#like hello? in s1 she followed the lights into will’s room and the wall moved

[emily-mooon]

Are we not going to talk about how Holly’s probable s5 disappearance was foreshadowed in s1?

[flamehairedwritings]

Happiest Season Of All

Characters: Chief Jim Hopper x Female Reader

Rating: M, 18+ ONLY

A/N: Happy Holidays! Phew, it’s been a while. Here is a kind of drabble, and also kind of a sequel to Pain In My Heart? Set the year before S1, there’s no mentions of family, no use of Y/N, and it’s just a gentle, kind of angsty little story.

This story contains broken hearts, swearing, alcohol and embarrassment.

I hope you enjoy and have a lovely week!

Summary: Broken up with just before Christmas? Fantastic. The only thing that can help is returning to your home town, old friends... and an old love.

Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or repost my work; credit does not count.

—

23rd December 1982

‘... There'll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting, and carolling out in the snow...’

You quietly hum along absent-mindedly to the cassette someone’s playing from a boombox, gazing out of the window. Usually, you’d have been annoyed but, hey, it’s the holidays.

Besides, you haven’t had much of a chance to get into the festive spirit or mood recently. With the classic Christmas song playing, the train rumbling gently and the twinkling lights in the darkness slowly growing brighter, you’re finally starting to feel it. Inhaling a breath, you lean your temple against the cold glass, your fingers lacing together in your lap as you gaze at the lights.

Hawkins, Indiana. Your hometown.

It’s been a few years since you were here for longer than a weekend but, oh, boy, this year you just need to be here. You’re retreating, you’re not too proud to admit, coming home to lick your wounds and be surrounded by all things familiar, cosy and boring.

You almost laugh. You’d left this place because it was so damn boring and now here you are, craving it. If teenage you could see you now. She’d be giving ‘that’ look which you’re told you still give to this day. 

Ah, well. Time’s a bitch, baby.

The train slows as it pulls into the station and you start to gather your things while a few others around you stand and pull their bags down from the overhead racks. You pull your suitcases down as the train comes to a stop, all three of them, with their different colours and patterns. Pulling on your scarf, coat and rucksack, you haul the suitcases down the aisle as best as you can single-file, muttering under your breath as they catch every few steps against chairs.

The wheels clatter onto the concrete of the cold platform when you step down, one suitcase twisting onto its front and tangling with the others as it nearly falls from your hand. Muttering under your breath again, you right it and continue walking down the platform, two small groups of people reuniting having to part for you. Making eye contact with a grateful smile, you’re relieved you don’t recognise any of them; you’re really not in the mood for your own reunion right now.

“There she is!”

Well, just the one.

A smile spreads across your face as Karen Wheeler trots down the platform in her heeled boots, grinning and her arms open wide. The suitcases drop from your hands as you throw your arms around one another, rocking from side to side slightly.

“Oooh, hello, sweetheart,” Karen murmurs, pressing a big, wet kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, Karrie.”

Your smile lingers, and it’s the first genuine one you’ve had in a while. Karen has worn the same perfume since high school and it puts you at ease instantly. God, you just love her. You talk on the phone every other week and have done since you moved out of Hawkins; she’s been the most consistent friend in your life and you love her with all your damn heart.

“C’mon, give me those, let’s get out of here, it’s freezing...” Pulling back, she takes two of the suitcases from you before you can protest and starts striding down the platform.

You have to do a quick little jog to catch up with her, marvelling, not for the first or even fortieth time, how she can go so quickly in those heels. It’s a short walk to the exit, made shorter by Karen’s pace, and she’s parked right outside. Wonderful. Opening the trunk, you both bundle your suitcases in, tossing your rucksack on top of it, and then do a speedy little walk to the doors, yanking them open.

“Oof, coldest winter we’ve had in years,” Karen shivers dramatically in her seat as she rubs her gloved hands together before buckling her seatbelt.

Buckling your own as she eases out onto the road, you blow out a breath. “Yeah, definitely feels that way.”

“So, how was the journey?”

“Oh, the usual, long but fine. It was a lot emptier than I expected.”

“Well, we keep hearing there’s gonna be a blizzard, so some folks have come home a little earlier.”

“Well, that’s smart.”

“Yeah. Means I keep bumping into people at the store that I wish I could avoid, though, and on the street.” She snorts as she glances at you. “Ugh, I bumped into Peggy Dawnes the other day, remember her? She would not stop talking about her perfect life on her perfect farm with her perfect husband and her perfect kids and her perfect lawn. Well, there were ten bottles of wine in her cart and I know for a fact her mother doesn’t drink and her perfect husband only likes neat whisky, so, there.”

“Oh.”

You cringe internally at your short reply, but you really can’t think of what else to say. Karen glances at you again, pausing. You look over at her and find the sympathy you’ve only been able to hear during the last few weeks. She reaches over and pats your knee gently before returning her hand to the wheel.

“Oh, sweetheart... How are you doing?”

You release a breath, raising your eyebrows slightly. “Better for being here, already. But, y’know...”

She gives you a sympathetic smile as she pats your knee again. “Don’t worry, toots, like I said you can stay as long as you want, it’s no trouble at all.”

You return her smile, relieved that you find you don’t have to force it. “Thank you.”

“No worries.” Her smile widens as she tilts her head. "The kids are looking forward to having you with us, you know how much they love you. It’ll do us all some good.”

You don’t ask about Ted because you know not to.

“I can’t wait to see them, too. How have they been?”

You gaze out of the windshield as she tells you how Nancy and Mike are doing at school and how many words Holly can say now, your eyes flitting from house to house. Decorations are out in full force, as they should be, they’ve probably been up since the 1st of the month, and it makes you smile to see them, remembering how you and Karen would go from house to house when you were younger and rate them out of 10 candy canes.

Ah, the simple life.

She’s still chatting about Mike and his friends when she turns down onto their long drive. It’s lined with various Christmas lawn ornaments, most lit up. Lights line the inside of some of the many windows of the house, too, making it look gorgeous and cosy and warm. A curtain is yanked back suddenly and Mike’s face appears, grinning. He waves frantically and you smile instantly, waving back with your eyebrows raised.

My favourite, funny little kid.

He’s already at the wide open door when Karen parks, still grinning. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you open the door and step out only to have him nearly slam into you before you can straighten, hugging you tightly.

“You’re here!”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him just as fiercely. “Hey, buddy. You okay?”

“Yeah. C’mon, I wanna show you this book I got...” He’s already out of your arms and waving you towards the door, which Karen is muttering about the heat being let out of.

Chuckling to yourself, you help her with your suitcases and rucksack, feeling vastly different to how you did ten minutes ago; they never fail to raise your spirits. Nancy greets you as you enter, smiling widely and also ready for a hug. You give it gladly and just as fiercely as you had with Mike, asking her how she is. She shrugs and just says “Fine,” with a smile as you remove your shoes and coat, and you marvel at how she’d once been as talkative as Mike when she was younger. You hear the boy himself calling from the basement, telling you he can’t currently find the book but it’s around here someone and you’re gonna love it! You follow Karen up the stairs to the guest room with a wide smile, calling back your thanks to him.

Passing walls lined with family photographs, it’s a short walk down the hall to the room you’ll be staying in for... well, who knows. Karen opens the door with a trilled, “Ta-da!” and you laugh as you take in the sight before you. It’s completely decked out in Christmas decorations; tinsel on every bit of furniture, snow-globes on the window sill, a polar bear stuffed toy on the bed, fairy-lights around the headboard. You’d roll your eyes at the excessiveness of it if it wasn’t so damn sweet.

“Wow, it’s like Santa’s Grotto in here...”

“Eh, close enough, I wanted fake snow on the ground but Ted vetoed that idea pretty quick.”

You snort, hauling the suitcase you’re carrying onto the bench at the end of the bed and dropping your rucksack onto it before sitting on the bed, your fingers running over the blanket Karen’s mother had crocheted. Nancy lingers in the doorway, and after leaning your other suitcases against a chest of drawers, Karen turns to her, making a shooing gesture.

“All right, go on, Nance, us hot young things need to get ready.”

“Ugh, Mom...” Nancy just about manages to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she turns away and heads back down the hall while you stare at Karen.

“Uh... Ready for what? Bed?”

“No,” Karen laughs, and you suddenly notice she’s going through your suitcase on the bench, rifling through and pulling various items out. “We’re going out, to the bar.”

“The bar?”

“Yes, the bar.”

You’re still staring at her. “Where everyone we know goes?”

Karen shrugs, looking at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s still the only good bar in Hawkins.”

“I thought you wanted to avoid everyone.”

“Eh, yeah, but... y’know, only good bar in Hawkins. And...” Oh, no, she’s looking sheepish, her head bowing slightly as she glances from you to some of your clothes she’s pulled out. “... Uh, we’re kinda having a party here tomorrow, anyway, so...”

“What?”

Her eyebrows shoot up, her hands raising. “It just kinda happened. It’s been years since we’ve had one and Ted and I were talking about it and then I saw Mary-Lou at Mike’s school and I just happened to mention it and she got so excited and then I got excited and it just, it suddenly happened.”

Your lips press together as you exhale a short breath. “Well, they were fun...”

“Yeah, they were, weren’t they?” Karen sits beside you with a nostalgic sigh, shaking her head. “We had some of the best times of our lives at ‘em.”

“Yeah... I remember the one after you gave birth to Nancy, I thought I was gonna have to take you to the hospital.”

“Ha! Thank God my Mom came over to look after her. What about the one where you set fire to the tree?”

“Oh, please don’t remind me, and that wasn’t actually my fault, you know,”

“Ha, yeah, sure, that was great...”

You both sigh together, a smile finding its way onto your lips at all the memories that come flooding back. They had been fun. You hadn’t been able to attend every one over the years but the ones you had had been so great they’d almost made you want to stay in Hawkins. Maybe... Maybe a return to a beloved tradition is exactly what you need.

Turning your head to her, you arch an eyebrow. “You didn’t think to tell me it was happening, though?”

Karen shrugs as she smiles. “I didn’t want you to talk yourself out of enjoying it before it had even happened. Same as tonight.”

“Oh, Karrie...” You huff out a breath. “... You know me too well, it’s so annoying. Ugh, I was so looking forward to just curling up on the couch, drinking and watching some of the classics.”

“I know.” She pats your knee, nudging her shoulder against yours. “And we’re gonna do that the day after Christmas, and every day that you want to while you’re here. But tonight, we’re gonna get fancy and go out and get a little bit drunk. It’s Christmas, c’moooon.”

You just can’t help but smile. “All right. All right! Fine. How long have I got?”

“An hour.”

 “What—”

She’s already on her feet, pointing at you as she heads to the door. “Take a shower while I cook us and the kids something up, and then we’ll get ready. okay?”

You know you have absolutely no choice in the matter. “Okay, fine.”

 “Great!” she beams, reaching for the door handle to close it behind herself. She pauses, though, resting her weight on one foot as she clears her throat. “Oh, and uh... he’s probably gonna be there.”

You don’t have to ask who she’s referring to.

Staring at her, you manage to keep your features expressionless. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” She’s watching you carefully, teeth grazing over her lower lip. “He is nearly every night, apparently, according to Marian.”

Raising your eyebrows slightly, you smile. “Well... maybe he won’t be.”

“Yeah, maybe he won’t be...” She’s still watching you, a gentle smile pulling at her lips. “Shower, toots.”

“Okay, okay...” You wave your hand as she pulls the door closed, hearing her move down the hallway.

The moment you hear her heading down the stairs, you release a long breath, lying back on the bed.

Oh, shit... 

Well.

You stare at the ceiling as the realisation suddenly dawns on you.

I might see Jim Hopper tonight.

James Hopper. Jim. Hopper. Hop. Chief, also now, not that you’ve ever been around to call him that.

You’d been friends since you were kids, best friends actually, at one point closer than you and Karen had been, and then feelings had developed when you'd become teenagers and then you’d taken the leap and had started dating and then...

You’d broken up.

And you’d been the one to initiate it.

And you’d done that because, well... It was because of a lot of little things. Mainly, though, you hadn’t known what route you wanted to take, college or work, you hadn’t even known what you wanted to do, but you knew you wanted to get out of Hawkins. And Hop... hadn’t known what the hell he wanted to do either, but he hadn’t even thought about it. He’d spoken once or twice about joining the military, or just starting a job, too. College hadn’t even crossed his mind. The conversation had come up and, well, it hadn’t ended well. 

