#like fives and echo are ground vehicle coded but what KIND

[zealfruity]

Trying to figure out what your favourite characters would be as vehicles & aircraft is really humbling when you know maybe 3 things about vehicles & aircraft

[buckaroosboogara]

911 week - Day 3:

“ Whatever you do, please don’t look.” + hurt

(1600~ words, May and Athena. Tw: suicide attempt.)

@911week

May had been waiting for this day for months. 

Her ride-along with a police officer that was part of being a dispatcher at the 911 call center. 

Her mother was anything but pleased when she brought up the topic and said no without a second thought. 

But she wasn't about to give up, no. 

After all, she was a Grant through and through, both her parents' stubbornness was in her veins and she would make it, no matter what. And after weeks of negotiations, she did it. 

But she never wanted this to happen. May would have done anything to undo the day if she could. Now it was too late. 

Everything started when Maddie told her Officer Williams was outside the call center to pick her up.

Athena had requested him and his partner to give her daughter the ride-along, trusting him with one of her most precious things in the world.

She thanked the woman and looked for her jacket, her phone, and her face mask. Josh walked her to the elevator and wished her luck before she went down to the entrance floor and found the officer.

"Ready for the day Ms. Grant?" He asked and she rolled her eyes, placing her mask on her face.

"I know you since I was like 10 Matthew."

"Okay then, ready for the day, May?"

"Let's do this Officer Williams." May said, getting into the police cruiser. She fist-bumped Officer Vargas and she started her ride-along.

There were some light calls at first, some private property trespass, and noise complaints. Then some disorderly conduct and infractions and May was kind of getting bored.

But she couldn't give her mother that pleasure, so she smiled and nodded and listened to everything Williams and Vargas had to say.

They stopped to eat at a food truck and she got to chat with other officers, most of them rookies and their instructors, they told her about procedures and every single one reacted with a glow in their eyes when she told them she was Athena Grant's daughter.

She quickly learned that her mom was someone most officers spoke about, like a legend.

Then Williams got a call for mental basic life support and they got to go.

May never knew that even existed, so she asked Vargas about it.

"Well, we have to check on that person and see if they are okay or keep company if they are struggling, so they know there's at least someone there for them." He answered, and May nodded. Flashbacks of her own experiences appeared in her mind and she tried to stay focused on the present. "It's usually a family member or a friend that calls the mental health hotline and units get dispatched, maybe that's why you have never heard of it. In this case, the sister called, saying he hasn't spoken with anybody in weeks."

Five minutes later they were at the front door, the officers leaving May in the car just in case something went south.

She was on her phone when the car radio sounded with Williams' voice. "Dispatch, the 1-56 turned into a code 1-42, send an ambulance in case the person attempts suicide."

Her breath hitched.

1-42 meant suicidal basic life support.

Meant they were trying their best to keep the person from ending their life.

She didn't know when she was inside, the air hot and heavy with sobs and low voices echoing through the walls.

May took a deep breath. She could do it.

"May what are you doing here? I told you to stay in the car." Matthew's voice snapped her from her thoughts.

"I know how to help him." May pointed at the man who was holding a blade to his wrists. He looked around her age.

Officer Vargas sighed, "Fine, go ahead."

May nodded and reunited courage, she started to walk close to him but he exclaimed, "Stop! Stop right there! I don't want anybody near me!"

She stopped in her tracks and raised her hands. "It's okay. Okay."

The man nodded and some tears spilled from his eyes.

"My name is May, can I know yours?" She asked.

"T-Tony."

"That's a pretty name, Tony." May said, as calm as she could. "Tony, why don't you put that blade down and we can talk?"

"No. N-no I won't."

"Look, I know what you're going throu-"

"You lie, everyone who tells me that is lying!"

"I'm not. Look, when I was 14 I... I took lots of pills and I almost killed myself." May's voice trembled. "All I could feel was pain and I just wanted it to go away... I- I didn't think my life was worth enough to live. Like I wasn't enough. That's what you feel, right?"

Tony nodded. May could feel the officer's eyes on her back, but she was making progress, Tony's arms lowered slowly.

"I know you are at your lowest point. But there are so many things that are worth living for."

Tony scoffed "Like what? This miserable place I can barely pay for? My stupid job? The thoughts in my head that are always telling me to quit already?"

"Like your sister." May said calmly.

She remembered being in the hospital with her mom and Harry by her side. The little kid asked Athena if his sister was going to be okay and then held her hand.

'Don't leave me, big sister.' He had said.

A tear fell down her cheek in the present. "She is sick worried about you. But there's someone else worth living for."

"Who?"

"Yourself." May stepped closer to Tony. "You matter. There's no one else like you in this world, Tony. And I know there's a better place out there where you will heal and grow, and you will never feel like this anymore. I also had to learn it the hard way."

Tony seemed caught on her words, he still had hope. She made another step.

"But that will only happen if you let go of that blade and walk out of that door with me. Come on Tony."

Her cards were thrown, now it depended on the man if he would trust her or not.

The sound of the metallic blade hitting the floor made her let go of the air she was holding. She came closer to the man and held his hand.

"That's it. Okay? We are going to get through this."

Somewhere while she was talking, the firefighters and paramedics had arrived and waited quietly behind her. One of the paramedics she recognized as Hen passed her a blanket and she put it around the man's shoulders, telling reassuring words as the paramedics checked his vitals and placed him on a gurney.

Both walked outside together and she promised to visit him in the hospital later, he had a few self-made cuts that needed professional attention.

His sister was waiting for him outside and ran to check on him as soon as she saw him on the gurney. Both siblings were crying when they got into the ambulance

"Good job there May." Chimney patted her shoulder and closed the vehicle's doors before taking off.

"He's right. How are you feeling?" Bobby's voice sounded behind her. She turned around feeling her eyes puffy.

"I'm a little shaken up, but good. Thanks, Bobby." May assured.

Bobby hugged her. "By the way, here comes your mom."

"May, baby!" Athena's voice said and May grunted quietly. Bobby chuckled as he walked away to give them space. The 118 was waiting for him in the truck, ready to go.

"Hey mom," May said, ignoring the truck's honk and already thinking of the upcoming scold. 'May Rose Grant, are you insane? Disobeying the officers and walking there when there was an armed man?'

Instead, Athena rushed to hug her.

"Oh, May my baby! I'm so glad you are okay." She said, relief exuding from her voice.

May sighed and made a small smile. "I'm fine mom, I swear."

"Good, now let's get you home, it's been a hell of a da-"

It came out of nowhere.

First, there was a bang and then her mom shook. May could feel something like a knife cut through her upper arm and then she felt a sticky hot liquid on her hands, which were still on her mom's back.

There were bangs everywhere and Athena's radio went off with Officer Vargas' words, "Shots fired against the LAPD! I repeat, shots fired, 727-L-30 is down! Officer down!"

Her mom collapsed and her strength wasn't enough to keep her from falling to the ground.

"Mom!"

May took her hands from behind her back and saw they were bathed in red.

Blood.

"May. M-May, baby-" Athena made a strangled sound with her throat as she came out of the shock. She couldn't breathe.

"Mom no!" She looked at her mom feeling powerless.

All those manuals she had read and re-read, all her training, all her experience, all was worthless now because her mind was blank. She could hear muffled screams, the shots had ceased and the sirens were sounding far away.

"May, listen to me. I love you, okay? Now press on the wound and-" Athena coughed. It sounded like she was drowning and May hated it. "And whatever you do, please don’t look.”

May hesitated, "But-"

"There's no time for buts. Tell your brother that I love him. I love you both."

May tried to cipher the place of the injury with her tear-blurred vision. She found it and pressed hard, earning a yelp from Athena. She then looked at her surroundings.

She couldn't look at her mom, she was ordered not to.

"Mom please don’t die." Hot tears streamed down her eyes. Her body numb to the pain on her opened knees or her gushing arm, and when she found her voice again she used it mercilessly.

"Help! Please, help me! Someone please, I need help!" She sobbed looking up to the sunny LA skies, her throat already raw.

"Please help me!"

[justasparkwritings]

Codename Cupid: Chapter 22

Previous: The Final Notice 

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x OFC

Genre: Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Abortion

Summary: Black Panther, Cricket and OT7 finally meet. 

Cricket & OT7: Return to Sender

Present Day

           “Why are you following me?” I ask, hands bound together, eyes blindfolded. The car has stopped, and whomever was driving has exited the vehicle in favor of opening my door and yanking me out. It’s silent, apart from my breathing and unavoidably stalky footsteps. I’ve never been able to walk on eggshells, perhaps it was my mother’s direction that stomping on them was far more impactful, that has led me to wear through every heel of every shoe I’ve ever owned. Now, it isn’t my saving grace, rather a rude awakening that I must sound like an ogre to the people who live below me.

           I arrived at the designated location, Jungkook trailing behind me. He refused to let me go alone but did compromise and stay in the damn car. He could see me, and I could see him. I was waiting for no more than a minute before promptly kidnapped. Not even chloroformed, just fucking grabbed and taken. Kidnapped, blindfolded and bound. Bound! Some knot a boy scout or aspiring I’m tossed in the back of a car, which, is how I’ve found myself willfully dragging my heels as they ever so gracefully force me in their desired direction.

           “Black Panther, why are you following us?” The voice asks. I know that voice, I’ve heard it before, I’ve heard that code name. Had it been referring to me this entire time?

           “Us?” I ask again, tossing my voice to see if it reverberates against anything, any sign that furniture or people are nearby.

           The man guiding me stops abruptly and peels off my blindfold. Empty spaces are their own kind of hell, and this is no exception. The panic of darkness arises as I close and open my eyes, ensuring they’re really open and not a trick of the mystery man’s charms. I jump softly as seven lights are dropped, one in each spot in front of me, a delicate row of halos waiting to be adorned. Five men step out of the shadows, the one holding me in place making number six.  Their pressed suits, cut from the finest cloth, each distinct in their pattern and style, garnish their bodies. As if on cue they cross their arms over their chests and glare openly at me.

           “Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung,” I rattle off, each man nodding as I speak their names.

           I know them all, tailed them, surveyed their homes, run into them at the grocery story and Mexican restaurants. All except fucking min Yoongi, but I know them. I know these men. I’ve spent the better part of what, two years, trying to understand them, trying to figure out how they’re related, and here they are. There’s space for another, and it takes me a minute to realize who it is that occupies that is supposed to occupy that spot.

           “There’s only six of you… where’s -

           “Jeon Jungkook,” His voice comes from behind me, goosebumps running up my spine as the heel of his boots hits the concrete. My body is awash in shock, anger, comfort and hope. My Jungkook. My, I have to come home to him, my north star, my sunshine on a cloudy day, my Bunny.

           I was fucking right all along, wasn’t I?

           “Welcome to the party.” Seokjin says.

           “Is this where you tell me that Euna is Hans Gruber and somehow I’m Sergeant Powell?” I question, by tone delicate against their stone expressions.

           “If anything, you’re Harry Ellis,” Yoongi says.

           “That’s so rude,” I retort. “At least let me be Holly Gennaro.”

           “Then who are we, McClane?” Yoongi snorts, the absurdity of my statement causing a brief moment of joy. “Bunny wishes.”

           “You’re interrupting our mission,” Namjoon states, pulling my attention to him. His broad shoulders give way to a tapered waist, round golden spectacles are situated against his face, and his jaw is locked tight.

           “Me? How the fuck – oh,” My eyes move towards the bulletin board against the far wall, in quintessential fashion there are pictures, string, maps and enough thumbtacks to secure the list of vets from the Vietnam Memorial. I can’t read it, but I can see it. “You guys aren’t the bad guys.”

           “No, we’re not,” Namjoon says.

           “The Lee family is,” Taehyung says. It’s odd seeing him this quiet and stoic, after all he’s the hottest librarian in the damn county. He comes alive within the confines of his books and stories, he comes alive. He has voices and characters and gestures to match each. Looking at him now, it’s wild to imagine him doing a full interpretive reading of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, or his most famed retelling, Peter and the Starcatcher, when he’s glowering down at me.

           “They are poison, seeking revenge on anyone who has worked on cases to bring them down,” Hoseok says.

           “So, you all, how did she find you?” My mind is moving too fast for me to form coherent sentences.

           “Cupid didn’t find us,” Jimin tells me, eyes still boring holes into mine.

           “You did,” Namjoon answers.

           “I did?” I ask, eyes wide.

           “Mm, your little stunts, your run ins, your photos. She gave you our real names and you-

           “Gave her our locations,” Taehyung finishes the sentence, eyes still trained on me.

           “You left the notes, and the photo for Euna to find,”

           “Yes, but unlike you, our move was intentional,” Yoongi says.

           “Codename Cupid needed to know there were higher stakes at play,” Hoseok tells me.

           “How was I supposed to know this was some larger conspiracy?” I demand, temper rising.

           “Did you not receive notes?” Hoseok asks, by his expression I can tell that he’s responsible for the code breakers that have arrived at my apartment and office over the last nine months. “Strange packages arriving out of nowhere, sent to your office, on the driver’s seat?” Hoseok pushes.

           “Yeah, but I’ve had some really sketchy clients in the past, though none of them preferred an ABA rhyme scheme,” I retort.

           “Do you know how we found you?” Yoongi snaps.

           “Yes?” I ask, genuinely confused, “Google my name and my office pops up. Anyone can find me.”

           “Your tactics are fucking bush league, Black Panther. They’re embarrassing,” Yoongi tells me.

           “You’re a P.I., not a cop, not an agent, you’re not in the Bureau, yet you’re overstepping into situations that you have no grounds being involved in. You are fucking playing with fire and we were about to be burned if we hadn’t –

           “Seokjin,” Namjoon’s voice is biting, harsh, a belt to the back as it cracks in the hot air.

           “She needs to know,” Taehyung responds for his hyung.

