standing around, waiting for the missing members of their teams to return. Of their number, she could pick out Yang and Ruby easily, running towards her in the orange glow of the setting sun. Her partner was the one to call out, a wide smile on her lips that could be seen even from the several meters between them as the summon staggered out of the brush. "You okay?"

"Weiss is hurt!" She yelled out, trying to motion around the knight's bulky frame. "Keep going! Find her!"

Yang slowed down, brow furrowing in confusion, but Ruby heard loud and clear, turning into a red blur as she raced past the collapsing summon to find their missing teammate. The knight had the presence to kneel down, extending its arm so she could be transferred to Yang before more of it broke off, turning into little white specks. The blonde grunted when her shoulder collided with the woman's chest a bit more forcefully than any of them intended, but she managed to keep from hitting the splint when she curled her arms up, taking the Faunus' weight away from the summon as it dispersed entirely.

"Whoa, Blakey, you two have a rough time or what?" Worried lilac eyes looked her up and down before the brawler turned on heel, marching back to where the others stood, confusion turning to startled shouts for medical attention.

"Yang, we have to go back, Weiss is out there-" Once again, Blake tried worming her way out of the arms holding her, but she simply lacked the strength at this point.

"Ruby'll find her." Four people rushed past, looking to follow the line left by the knight's sword. "And Team JNPR will bring them back, safe and sound. They've got this and you're in no condition to go yourself."

"Yang!"

"Blake!" The blonde smirked. "See? I can do that, too."

"This isn't funny." She growled, tempted to try finding just a little bit of leverage- she couldn't overpower her partner, but she could out maneuver her nine times out of ten- but the teachers rushing over effectively killed that plan. Outmaneuvering Yang might be easy in comparison, even with a broken leg, but outrunning Doctor Oobleck was out of the question.

"Hey," her partner said, waiting for amber to meet lilac before she continued. "I know, alright? But you know as well as I do that if you aren't on your way to the infirmary by the time they bring her back, none of us will hear the end of it for years." Her lips quirked up into a small grin. "She wanted to make sure you got back safe, so when we bring her back, you can be the one to give her an earful, deal?"

Blake fought the impulse to argue further, bow crinkling once again as her ears laid back in frustration. "Deal."

With that, she stopped struggling, hoping they would find the woman passed out along the trail they've carved and bring her back, sore but no worse for wear.

If something happened to Weiss while she was out there... she'd never forgive herself.

Laying in the infirmary with her leg set up in a proper cast was the purest form of torture she'd ever known. No scroll to distract her, no news from her team, drugs to help her aura recover so the bone would heal quicker robbing her of focus and entirely coherent thought- she could've laid there for days, staring blankly at the ceiling without noticing the time. Luckily, she heard the click of the door, her head lolling so she could look in the direction of the sound. To her immense relief, the first person through the door was Yang, both hands wrapped around the handles of a stretcher.

"Hey, Blakey. Brought you a present."

The Faunus pushed herself up, sluggishly rising just enough to watch as the sisters entered the room with Weiss on a stretcher between them, looking far too still and pale, despite the dirt and grime on her face. "Is she-"

"Oh, she's just sleeping really hard." Their team leader piped up, obviously just as relieved as Blake. "Total aura depletion can really take it out of a person and they also had some emergency medicine down at the rendezvous."

"Both of you will be out of commission for a while." The blonde continued, giving a wordless count off before the sisters lowered their teammate in tandem. "You for the leg and her for the drugs to wear off." With her burden deposited, Yang turned and looked at her partner, hands on her hips and head cocking to the side. "Must be a helluva fight for both of you to be in this condition."

Threaded between the words lay half a dozen unspoken fears as the brawler did everything in her power not to come off as the mother hen she could be at any given moment. The woman had a big heart and cared deeply for her teammates, so Blake consciously opted to not make light of her concern. "We'll tell you the story when she wakes up. I... made a few mistakes, and it cost us."

"It happens to everyone," Ruby said, offering an encouraging smile. "I'm sure it was just a fluke! No reason to beat yourself up about it."

The Faunus chuckled. "Isn't that more of a Weiss thing?"

"I think it's very much a 'you two' thing." The blonde looked back at her sister. "Wanna help me transfer her to the bed."

The younger of the duo looked down at her partners legs, a frown on her lips. "Uh... where do I... grab?"

"Don't worry about it, was just askin' anyway." Yang knelt down. "Say, how about you head down to the cafeteria and grab them some real food? They'll both need it."

"Ice cream and cookies, got it!" The team leader joked, rushing over to Blake's bedside to throw her arms around her slightly larger frame. "I'm glad you're both okay."