In fact, when it ended, that has been the last time you’ve spoken to him. As you’ve returned home over the years you’ve heard he did join the military, fought in Vietnam, came home, married, and lived in New York the same time you had. You’d been heartbroken to hear from Karen that his daughter had died, and he’d divorced and moved back home.

Now, he’s Chief of Hawkins Police and, well, you’d love to avoid seeing him at all costs. There can come a time when, having not seen someone in decades, you can’t even have a casual conversation because all both parties are doing is screaming in their heads.

Well. Like you’d said yourself. He might not be there.

Hey, as Chief of Police this is probably a very busy time of year and he’ll be off doing something.

It’s gonna be fine.

Absolutely fine.

After showering, you throw on some clean, comfy clothes and head downstairs to eat with Karen and the kids.

Holly sits at the table in her highchair, silent as ever, well, being two years old she only knows a handful of words, but she just stares at you as she has done since she was a baby. Mike talks non-stop about school and his friends while Nancy chimes in every now and then to talk about her own friends, saying names of people in her class that you take a moment or two to remember, and to mutter insults at him while he mutters them back.

Karen half-heartedly tells them to stop in between telling you what she might wear, and you somehow manage to keep up with all conversations. Frankly, it’s also quite nice after being surrounded by mostly silence for the last few weeks.

Whipping your plate away from you seconds after you finish, Karen is up and striding to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder.

“C’mon! Let’s get sexy!”

Your lips twitch as Mike and Nancy groan, the only thing they can agree on right now being that their Mom is a complete and utter embarrassment.

She practically shoves you up the stairs, trying to get you to move faster, and from then on the next 30 minutes feels like a whirlwind. She tries on six outfits before settling on her usual favourite, and changes in your room while you rifle through what you’ve brought. Luckily, even though you can’t really remember packing, you’ve brought some of your own favourites, and, after scrambling to find some shoes to go with them, she helps you decide on an old classic.

Gazing at you, her hands on her hips, she beams with delight.

“Well, look at you, huh! Fancy lady!”

You give a twirl as she whoops, and then her arm is looping through yours and she’s practically dragging you towards the door.

“Bye, guys, we’ll be back late!” she calls out, though no one answers, too busy doing their own thing. 

You haven’t seen any sign of Ted and, once again, you know not to ask.

“Late? How late is late?” you ask with an arched eyebrow as she hurries you down the stairs.

“Oh, come on, not that late, we’re not gonna get wasted, we’re not teenagers anymore.”

—

“... God, I hate it...”

The stall door slams against the cubicle wall as you pull it open a little more forcefully than you had intended. Holding it for a moment, you exhale a short breath before moving towards the sinks, only swaying a little. Washing your hands, you glance up at Karen, watching her try to reapply her lipstick as neatly as possible.

“And did you hear Julian is engaged? And Andrea has a new boyfriend? Is it me or is everybody getting into a relationship?”

She snorts, rubbing her lips together. “It’s that time of year, folks hate being lonely at Christmas.”

You scoff, turning the tap off and drying your hands. “Just sleep with people, then, doesn’t mean you have to get into a relationship and hog someone all to yourself.”

She laughs, slipping her lipstick back into her bag before turning to you, a hand on her hip. “Oh, babe... C’mon, let’s find you someone to have meaningless sex with it.”

“Okay.”

The bar has been heaving from the moment you’d arrived. It usually is, but tonight the place is rammed, perhaps because of the time of year, but maybe more because, it turns out, there’s an offer on drinks, it being the holiday season and all, and happy hour has lasted more than one hour. More than two. It’s nearing three now.

Each sip has helped you relax, even as Karen gasps and points out old high school classmates, filling you in on every detail of their lives she’s learned. So far, incredibly gladly, she’s not pointed out a certain Chief.

Returning to your table, which a guy you don’t recognise has been guarding for you, as in literally guarding, he has his hands behind his back and is saying, “Nah, move along, this ain’t free...” to anyone who looks like they’re going to swoop in. At spotting you both, he grins and holds his arms out wide, gesturing at the table.

“All free for you, m’ladies.”

You’re unable to stop a smile because there’s something so weirdly charming about this absolute goofball of a man. He takes a seat beside Karen as you sit, the two of them having been exchanging small talk that verged on flirting. Heck, it was flirting. Sipping from your drink as you watch them, you feel a small, familiar twist in your stomach.

Karen is more like her teenage self when she’s with you, but when you see her with Ted, no longer Teddy as he had been in high school, and the kids, she’s Karen the mom, like she’s caged her personality in and doesn’t quite know how to bring the two parts of herself together. When she’d come to visit you once last year, you’d gone out to a bar and you’d watched her flirt with a couple of the men there. You’d thought it was harmless at first, just a bit of fun for her, she’s a charismatic lady, but then something had changed and, as a guy had held her hand, stroking it, and she hadn’t pulled away, you’d felt a twist in your stomach.

She’s gonna have an affair one day.

The thought had come to you so suddenly and so sharply that you’d shoved it away with all your might, horrified with yourself. No, Karen wouldn’t do that... Would she? Since then, you’d become more and more unsure. You’ve stopped asking about Ted when you talk because she’d just sigh heavily and spend the next ten minutes pointing out every flaw he has, how the romance has gone, how she’s tried and nothing happens. You know she’s unhappy, but you just can’t see her doing it. You hope not, anyway.

Looking away from them, you watch a few people dancing, Christmas music flowing out of the speakers above.

Karen laughs at something the guy says, and in the corner of your eye you see her place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, that’s too funny! You’re really funny... Sorry, what’s your name again?”

The man is unfazed, still grinning. “Callahan. Phil Callahan.”

He says it with such an atrocious Sean Connery accent, making Karen burst out laughing again, and it makes you smile, too.

“Oh, big James Bond fan, huh?” she says, her elbow on the table, chin in her hand.

“Oh, yeah, it’s why I became a cop.”

Your gaze darts to him. “You’re a cop?”

He raises his hands as he laughs. “Yeah, but, hey, you go on and drink as much as you want, I’m off duty now.”

Karen laughs and you make yourself join in, but your heart has started to beat a little faster.

Oh, stop it, he’s not here.

You take a quick sip of your drink again to cover the fact you aren’t laughing anymore, and then Callahan looks up, his grin widening somehow as he waves his hand frantically.

“Hey, boss, over here!”

Boss?

Boss.

The entire room seems to slow down as you turn your head and see a man, who’s stopped for a moment to shake hands with someone, with brown hair and a neatly clipped beard, wearing a brown leather jacket, plaid shirt and jeans, his eyebrows raised—

Oh, God.

Oh, shit.

Oh fucking Lord in the manger.

Callahan is slapping his hand against the vacant seat at the table, that happens to be close to you, practically shouting, “Hop’, here, saved ya a seat!”

You swiftly turn back around, staring at Karen. She’s frozen, staring at you, and for the next three seconds you somehow communicate an entire conversation with just your eyebrows and eyes.

Both of you seem to agree on fuuuuuuck.

You can’t just get up and leave, that would be the most obvious thing in the entire world. What if he doesn’t recognise you? Yeah, maybe you’ll be so incredibly fucking lucky and it’ll be a Christmas miracle and you’ll somehow have just disappeared from his memory.

Swallowing hard as you hear him move past a group behind you with an “Excuse me,” you rest your hands on the table, gripping them together.

“Hey, Callahan, where’s everybody else?”

Oh, his voice has changed. It’s deeper, rougher.

“Oh, well, Powell said he and his wife are gonna come later when he finishes his shift, and Jones, Davids and Williamson are over there, they’ve been waitin’ to get a drink for ages.” Callahan laughs delightedly, and Karen joins in, giving a slightly nervous one.

It draws Hopper’s attention and you don’t dare look up to see his expression but there’s a note of surprise in his tone.

“Karen, hey, you doin’ okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” And then she panics. “We’re just having a night out.” And then she panics more when she realises what she’s said, and that she’s gestured at you, her eyes as wide as her now somewhat manic smile.

Oh. God.

Lifting your head, you automatically smile, your features frozen.

“Hi.”

Hi.

He looks from Karen to you, and you’re suddenly subject to the full force of Jim Hopper’s gaze for the first time in decades.

Oh. God.

You can’t help it; the memories of the last time you saw him flood your mind.

“Hop’, are you even listening to me?”

He swiftly puts down the ball of rubberbands he’d been picking at on your desk, his eyebrows raised as he looks to you.

“Yeah, yeah, course I am.”

Your own eyebrows rise even higher, your hands lifted. “What, then?”

He tilts his head slightly, grazing his teeth over his lower lip. “’What’, what?”

“You weren’t fucking listening—”

“No, I was,” he quickly says at your weary sigh, leaning forward in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees, an easy smile pulling at his lips. “C’mon, just repeat the last part.”

You’d once found this all charming and endearing.

Your hands going to your waist, you exhale another breath before folding your arms, managing to calm yourself.

“What are you gonna do after school?”

Hop’ shrugs, leaning back again. “I don’t know. What are you gonna do?”

It was just the answer you’d feared, and expected. Licking your lips, you glance down at the carpet before steeling yourself and meeting his gaze again.

You can do this.

“I’m thinking of moving.”

He nods, his smile returning. “Okay, where?”

“I don’t know. New York, maybe. There’s jobs there and I have a friend there, I could stay with her for a bit.”

“Or we could get a place together.”

You stare at him, feeling your stomach twist.

“So... you’re, you’re just gonna follow me where I go.”

“Yeah.” His brow dips slightly, the smile still there, though it’s hesitant. “Aren’t girlfriends supposed to be happy when their boyfriends say that?”

“Yeah, but... What do you want to do?”

Hop’ shrugs again. “I don’t know. I know I wanna be with you, though.”

You’d once have quietly swooned at that and given him a fond smile. Now, though... You want more.

“Hop’, I don’t... I don’t wanna be one of those high school couples that just sticks together because they’re together. I want you to actually want this.”

He’s frowning again, confusion starting to set in. “I do.”

You say it quietly. “I don’t think you do.”

He stares at you, all traces of his smile gone. Then, he scoffs, leaning back in his chair a little more as he folds his arms.

“So now you’re tellin’ me what I do and don’t feel?”

“No, I just, I want you to have some drive, some ambition, not just go along with what I say and do.”

“I go along with it because it’s what I want.”

You can feel tears stinging at your eyes but your mind has also been made up.

“I don’t think it is, I just think it’s easy and safe for you.”

“Stop tellin’ me what I’m feelin’!”

His voice raising makes yours, too.

“Am I wrong?”

He looks at you like he has no idea who you are, and for some reason that really pisses you off because you don’t really recognise him anymore, either.

“Why are you pushing me away?!”

“I’m not, I—”

“Where has all this come from, then?!”

“I don’t know if I want this!”

Silence falls.

You swallow thickly as he stares at you, your voice cracking slightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but... y’know, Karrie and Teddy, they... I look at them and at Joyce and Lonnie and they’re so happy, they know what they want, and they can’t wait to get married and settled down, here, but...”

“You don’t want that,” he finishes for you, quietly.

You speak after a moment, your tone matching his. “I don’t.”

“You don’t want me.”

That sends a knife through your heart because honestly? You have no idea. 

Shaking your head, you close your eyes for a moment. “No, yes, I... I don’t know. I care so much about you, but... I just think we’re on different paths.”

His gaze drops as your words linger in the air. Clearing his throat, he glances up at you again.

“What if we just take a break, for a bit. Or I can come up and visit you, in New York.”

He’s just a boy, you suddenly think, your heart breaking.

Biting at your lower lip to stop it from trembling, you give a small shrug. “I think that wouldn’t be fair on us both.”

He nods slowly, his jaw moving, and you’ve never seen him this distant. Raising his eyebrows slightly, he stands.

“Seems you already had this all figured out.”

“No, no, I didn’t, I just don’t want to be unfair to you—”

“Could I have said anything that would have changed your mind?” His quiet words silence you, and you have to stifle a sob.

“... No.”

Hop gazes at you, and after several moments he nods. “Good luck with everything.”