           “Cupid has been lying to you for months, leading you on, paying you over your asking to track us down for what? A few lies you don’t even believe to be true?” Jimin asks.

           “We embezzled funds from their charity organization? We reported her family to the IRS?” Taehyung asks.

           “We stole jewelry from her famed collection to sell on the black market?” Seokjin adds.

           “We’re trafficking high quality cocaine from Colombia into the upper echelon of society?” Jimin rattles off more lies.

           “We fucked her, broke her heart, and god – the worst one – we made her abort our child?” Yoongi spits on the floor, disgust flowing through his saliva like blood in the Nile.

           I stare at them, mouth agape as they recite words I’ve only spoken to one person. My vision becomes blurry as I try to breathe, in through my nose, out through my mouth, but my heart is pounding in my ears and I can’t breathe. The tears always sting before they fall, and my eyes land on him, tall, blonde hair, clear framed glasses, doe eyes.

           “You told them?” I whisper, the end of my sentence curling up into itself as the first tears start to fall.

           “I had to,” A whisper, feet frozen to the ground as he refuses to make eye contact with me.

           “You were using me?” I ask. “Look at me.”

           “I wasn’t using you,” He says, soft eyes meeting mine, the fire scorching the earth.

           “So how do they know?” I spit, the little droplets doing nothing to squelch the flames.

           “I had –

           “You told them information that I shared with you, in confidence, in my fucking bed, in my fucking homeJungkook!” I yell.

           “Cricket, can we talk about –

           “How dare you use my nickname to get me to calm down, I’m not a fucking child,” the sound of my cries reverberates against the warehouse, echoing violently.

           “I can exp-

           “There isn’t time for you to sort out your fuck up, Jeon. We have real problems to discuss,” Yoongi snaps. I can feel the tears dripping from my chin, falling to the concrete beneath my feet. The adrenaline pumping through my body as both a reaction to fear and a telltale sign that I’ve been embarrassed beyond repair. Not just embarrassed, eviscerated, betrayed. An hour ago, hadn’t I been deeply in love, terrified I wouldn’t return home to him?  

           “What do you want from me?” I ask. Jimin hands me a tissue, which I am grateful for as I attempt to gently blot my soaked skin. My mascara, never waterproof, comes off my eyes in dark splotches. How poetic.

           “Come, have a seat, Jungkook, get her a water,” Namjoon instructs. He strides towards the bulletin board and pressing a few buttons, the board sinks in the floor to reveal a hallway. The gasp that echoes through the warehouse is audible, and louder than I intend.

           “Sorry,” I say, feet guiding me past Jungkook, towards the corridor. There are no pictures on the walls, no signs that this space is used by anyone. The industrial style gives way to a door, bulletproof.

           Namjoon pauses, inserting his thumb into a scanner that gives way to a retina display, where he gently places his chin against the base. The machine works quickly before giving him entrance. I watch, amazed. Who knew in the 21stcentury that covert ops and me, a lonely P.I., would intersect?

           “This is, headquarters,” Seokjin says. He takes a seat at the long table in front of us and points to the chair next to Taehyung. I sit quickly, my eyes adjusting to the surprisingly bright space.

           “Oh my god the view,” I say, composure slightly recovered as I take in the expanse of greenery.

           “Yeah, benefit of being in the middle of nowhere,” Yoongi says.

           “Read your file,” Namjoon instructs.

           The file in front of me, manilla of course, is packed. “Why paper copies?”

           “Easier to burn,” Yoongi mutters. He’s taken out his computer and is busy typing away, no doubt pulling up a list of my infractions. Undoubtedly fucking an undercover operative is number one, though falling in love is objectively far worse than sex.

           Jungkook brings me a water and deftly cuts the zip ties around my wrist. His hand moves to sooth the indentation and redness from their grip, but I pull them away before his thumbs graze over the skin. Out of the corner of my eye I watch him retreat to his seat at the end of the table.

           “If you’re the top of the line, 007 should be shaking in his oxfords, can’t you encrypt it?” I ask.

           “Your encryption is only as good as your worst coder. We can’t take that chance,” Namjoon tells me.

           “First, I don’t think that’s the saying. Second, the government, who I’m assuming you work for, Interpol, MI6, etc. all use computer systems,” I counter.

           “Do you remember the election of 2016?” Yoongi retorts.

           “Point taken,” I nod. Of course, Russia. No one was ever safe. “But can’t you blame a lot of that on Zuckerberg and the higher ups at Twitter?”

           “Read your file,” Namjoon instructs again.

           I open it to find a rather aggressive breakdown of my work as a PI, both items that were on the internet and ones that only top-level government agents could have accessed, that is, unless the NSA has been tapping my phones. Details of my family life, my past relationships, my driving record, it was all here.

           “Why isn’t Jungkook on the list of romantic partners?” I ask, eyes looking from Seokjin to Namjoon.

           “Are you in love?” Namjoon asks.

           I don’t wait for a response from Jungkook, or to find the courage to say the simple three lettered word, yes. Instead, I busy myself by clearing my throat and loudly moving the pages about my life to a separate pile. Underneath is all my evidence, print outs of my documents, surveillance photos of me working. I stare at them, horrified.

           “How long have you been tailing me?” I question.

           “How long have you been working with Euna?” Taehyung asks.

           “Sixteen months,” I reply.

           “Ten months.” Taehyung answers.

           “You hacked my computer? Is that legal?” I inquire, knowing full well that it isn’t.

           “I can tell that you don’t understand who you’re dealing with, so let me put it this way. We’re the ones who knock. We’re the ones who cause dignitaries, presidents, whole countries to quake in their boots. It’s us.” Namjoon’s voice is calm within the storm, its resolute and baritone and every word that he utters is meaningful, impactful. He means what he says, and he fucking says what he means. In every interaction I’ve had with him, which frankly have been maybe more than he realizes, he’s been measured in his speech, only speaking when he has something worth saying. He is patient with himself, kind to others, except for today, when he clearly does not want to deal with me.

           “How very Heisenberg of you,” I roll my eyes.

           “You don’t want to be Jane,” Namjoon urges.

           “Okay first of all, in a Breaking Bad scenario, I’m clearly Jesse. Second of all, Krysten Ritter has had a very lovely career. Finally, this cannot be overlooked or underestimated, I’m Veronica Mars, bitch.”

           “Read. Your. File.” Namjoon’s teeth are clenched, his fist resting on the table, his patience going.

           I glance at Yoongi who is sniggering, Seokjin who is making eyes at Jungkook, and Jimin who is busy doodling along the margins of his file. These glimpses, these little hints at the weight of their souls, these are the men I’ve been following for nearly two years.

           It’s in staring at the remnants of my evidence that it hits me. “Jungkook gave you these photos.”

           “Yes,” Seokjin answers.

           “Everything you told me was a lie,” I say, eyes burning holes into the stolen images of my work.

           “Crick- Y/N, that’s not true,”

           “I knew you were connected, that day in the dog park, I knew,” I should’ve trusted my instincts, though they told me to trust him, maybe I should’ve run.

           “I didn’t lie, Cricket, I -

           “Look, I’ll work with you, whoever you are, but I’m not working with Jungkook,” I look at Namjoon.

           “That’s not an option, Black Panther,”

           “How did I get that nickname?”

           “Can you focus for ten minutes? Read your damn file so we can discuss the next course of action before you have to go meet Codename Cupid for your weekly meeting,” Namjoon bites.

           “Fine, do I have to go to that meeting if you’re, doing whatever you’re doing?” I question. “Seems a bit redundant.”

           “If you don’t meet with Cupid, she will know we found her, and our decade of work is completely useless.” Seokjin says, stepping in to mitigate the anger erupting from Namjoon.

           “What am I supposed to say to her? She knows too much already,”

           “She doesn’t know what she knows,” Yoongi answers. “Looking through her emails and texts, it’s clear that her family wants the seven of us dead for espionage, and for attempting to bring them down. All Cupid knows is that you found us, which she assumes is a fatal flaw in our plan, though she has yet to understand the plan at all.”

           “It’s completely intentional,” Hoseok adds. “Cupid only knows that we either worked for her company or dated her or a sibling. She knows our fictitious careers and lives but has no clue about who we truly are.”

           “Her brother, Dae-Seong, Codename Archer, is the one who wants us gone, eviscerated, eradicated. He’s the one driving this whole thing. Archer’s convinced Cupid that vengeance will solve her romantic woes,” Jimin tells me.  

           “But what about Jun-Seo? You left him the night of your engagement party, and Kwan-Min, you went on a few dates… Couldn’t this be about them?”

           “Codenames Bow and Arrow are less of a threat than Cupid and Archer,” Taehyung answers.

           “Cupid has been kept in the dark for the past, fifteen years, in regard to their business. The dark dealings of her company reside solely with her siblings and their parents. We want them,” Namjoon finishes.

           “Why not use Euna, sorry, Cupid, as the patsy?” I ask.

           “Who will run their company?” Yoongi asks.

           “Someone else?”

           “There’s too much evidence, nearly the entire company is dirty,” Jimin tells me.

           “So, you’ve been spying on them from the inside?” I question.

           “Sort of,”

           “It’s Nixon, Watergate extreme?” I ask.

           “What does Cupid know, and when did she know it?” Yoongi answers, his annoyance completely dissipating at my Watergate mention.

           “Why do you think she’ll believe me? She doesn’t have much faith in me as of late,” I question, the lilt of insecurity in my voice. Jungkook glances at me, eyes soft at the familiar tone, he tries to offer a smile, at least, it looks like he’s trying.

           “Yeah, because you fucked Jungkook and she found out. Before that though, she couldn’t sing your praises enough,” Namjoon’s calmed down, his frustration settling like sediment at the bottom of a pot. Adding an eighth person to the group was always going to shift the balance, move the power around and rattle nerves. But me? I’m burning it down. Though I can’t completely be to blame - Jungkook is also at fault.

           “Fine. What do I say to her?”

           “Haven’t we gone over this before? Lie,” Yoongi says.

           “Yoongi, if you’re going to be an ass, can you please direct it at someone else?” I snap.

           “Feisty,” He nods approvingly.

           “Black Panther, you have notes in your file about what we need from you,” Namjoon instructs.

           “You want me to end my relationship with her?” I question.

           “Yes,”

           “What about –

           “Either you end it first, creating an enemy, or she ends it with you which will not be helpful for us,”

           “I just,” I look at them, eyes finally glancing to Jungkook. He looks exhausted, and sad, so sad, his irises choppy waves searching for harbor. “Do I have a choice?”

           “No,” Namjoon answers, but Jungkook’s eyes tell me exactly what I need to know. I don’t have a choice, and somewhere along the line, he stopped having one too.

           “Fine, tell me what to do,” I flip to the page in my file, eyes scanning the words, mind no longer full of Jungkook my boyfriend, but of Jungkook, Operative, member of OT7. This is a job, a job that seemingly could make or destroy my career. I don’t have time or the emotional space to navigate his crashing midnight eyes. All I have now is focus, drive, determination, and hints of stubbornness. This is the same drive that in a weird twist of fate, has led me to this very conference room, with these seven mysterious men.

           I cannot fuck it up.

           I will not get a second chance.

Next: Black Panther Meets Codename Cupid  

[modestlyabsurd]

Reversed (Loki x Reader)

In a world, where gAHDAMMOTHAFUKIN INFINITYWARANDENDGAMENEVERHAPPENED

...

ahem, excuse me.

In a world where the genocide of 2018 was reversed and humanity was restored in full, there fought a team against all forces of adversarial motives. A broadened team; a team of heroes.

~

Including foes turned heroes.

Such was what Loki Odinson thought on a daily basis, especially at this moment.

The gifts bestowed upon him from his mother - a keen hindsight, superior knowledge, and even a bit of witchery - have allowed him a new perception of things. Well, and not to mention the time travelling thing that The Avengers finally figured out with their human technology. That contributed to his outlook as well. Otherwise he'd be dead - or worse.

Nowadays it's hard to imagine how life was then. The duties of being a true Avenger are more than enough to keep his mind busy. But from time to time it drifts off to that place. Like now. He supposes it always will.

He thinks of what state the universe was in, and albeit narcissistic, how it was his fault. How he tried to fix it in the only way he knew possible. And now knowing that his sacrifice those years ago would've inevitably been for naught, if hadn't been for them.

But in the same thought it fills him with an eternal sense of awe and gratitude that this team of somewhat gifted humans were able to successfully reverse it. That he, among half of humanity, lived to see another day. Another five years.

It is nothing short of a miracle.

He'd proven his gratitude by asking to be recruited in their team of good intentions. Make no mistake, it took swallowing every ounce of his pride to do so, which was no easy task. But alas, he's done it.

Echoes ... nothing but these strange echoes ...

Back and forth Loki's mind goes. Locked in place, imprisoned indefinitely, what more can it do? The weight of reality tends to sit heaviest at the most inconvenient of times.

The bitter truth is that half of humanity was eradicated in spite of him; his attempt at redemption, at reversing what he'd done. And it took the will of others to stop the madness. The helplessness; that's what still lingers.

Along with the pain.

It's all he can sense. It's all he can feel. He can't see, he doesn't have energy enough to decipher what he's hearing, and he cannot speak. Just his thoughts, and the pain. This evil, immobilizing pain.

How did I get here? he thinks, somehow conscious of the circumstance despite his current state.

It was some time ago. How long ago is inconceivable at the moment. But he does concentrate, and accesses the last memory in his mind.

"All units in position?" said Stark through their communication line.

"Copy that."

The exchange between Stark and Rogers brought Loki to high alert. He sits on the rooftop of a building half the height of the skyscrapers surrounding it. Exactly how he liked. High enough to see below, low enough to see above, and ideal for taking cover.

The wind blows through his ears, and for a moment he sees some amount of beauty in the setting New York sun. But only for a split second.