"Thanks, Ruby," she replied, returning the hug with one arm before letting the younger woman head out, closing the door behind her while Yang scooped their teammate into her arms and put her on the bed, finding an extra blanket to tuck her in with before turning lilac eyes towards the Faunus. Before she could really think about it, the words left her tongue. "I'm sorry-"

"Are you apologizing to me or her?" The blonde sighed, shaking her head and crossing the room. "Blake, look, we're all just glad you're okay, and you're crazy if you think Weiss won't agree with that."

"But she's the one lying there unconscious-"

"And you have your leg in a cast." Yang waved a hand, dismissing her next argument. "Look, we can nitpick this to death or we can just agree- both of you need to talk, and the sooner the better." The only person she could possibly entrust with such a secret as her confusing, growing feelings for Weiss was her partner, and the blonde had obviously seen straight through the entire situation without an explanation at all. "I know Frosty over here would go to the ends of Remnant for any one of us, but she went above and beyond for you, Blake. I really think that means something."

"We didn't have much of a choice." She looked away, a blush rising in her cheeks as it always did whenever they actually talked about it. Having a crush was bad, having a more-than-likely unrequited crush was worse, but compounding that was having a best friend who seemed intent on getting to the bottom of it all. "She wouldn't leave me there-"

"And she had half a vial left of red dust." One brow raised up. "Why didn't you two just hole up for a bit? She could've set an acre on fire with a flick of her wrist, and there's nothing in the Emerald Forest capable of doing that so quickly." She paused, grimacing. "At least, nothing that wouldn't take half of us to bring down. Everyone would've known to converge on the smoke, anyway."

Blake blinked slowly, her mouth hanging open just a little. "We... didn't even think about that."

With a sigh, Yang sat down on the edge of her bed and gave her a pointed look. "You honestly think little Miss 'I-am-always-prepared-for-everything' Weiss, Miss 'here's-a-specially-design-magazine-with-special-dust-infused-rounds' Weiss, Miss 'I-read-an-article-six-years-ago-on-Vacuon-binding-practices' Weiss, Miss 'I-ace-every-test-without-studying-but-study-anyway-with-color-coded-notes' Weiss, didn't think about a signal fire?"

"Well... I didn't think about it." She muttered, slumping back against the bed.

"Nah, of course not; knowing you, you told her to go on without you and get help, right?" The blonde chuckled, reaching over to untie the bow binding her ears, giving the right one a playful flick. "And she said nuts to that and insisted she have her knight carry you back, and you were in too much pain to really argue like you usually do. Am I right?"

Blake frowned, her ears drooping in tandem. "She carried me, actually. Until she couldn't anymore."

"Whoa, no wonder she's exhausted." She shrugged. "Point still stands, Blakey. You two are more complex than Crescent Rose, but it doesn't take Ruby to figure out how each of you operates. Weiss definitely thought of a signal fire, and then decided she couldn't just sit and wait for someone to come. It would've driven her insane being so helpless with you in pain."

Biting her lip briefly, the Faunus looked up at her partner, not giving her request half as much thought as it deserved before she spoke, still too loopy from the medicine to properly censor herself. "Yang... could you..." Amber eyes flicked towards Weiss' bed. "Please?"

"Say no more." The blonde got up, grabbing two chairs from the corner of the room and dragging them over to their teammate's bedside, setting them up across from each other and parallel to the bed itself. She then came back and, with a little clumsy help, picked up Blake and carried her over to the chairs, ensuring the cast got propped up.

Honestly, the chair was uncomfortable on her lower back, but she managed to smile rather than grimace at her best friend. "Thanks."

"No problem. Now, I think I'll go see what's keeping Ruby." She started towards the door, throwing a wink over her shoulder. "Ya know, make sure it takes double, that sorta stuff. Keep an eye on Frosty for us, won't ya, Blakey?"

With a fond shake of her head, she waved her friend off, leaning back in the chair and sighing. Amber eyes traced up and down Weiss' body, her vision slightly blurry but at least clear enough for her to make out the steady rise and fall of her chest, which mollified the Faunus a little. She could already imagine how cross the woman would be when she woke up and saw Blake out of bed but, well, some things were more important, she thought, a small smile on her lips.