You’d burst into tears the moment he’d left your room. The front door had slammed shut and as you’d sat on your bed and cried and cried you’d heard his car door slam, too. You’d cried for days, going between telling yourself you’d made a huge mistake, and then that you’d done what was best, that he didn’t appreciate you like he used to and it wasn’t your job to fix him and coach him through life and that... yeah, you’d fallen out of love with him.

You hadn’t just lost a boyfriend that day, though, you’d also lost your best friend.

You loved Karen but there was just something different about Hop’, something that made you feel safe and like you could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge. As you’d moved away and the months had gone on, several triumphs and bad days had happened, and all you’d wanted to do was just pick up the phone to call him and tell him. You’d stopped yourself every time.

Then, at some unremarkable point, you’d just stopped getting that urge, and life had moved on.

Oh, it certainly had moved on.

You stare at him, trying to look without looking. You can still see the face of the teenager you once knew, though with the beard and the lines at the corners of his eyes he’s very much a man now.

God, is he a man.

He was tall when you’d known him, but is he taller now, somehow? Had he had another growth spurt in his twenties? His hands are huge, too, and he’d been confident back then but it had come from cockiness whereas now he just seems quietly so, more sure of himself.

And you have absolutely no idea what he’s thinking. He’s staring at you so expressionlessly that you believe for a moment or two he actually has forgotten you.

Then, he speaks

“Hey. Been a long time.”

Hey. Been. A. Long. Time.

Said like you didn’t once whisper “I love you” to each other and share every single secret you’d ever had.

Then again, all you’d been able to muster up was a ‘Hi’.

You’re still smiling and you don’t know how to stop.

“Yeah, it has.”

“How are you?”

“Fine, thank you, you?”

“Yeah, good. You home for the holidays?”

“Yep.”

He runs his fingers over his mouth as he nods, and oh my God, he’s attractive. Is he, or is it the alcohol?

Wanting to banish the thoughts from your mind and distract yourself, you quickly continue.

“I’m staying with Karen.”

“That’s nice.” It’s said absolutely expressionlessly. “Just ‘till the new year?”

“Uhm, indefinitely. I’m, I’m working, uh, going through, uh, I’m moving, at the moment.”

“Okay. Well, I hope it goes okay.”

Oh my God, he’s winding down the conversation. He’s gonna go.

And you’re still smiling.

“Thank you.”

Nodding, he glances at Callahan. “I’m gonna go and check in with the others, see how they are.”

Callahan just nods once, his gaze flicking from you to Hopper and back again with utter confusion.

Rising, Hopper glances from Karen to you.

“See you around.”

“Yeah, bye, happy holidays,” you answer, Karen possibly unable to speak.

His lips move slightly, possibly into a faint smile. “Yeah, to you, too.”

And then he walks away, heading for the bar. Staring at where he’d just been sat, a slightly strangled sound releases from the back of your throat.

“Oh my God, oh my God...”

Looking to Karen, a whole range of emotions are flashing across her face as she tries to find the most comforting one. She fails.

“Oh, babe, oh God, that was horrible.”

“I know, I just, I forgot how to have a conversation, my voice got so high.”

“It did, I don’t know why you did that.”

“Neither do I, oh my God...” Putting your head in your hands, you then quickly lift it after a moment, pressing your lips together as you raise your hands. “Whatever. It’s fine. Let’s just, please, move past it. It’s over, I got it out the way, it was civilised, it’s done.”

“You’re right, you’re so right, please let’s forget it. Let’s drink.”

“Yes, please.”

You tap your glass against Karen’s as she raises it, and both take a long drink.

Oh, God.

That had been... so uneventful you don’t quite know what to do with yourself. In all the times you’d thought about how this exact moment might go, you’d never thought it would be uneventful. You’d imagined yelling, or crying, sometimes even laughing, but this...

Well. It was really like it had meant nothing at all.

You don’t know why it’s getting to you so much. You broke up with him. Of course he’d have moved on and left it all behind, God, you have as well. You’ve both lived your lives, gone through so many things and come out the other side and... A break up when you were teenagers kind of pales in comparison.

Yeah. It’s all fine. In fact, you know what, you’re relieved. It’s mature. It’s done. That’s it. You don’t have to be best friends with him again, for fuck’s sake.

Lowering your drink, you don’t realise your internal monologue has played out on your face, eyes widening and narrowing. Looking up, you find Karen and Callahan staring at you.

Licking your lips, you shrug. “It’s fine. It’s fine. Who wants another drink?”

You’re out of your seat and heading to the bar before they can respond. Karen sits back in her chair as she blinks, watching you stride away.

“Can someone just please tell me what’s going on?” Callahan bursts out, his hands raised.

“Oh, God, sweetie...” Karen sighs, reaching for her drink again. “... I have no fucking clue.”

—————————————————————————————————

24th December 1982

“Ughhh... Oh, God...”

It’s not your own groaning that wakes you, but that of someone else.

Cracking open an eye, you stare up at the ceiling as the groaning continues.

Uh, my mouth is so dry...

Licking your lips, you turn your head and find Karen on the other side of the bed, her hair bedraggled and spilling across the pillow, mascara halfway down her face, lipstick smeared. Turning her own head, she looks at you and groans again.

“Am I alive?”

“I think so,” you rasp, and she groans mournfully.

“Ughhhh... I don’t even remember how we got home...”

Closing your eyes, you scratch at your forehead, trying to remember yourself.

You’d gone to the bar, drank, drank a lot, maybe danced a little, spoken with your old classmate, Jessica? Justine? and then... Oh, what was his name again...

“Callahan,” you murmur, your throat aching. “Callahan brought us home.”

“Oh, yeah... Didn’t we ask him to turn on his lights?”

Your lips twitch as you recall how you’d both screamed with joy and whooped and cheered as he’d turned on the lights, waving your arms from side to side.

You snort and she glances at you. A laugh escapes you as you think about the absurdity of it all, and then she’s laughing, too, her cackle loud and delighted.

“Oh my God... Ugh, that was fun...” she sighs, her smile lingering.

“Yeah...” you murmur, stretching your legs out.

“We’ll have fun tonight, too.” She pats your hand, exhaling a breath. “If we just... If we just sleep ‘till noon, and then we can start preparing the house... Maybe even two, it won’t take long...”

You hum, closing your eyes, and, yeah, sleeping a little longer does sound like a good idea... Besides, when you’re unconscious, you don’t have to think about a certain embarrassing event that happened... 

Perfect.

You focus on the softness of the bed as Karen snores lightly beside you, already fast asleep... Yeah... the joy of unconsciousness...

—

“... Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock... Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring... Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun... Now the jingle hop has begun...”

Adjusting a plate on the table, you straighten and blow out a breath, trying to stifle a yawn.

I really can’t handle a night out anymore.

Brushing your hands together, you turn, surveying the party that’s in full-swing. It’s only a couple of hours in but it’s already a success. People are talking, laughing, dancing, singing, eating, drinking, having a merry old time in general really. You feel more proud than you would have thought as your gaze drifts across the room.

You’d had to shake Karen awake at half one, both of you practically dehydrated and feeling not so fresh. After drinking copious amounts of water, showering, changing and finally eating, realising you were both starving, you’d flown around the house together, tidying, cleaning, cooking up food, putting drinks out and decorating. It had been another whirlwind but a wonderful whirlwind. You’d had so much fun, and hadn’t thought once about The Incident. An hour before the party was due to start, you and Karen had gotten ready, selecting slightly more festive outfits than the ones you’d worn last night.

Now, she’s in the kitchen, laughing at something a neighbour is saying, while Mike and Nancy talk in separate corners with some of their friends who have turned up, and Ted, who’d you’d finally bumped in to and greeted, was sat in his armchair, talking with a guy who looked slightly desperate to get away.

The doorbell chimes and you catch Karen’s eye, waving your hand and mouthing, “I’ll get it,”, as you’ve done so for the last few chimes.

You have to carefully push your way past people on the way to the foyer, which is surprisingly empty. Moving to the door, you grip the handle and pull it open, a smile already on your lips.

“Hey—”

You cut yourself off, pausing as you stare up at the man.

Hopper stares back at you, shoulders slightly hunched from the cold, hands in his pockets.

"Hi,” he says, glancing behind you briefly.

"Hey,” you repeat, your heart pounding.

... Whaaaaaat is he doing here?

As if he’s somehow heard your thought, he clears his throat and raises his eyebrows a little. “Uh, Callahan said we were invited.”

Oh, fuck, yes, you’d forgotten Karen had insisted he come, and you, jokingly, had said, ‘Hey, why not invite Hopper, too?’

Haha. Ha. What a hilarious joke. What a hilarious little joke that Callahan clearly hadn’t taken as a joke so it is now real.

Just as you realise you haven’t answered him, he clears his throat again. “Should I—”

“Oh, no, God, sorry, come in.” Holding the door open, you step back, gesturing with your other hand into the foyer.

He steps in, glancing at the party beyond before he turns to you as you close the door, looking up at him.

You’re staring again.

Swallowing, you point at the stairs. “Uh, coats are up here, I’ll show you.”

Before he can answer, you stride to the steps and ascend, gripping the bannister.

Ooh... Ooh, what’s happening... What am I doing...

You’ve shown the last few people up to where the coats are being kept, just in case you can’t see them out, but this is... This is rather intimate.

You hear him behind you, following you up, and you make yourself exhale a long breath to try and calm your heart.

Be an adult.

The coats are being kept where they usually would at a Wheeler party; the guest room, AKA your room. It’s one of the reasons you’ve been basically escorting people up to it, not wanting them to linger in there or have a stranger possibly go through your things.

Pushing the door open, you step in to the dimly lit room and gesture at the bed that’s piled high with coats, scarves and jackets.

“Just here, leave it anywhere.”

He stands in the doorway, hands back in his pockets.

“I’m actually not stayin’ long, I’ve got a shift soon.”

Your hands drop. “Oh. Okay...” You can’t stop a slight frown from crossing your features. “Why did you come up, then?”

Hopper meets your gaze, his jaw moving minutely. “‘cause I want to talk to you.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

You’re sweating, your fingers flexing by your side.

Okay, here we go, he’s gonna yell at me and tell me everything he’s been holding back, here we go...

Shifting his stance, he leans against the doorframe, his gaze holding yours. “Listen, last night, I... I’m sorry I left so abruptly. That wasn’t, uh... polite of me.”

... Well, that’s not what you’d expected.

Your lips parted, you gaze at him. “Uh, no, no, no, it’s fine, I, I completely get it. It’s, uhm...” You pause, swallowing. Then, you smile faintly, and just say it, your voice dropping slightly. “... It’s weird, isn’t it.”

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah, it is.” He lets out a laugh, and for some reason the sound of it warms you. “I was a little taken aback when I saw you, I was totally unprepared.”

“Oh, me, too.” You exhale a laugh, your smile easing. “I wanted to say so many things but my brain wasn’t quite connected to my mouth.” You laugh again, though it’s more nervous this time, because you know if you don’t say it now, you never will. Your tongue gliding across your lips, you raise your hands a little. “Look, Hop, I...” Fuck, it feels strange saying his name again. “... I’m sorry for how things ended between us.”

Hopper’s already shaking his head before you’ve finished, a slight dip to his brow. “Don’t be. I think it was the kick up the ass I needed, and I knew you were right. Took me a little while to admit that, but, yeah.”

“Still, I could have given us a chance—”

“We were kids,” he cuts you off gently with a light smile, shrugging. “Neither of us knew what we were doin’ or how to handle somethin’ like that.”

You snort. “I still don’t.”

A corner of his mouth lifts a little higher. “Yeah, me, too.” Grazing his teeth over his lower lip, you watch him as he seems to consider something, your cheeks heating slightly at his intense gaze. “... Stop me if I’m, uh, treadin’ where I shouldn’t, but, and I’m just connectin’ the dots here, you said you’re stayin’ in Hawkins indefinitely, is that because something similar has happened?”

You give a faint smile, pointing a finger at him as you raise your eyebrows. “Yeah, you got me. I, uhm...” Here we go... “... I broke up with my fiancé. Or, he broke up with me, actually.” Your smile widens a little more. “Good connecting, you must be a great Chief.”

“Well, I do my best.” He looks sympathetic in a way that is mercifully not pitying. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks. I feel like shit every day, but, it was for the best. He was an asshole. I just didn’t want to see it.”

“How come he did the breaking up, then?”