And only because you'd always spoke of it.

"Uh, hello - that was a question to all units. I need everyone to copy if you don't mind," Stark persists.

"Sorry! I copy," the Spiderling chirps.

"So do I," the Black Widow murmurs.

"Roger that," says the Winter Soldier, turned Avenger.

A second passes before Stark asks, "Clint?"

"Copy," he says.

"Alright - who am I missing? Uh ... oh! Y/N, do you copy?"

"Ten-four," your voice comes through, and Loki releases the breath held in his chest. "I still don't know why you're making me do this, I hate being the bait."

"Good, you can be the bait from now on." When there's silence in return, Stark softens his tone and says free of sarcasm, "Look, you're gonna be fine. All you have to do is put the moves on this guy, bring him to the car and lead him to us. If things get too serious, you know the code."

"Remind me of it again?"

"Dizzy. Just somehow in some context say the word dizzy and we'll be there before you know it."

Loki's shoulders tighten at the idea of things "getting too serious". It seems completely unfair to have someone without the same training to handle such a high caliber of criminals as the lure. Especially without him there - or, someone there, to assist.

But he doesn't make the rules, of course. To add insult to injury, he's charged with following the rules as well.

"I expect a bonus for this," you grumbled. "And you're still forgetting someone."

"You sure? I could've sworn that was everyone - " Stark pauses, clearly for dramatic effect, "Ohhhh, right. Silly me. Thor?"

Loki smirks. Yet another of Stark's frequent, petty jabs at him. The entire team was aware that Thor was currently in New Asgard organizing a new and proper government with the Valkyrie, Brunnhilde. (Which will of course require some fine tuning on Loki's part due to the brute irrationality that both of them act upon solely, but to worry over another day.)

He could practically hear you rolling your eyes through the line. "Loki? Are you in position?" you ask exasperatedly.

"As always, love."

"Ugh," someone groaned.

He smiles outwardly, where no one else could see. Yes, indeed, Loki was in love.

It was certainly one of the most beautiful things he'd ever experienced, yet the most painful. Never more so than in times as these, when you're put in danger.

Stark sighs dreadfully, "Alright, Agent Y/L/N. Whenever you're ready."

Loki watched from his aerial view as the luxury black vehicle begun to move through traffic. It was you, driving the car that Stark cared the least for.

That could be destroyed if necessary. He swallows.

At that moment Loki's memory cuts out.

... ugh! Echoes, but of what, exactly? These sounds are so foreign ...

Frustrated that pieces of the story are missing, but unable to do anything about it. All he is aware of are these faint, mechanical noises, and this undetermined amount of consciousness; and the pain.

Blackness. He suddenly becomes aware of the blackness surrounding him. He even tries to use his Seidr to possibly help, to no avail.

He thinks hard. Something happened, he somehow knows. Something happened to someone.

Slowly ... Another piece. A sound.

A voice.

Laced with fear and feigned sighs of passion.

"I'm feeling a little dizzy ... "

"Go!"

And after that, he remembers the feelings. the blur of adrenaline, the invincibility, the angst.

The feeling of his heart sinking and sinking until he finally found you, until he saved you from harm. The red anger upon seeing the source of harm and the second wave of unfiltered adrenaline as he sought to eliminate it; and then, nothing.

Nothing. He felt nothing, in an instant.

... The echoes are getting louder, clearer. A steady repetitive sound, grounding him to whatever piece of reality he had in his grasp. He now can hear the distant sound of voices - familiar voices, at least - but cannot make out what they're saying.

What in Odin's name is that noise?

He begins to hear it more and more and the smallest amount of light slowly pours through a tunnel, growing bigger and bigger and brighter; so bright it's nearly blinding - until it does indeed blind him.

No, Loki realizes, he is not blinded. But rather, he can see.

... beep ... beep ... beep ... beep ... beep ...

Oh, Norns. He'd rather be back dead. Or whatever he was just seconds ago. Back to a place where such a nuisance was light years away.

And Gods, this light ...

He can't see. But he can see. It hurts to look. In fact, everything hurts.

His eyes flutter before blinking the last bits of unconsciousness. The first thing he sees is a white ceiling, and he quickly he notices that he cannot move his head.

Both hands fly up to his head before a second thought passes by and the alarming sounds of whatever machinery he's surrounded by startle him even more, making him thrash his legs and head when a stinging pain spreads from his shoulder and a person leans over his body.

"Good to see you're awake," says Bruce Banner - who sounds like he's under water - holding a syringe as Loki relaxes into a chemical drowse. "You've been out of it for almost two days."

After relaxing his jaws, Banner hands him a cup with a straw sticking out of it. "That also means you haven't spoken in almost two days. This should cure that, and then after we can talk. In the meantime, I need to update Tony on your progress."

"Where - " Loki tries, but falls into a violent coughing fit as searing hot pain encases his neck and throat.

"What'd I tell you? Look, we'll explain everything later, I promise. But for now, don't talk - drink."

As Banner pulls out his phone, Loki hesitantly takes a sip from the cup. Lacking the capacity to argue anything further due to whatever Bruce injected in him, he finds the water to be quite soothing to the sore dryness in his throat. He feels it cooling him, from his mouth all the way down before it sloshes in his empty stomach.

"He's awake. ... Vitals are stable but I had to give him an inhuman amount of midazolam since he freaked out a little bit when he came to. ... Nothing adverse. ... Movement's properly restricted. ... Too soon to tell. I think he knows something, but I don't know what or how much. ... She doesn't know yet, she just left earlier to go home and shower. ... I know Tony, but she's gonna wanna know."

Loki cloudedly wonders who Bruce is talking about. He wished to be informed fully of what's happening, but the water is helping more than answers ever could at the moment. Somewhere distant, he notices some kind of contraption is wrapped around his neck and he feels it every time he swallows.

Oh well. It appears he's finished his cup anyway.

~

The Avengers have been so kind as to give Loki a hospital room with a television in it, complete with hundreds of channels on which all are speaking about the same thing - New York's New Hero. And apparently they have been for days.

Midgardians cling to the most ridiculous things. Anyone who goes into a tavern in a fit of love-driven madness to rescue their significant other and bring a band of terroristic criminals to the surface is deemed a hero.

Even if "anyone" is Loki Odinson.

More alert as the sedatives have begun to subside, he chews an ice cube and watches boredly as reporters speak of the events. News hasn't yet been released that he's awakened from his injuries but it's only a matter of time. He shudders to think of how the public will react to that. Like moths to a flame, he dreads.

Loki shakes the cup of ice to get another piece as Banner knocks and enters the room. "How you feeling?" he asks while washing his hands in the nearby sink.

He honestly wasn't sure how he felt. Ill? Tired? Slightly confused? Dead? Unable to articulate himself and frankly without energy enough to try, he shrugs.

Bruce pulls something out of the complimentary miniature refrigerator before asking, "Feeling good enough for pudding?"

Loki's brows knit together with suspect. Ready to interrogate Bruce, he tries yet again to speak but nothing more than a pitiful cough comes out. Bruce takes his ice cup and explains, "Y/N said that's what you'd likely eat first. She said you love pudding."

Y/N ... Y/N!

"Whe - "

Suddenly, three loud knocks come from the door before it bursts open and a frantic heaving figure emerges from the outside. Damp hair, disheveled clothing, duffel bag sloppily thrown over the shoulder.

"Y/N," Loki croaks.

You smile a huge, breathless smile.

"Hey," you finally breathe, dropping your bags and easing over to the hospital bed. Holding back tears as you see those bright green eyes open and alive, albeit drugged.

You instinctively take one of Loki's hands into both of yours, beaming. He's overjoyed as well, eyes smiling with what could only be love. A satisfied little grin. As handsome as ever, even in a hospital gown with dirty hair and a big, bulky neck brace.

"How're you doing?" you whisper.

Loki sighs, "Much better now."

Bruce respectfully gave the two of you a moment of privacy. As soon as the door shut, Loki squeezed your hand. "I missed you," he murmurs.

"Yeah," you laugh, "I missed you too." You really did, more than words can say. "I was so worried," you choke out, as the horror you've kept bottled inside from two days ago washes over you unexpectedly.

Loki slowly whispers, "What happened, dear? I haven't quite put it all together yet."

"What do you remember?"

"Most of everything leading up to ... how I ended up here."

That's good. You wouldn't have to go over the entire flop of a mission then. It wasn't actually a flop since the dudes lost, but considering the outcome you're left with here, pretty much a flop in your eyes.

"Well, you singlehandedly got me out of there, away from that creep of a criminal. You all got the rest, too - killed some, apprehended some - then as we were headed back to the quinjet, you fell forward on the ground and couldn't stand back up. You said you couldn't feel your limbs," tears do spill when you have to relive that moment.

Loki, absorbing the recollection, closes his eyes in devastation. Not out of self-pity, but out of heartbreak that you went through all of this. His lip quivers as he remembers.

"After they examined you in the quinjet, and then here, they found that you somehow reinjured the fractures in your neck from ... "

... No ...

"B-but, but that was reversed - "

"That's what I said too. But apparently, they couldn't undo the injury back then. They could only undo the outcome."

How? And why hadn't he been told before now? Loki's mouth opens and closes but forms no explanation. His eyes dart back and forth to search his brain for an answer, when he feels a warm droplet fall onto the back of his hand.

"Oh love, don't cry. I hate it when you cry," he cooes, cupping your wet cheek with one hand. He swipes the tears away with his thumb.

Looking up you meet his encouraging gaze, and can't resist resting your head in his hand. It's amazing how such a small gesture can make you feel so protected and loved.

"I'm sorry," you laugh nervously, pulling yourself together. "But y'know, look at the bright side. Now you're New York's New Hero."

Funny how the tables can turn.

Loki drops his hand and looks past you, "I don't feel like a hero."

"Well, you are one." You make him look you in the eye and whisper, "You're my hero."

In a matter of seconds a million things swim through Loki's eyes. Disbelief at your words, feeling unworthy, undeserving of you, yet gratitude, and adoration. In an even shorter instant he thickly swallows his emotions down against the neck brace.

It is quickly replaced with mischief.

"Come closer," he mumbles. You comply, questioning. "Closer," he says.

You do, and you're less than a foot away.

"Closer," he whispers again with lidded eyes. Now with you only inches away, he says it again. "Closer ... "

You can't help giggling at this point. Your noses touch, and you feel Loki's breath as he says, "I adore you."

Needless to say, you learned very quickly how to kiss him around a neck brace.

~

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai

[alexrogersstark]

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse Superfamily AU?

What if Miles’ parents died of a fire when he was around six months old. After adopting a five year old Peter five years prior, Steve and Tony decided they wanted another kid, and the adoption agency gave them Miles.

Sixteen years later, Peter was off living in his own apartment with his partner occasionally visiting his parents and the other Avengers at the tower. Movie nights on weekends were still the norm for their family and Peter made sure he always took Miles out on Sundays to have a ‘brother bonding day.’ It’s tradition. Peter took after their dad; he had a love and a knack for science Miles would never quite understand, but Miles took after his pops. On the days Peter and their dad would lock themselves away in the lab trying to figure out some sort of equation or theory to solve and prove, Miles and their pops would draw and paint for hours in the studio.

When Spider-Man showed up when Miles was six, Miles could not be more entranced. The masked vigilante the Avengers were assigned to arrest and bring into SHIELD (a job they never really took all that seriously to begin with) was the coolest thing in the world to Miles. He could tell that his dad never really liked Spider-Man because the young hero was a risk, but his pops thought the masked vigilante was doing good. So did Miles.

One day while painting graffiti in a tunnel off the subway tracks (he may get the arts gene from his pops, but his dad’s rebellion streak was in his blood as well) Miles got bit by a spider, and the next day... Well? There were a few issues. Suddenly his fingers were sticking to things - like the pretty new girl’s hair - and the ceiling and the walls. For the life of him, he could not LET GO!

So Miles went back to the subway to look for the spider, but lo and behold, his favorite superhero crashed the party, and he’s fighting a villain, which was kinda more than a little awesome. That was, until he got caught up in the middle of the fight. A fight where the state of New York literally hung in the balance between being sucked into a black hole or not. It seemed like Spider-Man was just about to save the day when Miles slipped and started to fall into the sub-basement. Without hesitating, Spider-Man leapt to rescue him, catching him and bringing him to a metal cart. That’s when Miles’ sensed it, and he coulf see by the head tilt, the narrowing then widening of white eyes that Spider-Man could sense it as well, blurting out: “You’re like me!” as if he were a child receiving the best Christmas gift ever.

Offering to teach Miles the ropes, Spider-Man smiled beneath the mask before shooting away and back up to the powerful generator he was supposed to destroy. Miles watched the epic battle between Green Goblin and Spider-Man unfold, excitement and adrenaline pumping through him, but then the generator went off and Green Goblin shoved Spider-Man into the beam. The room exploded as Spider-Man was yanked out and the generator began to break down, exploding the sub-level they were on. When the dust cleared, Miles could see Spider-Man’s prone body lying in the rubble and instantly climbed down to help. Spider-Man’s breathing was labored and he didn’t look good. Parts of the mask were torn, one familiar brown eye staring back at him.

Lifting the mask with trembling fingers, Miles couldn’t help the choked gasp from leaving his closing throat when it revealed Peter underneath. His brother gave him a weak smile and assured him everything would be alright. It’d be okay. He’d be fine. It was just, Peter needed Miles to use his powers to take the over-ride code up to the the ceiling and shut the machine off for good. When he was done that, they’d go home. But a shuffling and a loud, deep voice echoed from around a corner of precariously swaying rubble pile and Peter turned even whiter. Frantically, he forced the USB into Miles’ hand and told him to run. At first, Miles didn’t move, but then Peter yelled it frantically, and Miles had never heard his brother sound more terrified in his life. The man had always been the picture of calm. A rock Miles could climb on whenever the seas around him had been storming. So he ran.