"I can't believe you sometimes," she said, her voice soft. "One minute, you're on the rest of us about taking care of ourselves, eating properly, going to bed at a decent hour, studying... and then the next, you're throwing yourself into the first danger to rear its head." Her gaze slid up, landing on her teammates face, peaceful in slumber despite it not being a natural one. "Sometimes, I ask myself why- why you do it, why you keep doing it, why you won't let one of us share that burden. You're so selfless." A sigh escaped her then, gaze dropping with her shoulders and ears. "I've always admired that about you. I wish I'd told you that sooner. Or... at all." She looked away, as if that would somehow hide the blush rising to her cheeks, doubly ineffective since the only other person in the room happened to be unconscious. "Listen to me- I sound like this is one of those dramatic, near death scenes in my books, where the whole chapter makes you fear the worst... but you'll be good as new in a few days. If that, knowing you."

A low grunt caught her attention, ear flicking towards the sound before she looked back up, breath catching in her throat. Weiss had flinched in her sleep, her brow furrowed in some unknown emotion and tension running through her frame, breathing coming quicker. Blake had seen this before, though rarely; one of the woman's nightmares had taken hold, dragging her through some unknown, unpleasant place that usually ended with her sitting bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Right now, though, Weiss needed to sleep and recoup her energy, so the Faunus reached out, searching under the covers until she could find her teammate's hand, clasping it in hers.

"Weiss, listen to me. You're safe, you're okay." She reached out with her left hand, cupping the woman's cheek. Twisting around so her leg remained on the other chair wasn't exactly comfortable but, at this point, she could honestly care less about her personal comfort. "Wherever you think you are, you're not there. Go somewhere happier. You're safe here, with me."

Blake waited, hoping she could get through; usually, she awoke to the sounds of her teammate's erratic breathing and flinching, remaining in her bed until she heard the woman wake up and go to the bathroom to splash water on her face. Then, she'd pretend she woke up to the noise of someone leaving the room, ask if Weiss was alright, and if she needed anything. The response she always got was a tight lipped smile and a 'I'm fine' before they'd both return to bed. She always kicked herself, wishing she would actually go and wake the woman up, but then she'd open herself up to the inevitable questions- did she always wake up, why didn't she say anything, it wasn't intentional- and the anxiety kept her listening during those infrequent nights when the shadows lurking in Weiss' mind got the better of her.

Eventually, the woman's breathing evened out, the crease to her brow fading back into a peaceful expression. The Faunus let out a sigh of relief, though she couldn't find it within herself to draw away just yet.

"You know, if this was one of my books... this would definitely be the part where I kiss you." A chuckle slipped passed her lips, the absurdity of the sentence striking her. Not that it wasn't true, of course, but rather because she'd never actually manage to say something so ridiculously sappy to Weiss. Despite her love of romance novels- and 'romance' novels- her ability to be romantic was often hindered by a fierce blush and an inability to think coherently when she needed to most. "It'd take away the nightmares and you'd wake up, eyelids fluttering as you sat up, strong as before and free. Or so the stories go. True love's kiss is pretty powerful, they say."

"Given how awful I feel, I'd be willing to try it." Blake's shoulders jumped, her gaze snapping to the woman's face as a small grin lifted one side of her mouth. "Not sure about the sitting up part, though. The kiss would have to be quite exceptional-"

"You heard all that?" She cringed, realizing a second too late how dumb the question was, all things considered. "I mean, I can explain-"

"Blake?" Apparently summoning all her strength, Weiss opened her eyes, blue orbs meet her gaze for a brief moment. "You utter dolt. If you're about to take all that back, you might as well start hobbling away now." That seemed to be the extent of her recovered strength, though, as her eyes closed again and she let out a sigh. "Did the knight make it back? I... can't remember..."

"Yeah, it did." Risking the lecture that would follow were she caught, the Faunus pulled her broken leg off the other chair so she could turn and look at the woman more comfortably. "You got me back to the rendezvous point."

"Good." A few deep, long breaths followed, and she almost thought the woman had fallen back asleep until she spoke again. "So... this true love's kiss... I hear there's different types of love. Platonic, familial... romantic." The hand still clasped in hers twitched slightly, fingers curling around hers on the last word. "If this was one of your books, which type of kiss would this be?"

Blake froze, many words trapped in her throat while she remained entirely unsure of which words, exactly, they were. It... it really couldn't be, could it? That Yang was right, that Weiss returned her feelings, that they might actually have a chance- her silly crush was just that, wasn't it?

"Well, if... if it were up to me," she said, the poor attempt at stalling followed by her clearing her throat. "If it were up to me, I'd say... romantic."

Weiss squeezed her hand, her grin broadening into a full fledged smile. "Good. We're on the same page, then." She cracked one eye open. "I think that's a pretty important part of the kiss working."

"It is."