You fold your arms, exhaling a breath. “He met someone else. Didn’t even bother to hide it or save my feelings. Just told me.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it really did.”

“Still,” he nods his head at you, “you seem much better off.”

You feel a little proud at that, because, actually, you feel like a mess. “Thanks. Karen’s letting me stay here until I figure out what I wanna do. I don’t even know if I like my job anymore or if it’s just everything that’s going on making me feel like I hate it, or maybe I have hated it for a while and I just don’t want to admit that to myself either.” You catch yourself from continuing, releasing a sheepish laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m just rambling on now, you can go back down—”

“Nah, it’s okay, I like listenin’ to you.”

He says it so sincerely, holding your gaze, that you don’t quite know what to do. Biting at your lower lip briefly, you look away for a few moments, your fingers twisting together.

“Well... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

You can hear the smile in his tone, so you look up, and God...

You’ve missed that smile.

His expression is so soft, too, so gentle and...

No, no, no, no... No, it’s just because you’re sad and it’s Christmas and—

Clearing his throat, he leans an arm against the chest of drawers beside the door.

“Y’know, I... I’ve thought about you over the years, thought about reachin’ out. I heard from someone years ago that you were in New York and I... I told myself I was gonna look you up but... I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Didn’t know if you’d even want to see me.”

A smile pulls at your lips, your chest aching slightly. “I think I would have.” Biting at your lower lip again, you take a breath. “... I’ve thought about you, too. Sometimes I think about if I made the biggest mistake of my life in leaving you.”

He blinks, before quickly smiling, shaking his head. “Like I said, we were just kids. We didn’t know any better.”

“I know.”

You’re gazing at each other again, quietly.

Don’t.

Clearing your throat, you make yourself smile. “I’m so sorry, I should have offered you a drink, I—”

“Would you like to go out for a drink?” he asks, so swiftly that it’s as if he’d been waiting to. “So we can catch up properly?”

Staring at him, you feel something quietly ignite within you. He looks somewhat nervous, and for some reason it calms you instantly.

A softer smile returning to your lips, you nod. “I’d like that.”

One corner of his mouth lifts a little higher than the other as he straightens, his hands falling to his sides. “Good. Okay. I’ll call. I gotta head out now, sorry, I just wanted to drop by before my shift.”

He wanted to drop by... to see me.

Trying to contain your smile, you move towards him, heading for the door. “It’s okay, I’ll walk you out.”

“Thanks.”

You head down the hallway and stairs in silence, your heart fluttering wildly. You’re suddenly very aware of your body, and of his right behind you, and oh my God, when was the last time I felt this way?

Pulling the door open, you hold it for him as you smile.

“Well, I hope your shift goes okay.”

“Thanks.”

He’s stood before you, a hand in his pocket, and he doesn’t move.

Then, his other hand moves to rest on your arm gently as he lowers his head and presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

Oh, fuck.

His lips brushing against your skin makes your heart stop and every inch of your skin warm. It’s brief, far too brief, and when he pulls his head back to look at you, you desperately hope you don’t look as flustered as you feel.

Giving a slightly breathless smile, you hold his gaze. “Merry Christmas, Hop’.”

The smile he gives in return has you feeling a way you know you haven’t in years.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

—————————————————————————————————

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Masterlist

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Runaway - Part Twelve

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

The Hunter looked up as the TARDIS took on a purplish tinge, the cloister bell tolling in the distance. She gently settled Hazel on her bed, then left as quietly as she could to find out what was going on.

By the time Hazel appeared in the console room, having changed her clothes, the Hunter was chasing a small spacecraft, making the ship tilt dangerously. "What's the emergency?" the human girl asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes with one hand as she held onto the console with the other.

"It's mauve," the Hunter replied, her eyes flickering over before returning to the screen she was watching to make some small adjustments to her flying.

"Mauve?" Hazel echoed, frowning.

"The universally recognised colour for danger," the Hunter told her, like it was obvious.

Hazel raised her eyebrows. "What happened to red?"

The Hunter snorted. "That's just humans. By everyone else's standards, red's camp." She stopped flitting around the console for a moment, grinning nostalgically. "Oh, the misunderstandings. All those red alerts, all that dancing." She noticed Hazel looking at the ship they were chasing on the monitor. "It's got a very basic flight computer. I've hacked in, slaved the TARDIS. Where it goes, we go."

"And that's safe, is it?" Hazel checked.

"Totally," the Hunter assured her, then winced as something exploded on the console near her. "Okay, reasonably. I forgot to say reasonably." She was distracted by what she was seeing on the monitor. "Oh no you don't! It's jumping time tracks, getting away from us!"

"What exactly is this thing?" Hazel asked, shouting over the engines as the Hunter attempted to get closer to the ship.

"No idea," the Time Lady replied, shrugging.

"Then why are we chasing it?"

"It's mauve and dangerous, and about thirty seconds from the centre of London," the Hunter replied, grinning as she threw the dematerialisation lever.

***

Hazel stepped out into a dark alleyway between two terraces of crowded housing. The Hunter was right behind her, locking the door to the TARDIS. She looked around and snorted. "Do know how long you can knock around space without happening to bump into Earth?"

"Five days?" Hazel guessed. "Or is that just when we're out of milk?"

The Hunter shook her head fondly. "Must have come down somewhere quite close. Within a mile, anyway. And it can't have been more than a few weeks ago. Maybe a month."

"A month?" Hazel echoed, frowning. "We were right behind it."

"It was jumping time tracks all over the place," the Hunter protested. "We're bound to be a little bit out. Do you want to drive?!"

Hazel grinned cheekily. "Wouldn't mind, actually." She laughed as the Hunter blinked, pulling her coat tighter around her. "What's the plan, then? Are you going to do a scan for alien tech or something?"

The Hunter snorted. "Haze, it hit the middle of London with a very loud bang. I'm going to ask." She showed Hazel her psychic paper ID for the occasion.

"Dr Art Smith, Ministry of Asteroids?" Hazel read, raising her eyebrows.

"Yep," the Hunter nodded as they came up to a door marked 'Deliveries Only'.

"Not very Spock, is it, just asking," Hazel pointed out.

"Haze, it's a piece of paper that reads your mind," the Hunter cocked an eyebrow. "Door, music, people. What do you think?"

"I think you should do a scan for alien tech," Hazel told her matter-of-factly. "Give me some Spock, for once. Would it kill you?"

The Hunter rolled her eyes, opening the door with her sonic screwdriver, then eyed her friend's Union Flag top. "Are you sure about that t-shirt?"

Hazel looked down at it, making a face. "Too early to say. I'm taking it out for a spin."

"Huh. Well, come on, if you're coming. It won't take a minute," the Hunter shrugged, going inside the club.

"Mummy?" Hazel blinked, about to follow her friend in. "Mummy?" She turned around, walking a little ways away from the building and looked around, before seeing a little boy wearing a gas mask on a nearby roof. "Art? Artie? There's a kid up there!"

***

The Hunter followed a waiter through a bead curtain to the main room of the club, where a saxophonist and a jazz band were accompanying a woman in a long red dress.

***

"Are you all right up there?" Hazel called. The child turned in her direction, not moving from the roof.

"Mummy?"

Hazel swore, then saw a metal fire escape and started to climb.

***

When the singer finished, the Hunter clapped with everyone else, then took her place at the microphone. "Excuse me. Excuse me. Could I have everybody's attention, just for a minute? I'll be quick. Hello!" She grinned as the audience focused on her. "Might seem like a bit of a stupid question, but has anything fallen from the sky recently?"

The audience stared at her with varying expressions of confusion, then burst out laughing. She narrowed her eyes.

***

Hazel reached the top of the fire escape where it came out on a flat roof. The child was further up, on a taller, triangular roof. "Mummy?"

"Okay, hang on," Hazel called. "Don't move!" She bit her lip, looking up at the other roof. How the hell was she supposed to get up there? Suddenly, a rope dangled down in front of her. She shrugged, testing it.

***

"Sorry, have I said something funny?" the Hunter asked, frowning at the laughing crowd. This was decidedly not the reaction she had been expecting. "It's just, there's this thing that I need to find. Would've fallen from the sky a couple of days ago."

The laughter was cut off by a loud, familiar-sounding siren. Everyone became silent, bustling around to grab their possessions and leave.

"Would've landed quite near here," the Hunter continued, sighing as her audience all left. Then she saw the poster on the opposite wall that their bodies had previously been hiding - Hitler will send no warning. She sighed again. "I'm an idiot."

***

Hazel had found the rope secure enough and was using to climb the roof to reach the child. How the hell she planned on getting back down with the child was anyone's guess.

"Mummy!" the child cried. "Balloon!" He pointed, and Hazel looked up to see a huge barrage balloon from which she was hanging. The balloon drifted away, and she clung on for dear life, her eyes wide as she dangled above the alleyway.

"Artie! Artie! Artemis!" Searchlights combed the sky in the distance, and she flinched as something exploded nearby and she yelped as a squadron of German planes headed for her. "Okay, maybe not this t-shirt," she murmured shakily.

***

"Hazel?" the Hunter called as she exited the club to find the alleyway deserted. A cat meowed nearby, and she picked it up, scratching its head. "You know, one day, just one day, maybe, I'm going to meet someone who gets the whole don't wander off thing. Nine hundred years of phone box travel, it's the only thing left to surprise me." She paused as the TARDIS' telephone rang, putting the cat down. Frowning, she got closer, opening the small door and staring at the phone. "Why are you doing that? You don't do that, that's not your job. You're supposed to sit there looking pretty." She took her screwdriver from her pocket, absently brushing cat hairs from her coat.

"Don't answer it. It's not for you."

The Hunter whipped around to see a young woman in the alleyway, keeping to the shadows. She narrowed her eyes a little. "And how do you know that?"

"'Cause I do," the woman stated. "And I'm telling you, don't answer it."

"Well, if you know so much, tell me this," the Hunter requested, looking back at the phone. "How can it be ringing? It's not even a real phone. It's not connected, it's not -" By the time she turned back, the girl had gone. The Hunter sighed, then shrugged and answered the phone. "Hello? Hello? This is the Hunter speaking. How may I help you?"

"Mummy? Mummy?"

"Who is this?" the Hunter frowned. "Who's speaking?"

"Are you my mummy?"

"Who is this?" the Hunter asked again, biting her lip.

"Mummy?"

"How did you ring here? This isn't a real phone. It's not wired up to anything."

"Mummy?" The dialling tone hit, and the Hunter hung up, before knocking on the TARDIS door.

"Haze? Hazel, you in there?" She turned when she heard a noise outside the alley, going to investigate.

"The planes are coming. Can't you hear them? Into the shelter. None of your nonsense, now move it!"

The Hunter followed the shouting to a garden wall, which she stood on a dustbin to see over. In the garden, a well-fed woman was ushering her young son into an air raid shelter.

"Come on, hurry up, get in there. Come on. Arthur! Arthur, will you hurry up? Didn't you hear the siren?"

Her equally rotund husband came waddling out of the house, shaking his fist at the sky. "Middle of dinner, every night. Blooming Germans! Don't you eat?!"

"I can hear the planes!" his wife called.

"Don't you eat?"

"Oh, keep your voice down, will you?" she chastised. "It's an air raid! Get in. Look, there's a war on."

"I know there's a war on. Don't push me."

Their voices cut off as the woman slammed the door of the shelter shut, and the Hunter narrowed her eyes as she saw the girl from the alleyway enter the garden and the house. Quietly, she followed.

***

An officer in a WWII greatcoat was standing on the balcony just outside the officers' mess hall, using a pair of very non-WWII binoculars to watch Hazel as she struggled to hold on to the rope she dangled from.

"Get those lights out, please," one officer ordered. "Everyone down to the shelter."

"Jack?" another officer, Algy, called as he put grabbed his weapon. "Are you going down to the shelter? Only I've got to go off on some silly guard duty." He looked in the direction Jack was staring. "Ah, barrage balloon, eh? Must've come loose. Happens now and then. Don't you RAF boys use them for target practice?"

Jack zoomed in on Hazel's flailing body. "Excellent bottom," he drawled, his accent very clearly American.

Algy blushed, thinking he was talking about him. "I say, old man, there's a time and a place. Look, you should really be off."

"Sorry, old man. I've got to go meet a girl," Jack smiled, putting his binoculars away. "But you've got an excellent bottom too."