Miles looked back once, but it was all he needed. He could hear the muffled conversation with perfect clarity, the anger from the man and the resignation from his brother. And he watched as the man rose his fists into the air, watched as he brought them down against Peter’s chest, watched as his brother took his last breath.

With tears blurring his vision and sobs choking the air from his lungs, Miles ran, the USB held firmly in his grip. Ran all the way back to the tower. When he got there, his parents were shocked since he was supposed to be at school in his dorm, but they let him stay the night nonetheless. Miles could hear it from his room: the moment they get the call and learn that their son, Peter Parker, Spider-Man, was dead.

The days following passed in a hollow blur. People mourn, his classmates kept sending him sympathetic looks, the new girl kept trying to talk to him, not seeming to understand that his brother had just died, and his parents... his dad wouldn’t leave the shop. Hadn’t for days, and Miles had to wonder if he’d been broken so bad that his dad had broken his sobriety and spent his hours in a drunk stupor trying to forget the pain. His pops went in and out of the workshop; the first day he stayed in there as well, probably holding his dad and himself together best he could, inviting Miles to come, but not pushing when he refused. After that, though, pops would bring food to dad, try to get him to come out, spend a few hours probably sharing in their combined grief, and spend the rest of his hours trying and trying to get Miles to talk to him. To tell him what he knew his son is hiding. But Miles said nothing because he knew his parents would hate him. They’d hate him because he was there and he didn’t save him. Couldn’t step up the way the rest of them could, and it was his fault Peter died.

There were so many people there for Peter’s funeral. Him, his pops, and his dad were at the very front, Aunt May right behind them, standing in front of an oak coffin. Miles couldn’t help but think this was some kind of sick joke. His pops was standing tall, silent tears running down his grim face as he stared forward stoically, body positioned in parade rest except for the single arm wrapped around his dad. His dad who’s wearing sunglasses and looking pale and gaunt. He grips on to pops firmly as if that was the only thing keeping him standing, and Miles began to think that it was. His dad’s other hand came up to wrap around his collarbones, pulling Miles firmly against a firm chest where a circular object poked into his spine and Miles finally let go, turning around, hugging his dad, and sobbing into his shoulder as his pop’s pulled them both into his broad chest as if he could protect them from this. They all knew he couldn’t, but it was a nice sentiment.

That night, Miles took the USB and visited Peter’s grave by himself. He tried to tell Peter, convince him, or maybe just himself, that Miles couldn’t do this. He couldn’t save Peter. How could he save the entirety of New York?

There was a sudden tingle at the back of Miles’ neck, and he whipped around just in time to send the large shadow currently lurking over him about twenty feet into the air with a bolt of electricity. A bolt of electricity that came from his own palm. He also found himself being tugged into the snow by something yanking at his chest. Cursing under his breath and shouting out an apology, Miles got up and ran to the man, inspecting the string of white stuck to his sternum. Then he stopped in his tracks because that man looked familiar. Really familiar.

When the cops came, though, it  wasn’t like he could stay. His parent’s would kill him if they found out he’d sneaked out. They hadn’t let him leave the tower, with the exception of walking to and from school every day (and hell no is he spending the nights in the un-fortified place anymore), since they got the call of Peter’s death. And they most certainly hadn’t let him go anywhere alone. But he was stuck to this man who was wearing a Spider-Man costume and looked like his brother would in a good twenty-five years. Except maybe a little fatter. Maybe.

With his best shot - which, he’d admit, really wasn’t all that great - Miles grabbed the man’s wrist and aimed the sticky-string on a building the opposite side of the road. He managed to hit a passing train, which was great because the cops wouldn’t get a chance to get to him, but also not great because they were now being dragged along by a freaking train and he may be breaking his not-brother’s face and body as they bounced along the ground and in between passing vehicles.

After they came to a stop, Miles took the man to the subway station because it was the only place he knew he could hide from his parents and the cops, and tied him up. Something the man gets out of easily once he wakes up. It was cool. Super cool because the man said he was Peter Parker. He was Peter Parker and he was alive and well and Spider-Man and standing right in front of Miles. Miles couldn’t help but hug the guy who was not really his brother, but he’s close enough right now, and Miles would take anything at the moment. The man pushed him away, muttering something about kids and how gross and weird they were and started walking away. Something that Miles couldn’t let happen because his brother thought he could save New York. His brother asked him to do this and Miles will be dammed if he didn’t. Not now. Now that he had a chance.

It took some convincing (and some pretty cool walking up a wall action) but Mr. Parker agreed to help him. Well, he agreed to fix the issue himself, but same difference. There was just the teeny tiny problem of the USB breaking during their little train escapade. But Mr. Parker said they could make a new one, and Miles decided to take this as his chance to convince the man to teach him how to be Spider-Man.

They break-in to Doc Oc’s office, which somehow translated to training - not that Miles knew how it translated to that, but apparently it did - and got the computer. They also learned the Miles could turn invisible. Also really cool Oh, and the pretty new girl at his school? Her name was Gwen and she’s one hell of a badass Spider-Woman. The three of them trekked to Aunt May’s house after the fight because Mr. Parker believed that this universe’s Spider-Man had a lair there. Miles wouldn’t be surprised; Peter always made sure to visit her at least once a week, and sometimes he’d bring Miles with him as well. She looked at Miles sympathetically when she sees the group and pulled him in for a hug, which he accepted gratefully. Aunt May had always been warm and soft, and she always smelled sweet and homey. She brought them in, but informed them that Peter never kept a lair there, but did introduce them to three more people. Peter Parker, a man in a black and white mask and an old-timey accent, Peni Parker, a girl from the future with a killer robot, and Spider-Pig. That’s it. He’s just a pig.

No one had any other ideas as to where Peter might have kept his lair except Miles. And it wouldn’t be fun or easy.

The group made their way to the tower and Miles let them in. Somehow, he got JARVIS to aid them in staying away from any other people. Mr. Parker and Gwen both raised their brows at him when JARVIS told him that his parents had been worried sick about him, but he’d just informed them both that Miles was here and okay. Miles just shrugged at them and told them that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, A.K.A. Iron Man and Captain America, were his dads.

Together, they made their way through the tower, and Miles convinced JARVIS to lead them to Peter’s personal lab. He’d never been down here before, but until this point, he also had no idea Peter had a lab. The lights turned on as they descend, and Miles felt his breath catch at the sight. He could feel his brother in this place. Spider-Man suits lined the walls like Iron Man suits did in dad’s workshop, and Miles could make out a few vials and sparking wires spread across a few tables.

He stopped dead when he also spotted his dad sitting at one of the tables looking at the group in shock.

When his dad looked from Mr. Parker to him, Miles couldn’t hold it back anymore. In a rush of air, he told his dad everything. How he was bitten, how he was there, how he couldn’t save Peter, and how he visited his brother’s grave and ran into another dimension Peter Parker. By the end, his dad was holding him in his arms, telling him that everything would be okay. That it wasn’t his fault, and Miles just holds onto him tighter.

He also said that he needed Miles to stop, now. To let it go and let the Avengers handle this.

Miles stepped away, and he could feel the shock growing on his features as he stared at his dad in astonishment. He insisted that it’s okay; it was his duty to fight in place of his brother. He promised Peter. Promised. His dad, on the other hand, started yelling at him, telling him how dangerous the job was, how he wouldn’t have let Peter be Spider-Man if he had known, how he was not going to lose his other son. And Miles insisted he could fight, that he could help because he needed to be the one to press the button to close the portal so the rest of the Spider-People (and pig) could go home. He was ready. When his dad said that he’s not, Miles looked to the other Spider-Versions for help, but they just looked at him sadly. Mr. Parker stepped forward and tried to say that they might still have time to train him and work with him, but everyone, especially his dad, was convinced that he wasn’t.

Angrily, Miles stormed out, rushing past his pops when he got back upstairs without explanation and heading to his dorm at school. When the group found him, they all had sad looks on their faces, and Mr. Parker put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I didn’t know he was your brother.” Miles just shook his head, looking up at them and glaring at them. He could help, he knew he could. He didn’t want their pity or understanding; he just wanted to fulfill the promise he made. Watching as the rest of them leave, Miles eyed Mr. Parker as the man circled him; he tried to fight. He really did, but Mr. Parker was right. He didn’t know how to electrocute people, didn’t know how to turn invisible on command. So Miles was left in his chair, tied up in webbing and without the USB.

Closing his eyes, he thought back on all the times he and Peter had hung out. All the times when he talked to Peter about Spider-Man, asked him about his thoughts on the guy. He could still see the sly smile that crossed Peter’s face at the questions he answered nonetheless. It was one particular conversation Miles remembers. One conversation that made all the pieces of the puzzle fall together, and Miles wondered how he never figured it out before.

He’d asked Peter why Spider-Man was a good guy. Unlike pops and dad, he wasn’t bound to any organization and didn’t need to answer to anyone. His identity had been kept secret for years now, and no one seemed none the wiser as to who Spider-Man was. Peter had just laughed and ruffled his hair. Miles remembered Peter asking him if Miles would choose to use powers like that for selfish gain if he’d had them. When Miles shook his head, looking a little disgruntled at the thought, Peter got this far away look in his eye as he stared out the window of the diner they’d found. He started talking, as if recalling something deep within the recesses of his brain, about how people were given a choice. They were always given a choice between good and bad, and sometimes that line was a lot thinner than people might think. But there was always a right choice. There had to be because what else would separate them from the people behind bars? What separated dad and pops from the villains they’d faced? Sometimes those choices seemed impossible to make; certain situations seemed impossible to figure out. In those time, though, Peter said he thought Spider-Man probably recalled the people in his life who got him to where he was. The people he admired most, and he’d ask himself what they’d do. If they were here now, what would they do? What would they tell him to do? Peter had shaken himself from his stupor, then, and looked back across the table at Miles, a bright smile coming to his face. He’d leaned forward, like he was about to tell Miles a secret, and Miles smiled back leaning in to hear him. “With great power comes great responsibility,” Peter murmured and leaned back. In a louder voice, as he looked down to pick at his half-eaten food, Peter smiled softly. “Uncle Ben told me that, remember? Sometimes I think Spider-Man somehow has that exact same advice constantly running through his head.” Miles had just smiled and leaned back himself, telling Peter that he missed Uncle Ben as well, even if they hadn’t been related. Uncle Ben never seemed to give that much thought, and Peter’s smile grew as he began shoveling food back into his mouth recalling how much dad and pops loved Uncle Ben as well. Dad had always appreciated the man’s enjoyment of the lab and his tech and his wicked sense of humor and adoration for his sons, and Pops loved his calm demeanor and wise remarks on certain problems.

Memory firm in his mind, Miles took a deep breath and pushed at the energy swirling in his core, feeling it begin to burn its way outward. A smile graced his lips as he heard the crackling and felt the webbing begin to loosen around him. It fell away and Miles jumped to the door, rushing back to the tower.

To his surprise, his dad was still in the lab when Miles got there. His eyes were red rimmed, like they always were these days, but there was a sense of peace about him. He blinked as Miles entered, letting out a breath and closing his eyes. When he opened them, they were determined and set. “If you’re gonna do this, then you’re doing it right,” he said, and Miles watched in astonishment as his dad began tearing through the lab with the manic energy he’d been lacking lately, gathering things in his hands. Pausing in front of Miles, he raised his brows. “You gonna help or what, son?” A smile crossed Miles’ face and he ran to his dad and hugged him tight. His dad simply hugged him back before pushing him towards the suits, telling Miles to grab one while he fixed up the web shooters. Together, they improved the suit and the shooter, his dad taking things apart and putting them back together before handing them over to Miles to redesign how he wanted.

With one last hug, his dad watching him with a proud look on his face, Miles ran out the door and up to the top of the tower, a black suit with red accents covering from head to toe. Taking a deep breath, he leapt down, feeling the wind across the spandex covering his face until shooting his hand out and sending a web to the nearest building. Swinging across New York, running with cars, jumping from rooftop to rooftop... it was amazing. He could feel exactly what Peter had felt; fell in love with what his brother fell in love with. In the suit. it was like Peter was right next to him.

He was worried he wouldn’t make it in time, but Miles jumped at the guy right before he could take out Mr. Parker. Smiling widely at his friends, Miles webbed the USB towards him, asking, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

It was the most exhilarating moment in his life, and Miles never felt so alive before. He jumped between buses and streetlights and other floating fixtures as the machine whirred behind him, universes once again colliding. Suddenly, it wasn’t so hard anymore, fighting next to Mr. Parker and Spider-Woman. He felt like he’d found his place. Taking a running leap, Miles launched himself onto the ceiling, crawling to where the controls sat bared, and inserted the key. One by one, he watched as his friends made their way home. Gwen even promised they’d see each other again; they were friends now, after all. Then it was just Mr. Parker, who lifted his mask and searched Miles face.

“I’m sorry you lost him,” he said quietly, and Miles closed his eyes, nodding his head slowly and swallowing. “He would be real proud of you, right now.” And Miles felt his lips quirk. “I know this because I’m proud of you right now. So very proud.”

Letting go of his hold, Miles launched himself at Mr. Parker, hugging him tight before letting him go and grabbing at the key. “Go,” he said, shaking off Mr. Parker’s arguments, grabbing him quickly and holding him out towards the portal. “I’ve got this,” he said, voice sure. They both blinked at a shifting of movement from the corner of their eyes, watching as Miles’ dad stepped into the control center and looked up at them. His dad, not wearing the Iron Man armor, standing back in a clean pair of jeans, a clean AC/DC shirt, and a newly shaven face. Miles met his eyes, and his dad nodded at him. Miles’ eyes shifted back to Mr. Parker before he repeated, “I’ve got this.” With a nod of his own, Mr. Parker smiled let Miles drop him into the portal and back home to put his own life back together.