"Then, what are you waiting for?" Her eye closed again, voice becoming thick as sleep called her back to the depths. "I don't bite."

"Shame," she replied, thankful that Weiss couldn't see her in that exact moment as a blush lit up her cheeks.

"Well, I'm always open to learning new tricks."

Shaking her head, Blake carefully lifted herself out of the chair and leaned over, brushing their lips together in a soft kiss. When she drew back, mindful to keep her weight off her right leg, the Faunus could honestly say she felt lighter than ever, a smile spreading across her face. "I can't believe you carried me five clicks until you literally passed out from exhaustion for a kiss. I can't imagine what you'll do for a date."

"I'll fight to stay awake." Weiss cracked her eyes open again, a faint flush rising in her cheeks. "At this point, that seems to be a nigh insurmountable task."

"I'd rather you rest for now." Noting that Yang had accidentally- or, perhaps, very intentionally- placed the woman more to one side of the bed than the center, she hobbled around to the other side and laid down, careful to put her injured leg down on the bed gently. She'd prefer laying with the cast on the outside of them but, considering her teammate- girlfriend?- could hardly move, this seemed like the more pragmatic answer. "We can discuss heroic deeds and wooing once we can both move around without assistance."

"Sounds reasonable."

She couldn't be sure if the words were a last ditch effort at remaining conscious or an acquiescence, but Weiss slipped back into slumber a moment later, their shoulders just barely touching. A kiss and closeness while they convalesced- it wasn't much but, after how far they'd come, it felt wonderful knowing they still had much further to go, and Blake closed her eyes and slipped into a peaceful slumber.

[giraffles]

Keep It Low

shhh it’s still day 4 somewhere in the world, right? don’t worry about it. today’s prompt was “favorite rescue” so here’s some one’s dumb ass getting rescued. :D again apart of Lights Will Guide You don’t look at me like that

warnings for all sorts of things including torture, mentioned eye trauma, choking, psychological torture, god just click the AO3 link for the whole list. zone is a douchenozzle here what can I say

Keep It Low (Young!Harlock/Warrius Zero)

"I'll never get over how he came running when he heard," Even behind tinted glasses, those eye glint maliciously, "So predictable. So romantic! I'm almost a little jealous."

you can also read it here on AO3!