***

Inside the house, the girl from the alleyway filled a small sack with provisions from the cupboards, then headed for the front door. Outside, she whistled twice, then came back in, followed by a bunch of grubby street kids. "Many kids out there?" she asked.

"Yes, miss." Their eyes widened when they saw the spread on the dining table, and they dived for the food.

"Ah!" the girl called sharply, making them stop. "Still carving. Sit and wait. We've got the whole air raid."

"Look at that," one of the boys said, pointing at the meat the girl was carving. "Bet it's off the black market."

"That's enough," the girl snapped, but she was smiling.

***

Hazel was dangling above Westminster when a bomb exploded below her. She'd been holding onto the rope for what seemed like hours, and she was freezing. When a second bomb exploded, she lost her grip and fell, screaming. Suddenly, her fall halted, and she was caught mid-air in a pale blue beam.

"Okay, okay, I've got you," an American voice soothed, seemingly coming from nowhere.

"Who's got me?" Hazel demanded. "And - well, how?"

"I'm just programming your descent pattern," Jack stated. "Keep as still as you can and keep your hands and feet inside the light field."

"Descent pattern?" Hazel echoed, doing as he asked.

"Oh, and could you switch off your cell phone?" He chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "No, seriously, it interferes with my instrument."

"You know, no one ever believes that," Hazel pointed out, but she did turn her phone off.

"Thank you. That's much better."

She snorted. "Oh, yeah, that's a real load off, that is. I'm hanging in the sky in the middle of a German air raid with the Union Jack across my chest, but hey - my mobile phone's off."

"Actually, it's the Union Flag. You're not flying at sea," Jack told her. "Be with you in a moment." After a minute, he spoke again. "Ready for you. Hold tight!"

"To what?!" she demanded.

"Oh, yeah, actually, that's a fair point," Jack stated, as if he hadn't thought of that before.

Before Hazel could yell at him, she fell down the light field and into his arms.

"I've got you," he assured her, holding her comfortably bridal style. "You're fine, you're just fine. The tractor beam, it can scramble your head just a little."

"Hello," Hazel breathed, staring up at him. For a guy, he was pretty fit.

"Hello," he grinned back.

"Hello," she repeated, before shaking her head. "Sorry, that was hello twice there. Dull, but thorough, right?"

"Are you all right?" Jack asked.

"Fine," she told him. He set her down on her feet. "What, you expecting me to faint or something?"

"You do look a little dizzy," Jack admitted, watching her carefully.

Hazel snorted. "What about you, Ken doll? You're not even in focus." And with that, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted into his waiting arms. He rolled his eyes, putting her into one of his ship's seats.

***

"It's got to be black market," another boy agreed. "You couldn't get all this on coupons."

"Ernie, how many times?" the woman chastised. "We are guests in this house. We will not make comments of that kind. Washing up." The other children laughed as Ernie groaned.

"Nancy!" he complained.

Nancy turned to another boy. "Haven't seen you at one of these before."

The boy nudged the child next to him. "He told me about it."

"Sleeping rough?"

"Yes, miss."

"All right, then," Nancy nodded, then looked around at all of them. "One slice each, and I want to see everyone chewing properly." A plate of the meat she'd sliced was handed around.

"Thank you, miss."

"Thanks, miss."

"Thank you, miss."

"Thanks, miss!" the Hunter grinned when the plate came to where she'd been hiding behind the door. The children yelped, gasping and running away from her.

"It's all right," Nancy told them, eyeing the Hunter. "Everybody stay where you are!"

"Good here, eh?" the Hunter smiled. "Who's got the salt?"

"Back in your seats," Nancy instructed. "She shouldn't be here either."

"So, you lot, what's the story?" the Hunter asked.

"What do you mean?" Ernie frowned.

"You're homeless, right? Living rough?" she guessed.

"Why do you want to know that?" another boy demanded. "Are you a copper?"

She scoffed. "Of course I'm not a copper. What's a copper going to do with you lot anyway? Arrest you for starving? I make it 1941. You lot shouldn't even be in London. You should've been evacuated to the country by now."

"I was evacuated," one boy admitted. "Sent me to a farm."

"So why'd you come back?" the Hunter asked, concerned.

"There was a man there," he shrugged.

"Yeah, same with Ernie," another boy piped up. "Two homes."

"Shut up," Ernie muttered. "It's better on the streets anyway. It's better food."

"Yeah," the boy agreed. "Nancy always gets the best food for us."

"So, that's what you do, is it, Nancy?" the Hunter quirked an eyebrow at the woman.

"What is?" Nancy asked defensively.

"As soon as the sirens go, you find a big fat family meal still warm on the table with everyone down in the air raid shelter and bingo! Feeding frenzy for the homeless kids of London Town. Puddings for all, as long as the bombs don't get you," the Hunter shrugged.

Nancy put her hands on her hips. "Something wrong with that?"

"Wrong with it?" The Hunter snorted. "It's brilliant. I'm not sure if it's Marxism in action or a West End musical."

"Why'd you follow me?" Nancy questioned. "What do you want?"

The Hunter narrowed her eyes slightly. "I want to know how a phone that isn't a phone gets a phone call. You seem to be the one to ask."

"I did you a favour. I told you not to answer it, that's all I'm telling you."

She nodded. "Great, thanks. And I want to find a blonde in a Union Flag. I mean a specific one. i didn't just wake up this morning with a craving. Anybody seen a girl like that?" She bit her lip when the kids all shook their heads. Then she pouted as Nancy took her plate away. "What have I done wrong?"

"You took two slices," Nancy told her, her lips twitching. "No blondes, no flags. Anything else before you leave?"

The Hunter's eyes widened. "Ooh, yeah, there is actually. Thanks for asking, I nearly forgot. Something I've been looking for. Would've fallen from the sky about a month ago, but not a bomb. Not the usual kind, anyway. Wouldn't have exploded. Probably would have just buried itself in the ground somewhere, and it would have looked something like this." She held up a sketch.

A knock on the door made everyone jump, even the Hunter. "Mumm? Are you in there, mummy?"

The Hunter narrowed her eyes. She peeked out the window to see a little boy in a gas mask.

"Mummy?" he called.

"Who was the last one in?" Nancy questioned.

"Her," Ernie said, pointing to the Hunter.

"No, she came round the back," Nancy shook her head. "Who came in the front?"

"Me," one boy admitted.

"Did you close the door?" Nancy questioned him.

"Er -"

"Did you close the door?" Nancy demanded.

He shook his head timidly. Nancy ran to bolt the door as the child kept calling.

"What's this, then?" the Hunter frowned, folding her arms as she leaned in the doorway, watching. "It's never easy being the only child left out in the cold, you know."

"Oh, and I suppose you'd know," Nancy scoffed.

"I do actually, yes," the Hunter admitted. "I loved my brother, but he could be a dick sometimes."

Nancy frowned, then shook her head. "It's not exactly a child."

"Mummy?"

She pushed past the Hunter into the dining room and started ushering the kids out. "Right, everybody out. Across the back garden and under the fence. Now! Go! Move!" She crouched in front of the one remaining girl, who couldn't have been older than four. "Come on, baby, we've got to go, all right? It's just like a game. Just like chasing. Take your coat, go on. Go!"

"Mummy? Mummy? Please let me in, mummy. Please let me in, mummy." A small hand came through the letterbox.

"Are you all right?" the Hunter asked, moving along the hallway towards it.

"Please let me in," the child whimpered.

Suddenly, a vase crashed into the hand, and it quickly withdrew through the letterbox.

"You mustn't let him touch you!" Nancy cried.

The Hunter turned to look at her, frowning in confusion. "What happens if he touches me?"

"He'll make you like him."

"And what's he like?"

Nancy glanced over her shoulder in the direction the kids had gone. "I've got to go."

"Nancy, what's he like?" the Hunter demanded.

"He's empty," Nancy whispered. The telephone rang. "It's him. He can make phones ring. He can. Just like with that police box you saw."

The Hunter picked up the phone. "Are you my mummy?" the child asked from the other end.

Nancy slammed the phone back onto the hook. The radio started up in the dining room, swiftly followed by toys upstairs.

"Mummy? Please let me in, mummy. Mummy, mummy, mummy."

Nancy shivered. "You stay if you want to." She left by the back door, and the Hunter turned around as the child put his hand through the letterbox. She noticed a small fork-shaped scar on the back of it.

"Mummy? Let me in please, mummy. Please let me in."

"Your mummy isn't here," the Hunter told him softly, edging closer.

"Are you my mummy?"

"No mummies here, not anymore. Nobody here but you and me."

"I'm scared."

"Why are those other children frightened of you?" the Hunter asked, curious.

"Please let me in, mummy. I'm scared of the bombs."

"Okay, I'm opening the door now." The child pulled back his hand. Keeping a distance, the Hunter telekinetically unbolted and opened the door, but the street was deserted. She frowned.

***

"Better now?" Jack asked as Hazel came to in the co-pilot seat.

She blinked groggily, yawning. "You got lights in here?"

Jack turned the lights on to reveal they were sitting in a small, cramped spaceship. "Hello."

"Hello."

"Hello."

Hazel narrowed her eyes. "How about we don't start that again?"

"Okay," he agreed easily, flashing a brilliant smile.

"So, who're you, then?" she asked.

"Captain Jack Harkness, One Three Three Squadron, Royal Air Force. American volunteer." He handed her an ID card.

She snorted. "Liar. This is psychic paper. It tells me whatever you want it to tell me."

Jack blinked, taken aback. "How do you know?"

"Two things. One, I have a friend who uses this all the time," Hazel began.

"Ah," Jack sighed.

"And two, you just handed me a piece of paper telling me you're single and you work out," she pointed out.

"Tricky thing, psychic paper," Jack muttered, having the grace to look a little embarrassed at least.

"Yeah," Hazel nodded, grinning. "Can't let your mind wander when you're handing it over." She gave it back.

Jack read it, and sighed. "'Not a chance, Romeo'? Jules, you wound me."

Hazel frowned. "Jules?"

"Juliet," Jack explained, before narrowing his eyes. "That's the right play, isn't it?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Maybe we should try and get along without the psychic paper?"

"That would be better, wouldn't it?" Jack nodded, laughing.

Hazel looked around appreciatively. "Nice spaceship."

"Gets me around," Jack shrugged.

"Very Spock," Hazel complimented.

Jack blinked. "Who?"

"Oh, come on! You know Shakespeare, but you don't know Star Trek? You are so not a local boy."

"A cell phone, a liquid crystal watch, and fabrics that won't be around for at least another two decades?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "Guessing you're not a local girl."

"Guessing right," she nodded, going to clap sarcastically, before hissing in pain.

"Burn your hands on the rope?" Jack guessed.

"Yeah." She froze as a bomb whistled past in front of them. "We're parked in midair! Can't anyoen down there see us?"

"No," Jack said impatiently. "Can I have a look at your hands for a moment?"

She frowned, holding them to her chest suspiciously. "Why?"

"Please?" He gave her puppy dog eyes, and she relented. "You can stop acting now," he muttered as he gently brushed his fingertips over her palms. "I know exactly who you are. I can spot a Time Agent a mile away."

"Time Agent?" Hazel echoed, trying not to sound too confused.

Jack nodded. "I've been expecting one of you guys to show up. Though not, I must say, by barrage balloon." He glanced up at her with a cheeky grin. "Do you often travel that way?"

"Sometimes I get swept off my feet. By balloons," she was quick to specify. "What are you doing?"

Jack wrapped his navy blue scarf around her wrists. "Try to keep still."

"Okay," she frowned. "Kinky?"

He winked at her, then pushed a button on the console. What looked like golden, glowing butterflies flew to her burnt palms, healing them. "Nanogenes," he corrected. "Sub-atomic robots. The air in here is full of them. They just repaired three layers of your skin."

Hazel smiled as the glow dissipated and he untied her wrists, his fingers warm on her chilled skin. "Tell them thanks."

"Shall we get down to business?" Jack suggested.

She blinked. "Business?"

"Shall we have a drink on the balcony? Bring up the glasses." He opened a hatch in the ceiling, and climbed out, carrying a bottle of champagne, before helping Hazel up with the flutes.

She laughed shakily, seeing the fires of London right below her feet. "I know I'm standing on something." Jack pressed a button on a remote control, and the ship appeared beneath them. "Oh, okay. You have an invisible spaceship. That's cool."