When the man who killed his brother pulled Miles away from the ceiling, he saw red. He so desperately wanted revenge. Wanted to make the man pay for killing Peter, and Peter’s words flashed through his mind. If he’d been alive, if it were him fighting this man, Peter wouldn’t kill him. Wouldn’t waste the time or energy because it wasn’t worth it and there was a portal that needed closing before New York became a black hole.

The man was strong, though. Stronger than Miles, and he felt himself losing as the man pummeled him to the bus that served as the ground beneath them. He felt his energy draining from him as the man stalked forward towards his prone body, talking at him about the pain of losing his family and the futility at which Miles was fighting. The man had proven once that he could beat Spider-Man, and he was about to do it again.

Cheek pressed against the cool metal of the bus, Miles glanced at his dad who was staring at him, wide-eyed and gripping the window pane where shattered glass was surely digging into his palms. At that look, his dad cried out, “Get up, Spider-Man!” And Miles knew what he had to do.

Struggling to get himself up, Miles staggered to his feet, wavering in front of a man larger than life who could beat him on pure, brute strength. Miles might not be as strong, but that wasn’t all he had. As the man stepped closer, Miles reached out, digging back into himself and poking at that energy curling and building inside his gut; he pushed with all his might, shocking the man and sending him flying back. Hearing an excited whoop from his dad over the jarring noise of the machines, Miles flung himself back to the control panel, grabbed the USB and twisted.

Beneath (or was it above?) him, he felt the building begin to shake. Watched his dad wobble and fall to the floor as another earthquake wracked New York city, just as it had the last time the machine shut down. He gaped on as the beams sucked everything back into itself before bursting in a bright flash of light. Closing his eyes and raising an arm to cover his face, Miles waited for everything to subside before blinking them back open. Looking around, everything looked to have gone back to normal. The beams were gone, the machines destroyed, his dad was stumbling back onto his feet, looking up to make sure Miles was okay. The large man lay on the ground unconscious and... a smaller, lankier frame lay a few feet away. A frame in a red and blue suit with a tuft of brown hair on top of his head, and young, twenty-six year old features relaxed as a chest slowly rose and fell.

Crying out, Miles jumped down, landing next to the person who looked exactly like his brother. Exactly like the Peter Parker from this universe. Grasping on to lean shoulders, Miles shook and shook hard until brown eyes fluttered open. They didn’t quite focus, couldn’t seem to figure out how, but a relieved smile graced this Peter’s features. “Oh,” he sighed, closing his eyes again and relaxing into Miles hold. “You figured out how to shut the thing down. Good. Told you I’d be alright, didn’t I?”

Peter, his brother, couldn’t seem to keep himself awake after that and promptly passed out again. Miles didn’t even look up when he heard the scraping of footsteps and his dad finally stepping in front of him, looking down at Peter with a mix of awe and shock on his face. His dad couldn’t seem to keep the tears at bay, and suddenly he was sobbing over Peter’s sleeping form, cradling Peter’s head in his lap. Miles let out a choked sob himself, and then his dad was tugging Miles towards his chest as well, hugging both his sons close.

“My sons,” he whispered into their hair, and Miles couldn’t help but smile as he wrapped his arms tightly around his father and his brother.

[let-it-raines]

Rising from the Ashes (14/?)

Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones. 

As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be. 

Rating: Mature

A/N: Two chapters in one week? What? I’m trying to get back to spacing this and BOTB out, so this one gets another posting even though I’m not entirely sure if my writing speed for chapters will keep up. I’m nervous about this chapter. Seriously. I’ve read through it a lot. So I hope that you guys like it 💕

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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

Tag list: @jamif @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @shady-swan-jones @snowbellewells @snow-into-ash @andiirivera @mariakov81 @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @kristi555 @facesiousbutton82 @superchocovian @jonirobinson64 

There’s absolutely no reason for him to be running today. He doesn’t have the time. He should be in his office reviewing his presentation for tomorrow. He and Robin have spent weeks preparing “what if” scenarios for soldiers to have to run through in the new basic training regimes, and it’s been such a challenge having to form things for teaching instead of actual warfare. He’s been retired from the Navy for half a decade this year, and yet he still spends nearly every day of his life reliving scenes and memories of his time in the military. It’s a bit of the crux of being a career military man. When you get out, what are you qualified to do?

Not everyone has this problem. A lot of people go to school through the services and learn trades. He didn’t go to school, but he did learn a trade in logistics and planning to make sure that the ships didn’t go down in the middle of the night by some kind of Titanic shaped iceberg or an attack. It’s still what he does now, even as a civilian. He’d like to quit one day, to do something calmer, do something that doesn’t bring back so many memories of loss or bring forth so much stress, but this job pays well and supports his family. He can stay at least until Ada goes to college.

In seventeen years.

He’s going to be fifty-five in seventeen years. That’s odd for him to think about, but it’s exactly what he thinks of as his legs burn, the muscles and joints aching a bit more than they used to when he was younger. It’s usually not too bad, the running helping more than hurting, but some days it’s not as easy to hold his daughter above his head to make her giggle or to make love to Emma.

Just last week he’d gotten a cramp right in the middle of their activities, and Emma had laughed so hard that he had started laughing too.

Mostly he was laughing through the pain.

That cramp may still be going on in his right thigh.

It’s always an adventure.

And maybe one day it’ll be an adventure where he can take Emma sailing without any thoughts of war and the pros and cons of Norway randomly invading Afghanistan on a particular day or time.

So maybe that’s why he runs. He’s got a lot that he thinks about, personally and professionally, and the release of endorphins fuels him in a way. It stresses his joints, but it destresses his mind. Besides, he will admit that while he doesn’t think he’s a particularly vain man, he does appreciate the way Emma tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth when he lifts her from the ground or the way that she runs her fingers over the muscles of his stomach. Plus, he wants to be healthy for his kids.

That’s why he keeps running for the next thirty minutes, his legs pounding against the pavement and sweat beading at his forehead and down his back, the early February chill keeping him cool to a point where he knows he’ll start sweating more when he gets inside. It always happens, so it takes him a little while longer to cool down and to take a shower at the gym that’s around the block from his office.

“Jones,” a familiar voice calls to him when he’s just finished buttoning up his shirt, and he turns to look at Neal, his hair sopping wet like he’s just showered as well, “aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I could say the same to you,” he laughs as he pushes his hair back, hoping that it’ll dry correctly since he doesn’t have any of his gel with me. “Lunch break?”

“Yeah, I don’t usually make it here, but it’s been kind of a slow day. Figured I’d eat while I work.”

“That’s how it goes,” he sighs. He bends down to lace his shoes, pulling up his socks the slightest bit before he turns to look back at Neal. “Hey, so Emma is dropping Henry off at my office, and I’m taking him to his therapy appointment. Do you want a ride?”

Neal’s really got to get a car, but now that he might be moving, he’s decided to put off the purchase until he knows for sure where he’s living. It’s likely a good thing. This way he can save up money and put as much down as possible without having to worry about making far too many payments with interest rates the way they are. And if he’s in DC, he may not even need a vehicle. It’s all complicated and still a bit messy, but he and Emma have made plans to sit down and talk to Neal sometime this week, possibly tonight, so that they can actually get through some of this. It’s odd basically regulating a grown man, one who is older than both of them, but they’re trying to figure out how to be a family. Sometimes that takes awkward conversations.

He’s not exactly looking forward to this particular conversation because he’s struggling with the thought that Henry might have to spend some time away from them. Emma is worrying herself sick about it, and she doesn’t even know what’s going to happen. Neither of them do. Hell, Neal likely doesn’t. If he’s honest with himself, Neal likely hasn’t put much thought into either. Killian’s not sure if it’s because Neal hasn’t realized that technically he has a right to having Henry live with him or if he doesn’t care.

Scratch that. Of course Neal cares. He loves Henry, but sometimes he thinks that Neal is more concerned about impressing Henry than being his father. Maybe he still doesn’t know how, maybe he doesn’t think he belongs as a part of their family. He can understand that. He felt that way for a long time, and it must still be difficult for Neal. It might not ever not be difficult, but all he and Emma want is for Neal to feel at home.

And be a father to Henry, to not worry about trying to be more fun or the one who gives better presents. He’s getting there. He really is, and maybe if he and Emma did a better job, Neal would feel more at home.

They’re trying. For as hard as it is on them, he also knows that it’s hard on Neal. So they’re all trying.

“His appointment is at five, yeah?”

“On the dot.”

Neal flashes him a grin while he rubs his hand over his scruff. “Yeah, I’d really appreciate that. Are you going to take me home afterwards or are you going to force me to walk?”

“I thought I’d make you walk. You’ve been letting yourself go, and I didn’t want to say anything.”

He barks out a laugh, the sound echoing throughout the locker room, and it makes Killian smile too, the corners of his lips tugging up.

“I could still take you in a fight, Jones.”

“Please,” he scoffs, tightening his laces one more time before standing up straight, “that never happened. I beat your ass in training every time.”

“Not on – ”

“October fifth.” “See, you remember?”

“Because you never let me forget about it,” Killian laughs, reaching down to pick up his bag. “It was all I heard for months. It’s been thirteen years, and you still don’t let me forget.”

Neal shrugs, his face still crinkled in happiness. “It was a damn good day. You even bought me a beer afterward.”

“Well, I figured since it was a one-time thing, it was the least I could do.” He takes a step over and claps Neal on the shoulder, smiling down at him. “I’ll see you at a quarter before five, and since I’m not evil, I’ll even let you ride home with Henry and me.”

“Such a saint.”

“I try.”

It’s a quick walk back to his office, and after saying hello to his secretary Anna, he settles down in his office and gets back to working on his proposal while eating the leftover pasta salad from dinner last night. He gets about two hours to himself to plow through things before Robin comes in, closing the door behind him and plopping down on the couch, the leather creaking beneath his weight.

“Are you almost finished with the coding for it? Because we need to send that down to Arthur for him to double check, especially since you’re leaving early.”

“I’ve got one section left,” he sighs, typing out one more scenario before rolling back in his chair and looking at Robin. “Did you come in here to procrastinate?”

“Most definitely.”

“So you’re whining about me leaving early because I have to take my kid somewhere, and yet you’re in here not doing your work?”

Robin shrugs and leans back further on the couch. “I already finished my section, mate. I literally can’t do anything else without you.”

“Aww, Rob, I always knew you loved me, but I never knew how much.”

“You’re an asshole,” he laughs, flicking a piece of paper in his direction.

“And yet you love me anyways.” He curls one side of his lips up into a smirk and winks at him, making sure to exaggerate it. “I really will be finished soon, and I’ll likely work through it tonight once everyone is asleep. Emma and I have a lot to do this evening, though.”

“I get it. I’ve got to go get Roland from his mom tonight, but we always get it done, yeah?”

“Aye,” he confirms. “Now get your ass off my sofa so I can finish this up in time.”

Robin mock salutes before walking away, leaving his office door open. It could be an accident, but Killian knows that Robin did it just to annoy him.

The wanker.

The rest of his day goes by as it normally does. He gets all of his program formatted and sends it off in time so that Arthur can run through the technicalities of it before sending it back to Robin. It’s a long, drawn out process, and when there’s a knock at his opened door, Emma and the kids standing there, he’s more relieved that he’s been in awhile to get to see all of them in the office.

“Hello loves,” he smiles as he gets up out of his chair, reaching down to hug Henry first before embracing Emma and briefly kissing her. “I can’t believe Anna let you in here with I specifically told her not to.”

“It’s because I’m super fast,” Henry explains, not at all amused by his joke.

“That you are. Did you have a good day at school, bud?”

“Yeah, but I need your help with fractions later. Mary Margaret made them weird.”

“Did she now?”

“Yeah, she said something about a pizza, but I didn’t get it.”

“It’s okay,” he promises, smiling at Henry to try to get him to perk up a little. “We’ll figure it out later. Do you want to get out your legos from my desk while I talk to Mum?”

Henry nods his head before dropping his backpack on the couch and hurrying over to get the box of toys Killian keeps in his bottom drawer for the times when Henry is here. Or even when Roland or someone else’s kid is stuck waiting while their parents work.

“I always hated fractions,” Emma sighs as she sways back and forth with a sleeping Ada. “And percentages. I still get those wrong sometimes.”

“We can’t all be geniuses like me.”

“Tone it down, Einstein,” she laughs, her lashes landing against her cheek. “But from what I can tell, Henry had a good day, Ada too, so I hope both of their appointments go well. I’ll call you after Ada and I get finished at the doctor.”

“I’m sure they’ll both be fine. Henry and I are going to pick up Neal and take him to his appointment too, okay?”

“When did that happen?”

“I ran into him at the gym and offered.”

Emma clicks her tongue and sighs a bit, her hands constantly running over Ada’s back. “That’ll be good. If you guys want to go out to get something to eat afterwards, that might be good too. Or maybe a snack since Henry has homework and we were going to talk to Neal tonight. Of course we could always talk to him tomorrow.”

He presses his lips together and reaches forward to caress her forearm, moving his fingers in a way similar to what Emma is doing to Ada. They’re both trying to comfort, even if it’s for different reasons. “We’ll talk to him, and it’s going to be fine. He’s not…we haven’t had many issues with him since we told him about us, and he’s grown a lot since then, yeah? He’s not going to try to take Henry away from you, from us.”

“I know that,” she whispers, looking over his shoulder to see Henry. “I really do. I’m nervous. I can’t help it.”

“I know, love. I know.” He leans forward and presses his lips to her temple. “Go take Ada to the doctor and maybe stop to get something you like to eat too.”

“That’s cute that you assume I wasn’t doing that already. Bye kid,” she tells Henry, waving at him. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye Mom,” he murmurs, not even looking up from his legos.