"I'll never get over how he came running when he heard," Even behind tinted glasses, those eye glint maliciously, "So predictable. So romantic! I'm almost a little jealous." Harlock spits up blood. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Zone bares his teeth like the rabid animal he is, then lashes out for the hundredth time in god-knows how many days. Harlock has lost count, because it hasn't been easy to keep track in a windowless cell or the cloistered bunker. Getting backhanded to the ground still stings, but it's not the worst thing that's happened to him, objectively speaking; everything hurts from previous thrashings, and there's something wrong with his right eye. A couple ribs might be broken, though that's something he's used to by now. Zone may herald himself a genius, but he's hardly creative in the physical torture department, and that's a cold comfort. Harlock has old scars that come from masters of the craft, mementos of younger times when he got into more trouble, or put himself in between them and someone who didn't deserve it. He doesn't regret any of it. However, the current situation still sucks. There's a knee in already fractured diaphragm, causing his breath to catch and stutter, and then a hand wrapped around his throat. There's not much he can do but wheeze, with his wrists bound and no way out in sight. At the moment it's just a threatening display, but he's still wonders why Zone just hasn't killed him yet. Probably to fulfill some sadistic fantasy. He's certainly the type. "Your little army boy," Zone drawls, "The righteous prick who thought he could save you." Harlock would be tempted to correct him (the Navy and Army are two very different branches after all, you can't just interchange them like that) but there's that implication that has him reeling instead. There is only one idiot who fits that description, who would be reckless enough to come charging into such an obvious trap, and just the thought is enough to sink razors into his heart. This wasn't supposed to happen. "What did you--" "Ah, ah," Zone's expression is positively predatory as he presses down on his windpipe, "I'm telling the story here, aren't I?" Harlock chokes, and thinks better of struggling, if only to spare aggravating existing injuries. He hadn't entertained any ideas of getting out alive and no one else should have been involved. This was wrong, wrong on so many levels, and there's nothing he can do while pinned and abused. "It was so easy. He was so distracted, all it took was a single shot. Oh, not lethal, of course. What would be the fun in that?"   Then there's a knife gouging a hot trail down his side, because the bastard wants the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Well, Zone can't have it, not while he's half conscious enough to resist. He's lying. He has to be lying, Zero would never make such a rookie mistake, to come alone and to fall victim to a madman with a shotgun. "I tied him up. There's a well out back, you know. Very old. It runs deep, even though there isn't much water left. But there's enough." "You f-fuckin'--" "Not done yet," The knife twists, "That was, oh, three hours ago, give or take? He's very dead by now. Maybe I'll even put your corpse down there too." It's hard enough to breathe as it is, but this is crushing. The weight of this revelation is almost too much to bear, too absurd to believe-- but Zone has that covered too. From his pocket he produces a torn piece of cloth, blue and gold and stained with dark blood, the insignia of a ship's anchor and pilot's wings. It's from a worn bomber jacket. It's from Zero's jacket. He snarls something, an insult, an unintelligible sound of rage and pain, and gets a blade in his leg for all his trouble. This time he does scream, because what does he have left to lose? Zero is dead. He's dead at the hands of a monster Harlock couldn't stop. It's all his fault, because he wasn't smart enough, wasn't quick enough, because he hasn't been the same since he found Tochiro and Emeraldas murdered in a not-so-safe house. Since then he's only been one part of three, left behind to try to make some sense of the world, and he's obviously failed. And now he's dragged someone else down to hell too-- someone who never deserved to die like this, to die for him. "I think, when I'm done, I'll pay everyone else a visit," Zone muses aloud, a hint of maniacal laughter slipping into his voice, "Lure them in. Break them down. That'll be very entertaining. Maybe I'll let you watch." He can't even come up with an answer to that, not when Zone is choking him to near unconsciousness. Funny though, how everything has now gone numb, with dark clouds on the edge of his vision and a shadowy figure approaching the scene. It's most likely a manifestation of death, with his oxygen deprived brain doing it's best to keep up with the torture and trying to fill in sensory jargon with familiar objects. It would almost be better if it just happened. If it all just stopped. Then it would feel like he was being eviscerated with every stolen breath.   A sickening crack rings out and Zone falters. He then slumps, tumbling to the side and onto the concrete floor with a garbled moan. He doesn't move. "Fucking hell," Zero, dripping wet and one arm soaked in blood, stands not more than two feet away with a rusty pipe in hand, "What an asshole." Harlock is too busy trying to remember how lungs work to fully process what's happening. He's dizzy from both shock and emotional whiplash, and neither are very pleasant things to deal with. While he stumbles over words, Zero is rummaging around Zone's prone form. "But-- t-the well--" "I can swim, you know," Zero says with the utmost patience, "They do require that if you're a sailor." "He-- he tied you up!" "Those knots were the worst I've seen in my entire life." "He said he killed you," And god, he'd believed the bastard, "I thought you were dead." Zero huffs. "He's bad at that too. Anyway, I'm more worried about you right now." Zero has found the magnetic key to the cuffs, and wastes no time in pulling them off of him before tossing them across the room. The sound makes him flinch. Part of him is having trouble parsing that this is happening, that it's even close to being real. He must be half a moment away from waking up in a black hole again, but there are also startlingly cold hands on his, still damp from groundwater and cast pink in diluted blood. "You came for me," Harlock's voice cracks, and he feels like his rib cage is crumbling inward at the effort to speak, "You came here for me." Zero looks startled and concerned before his expression melts into something warmer. "Of course I did. I wasn't going to leave you behind." He's not sure what to say to that. He doesn't deserve an ounce of anything this man has given him, and yet he keeps coming back. A wiser person would have given up on the wreckage that is his being and ran far away. But Zero has always been defying the equation, hasn't he? Since Budapest, since Tabito, since rocky first missions together and rockier first touches. Ever so gently, Zero brushes back his hair, wincing in sympathy at what Harlock can only assume is the injured side of his face. "Is it that bad?" "Well, it's not pretty," Zero admits, which confirms his suspicions about his sight being permanently damaged, "But I think you'll live." "I can work with that," he murmurs back, "Can we get the fuck out of here?" Zero hauls them both to their feet, and he has to lean on him more heavily than he would like. But he's a solid, grounding force that Harlock hadn't realized he was missing until it wasn't under his fingertips anymore. His heart may never be steady again, but at least there's this. It's something to help with the ache, even if it doesn't fill the void, even if this is all they ever are. Even if they have to hobble out of there while using each other as mutual crutches.   "Shit." "Yeah." "Fuck." "Mmhm." "Are you gonna be like this the whole way home?" Harlock grumbles, "I'm bleeding out, you could at least show a little sympathy." "I could always carry you." "Don't you dare."   The snickers that bubble out from Zero are contagious as hell, and maybe there's something to be said about finding mirth even when you've been torn apart. Maybe it’s not too late to hope.