"Yeah," he smirked.

"Tethered up to Big Ben for some reason?"

"First rule of active camouflage," he told her, opening the bottle and filling the glasses she'd brought up. "Park somewhere you'll remember."

***

Nancy went to a hidden shack in some railway sidings and carefully hid the food she'd stolen from the house. When she stood up, she saw the Hunter watching her with a grin. "How'd you follow me here?" she demanded.

"I'm good at following," the Hunter shrugged, leaning in the doorway.

"People can't usually follow me if I don't want them to," Nancy frowned.

"Yeah, but there's actually a reason they call me the Hunter." She paused. "I think."

"Goodnight, miss," Nancy turned away.

"Nancy, there's something chasing you and the other kids," the Hunter stated hastily. "Looks like a boy and it isn't a boy, and it started about a month ago, right? The thing I'm looking for, the thing that fell from the sky, that's when it landed. And you know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"There was a bomb," Nancy admitted. "A bomb that wasn't a bomb. Fell the other end of Limehouse Green Station."

"Take me there," the Hunter requested.

"There's soldiers guarding it," Nancy told her. "Barbed wire. You'll never get through."

The Hunter smirked. "Try me."

"You sure you want to know what's going on in there?" Nancy checked.

"I really want to know."

"Then there's someone you need to talk to first."

"And who might that be?" the Hunter asked.

"The Doctor." She froze.

***

"You know, it's getting a bit late," Hazel giggled, downing the last of her champagne as they sat on the roof of the spaceship. "I should really be getting back."

"We're discussing business," Jack told her, filling her glass back up.

She snorted. "This isn't business. This is champagne."

"I try never to discuss business with a clear head," Jack grinned. "Are you travelling alone? Are you authorised to negotiate with me?"

"What would we be negotiating?" Hazel asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I have something for the Time Agency," Jack confessed. "Something they'd like to buy. Are you in power to make payment?"

Hazel bit her lip. "Well, I... I should talk to my companion."

"Companion?" Jack echoed.

"I should really be getting back to her," Hazel nodded.

"Her?"

"Do you have the time?" she asked, sipping her drink. Jack pressed a button, and Big Ben's face lit up as it struck nine thirty. "Ooh, that was flash."

Jack smirked. "So when you say your companion, just how disappointed should I be?"

Hazel smiled at his persistence. "Okay, we're standing in midair..."

"Mmhmm," Jack inclined his head.

"On a spaceship, during a German air raid. Do you really think now's a good time to be coming on to me?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Perhaps not," he decided, nodding.

Hazel shrugged. "Wouldn't have worked anyway."

Jack smiled. "Do you like Glenn Miller, Jules?" He used his remote control again, and Moonlight Serenade began to play. He took Hazel into his arms, and they began to slowdance. "It's 1941, the height of the London Blitz, the height of the German bombing campaign, and something else has fallen on London. A fully equipped Chula warship. The last one in existence, armed to the teeth. And I know where it is, because I parked it. If the Agency can name the right price, I can get it for you. But in two hours, a German bomb is going to fall on it and destroy it forever. That's your deadline. That's the deal. Now, shall we discuss payment?"

"Do you know what I think?" Hazel asked.

"What?"

"I think you were talking just then," Hazel smiled.

"Two hours, the bomb falls," Jack stressed. "There'll be nothing left but dust and a crater."

She snorted. "Promises, promises."

"Are you listening to any of this, Jules?" Jack sighed.

"You used to be a Time Agent, now you're some kind of freelancer," she recited.

"Well, that's a little harsh," he smiled, spinning her. "I like to think of myself as a criminal."

Hazel laughed. "I bet you do."

"So, this companion of yours, does she handle the business?" Jack questioned.

"Well, I delegate a lot of that, yeah," Hazel nodded.

"Well, maybe we should go find her," Jack suggested, keeping them swaying in place.

"And how're you going to do that?" she raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Easy. I'll do a scan for alien tech."

She grinned. "Finally, a professional."

***

The Hunter was looking through binoculars at the area Nancy had brought her to while the girl pointed things out. "The bomb's under that tarpaulin. They put the fence up over night. See that building? The hospital."

"What about it?" the Hunter asked, shifting her gaze.

"That's where the doctor is," Nancy said. "You should talk to him."

"For now, I'm more interested in getting in there," the Hunter stated, indicating the fenced-off area.

"Talk to the doctor first," Nancy pleaded.

The Hunter frowned. "Why?"

"Because then maybe you won't want to get inside," Nancy told her, then turned away and started walking.

"Where're you going?"

"There was a lot of food in that house. I've got mouths to feed." She shrugged. "Should be safe enough now."

"Can I ask you a question? Who did you lose?"

Nancy stopped in her tracks. "What?"

"The way you look after all those kids. It's because you lost somebody, isn't it? You're doing all this to make up for it," the Hunter assumed.

"My little brother. Jamie," Nancy admitted. "One night I went out looking for food. Same night that thing fell. I told him not to follow me, I told him it was dangerous, but he just... He just didn't like being on his own."

"What happened?" the Hunter asked quietly. She could empathise with losing a brother.

"In the middle of an air raid?" Nancy scoffed. "What do you think happened?"

The Hunter shook her head. "It's amazing."

Nancy frowned. "What is?"

"Well, 1941. Right now, not very far from here, the German war machine is rolling up the map of Europe. Country after country, falling like dominoes. Nothing can stop it. Nothing. Until one, tiny, damp little island says no. Not here. A mouse in front of a lion. You're amazing, the lot of you. Don't know what you do to Hitler, but you frighten the hell out of me." She smiled. "Off you go, then. Do what you've got to do. Save the world."

Nancy shook her head at her, and started to walk away.

***

Five minutes later, the Hunter was breaking into the hospital. Every bed she saw was occupied with a very still patient wearing a gas mask. She was looking over one of them when an elderly doctor appeared, leaning heavily on a walking stick.

"You'll find them everywhere. In every bed, in every ward. Hundreds of them," he stated.

She nodded. "Yes, I saw. Why are they still wearing gas masks?"

"They're not," he said. She narrowed her eyes a fraction. "Who are you?"

"Are you the doctor?"

"Dr Constantine," he nodded. "And you are?"

She showed him her psychic paper. "Dr Art Smith. Nancy sent me."

"Nancy?" he echoed. "That means you must've been asking about the bomb."

"Yes."

"What do you know about it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's why I was asking. What do you know?"

"Only what it's done," Constantine shrugged.

The Hunter indicated the patients around her. "These people, they were all caught up in the blast?"

"None of them were," Constantine countered. His chuckle swiftly morphed into a racking cough, and he took a seat by the ward sister's desk.

"You're very sick," the Hunter noted.

"Dying, I should think," he agreed. "I just haven't been able to find the time. You said you were a doctor. Of medicine?"

"I have my moments," she inclined her head.

"Have you examined any of them yet?"

"No." She moved over to one of the patients.

"Don't touch the flesh," he warned.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Any one." After a moment of her looking at the patient, he coughed. "Conclusions?"

"Massive head trauma, mostly to the left side. Partial collapse of the chest cavity, mostly to the right. There's some scarring on the back of the hand and the gas mask seems to be fused to the flesh, but I can't see any burns," she reported.

"Examine another one," he suggested.

She took a quick look at the next patient, then frowned. "This isn't possible."

"Examine another."

She did so, and her brow furrowed deeper. "This isn't possible."

"No," Constantine agreed.

"They've all got the same injuries."

"Yes."

"Exactly the same."

"Yes."

"Identical, all of them, right down to the scar on the back of the hand," she noticed, fighting the urge to back up when she saw that same scar on Constantine's hand. "How did this happen?" she demanded. "How did it start?"

"When that bomb dropped, there was just one victim," Constantine stated.

"Dead?" she checked.

"At first," he admitted. "His injuries were truly dreadful. By the following morning, every doctor and nurse who had treated him, who had touched him, had those exact same injuries. By the morning after that, every patient in the same ward, the exact same injuries. Within a week, the entire hospital. Physical injuries as plague. Can you explain that? What would you say was the cause of death?"

"The head trauma," she guessed.

"No."

"Asphyxiation."

"No."

"The collapse of the chest cavity."

"No."

She narrowed her eyes. "All right. What was the cause of death?"

"There wasn't one. They're not dead." He hit a metal waste basket with his walking stick, and the patients all stood up. The Hunter automatically stepped back. "It's all right," he assured her. "They're harmless. They just sort of sit there. No heartbeat, no life signs of any kind. They just don't die."

"And they've just been left here?" she asked. "Nobody's doing anything?" The patients laid back again.

"I try and make them comfortable," he shrugged. "What else is there?"

"Just you?" she checked. "You're the only one here?"

"Before this war began, I was a father and a grandfather," he stated. "Now I am neither. But I'm still a doctor."

She bit her lip. "Yeah. I know the feeling."

"I suspect the plan is to blow up the hospital and blame it on a German bomb," he coughed.

"Probably too late," she guessed.

"No. There are isolated cases. Isolated cases breaking out all over London." He coughed again, and she made to help him, but he waved her away. "Stay back, stay back. Listen to me. Top floor. Room eight oh two. That's where they took the first victim, the one from the crash site. And you must find Nancy again."

"Nancy?" she echoed, eyeing him warily.

"It was her brother. She knows more than she's saying. She won't tell me, but she might - Mummy? Are you my mummy?" Starting with his mouth, Dr Constantine's morphed grotesquely into a gas mask.

"Hello?" an American voice called.

"Hello?" Hazel's voice echoed down the corridor. The Hunter looked up, starting to follow the noise.

"Hello?" The American man smiled when he saw her. "Good evening. Hope we're not interrupting. Jack Harkness." He shook her hand. "I've been hearing all about you on the way over."

Hazel hugged her. "Go with it," she whispered, before raising her voice. "He knows. I had to tell him about us being Time Agents."

"And it's a real pleasure to meet you, Uhura," Jack smiled, then walked past her into the ward.

The Hunter frowned. "Star Trek? Really?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Hazel asked. "I didn't think you'd want him calling you Art. Don't you ever get tired of Hunter?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Nine centuries in, I'm coping. Where've you been? We're in the middle of a London Blitz. It's not a good time for a stroll."

Hazel snorted, grinning cheekily. "Who's strolling? I went by barrage balloon. Only way to see an air raid."

"Wait, what?!"

"Listen, what's a Chula warship?" she changed the subject.

"Chula?" the Hunter echoed, narrowing her eyes.

They entered the ward to find Jack using what looked to the Hunter like a vortex manipulator to examine the patients. "This just isn't possible. How did this happen?"

"What kind of Chula ship landed here?" the Hunter questioned.

"What?" Jack blinked.

"He said it was a warship," Hazel supplied helpfully. "He stole it, parked it somewhere out there, somewhere a bomb's going to fall on it unless we make him an offer."

"What kind of warship?" the Hunter inquired.

"Does it matter?" Jack deflected. "It's got nothing to do with this."

"This started at the bomb site; it's got everything to do with it. What kind of warship?" she demanded coldly.

"An ambulance!" Jack exclaimed. "Look." He produced a hologram of it from his vortex manipulator. "That's what you chased through the Time Vortex. It's space junk. I wanted to kid you it was valuable. It's empty, I made sure of it. Nothing but a shell. I threw it at you. Saw your time travel vehicle - love the retro look, by the way, nice panels - threw you the bait -"

"Bait?" Hazel echoed, frowning.

"I wanted to sell it to you and then destroy it before you found out it was junk," Jack admitted, sighing.

"You said it was a war ship," Hazel narrowed her eyes.

"They have ambulances in wars," Jack said defensively. "It was a con, Jules. I was conning you. That's what I am, I'm a con man. I thought you were Time Agents. You're not, are you."

"Just a couple more freelancers," Hazel admitted, smirking.

"Oh, should've known," Jack shook his head. "The way you guys are blending in with the local colour. I mean, Flag Girl was bad enough, but Ice Queen?" The Hunter shrugged at the description. "Anyway, whatever's happening here has got nothing to do with that ship."

"What is happening here, Artie?" Hazel asked.

"Human DNA is being rewritten by an idiot," the Hunter muttered.