You can’t get between the boy and his legos.

He finishes up a few last things, checks to see how many emails he has that he needs to respond to before tomorrow, and then shuts his computer down before taking Henry out to the parking garage so that they can get Neal and drive downtown to their therapists’ offices. Henry gets stuck on talking about how Avery told him a restaurant by the pier serves Mickey Mouse waffles, and of course, that gets him to talk about Disney World and how Grace and Violet went with their families over Christmas break. He and Emma have talked about it before, but it’s expensive and they have an infant they’d have to cart around as well.

Maybe some other time.

Why take your kid to Disney World when you can take them to see a hell of a lot of history in Washington DC instead? At least, that’s what they’re telling Henry about their trip next month.

But Neal easily joins in on the conversation about Mickey shaped waffles and the pros and cons of Woody versus Buzz lightyear. Luckily for Neal, Henry likes a lot of the classic movies, so he hasn’t been subjected to watching every new movie to know what his son is talking about. He still has to watch a lot of them, but he’s got the basic knowledge of Toy Story and The Lion King down.

The Lego Movie was all new to him. That’s a favorite in the house.

(He may never be able to watch it without his ears hurting ever again with that damn song.)

After shuffling through traffic, he pulls into the parking lot of the office building and puts the car in park so that he can take Henry up to Dr. Hopper’s office, the two of them dropping Neal off on the second floor.

“So Momma goes to talk to someone, I go to talk to someone, and my dad talks to someone?” Henry asks in the elevator. “Why don’t you talk to someone?”

Kids. They ask the exact things you don’t want to be asked about.

“I used to,” he says after thinking about it for a minute, trying to answer as delicately as he can. “And I might again. Sometimes we need someone besides our mums and dads or our friends to talk to, and that’s why we talk to Dr. Hopper, yeah?”

“Yeah, he’s nice. He talks about you and Mom a lot.”

“We’re very interesting people.”

“Sometimes you guys are boring.”

He chuckles and pulls Henry into his side right when the elevator doors open to their floor, the two of them stepping out and walking to the receptionist’s desk to tell them they’re here for Henry. Dr. Hopper almost immediately walks out, which has never happened to him at any doctor’s appointment in his entire life, and Henry happily walks back in his office with him. He knows that Emma waits in the office when she takes him, but he needs to go fill up the car with gas. So he gets back in the elevator and walks out into the lobby while responding to one of his emails from work.

When he looks up, though, he stops in his tracks, instinct taking over as he folds back into a corner of the lobby while he watches Neal get into a car outside.

What?

What the hell?

Why is Neal getting into a car? Who is he getting into a car with? Is this some kind of therapy thing? They drive and talk? That’s new but maybe it’s a thing.

Bloody hell. It’s definitely not a thing.

Neal is skipping out on his therapy appointment and getting into a random car, and he has no idea why, the blood in his veins heating as confusion and worry courses through him.

He’s already swiping out of his email to call Neal and ask him if he’s okay, if something is wrong that he had to leave, but something stops him from doing anything. Some kind of inner instinct that he honed from years in the Navy and years as a father understanding when a child is lying to him stops him from reaching out and asking Neal where he’s going right now.

He doesn’t…he doesn’t understand, and with the way his mind works, he can’t focus on anything but running through all of the scenarios that might be happening, even the crazy ones. He seems to only be able to focus on the crazy theories which don’t even seem coherent in his mind as he twists them around and tries to make sense of his muddled thoughts.

Something catches in his throat, and he tries to swallow the gulp that’s there while his heart pounds against his ribcage, something constricting in a way that causes his breath to be a bit shortened. Or a lot. He might not be breathing right now. He’s still alive, so he’s definitely breathing. But he can feel heat spreading across his cheeks and goose bumps rising on his arms.

Fuck.

This isn’t right. Whatever is happening isn’t right. Somehow, without any rhyme or reason, he just knows, and if he’s honest with himself as he has this psychological breakdown in the lobby of an office building, there are things that haven’t been right since the very beginning of Neal’s homecoming. He’s noticed them. Of course he has. But his kids, his relationship with Emma, and making sure that Neal has had an easy transition back into society have been his focus so that he hasn’t put too much thought into everything else. He screwed things up so badly with Emma, to the point where she might not have wanted to be with him ever again, and all he’s wanted was to get back on track with her, to make sure that she knows that he loves her more than his own life. All he’s wanted was to make sure that Ada is still growing as much as she should and that Henry is okay after going through such a transition both at home and at school.

All he’s wanted is for everyone to be okay, Neal included.

This, how he’s feeling, how he’s thinking, is not okay.

But maybe it is. Maybe he’s overreacting. Maybe he’s imagining things.

He’s not imagining things. He can’t be. He’s not crazy. His mind is fully functional. He knows what’s in front of his eyes, and he just watched Neal get into a random car when he’s supposed to be at therapy.

Shit. He should have gotten the license plate.

Why would he get the license plate? What would he do with that? To look up to see if the Uber driver Neal is using is registered on the site? Is it an Uber driver? Maybe it’s a friend. Maybe Neal didn’t feel like talking about things with his therapist today so he called a friend? Why would he do that? Why would he hide that from them?

Then again, why wouldn’t he hide that from them? Emma would make him go, would be upset if she knew that he wasn’t going, so maybe that’s it. He needed a break from talking. Killian understands that. There were days when he used to hate going to therapy as well.

But…

He’s got no bloody clue what’s happening.

It’s likely nothing, and this is just his paranoia and anxiety stepping up when he’s been living in a pretty stressful situation for a long while. Maybe it’s a bit of confusion, but maybe it’s just another thing about Neal that doesn’t add up when he truly thinks about it. Maybe it’s something. Maybe it can explain why Neal’s handling his PTSD better than anyone he’s ever seen. Maybe it can explain why none of Neal’s scars were fresh, why all of them had years to heal. Maybe it can explain why Neal is so hell bent on being an American hero and spending his time in DC. In working in the government even when the government failed him so spectacularly. Maybe it can explain why Neal seems to always be gone, to never be home on time. Maybe it can explain Neal knowing things he shouldn’t know. It’s only been a few things, a few random, unimportant things, but Neal knows things that he shouldn’t since he has been in captivity for eight years.

Or maybe it can’t explain anything. Neal was captured by Al-Qaeda almost a decade ago, and that’s where he’s been. He’s been through a tragedy, and he gets to be home and back with his family, even if it’s a little different than the way he thought it would be. Neal was captured, and he is a hero. That’s what’s happened.

But what if it’s not?

That’s preposterous. That’s the most insane thought he’s ever had, and Neal getting in a car to skip out on therapy doesn’t mean anything.

All of his thoughts are starting to sound like people who believe in conspiracy theories, and he is not that kind of man. He is too logical for all of this. He’s simply stressed and a little short staffed after a hectic day at work and the impending conversation about his son’s living situation. All he needs is to take a few deep breaths and calm himself down so that his mind stops working in overdrive.

His phone starts ringing in his hand and he sees Emma’s scrunched up smiling face from where he’d just kissed her cheek before she snapped the picture. She put it in his phone as her contact name, and it makes him smile nearly every time.

She makes him smile.

“Hello, love,” he greets, clenching his jaw and attempting to calm himself down from the race that his mind is currently running. He hates when he gets like this. It’s helpful at work but not now.

“Hey, babe. So guess who is the father of a perfectly healthy nine-month-old baby girl?”

“I sure as hell hope it’s me.”

“I mean, obviously I was just calling you to tell you about a random baby.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Exactly,” Emma laughs, her voice so light that it nearly breaks him apart thinking about everything that’s just happened. It has to be nothing. It’s just a weird coincidence, a misunderstanding. All of these odd little things happening over the past few months with Neal have been misunderstandings. They can’t be more. They can’t for Emma’s sake, for Henry’s. Emma doesn’t need to go through anything else. She needs to be happy. He’s overreacting in the biggest of ways. He’s got to cut back on coffee. “But seriously, Ada is growing just fine. She’s nineteen pounds and twenty seven inches. Dr. Kay said the only thing was that we need to try some more different textured foods, so I’m going to run by Whole Foods and get some of the things on this list we got.”

“That’s wonderful, love. I’m glad she’s healthy.”

He’s more than glad. He’s so relieved. He knows of all the things that can go wrong in young children, and it’s the biggest comfort knowing that his child is okay. She once had a high fever, just a few weeks after she was born, and that was one of the most nerve-wracking moments of his life.

“You and me both. Sometimes I get so worried about her. Like, it’s so easy to mess things up, and I don’t want to do that.”

“Swan,” he sighs, smiling the slightest bit because he can’t help himself when it comes to her, “you are the best mum on the planet. There’s no competition.”

-/-

-/-

“I’m dying,” Emma groans, adjusting herself in bed again, kicking around the pillows at her feet.

“I’m sure that’s not true, love.”

Emma’s eyes basically turn into black slits, and he immediately inches away from her, putting space between them so that she doesn’t punch him. He likely deserves it.

“I have heartburn that is killing me. Actually killing me. I forgot about this.”

“Do you need something?” he asks softly, reaching over to her and rubbing his fingers into her arm while she still twists and turns on the bed.

“I think I’m going to just lay here and suffer in my misery, but if you want to get the remote for me, that’d be wonderful.”

“Now that I can do.”

He puts his book down on his bedside table before moving the covers off of his legs and rising from the bed to take the few steps toward the television and the remote that’s resting on its stand. He picks it up and tosses it over toward the bed so that it bounces on the mattress toward Emma. She quickly picks it up and turns the television on, flipping through channels.

“I’m going to go get some tea, Swan. Do you want anything?”

“Water. And some more Tums.”

“As you wish.”

It’s still early, the sun having barely risen, so he’s surprised when he finds Henry in the kitchen standing on his step stool as he looks through the cabinets. Usually he sleeps in on Saturdays, and they always hear the floor creak when he walks past their bedroom.

“What are you looking for?”

“Food,” Henry shrugs, not at all shocked by Killian’s presence. “Where did all of our good stuff go?”

“There’s plenty of good stuff in there,” he scoffs, stepping over to look in the cabinet with Henry. “Do you want some oatmeal? Cheerios? What about some scrambled eggs? I don’t think Mum is feeling up to one of our big Saturday breakfasts.”

“I thought babies are supposed to make people more hungry. That’s what Avery says.”

“Isn’t Avery an only child?”

“Yeah, but he’s smart.”

“Of course he is,” he laughs, grabbing Henry by the waist and plopping him down on the kitchen island so that he’s away from all of the appliances. “I can fix you something to eat, and we’ll go upstairs and eat it in my room, yeah?”

“I thought I couldn’t eat in my room.”

“But you can in my room when I say so, and I think your mummy needs some extra snuggles with you this morning.”

“Why? She’s already got the baby.”

Oh shit. He’s been expecting this, but he wasn’t really expecting it until after the baby was here and a lot of their time was spent focusing on her. He most definitely wasn’t expecting it now when Emma’s five months along and Henry has known he was getting a sibling for two months.

This is going to be one of those moments where he terribly screws things up, isn’t it?

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to spend time with you,” he says softly, making sure to be extra careful with his words while he closes the kitchen cabinets.

“But all she talks about with other people is the baby.”

“Mum is excited, lad,” he sighs, leaning back against the counter and studying Henry’s face, wishing his lips weren’t curled down. “I thought you were too. You’re going to be a big brother just like Liam is to me and David is to your mum.”

“I am excited,” he mumbles underneath his breath while messing with his t-shirt, the picture of someone who is not excited, “but what if you and Momma love my sister more than you love me?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, stepping forward and wrapping Henry up in a hug even as Henry squirms away from him a bit before finally wrapping his arms around his back, “that’s just not true. We love you so much, Henry, and that’s never going to change, okay? Yes, you’re going to have to share your time with us with your sister, but I promise that we will love you just as much.”

“Are you still going to come to my soccer games?” he sniffles, burying his head in Killian’s shoulder.

“Every Saturday afternoon. I will be there for as much as I can. And when your sister is big enough, she’s going to be there to cheer you on every Saturday as well.”

“Is she gonna be able to yell like Momma does?”

“Oh most definitely,” he laughs, leaning back so that he can look in Henry’s eyes, his little brows no longer furrowed and his lips beginning to curve up. “She’s going to be a big yeller. She’s going to be a lot smaller than you, but we’re still going to do a lot of fun things. I always wanted a little sister, and you’re so lucky to get one.”

“You wanted a little sister?”

“Of course I did,” he answers, pulling the eggs out of the refrigerator so he can make some scrambled eggs. “When you have a younger sibling, you get to teach them all kinds of things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you can teach her to play soccer and to draw those cool pictures of yours. She’ll need a lot of help at first, like learning to walk and talk, and you can help her with that. You can also tell her stories like I do to you.”

“I think she’ll like Captain Underpants.”

He snickers under his breath as he cracks an egg open on the pan. “I think she might.”

“Will she like TV?”

“Who doesn’t like TV?”

“Grandma sometimes.” “Well your grandma is just a silly goose,” he laughs, moving his spatula around a bit while adding some pepper. “But yeah, bud, she’s going to like all of those things, and you can help your mum and I take care of her so that her favorite person in the world is her big brother Henry.”

He and Henry keep talking about all of the things that Henry can do with his sister once she’s born, even if a few of them are a little far-fetched. But it’s a nice way to keep Henry excited, to make him be happy again when he’s apparently been a little down about it. He’ll have to talk to Emma about this later, to let her know what’s going on, and maybe they’ll be able to figure out a better way to talk to him about everything than his on the fly conversation with Henry. He also needs to tell her that today is definitely not the day to tell Henry about Neal. They’ve been working on that ever since they found out Emma was pregnant, and it was finally going to happen this afternoon. They had this whole plan, something researched and practiced and thought through, but if Henry’s struggling with a little jealousy, now is not the time for him to find out that Killian isn’t actually his father.