Hazel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Some kind of virus converting human beings into these things," the Hunter guessed. "But why? What's the point?" The patients suddenly sat up, and she froze.

"Mummy? Mummy? Mummy? Mummy?"

"What's happening?" Hazel wondered, watching them carefully.

"I don't know," the Hunter admitted.

The patients got out of their beds, and Dr Constantine joined them. "Mummy?"

"Don't let them touch you," the Hunter warned.

"What happens if they touch us?" Hazel inquired.

"You're looking at it," the Time Lady replied darkly, backing up as the patients closed in.

"Help me, mummy."

~~~

If you enjoyed, please like and/or reblog, and consider helping a girl out by donating to my Kofi! Thanks for reading :)

[myriadimagines]

Enticing

Killing Eve One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Oksana ‘Villanelle’ Astankova

Other Characters: Eve Polastri

Warnings: mentions of death

Requester: @the-radio-star

Request: “could you please do a Killing Eve one shot with Villanelle + Eve? where Eve is assigned to organize protection for a stubborn reader (ex-hacker and a target of the Twelve?). V catches up to reader after the reader sneaks out of the safe house one night. V debates whether or not to kill Reader, but V then finds herself flirting with them instead. V first takes Reader hostage to get Eve's attention but later proposes that Reader runs away with her + Eve. (hopefully this is specific enough!)”

Word Count: 2,269

A/N: okay. confession. i have not seen s2 yet so this is based in s1. anyway i hope you like it, this is my first killing eve one shot!!! i also procrastinated this much more than i planned to yikes.

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

Eve looks up in you, in complete disbelief as she narrows her eyes. You level her stare, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge, and Eve sucks in a sharp breath before she leans forward, her arms resting against the table as she insists, “You can’t refuse protection, y/n. A highly trained assassin is after you.”

You snort, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll take my chances.” 

“Not with Villanelle, you don’t.” Eve replies curtly, gathering her files as she gets to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as you let out a frustrated groan. Raising her hand to stop your barrage of complaints, Eve cuts you off as she continues, “I know being cooped up in a safe house doesn’t appeal to you, but at least you’ll be alive.”

Your jaw tightens. “If this Villanelle is as good as you claim her to be, then it doesn’t really matter where I am, does it? She’ll find me, no matter what.”

“Well, hopefully,” Eve squares her shoulders, smirking slightly with a newfound determination.  “We’ll be one step ahead of her.”

Eve beckons for you to stand, and you begrudgingly follow her out of the interrogation room. Despite not having any plans for the day, being picked up from your house, driven to the nearby precinct, and being told that you are being targeted by a highly dangerous criminal organization before being escorted to a safehouse isn’t how you wanted to spend your afternoon. Nevertheless, you know you don’t have much of a choice, as the woman in charge of your protection detail is almost as stubborn as you are. 

“Polastri.” you echo as you trail behind Eve, recalling her brief introduction when she picked you up from your tiny apartment. “What is that?”

“Polish.” Eve replies, leading you to a car as she gestures for you to enter the back seat. You yank the car door open as Eve lets herself into the passenger seat, and a police officer situates himself in the driver’s seat. You look over your shoulder to see more armed guards getting into two more cars, and you snort as you step inside the car. The ignition hums as the officer pulls the car out of the parking spot and waits for one of the cars to drive onto the road before following, and the second car tails behind you. 

“What’d I do to piss this organization off?” you ask, gazing out the window as you watch the London builds blur past you. At your feet, you have a single duffle bag, the only thing you were allowed to hastily pack before Eve took you to the precinct. No phone, no laptop, nothing that could be used to contact anyone, minimizing the risk of someone finding your location. 

“Probably hacked into the wrong file, maybe uncovered something you weren’t supposed to, I’m not sure.” Eve waves her hand as the officer takes a left, and the buildings become more scarce as you venture into the countryside. “You are a hacker, aren’t you?”

“Was. I put that all behind me.” you correct, before letting out a dry chuckle. “Well, I suppose I thought I did. I guess it’s all catching back up to me now.”

“You’re going to be safe.” Eve turns around to face you, flashing you a warm smile. You can’t help but admit that she does have a friendly face, and you allow yourself to relax as Eve nods at you. “Hopefully, you won’t have to stay at the safe house for long.”

You break eye contact, turning to look out the window again at the vast expanse of fields that fill the landscape. Slowly, you feel your eyelids behind to droop, and the next thing you know, your head leans back against the chair and you fall asleep.

—

You inch the heavy curtains covering your windows open as you peek outside. It’s pitch black, the lack of light in the countryside intensifying the night. You can see the faint shadows of the armed guards pacing around the perimeter, and you narrow your eyes as you watch one round the corner, giving you an opportunity. 

“There are some rules-” Eve starts, as you plopped your duffel bag onto the dusty couch shoved in the corner of the small living room. The small cottage you had been driven to a few hours out of London looks almost abandoned, but you suppose this is home now. As you sit down on the couch, sinking into the slightly worn down cushions, you wave your hand, cutting Eve off. 

“I think I can get the gist of it. Don’t leave, don’t contact anyone, blah, blah, blah.” you sarcastically reply, and Eve shoots you an irritated look.

“Sorry, Eve.” you mutter to yourself as you open the window. It’s barely been one day in the safe house, and yet you feel too cooped up. You know Eve has gone for the night and will return early tomorrow morning, so you decide to step outside for a bit of fresh air, a little sliver of freedom from the suffocatingly tiny little house.

You practically trip out of the window, falling into the cool grass as your foot gets caught on the windowsill. You hold your breath as you scramble back against the wall, hearing murmurs and faint footsteps approaching. You wait, and after a pause, the footsteps recede. Letting out a soft sigh of relief, you close the window slightly, leaving a small crack for when you return, before carefully treading out. You duck behind a rose bush in the backyard as you see two guards walk past, before quickly moving inside the garden shed. The door creaks as you close it behind you, and you cringe as you look through the cracks in the wooden door to see if anyone has spotted you. Satisfied, you smile to yourself as you dust off your hands.

But your split second of joy immediately dissipates as you hear a click of a gun behind you.

You slowly turn around just as Villanelle flicks on a lighter, igniting a dusty lamp and placing it on the workbench. The faint, golden glow of the tiny flame illuminates her face in a dramatic fashion, and she leans back in the tattered garden chair she’s sprawled out in, and in her thick, Russian accent, she taunts, “I thought the whole purpose of a safe house is that you’re supposed to stay inside to be safe.”

You don’t respond, frozen in fear as you weakly raise your hands above your head. Villanelle makes a face, tilting her head before shrugging, “No matter. A safe house wouldn’t stop me, anyway. You’ve just made it easier for me.”

You gulp, still at a loss for words. But there is one thought running through your head that you almost laugh at for being so inappropriate given the life threatening situation — all you can think about is how Eve could’ve given you a heads up about how attractive this Villanelle was, despite the fact she was pointing a gun at you. She’s dressed in an all black ensemble, no doubt to blend into the night, with skinny black jeans with a lacy blouse tucked into it. A sleek coat frames her body, and her blonde hair is scraped back into a high bun, highlighting her features.

And as Villanelle tilts her head, getting a closer look at you, she can’t help but think the same thing.

Villanelle lifts herself out of her seat, frowning as she sees you flinch and inch backwards ever so slightly. She keeps the gun aimed, pouting at you as she points out, “If you scream or try to run-”

Against your better judgement, you lunge for the door, and Villanelle barely has time to roll her eyes before she jumps after you, slamming the door closed before you can even crack it open. She grabs your shoulder, roughly spinning you around before pressing you against the wall, her gun now pressed against your stomach, the cool metal pressing through the thin material of your shirt. Her gaze flickers up and down your face, and you watch as she suddenly brings her free hand up to your face, tracing a finger down your jawline. Your breath hitches as she suddenly leans towards you, her cheek barely grazing yours, and she murmurs, “Your hair smells nice.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you feel a laugh bubbling at the back of your throat from her outlandish compliment. “Th-thanks?”

“Maybe I won’t kill you right away. I want to admire your pretty face a bit more.” Villanelle suddenly ponders out loud, her face still inches away from yours. A smile dances on her lips, and you struggle not to squirm as you suddenly feel her hands roam down your body down into the back pocket of your jeans. As she pulls out your phone that Eve had given to you for emergencies only, she continues, “Call Eve.”

She hands the phone to you, which you clumsily almost drop. You fumble with the phone in your sweaty hands, opening the contacts with only one number listed. “Eve? Wh-what do you want with her?”

Villanelle simply smiles at you vaguely, jerking her chin down at the phone. You shakily press dial, and hold the phone up to your ear as you listen to the phone ring. After two rings, Eve abruptly picks up, her voice groggy with sleep as she asks, “Hello?”

“Hi, Eve, it’s y/n.” you keep your voice level. You look up at Villanelle, who gestures for you to continue, and you rub the back of your neck as nervously chuckle. “So, uh, I’m in a bit of a situation…”

—

Eve waves off the guards who rush up to her with questioning looks, insisting she just needs to check on something alone as she storms into the backyard of the safe house. After looking over her shoulder to make sure no one has accompanied her, she pushes open the doors of the garden shed, immediately raising her hands above her head as she’s confronted with Villanelle’s aimed gun. A satisfied smile spreads across her lips as she instantly recognizes Eve, and she points her gun back at you, where you sit next to her in another rickety lawn chair. You offer Eve a sheepish smile as Villanelle instructs, “Close the door, please.”

Eve slowly obliges, shooting you a look that you can only describe as frustration mixed with disappointment. When Eve had received your call, she didn’t know whether to lecture you on the spot or let out a scream of exasperation. 

Then again, she should’ve known that Villanelle would’ve gotten to you somehow. As much as she would’ve liked to be one step ahead, Villanelle always seems to be farther.

“Villanelle, put the gun down.” Eve tries to reason, holding out her hands, and Villanelle snorts as reaches over to nudge you with her foot, giving you a look.

“Can you believe?” she shakes her head at Eve. “She thinks I take orders from her.”

Villanelle turns her attention back to Eve, who’s gaze momentarily flickers to meet yours. You shrink into your chair, feeling the silent intensity of Eve’s glare like a child who is being told off, and Eve lifts her chin up as she asks, “What do you want?”

“Well, I’m here for y/n.” Villanelle states plainly, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, nonchalantly twirling her gun in her hand as if it were a toy rather than a weapon. In truth, Villanelle only wanted to use you to lure Eve to her, but she can’t help but feel fascinated by you. 

She’s still very much interested in Eve. But who’s stopping her from being interested in you, too?

“I’m not letting you leave with them.” Eve says calmly, and Villanelle pouts as she plasters on a fake look of disappointment. “Please, just put the gun down, and we’ll figure something out.”

“I have an idea.” Villanelle suddenly gets up, and Eve flinches as Villanelle takes a step towards her. “Let’s run away.”

Eve’s eyebrows furrow as a snort escapes your lips. Villanelle immediately turns to glare at you, and you quickly hide your smile as she raises an eyebrow at you. Stammering, you respond, “I- uh, where would we go?”

“I could take you anywhere you want.” Villanelle smiles at you, her voice borderline seductive and dripping with confidence as she throws her offer out so casually, as if travel is the easiest thing in the world for her. She saunters towards you, walking like a woman with the most power in the world, before she crouches in front of you, and your eyes widen as she reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ears. “We can get lost, just us, anywhere in the world.”

Eve considers this, her lips pressed together in a flat line. Perhaps this would be the best way to get to know Villanelle, to understand how she works and to coax out information for the organization she works for.

But for you, the offer sounds enticing without the ulterior motive. Despite knowing how deadly Villanelle is, despite knowing how the whole idea was probably doomed, you can’t help but feel drawn to it. 

And as Villanelle glances over her shoulder at Eve, seeing the evident consideration in her expression before she turns back to you, her lips quirking into a wider smile, you’ve already made up your mind as Villanelle asks, “So, what do you say?” 

tag list: @the-radio-star​

[dynamitekrp]

SEARCHING FOR RIOH . . .

PUBLIC PROFILE

birthday: october 13, 1993 years trained: 1

CAREER

2014, Immortal Song 2 ( 5 episodes ) 2017, Hit the Stage ( winner for s1 ), tv show 2018, The Call  ( Pinocchio ), tv show/project song 2018, Reebok Campaign ( Sponsored/photoshoots/commercials )  2019, The Unit ( mentor )

IMAGE