It’s never going to be easy, especially for Emma and Henry, but they have to do it. Henry deserves to know about Neal. Neal’s memory deserves to be honored through his son. It’s a difficult balance for him to not step on toes, to make sure that he does what’s right for Henry. He’s not his biological father. He never will be. But that’s their life, and biology doesn’t mean a damn thing to him when he loves this kid as much as anything.

But Henry should also get to know about his biology and all of the sacrifices and love that Neal made and gave for Henry and for their country in general.

He should know that his dad is a hero.

Just not today.

“Alright,” he sighs, handing Henry a bowl of mixed berries while he holds the eggs and his tea, “let’s go sit with Mum and make her feel better.”

Henry nods his head before running up the stairs, nearly dropping his bowl, but he catches himself and busts through their bedroom door, leaving the door wide open as Killian follows in behind him.

“Hey, kid,” Emma greets, sitting up a little bit and flipping the channel to something else, “what are you doing up?”

“Daddy and I made breakfast, but it’s not for you.”

“Really now? Why not?”

“You’re not hungry.” He climbs up onto the mattress and crawls over to Emma, sitting himself right in her side was she wraps her arm around his shoulder. It’s one of his favorite sights in the world, and it gets so much better by the curve of Emma’s stomach under her tank top. “So this is all for me and Daddy.”

“What did we just say about sharing?” He laughs, settling down on the bed as well.

“Oh yeah.” Henry looks from him to looking at Emma who’s got a soft smile on her face as one hand rests on her belly and the other hand messes with Henry’s hair. “My sister and I are going to be best friends like Daddy and Liam, and I’m going to teach her how to play soccer.”

“You are? Do you think she’ll be able to kick goals like you?”

“Maybe not as good as me.”

“She’ll need lots of practice,” Emma laughs. “Soon she’s going to be able to kick my belly, so I think she’s already trying to catch up to you.” “I have to go practice,” Henry gasps, moving to get out of the bed only for Emma to yank him back down and pull him further into his side.

“Not quite yet, kid. I want you to cuddle with me because I love you so much.” “I love you too,” Henry says as he squirms, finally settling into Emma’s side and resting his head against her shoulder. He’s just about to pick up his tea and try to find them something else to watch when Henry looks at him with this big cheesy grin on his face as he loudly whispers, “she does want to cuddle with me.” “I told you so,” he promises as he reaches over to grab Henry’s hand.

-/-

-/-

“I think you might be a bit biased,” she gushes, the sound of Ada faintly filtering through in the background.

“Well, I am rather in love with you.”

“You sentimental sap,” Emma laughs. “I love you too. Let me know when you guys are on the way home, okay?”

“I will.”

When the call ends, he takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down more. He needs to get a grip, to ground himself. Emma grounds him, her voice, her face. She steadies him when he’s the furthest thing from steady.

She’s…everything.

He’s overreacting. He has to be. Neal is allowed to live his own life. They’re encouraging him to live his own life, and that’s the thought process he maintains as he sits down in the lobby, completely forgetting about the fact that he needs to go get gas or respond to the rest of his emails. Instead of doing anything productive he sits in silence and watches as people move in and out of the building, the gentle closing of the glass doors followed by the click of heels on the tile, the sound only dying out when they get into the elevator.

That sound is what he focuses on, counting the steps it takes for different people to walk the same distance, and when he looks down at his phone and sees that it’s nearly six, he stands from his chair and makes his way back to the elevator bay, loading onto the cart with a woman and her children who are going to the same floor that he is. Henry is already waiting for him when he gets there, and the smile on his face calms him the slightest bit. He’s happy. That’s good. That means the session went well.

“Hey,” he waves, placing his hand on Henry’s back and guiding him out of the office. “Did you have a nice time? Anything you want to talk about with me?”

“Nope. I already told Dr. Hopper about how we can’t go to Disney World.”

“When your sister is older, kid,” he starts. “When your sister is older.”

Neal is waiting for them in the lobby when they get to the lobby again, his foot tapping against the floor, and even though he’s told himself to drop it, to drop all of the wild thoughts that are running through his mind, he can’t. Neal’s come back just in time for him to not know that he left.

Damn it.

If he had stayed in the lobby he could have seen him coming back.

What would he have said? Where the hell did you go? Why aren’t you in therapy? Is everything okay? Are you hiding something? What’s happening?

(He’s lost his mind and needs to get a grip.)

He could say all of those things. He could. he knows the words, knows how to speak, but none of them fall off of his tongue. He doesn’t want to be accusatory when there’s most likely nothing going on, and he’s going to continue operating that way until he knows for sure. There’s a tentative tightrope that they’re all walking on, and he’s not going to be the one to push them off of it because he’s lost his mind.

So he doesn’t say anything when they get in the car or when they stop and let Henry get a smoothie. He doesn’t say anything when they get home and help Henry do his homework, the two of them trying to explain fractions to him. He doesn’t say anything when they eat dinner, and he doesn’t say anything afterwards when they’re all watching TV while he does eventually finish up working on his emails. And he doesn’t say anything when Henry and Ada are put down to bed.

And he especially doesn’t say anything when he, Emma, and Neal sit down to talk about whether or not Neal is going to take the job in DC.

He is. He wants to do it. He’s determined to do it, to make a difference in the world now that he knows what it’s like to have a second chance at life. And when Emma very tentatively asks him what he wants to do about Henry, Neal tells them that while it’s not ideal, he’ll be happy to come home for every holiday that he can and every weekend that he can and that they don’t have to send Henry to DC by himself. He tells them that he doesn’t want Henry’s life to be disrupted any more than it’s already been. He tells them every single thing that a loving father who both wants to do good for his kid and good for himself would say.

And Killian is positive that he means it. Emma is even more so. She’s so good at reading others, her little superpower developed over years of careful use, and he’s got to trust that she’s able to use it with Neal. He knows that sometimes she can be wrong, but he’d bet that she’s right nearly every time.

He’d trust her over everything.

So while he’s calmed a bit over possibly losing Henry, over Henry being hurt at never seeing his dad (something he’s still worried about if he’s honest with himself), he can’t turn his mind off. He can’t make the thoughts stop, the theories cease from forming, the worries festering. And when they’re in bed and Emma starts trailing her lips up the cords of his neck, instead of melting against her touch, he pulls back, turning his body away from her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks quietly, her voice barely a whisper above the hum of the ceiling fan.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he lies, twisting a bit so that he can see her face, see the worry in her eyes.

“Are you mad at me?”

How can he ever be mad at Emma when he’s mad at himself for thinking that Neal, this man they all love, isn’t telling the full truth? How could he ever be mad at Emma when he’s so mad at himself for nearly every thought he’s had today? How could he…how could he think something so absurd that would hurt everyone he knew if he ever said the words out loud?

How can he be thinking any of this?

“No,” he promises, reaching over to her and resting his thumb in the indent of her chin, making sure that she can see the seriousness in his gaze, “how could I ever be mad at you?”

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 1

Jack and Skies go on an important mission. Previous! Next!

--

Chapter 20

           I was lying on one of the office couches, glaring a hole into the ceiling, feeling just lousy.

           Jack had been called away to an emergency meeting, leaving me alone to brood about past events.

           If I had gone to Slab Town, I could’ve at least held off the Vault Hunters long enough for Jack’s mortars to destroy the whole place. But because Angel interfered with my first fight with them, Jack didn’t want me facing them again. He didn’t trust my abilities anymore.

           Ugh, I wish that didn’t sting as much as it did.

           My only option to fix it would’ve been telling him the truth about Angel, but I highly doubt he would’ve believed me. He would’ve just gotten angry, accused me of blaming her for my problems. It would’ve made things worse.

           So all I could do was wallow in self-pity.

           I didn’t have long to wallow though when Jack burst through the doors.

           “Let’s go!” he boomed.

           “Huh?” I questioned, sitting up. “Go where?”

           “A group of bandits have stolen an Eridium shipment,” he replies, “we have to go get it back.”

           “We do? Wait,” I said as I followed him to the fast travel station. “Why us? Isn’t this more of a job for like mercenaries or something?”

           “I like to be personally involved in small jobs like this sometimes. Let people know they can’t screw with me or my company.”

           “Right. Well, I’m always down for murder.” Especially if it meant proving that I’m not useless.

           We teleported to the location: a Hyperion base somewhere on Pandora. The workers were all in a tizzy, racing about like bugs. Then Jack obnoxiously cleared his throat and everyone froze.

           “Wow, that was impressive,” I commented.

           “Where’s Rickman?” Jack asked.

           “Uh, that’s Richman, sir,” a suited man replied as he exited the crowd.

           “With that suit? I doubt it,” Jack scoffed, “is the crew together?”

           “Uh yes, sir,” he nodded, “they’re waiting for you at the gate.”

           “Good,” Jack grunted and we took our leave. The crowd parted around us as we went to the front gate where a large, armored black truck with yellow stripes was parked. Standing around it was a group of five armed men. They all stood at attention at the sight of Jack.

           “Wait, so you are using mercenaries?” I asked.

           “Well, yeah,” Jack replied, “the bandits are probably gonna put up a fight. They always try even though they must know they’re gonna fail.”

           “But…” I wanted to say, ‘but that’s why I’m here’, but bit my tongue. I couldn’t stand the thought of sounding so…needy.

           We all climbed into the truck. Two of the mercs were in the front seats while the other three were in the back with us, though they were on different seats. Everyone seemed really tense with Jack so near.

           I sighed as I rested my chin in my hand and watched the desert go by through the window. The mercs kept talking to each other in code, probably trying to sound smart. My mood had worsened and every time one of them opened their mouth, I had to fight the urge to punch their teeth down their throat.

           We drove for a few minutes before the driver spoke up. “Approaching the target.”

           Jack and I both perked up and looked out the windshield. Ahead of us was a bus covered in metal plating and spikes. Sitting on top were two people in armor. They immediately started firing their assault rifles when they saw us but their bullets bounced harmlessly off the truck’s hull.

           “Well, take them out already,” Jack ordered, “but do not destroy the Eridium. We need that.”

           The guy in the passenger seat rolled down his window and began firing a shot gun, aiming for the wheels. But the bandits weren’t dumb. They wouldn’t let the merc get a decent shot and kept firing at him. I rolled my eyes judgmentally.

           One of the bandits tossed a grenade. Our driver jerked the wheel and I bumped into Jack as we barely dodged the blast.

           I lost my temper and jumped up. “Shoot them, you morons!”

           The mercs all seemed surprised by my outburst and the passenger tried to shoot the bandits but kept missing. I groaned with aggravation and stomped to the front.

           “Hey, Skies!” Jack snapped but I ignored him.

           “Outta my way!” I barked as I tugged the merc out of the window. “Like this.”

          I drew my pistol, poked out of the window while the bandits were reloading, and fired twice, a bullet for each head.

           “Now!” I snapped, “shoot the wheels.”

           I fired a couple more times and tore the back right tire apart. The bus immediately started losing control and swerving.

           “There,” I grunted, “you buncha amateurs.”

           The passenger merc looked offended but before he could argue, the driver cried out.

           We looked forward and exclaimed as we careened towards the back of the bus. It looked like it stopped in its tracks. Our driver swerved and hit the brakes, throwing the rest of us forward. We barely tapped the back of the bus.

           “What the hell happened?” Jack demanded as he lifted himself up off the floor of the truck.

           I threw open the passenger door, jumped out, and raced to the front of the bus, skidding to a stop at what I saw.

           It looked like the bus had been cut in half, the back left behind. When I turned ahead, I saw a smaller vehicle driving away with two back wheels closer to the middle than the edges and a tailgate. Standing behind it were about three people in matching armor that I quickly recognized: Crimson Raiders. And beside them I could make out crates of Eridium.

           I snarled and readied my laser cannon. Then one of them lifted their fist and wiggled it around. My ECHO eye zoomed in on a detonator.

           I gasped and spun around as Jack got out of the truck.

           “What the hell is goin-?” Before he could finish, I grabbed the front of his jacket and dove to the side just as the back of the bus blew up. The truck flew into the air, flipped around a couple times, and crashed into the ground.

           “Jesus!” Jack exclaimed at the fire and destruction before us. As we stood up, I looked back at the Crimson Raiders. My ECHO eye could still see them but they were steadily getting out of range.

           “Jack, these aren’t just bandits,” I said, “they’re the Crimson Raiders.”

           “What’s the difference,” he shrugged, “I’ll just call some reinforcements and-.”

           “Reinforcements?” I snapped, “we don’t have that kind of time! They’re getting away.”

           “Relax,” he groaned, “we’ll find them, torture them, and kill them. Easy peasy.”

           “How can you say that after what just happened? We completely underestimated them! Look, if I leave right now I can-.”

           “No way. What if your prosthetics stop working again?”

           “It won’t happen again!”

           “How do you know!”

           “Because-.” Because I didn’t think Angel would care about a bunch of random Crimson Raiders if the Vault Hunters weren’t involved.

           “Besides, you’re my bodyguard,” Jack added, “you can’t just leave me alone out here.”

           I groaned with irritation and turned back towards the Crimson Raiders. They were nearly out of range.

           I heard moaning from behind and turned around as one of the mercs pulled himself out of the wreckage of the truck. He looked pretty beat up but more or less alive.

           “Perfect,” I chimed and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him to his feet and shoving him towards Jack. “Watch him.”

           “Wh-whuh?” the merc mumbled.

           “Huh!” Jack snapped.

           “I’m getting that Eridium,” I declared and raced away.

           “Skies!” Jack barked after me.

           I took a running start then activated my air cannon and blasted into the sky. I flew through the air, landed, then did it again, quickly gaining ground on the Crimson Raiders. With my ECHO eye zoomed in on them, I could see that they didn’t know I was chasing them. It looked like they were already starting to celebrate. Then one of them noticed me.

           They pointed dramatically and the others whipped around as I shot into the air again and came down on their tail.

          They were all exclaiming with surprise as I aimed my laser cannon, but I didn’t fire it. Instead, I drew my pistol with my left hand and shot out both of their back wheels.

           They swerved a bit but the driver managed to maintain control. The Crimson Raiders in the back were pulling out their guns but I shot myself into the air before they could shoot and flew over the truck. I landed on the hood, startling the driver and the passenger. Before they could do anything, I shot them both in the head with my pistol.

           The truck lost control as the driver’s body slumped against the steering wheel and swerved to the left. I blasted off just before it crashed into a large rock.

           As I landed back on the ground, the other Crimson Raiders jumped out the back and took aim at me. I smirked, lifted my laser cannon, and blew them all to mush.

           I stepped over their remains and peeked inside the back of the truck, making sure there was no one left. Inside were ten large crates of Eridium.          

           I scratched my head and looked back. My ECHO eye wasn’t picking up Jack or any vehicles. I was too far out of range. So I went to the front of the truck and popped the hood. The engine was smoking but it looked like it would still work for a bit longer.

           I threw out the two corpses and climbed into the driver’s seat. It was little janky to control, what with the blown out back tires, but it would work to get back to Jack.

           I called him on the way. “Jack, I’m coming back. And I got the Eridium.”

           “None of it had better be damaged,” he snapped back.

           “Relax, it’s all fine,” I groaned, “I told you I could do it.”

           There was no reply and I smiled victoriously.

           Jack and that merc were where I left them, but a Hyperion bus was with them with a bunch of soldiers. They all looked at me with surprise as I pulled up and hopped out of the vehicle.

           “Eridium’s in the back,” I said, hooking a thumb towards the back of the truck.

           Jack glared at the soldiers. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Unload it!”

           They scrambled away and started moving the crates to the bus. I grinned as I leaned against the truck and watched them. Jack came and stood next to me.

           “So, not bad, right?” I smirked.

           “Alright, fine,” he relented, “you got the Eridium. But next time listen to my orders.”            “Well, maybe next time don’t order me to let the enemy go,” I retorted.

           “Well, maybe I wouldn’t if I was sure you wouldn’t screw it up.”

           “I didn’t screw it up!” I snapped, “look, whatever happened that time, it’ll never happen again.” I hoped.

           “Right,” Jack grunted, seemingly unconvinced. Then one of the workers told him all the Eridium was moved and his face softened. “Alright, let’s get back to the office. I’m sick of being out here. I’ll never get all of this dust out of my clothes.”            I shrugged. “Part of the risk of being out in the field.”

           “I don’t suppose you left any of them alive, did you?” he asked as we climbed into the bus.

           “Nope. All dead.”

           “Dammit. You had to have all the fun.”

           We both grinned as we took our seats in the back and drove away.                

[westywrites]

The Teller of Stories and Keeper of Secrets

Chapter 12 - A Change of Plans

First - Previous - Next 

Warning: This chapter contains a fairly large amount of violence and deaths

With her memory freshly wiped Elise was nearly as obedient as the others. She continued to excel in training, however at this point I was wary not to push her too hard. I couldn’t afford teaching her any tricks I wouldn’t be able to outsmart should there be another incident. Sure enough, there was another incident. That girl was too smart for her own good.

“Something still isn’t right,” Elise whispered to Nathanael in a darkened bathroom one night. “I have a feeling that Reggie isn’t the saviour she makes herself out to be.”

“No one’s perfect, Elise.” Nathanael shrugged. “She tries her best to care for us and we have to appreciate her for that.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered why we never hear of anyone investigating the things we steal?”

“Because we’re good at what we do?” Nathanael shrugged again. “Besides it’s not like we ever watch the news or anything, for all we know they could be.”

“For all we know the world could be on the edge of another world war, that’s my point.” Elise hissed. “Reggie keeps us locked up here, it’s like we’re prisoners.”

“We volunteered to be here and we really don’t have anywhere else to go.” Elise hushed Nathanael. “We can’t spend our nights whispering in bathrooms with all the lights off. Reggie hasn’t given us any reason to think she’s some evil villain, if anything she’s just shown us multiple times that we need her. We would be captured and killed without her.”

“Nathanael…” Elise protested.

“If you are so worried you should just leave, no one is going to stop you.” Nathanael left without another word, leaving Elise alone in the bathroom. Elise cursed to herself before slinking off to her room, completely unaware that the whole exchange had been recorded.

During the following few nights Elise held very similar midnight bathroom meetings with each of the others. Tanya and Jacob seemed torn in their responses, they agreed with Elise, but knew they couldn’t survive without help. Elise tried to convince them, to remind them of what she saw as my misdeeds. Jacob said he would be on board with leaving if Tanya was, and Tanya said she wouldn’t leave anyone behind. I ordered Jackson, my head of security, to conduct a search of Elise’s room and he discovered a notebook. Elise had been recording every action of mine that could be construed as sinister in someway. The notebook proved that despite the memory wipes Elise still knew about the Russian ambassador, still knew about everything else she wasn’t supposed to remember. I was running out of options to deal with her, I needed a new plan.

Finally Elise convinced Christopher to meet her in the washroom. Christopher was such a loyal little soldier he fought her on her words. For every perceived misdeed he came back with something I had done for them out of the kindness of my heart. She whispered and hissed at him with tears in her eyes.

“Chris,” she pleaded. She was the only who could call him that. “Reggie has used you, can’t you see that?”

“Elise,” he responded, “Reggie has given me opportunities I never could have imagined. She has made me strong, she has shown me that I can be powerful.”

“She has made you into a murderer.”

“They all deserved it. They all deserved to die.” As he echoed my words back at her there wasn’t even a waiver in his voice. “The most powerful and evil men on the planet fall at my hand.” A smile played at the edges of his lips.

“You enjoy killing them don’t you? Just like you killed those two kids who were mean to you.” Elise grabbed his shirt and made him bend to look her in the eye. “You’re a killer. A monster.”

He shrugged her off. “And so what if I am?” He strode proudly out of that washroom and Elise stared after him. Her mouth hung open, presumably in awe at the man that Christopher was becoming.

Watching that exchange through the security feed gave me an idea. My new plan was quickly set in motion as I assigned the missions for the next day. Tanya, Jacob, and Nathanael were to go on a simple retrieval mission on their own while Elise and Christopher were sent off on something a little more difficult. Once the younger children were all set and sent on their way I spoke to the older two.

“This mission will be manipulation heavy,” I explained, “there is no way to sneak past security so you will have to interact with them directly. It shouldn’t be an issue given your abilities.”

“Of course not.” Christopher scoffed. Elise rolled her eyes at him and played eager with me, asking what they were expected to do.

“It’s quite simple in theory.” I snapped my fingers and Jackson entered with a diagram of a building. “Jackson and few other members of the security team will accompany you in the getaway vehicle, you’ll need to enter here,” I pointed at the diagram, “and follow this written plan to the central information storage room. There you will use the guards and any researchers present to gather all information related to the case file code written on the top of this page.” Elise and Christopher both nodded, if they could get along it would be a very simple mission for them.

They infiltrated the building quite easily. A swish of Christopher’s hand and the guards at the door held it open just for them. A touch of Elise’s finger and they were lead through the winding halls by the head of building security, who could dismiss any curious passersby with a single word. In the storage room they found two guards as predicted, as well as three young research assistants who were filing recent results. Elise used one of the guards to find the files they were looking for and then Christopher helped with the rest. With five sets of hands at work the information was compiled quickly onto my special hard drive and their system was wiped. Everything followed the plans with incredible accuracy and efficiency. Until something went wrong. A walkie talkie sounded in one of the guards pockets, a shrill voice demanded to know why there was a disturbance in the files.

“There’s something strange going on on this end too,” Elise made the guard respond. “We’re working to find the problem, we’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“I’m sending someone more qualified down to take a look,” the voice crackled back.

“That won’t be necessary.” Elise tried to make the guard sound competent, less like he was under mind control.

“I decide what’s necessary, Gibson.” As the connection closed there was a knock at the door. Elise shot Christopher a worried glance. They slid themselves as far into the corner as they could, dropping their connections with the guards and researchers. The door opened with a bang and a team of three I.T. guys entered, flanked by two more security guards. Christopher’s eyes were wide as he looked to Elise, it was the first time she ever saw him look afraid. They were outnumbered vastly, the two of them trapped in a small room with ten hostiles and five of them could potentially remember the two strange teenagers they had seen enter the room. Instinct took over and without thinking Christopher raised his hands. Before Elise could shout his name, he jerked his wrists and they watched as ten people fell to the ground.

“You killed all of them,” Elise screamed at him, running to the nearest corpse. It was one of the research assistants, she couldn’t have been older than 25. “You killed them all.” “We need to get out of here.” Christopher’s voice was numb and his eyes were blank. Elise looked over to see him sway on his feet.

“Are you okay?” She hopped onto her feet.

“I’ve never controlled so many at once.” He whispered as blood dripped from his nose. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“We really need to get out of here.” Elise glanced over her shoulder to the door. “You really don’t look too good, will you be able run?” Christopher nodded uncertainly. Elise grabbed his hand gently and they took off together, running through the halls desperately hoping they could remember the way back. They stopped a split in the hallway, unsure if they should turn or keep going straight.

“I don’t know Elise.” Christopher’s voice was still weak. “I think we need to turn here, it looks like there’s a door that way.”

“I thought we came-” Her words were cut off by the lights flickering off and the sound of an alarm blaring. “Shit, I think they found them.” The emergency lights came on in time for Elise to notice several guards coming towards them. “To the right it is,” she shouted, dragging Christopher behind her. She wound their way hall after hall and down a set of stairs. They burst into a hall that was empty, save for one guard and a locked door behind him.

“That’s where we came in, I’m sure of it,” Christopher whispered, watching the guard who had his head down as he fiddled with the gun strapped over his shoulder.

“We can manipulate the guard to unlock the door.”

“We’ll never get close enough for you to touch him and I’m too out of it for precise control like that.” Christopher’s eyes lit up. “I can make him shoot the lock.”

“He’s got a semi-automatic, that’ll destroy the door.” Elise shook her head. “It’s dangerous.”

“We don’t have time to find another way.” Christopher lifted his hand and the guard jerked to attention. He lifted his gun and aimed for the door as Elise and Christopher approached behind him. “Get ready to run.” Christopher contracted his hand around an imaginary trigger and the guard did the same. Suddenly the door flew open and I stepped in, a smile on my face, Christopher reacted on instinct once again. He jerked his hands to the side and the guard spun about, but it was too late, he was already shooting. Christopher couldn’t react quick enough to stop him and the guard turned too far, his bullets flying through the air.

Right into Elise.

Christopher screamed and quickly snapped the guard’s neck. He flung himself to the ground beside where Elise had collapsed. He gathered her in his arms and lifted his head to yell at me. His mouth dropped open as he watched me fade away, the door still shut and locked. It had been an illusion.

“I thought it was her,” he desperately tried to explain himself to Elise. “I didn’t think.”

“Have you ever really thought about anything?” Elise joked pathetically, she coughed and blood covered her lips.

“Elise, no no no, you’ll be ok.” He lifted her the best he could, half dragging her to the door. “We’ll get out of here. You’ll be alright.”

“Chris,” her voice was weak, “save yourself, get out of here and get the others away from her.”

“No no no no,” his voice was bordering on hysterical, “they need you, we need you. You’re the voice of reason, we should have listened.” He gasped for breath between his sobs. “I need you. I need you. You made me better.”

“No Chris,” she grabbed his shirt, trying to pull herself to her feet, “you can survive without me, you need to save the others.”

“Reggie did this. That security guy of hers makes illusions. He did this.” Christopher struggled to try and unlock the door. “Elise it will be ok, we can get out of here and save the others.” She smiled at him gently, her dark skin was the wrong colour. She looked like the corpse of one of his targets. She looked like the people he had killed, so many people. He cried out and fell to the ground with her. He stroked her face and begged her to speak again. Her eyes had fallen still and empty and her blood was puddled down the hall. It was his fault she was dead. He had killed her.

Christopher hardly reacted when the door flung open beside him. He didn’t even look to see my security as they picked him up. He just reached limply for Elise’s corpse. He tried to cling unto her and Jackson had to pry his fingers off her shirt. He didn’t say a word as they set him in the getaway van. He stared blankly when I met him on the other end. He hadn’t even remembered the hard drive that was the reason I had sent them there in the first place. When I reminded him of this he laughed in my face. He called me corrupt, he called me scum, and he promised I would pay for what I did. It’s honestly a shame that he was so emotional about it. I had thought he would be more mature in his duty. After all the girl had been a pest, and pests must be eliminated some way or another. He screamed at me for saying this and I sighed in return. It appeared another change of plans was necessary. It really was a shame, I had liked Christopher.

The younger children were waiting for him when he got inside, they staggered backwards at the sight of the blood that covered his suit.

“She’s gone.” He hissed at them, that was all he managed to say before running off to his room. The others watched him go, fear building inside of them.

“Reggie, what did he mean ‘she’s gone’?” Nathanael grabbed my arm as I entered. I looked at them apologetically.

“Sometimes powers can go to people’s heads,” I explained. “The two of them got into a sticky spot on their mission and Christopher went beserk. He killed all of the guards, the innocent researchers, he was in a bloodthirsty rage and Elise ended up being one of his casualties.”

“No,” Tanya gasped, “there’s no way. He wouldn’t…”

“I am not sure he knew exactly what he was doing.” I placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, powers can be incredibly dangerous, especially when they belong to someone with a history of violence.”

“He killed her?” Jacob looked at me with wide eyes, he flickered in and out of sight, over whelmed with emotion. “Elise is dead?”

“Unfortunately so.”