The image that Rioh was built into in Interstellar is something half-true and that’s followed him around for most of his career. At the core, he was hardworking. Someone who made it into the group on effort and dance talent. Someone who strictly paved over their vocal flaws. Someone that continuously pushed. It was a nice sort of image to sell the public, especially when you shaved off the less-than-pretty obsessive tendencies hiding back behind the veil. At the start he was meant to be pure, a focus on his career and bandmates. Soft and pretty to match his face, delicate to match his quiet demeanor in front of the camera. As he got older, he grew out of deferring to the default of shy, but his image wasn’t necessarily allowed to grow with him. It chipped off in bits and pieces. A little more self-assured, a little more willing to take charge without trailing behind a group member.

Debuting solo gave him a few more inches of room on that leash. He was still that same pretty boy, but now he was allowed a slight edge. He feels as if his image has stagnated though - known for dancing, but he has been his whole career. He wants to be known as more. Wants to elevate his image under View. Wants to elevate himself and his own art. Expand it into something more stylistic, a broader scope of dance. Wants to take misconceptions and assumptions of himself and rearrange them into a picture he genuinely wants to show the world. He doesn’t care if he keeps some of those labels. Doesn’t care if he’s still looked at under the lens of a dancer, or as androgynous or hardworking. But he wants it all to be more focused, under his own guidance; wants to push boundaries and redefine himself in the industry. To make himself matter. He hopes to get enough leeway within View to reshape how the public see him and to finally be noticed on a broader scale.

BACKGROUND

[ 1 New Voicemail : 10:36AM, Friday ] Hello, we’re calling to inform you that Jo Rioh hasn’t shown up for class this morning. We don’t have a call or letter stating that he’s going to be absent today on record. This is starting to become a habit, and we may have to discuss suspension if this continues. Please call us back at your earliest convenience and we can discuss–

The call cuts off, and silence fills the room. It’s somehow more oppressive than his homeroom teacher’s exasperated voice. Rioh picks his nail under the table and out of sight, one stiff jerk and pain shivers along exposed nerves. He jabs down a finger against split skin to dam at the threat of blood. It’ll no doubt make his mother livid if he picks himself up and excuses himself from her anger.

“How many times has it been now, Rioh?”

A lift of a shoulder, and exactly the wrong sort of move to make. He can only thank the long span of the table stretched between them that she doesn’t knock him upside the head to rattle his brains around his skull. She does it sometimes, like she hopes it’ll make everything rearrange, like she hopes he’ll start acting proper.

There’s a hiss of a noise instead. Breath leaked out between her teeth, her frustration like steam from a kettle, letting it puff out in a controlled cloud before everything boils over.

“What’s the reason this time?” the words are all wadded up between her teeth and hard to pick apart, but it’s been said to him enough times that Rioh knows this whole conversation by heart.

“You’re just not going to talk, is that the game we’re playing? I’m sick of this. I’m sick of-” she has enough personal censor as a parent to cut herself off before she says you. It’s easy to find that lost word though. Rioh prods his nail into raw skin underneath the table, holds in his wince.

“If you’d just spend half the time on your schoolwork as you did on dancing you’d be in the top ranks of your class. This is getting ridiculous.”

Rioh knows this speech too. It’s the…fifth…sixth? Time it’s been laid out all serious in front of him, an intervention meant to redirect him away from a hobby overblown and turned into an obsession. We regret letting you start dance, or we’re going to stop paying for your lessons.

Is it really his fault that school makes him feel like his mind turned into egg yolks threatening to ooze their way out his ears?

Well, probably.

The knowledge that it is doesn’t stop him from sometimes walking right past the front doors of the school and into the dance studio he learns at instead. Usually there’s an empty room he can hide himself in before someone spots him and chases him off while they know he should be in class.

It’s easier to dance. To keep himself occupied, to shift and move until his muscles no longer feel like they’re vibrating inside him. Frenetic energy and the way it wants to twist out of his body, bones with a desire to jump out of his skin. That’s the way it feels like.

And he loves it. He loves it more than his parents want him too. It was meant to be a distraction, a choice between dance and soccer. Something to keep him busy on the weekends.

“What kind of an example are you setting for your younger brother?”

It’s not a good time to point out that he doesn’t really care what kind of an example he sets for his brother. That it seems like they place too big a burden on his own shoulders to over-perform just because they brought him into the world first.

He didn’t ask for that.

It just wells up inside him, a compulsion to prove they need to re-focus on their backup child. To stop expecting him to mold into the image of their ideal son.

Rioh’s fifteen, and he has no real reason to be a truant.

———————

[ 1 New Message from: MTCo : 7:05AM, Saturday ] TRAINEE EVALUATION - MAIN PRACTICE ROOM 12 PM

When he sings, his voice breaks. It cracks near the back of his throat and comes out lopsided. Rioh covers it up with stubborn determination. The song’s not good for him, but then, he’s just not a great singer.

That wasn’t why they signed him anyway. He got in because of dance.

The hours spent cram-practicing the night before haven’t helped him either. Every so often and a wave of something dizzying and overwhelming hits him, threatens to send him spilling to the floor. The haggard looking trainees in the room with him are in similar circumstance. Trading away health for a few extra hours of practice, trying to curb that distance in skill between them, all cut-throat and looking to one-up each other.

When he finishes, there’s a frown in front of him. There’s always a frown. Someone detailing an itinerary of his mistakes, digging into insecurities and laying them out wide and open for everyone to see.

At some point it’s hard not to internalize it, to turn it into a to-do list. Tries in earnest to beat all those bad habits out of himself. He can only make it so far in a year.

He had spread himself out across audition slots for companies like buckshot freed from a shotgun. A near-malicious desire to prove his parents wrong. To peel himself away from the glue-trap of their desires. He was just lucky a mid-tier company was missing out on a dancer. But half this industry is about luck.

Not that he knew it then.

———————

[ 1 New Message from: mom : 6:33PM, Saturday ] I’m throwing out your old things. We need the space.

He’s sitting stuffed in a crowded conference room with a handful of other boys selected for the final lineup of Interstellar. The news broken, sent out to families, and plans being stirred around without their input.

Congratulations.

Rioh mouths the word to himself instead of listening to the buzz of conversation dart around the room, eyes trained to his phone screen.

I’m proud of you.

It’s whispered down to his hands as another message vibrates into place.

[ 1 New Message from: mom : 6:35PM, Saturday ] Don’t bother to call.

He’s eighteen, he’s no longer a child.

This doesn’t hurt him.

It doesn’t.

———————

[ 1 New Message from: unknown : 11:20PM, Tuesday ] Rioh where the fuck are you? Everyone else is waiting in the van.

Everyone has an image. Something painted on pretty and pristine. If the fans knew who they were past it, Rioh wonders if they’d really like any of them. It’s not all fake, but it covers up all those blotchy bad spots.

Hardworking and pure means you won’t catch Rioh slivered out behind the broadcasting building in an alley inhaling down cigarettes. And yet…

Here he is, tongue tasting like tar and crushed filters piled up on the concrete ledge behind him. If he smokes fast enough he’ll leave behind three by the time he lets the door slam shut. His vocal coach might yell at him some more if she knew, but it’s not like his voice can get worse anyway.

He just wants to smooth away all those criticisms with a little extra help. Something that’ll feel nice. Something that’ll keep all that anxiety at bay for a little longer.

He re-reads the text on his phone from a member (he doesn’t know which, none of them are saved), but drops it back into his pocket instead of answering.

What does it matter if he makes them wait? It’s not like Rioh likes them anyway.

It’s not like they appreciated his late entry into the final lineup, skimming by on a year of training and a voice to match.

“They’re just fucking jealous. They can’t fucking dance.”

If he says it enough times, it might make it true.

He scrapes his knuckles raw against the concrete wall on the way to grind down the light of his cigarette.

Tracks back toward the van in preparation to get reamed out by his manager.

———————

[ 1 New Message from: manager : 5:01AM, Monday ] Did you fall asleep in the practice room again? We have a schedule at 6, where are you?

It’s easy to let things take hold over him. To pry their way into his skull and dictate the way he lives. He spends too long looking up comments about himself. He spends too long trying to correct the imperfections he finds. He spends too long dancing through choreographies he already has committed to muscle memory. He spends too long in the practice room, singing until his nose starts to bleed. Exhaustion spilling over and out of him.

Three comebacks later and the company will wave this like a triumph. Push articles about self-improvement, send him on a vocal-focused variety to prove he can sing, like they might’ve been the ones behind it all.

It’ll be his job to swallow back the bitter knowledge that he did it to himself out of a twisted need for perfection, to prove himself to people who no longer cared about what mark he’d make on the world.

And that just made him want to become impossible to ignore. Wanted the ability to be able to shove himself in front of their faces accomplished and built up on his own merit.

It just warped along the way. Stuck to him in a way that was impossible to shake. An inability to allow himself room to relax.

He still hasn’t learned to let go of that overwhelming need for control.

He’s not satisfied. Despite the nausea pooling like stale sweat at the back of his tongue, and the way his thighs tremble when he shoves himself up from the floor.

He can do it again, at least once more before his manager gets angry.

He finds the time to dry heave for three minutes in the bathroom before he’s picked up for his schedule.

———————

[ 1 New Message from: MTCo : 3:15PM, Wednesday ] The contract is finalized.

Maybe this should feel like a betrayal, but he can’t find the sympathy for his group mates. Some seem hinged and hanging from disinterest in their promotions. Others refusing to let go of resentment. They talk about themselves like they’re a family on screen or in front of fans, but Rioh’s never found comfort with them. Has never felt at home. Not when he was crammed into a too-small dorm for so many men to be living together, and not when they became successful enough to afford more space, either.

It’s never been easy in dynamic. It’s much easier to pretend then force something genuine.

He wants this though, more than he even wants Interstellar to succeed. That pictures already blurring, out of focus and soon to be lost. But this idea of a solo career? That’s a promise that holds a little more weight. A promise Rioh foolheartedly believes will give him more control over his career. His life.

A deal for four releases, one in Japan. It felt like security at the time.

Especially when the group started to crumble, broke away in fragmented pieces and left Rioh alone.

It didn’t change much.

He’s felt it for his whole career.

———————

[ 1 New Voicemail from: manager : 4:48PM, Tuesday ] Rioh, I know you’re upset but you can’t just stop responding to everyone. Call me back. You’ll get us both in trouble.

It’s easier to find somewhere equatable to nowhere to hide when he’s angry. When he feels like screaming himself hoarse or knocking things off of tables.

It feels like a waste. A false promise to better things, a trip overseas to film a music video to build his expectations, and then promotions that barely get his efforts off the ground that send them plummeting again. It’s not even something he particularly likes the sound of, this new song. But he did it, he put too much fucking effort into it.

Meaningless.

They don’t want to hear his ideas. They don’t want to incorporate his vision. They tell him they don’t have the budget for more advertisements, or the connections to send him to a show this week.

They don’t want him to step out of the safe boundaries of his known dancing style, and so he doesn’t. But there’s no reward found in following the rules. Just a pretty music video that collects a paltry amount of views. His core fanbase that tries to push him high enough to secure a music show win.

He doesn’t, and that makes him angrier.

They don’t want to listen to that anger. They don’t want to fix his problems.

They want to send him off to Japan to try and make back the money they wasted on his music video.

So they do.

———————

[ 1 New Voicemail from: View Entertainment : 1:00PM, Monday ] We’re calling to confirm your meeting at 2PM on Wednesday. We look forward to meeting with you.

He leaves.

Why would he stay? Instead Rioh finds somewhere else that promises to listen. His trust is paper-thin and so he gets his desires detailed out in a contract and read six times over by his own lawyer.

He’s sick of it. Being made to do things he hates. Things he doesn’t want to.

He wants to push himself. He wants to recreate himself into this idealized image he’s held in his head since he was a trainee with a list of everything that needed correcting.

The funny thing of it is that he still loves to dance. He still loves music.

He just wants it to be his own.

He won’t settle for less. Not anymore.

It’s contractual.

[nomdeguerreblogs]

You may have done this already, but can you give us your take on Tommy's speech to Grace in the back room of the Garrison in 1.06 (what they're thinking, feeling, what it means for them as characters...)? I know it was a long time ago, but I miss these two and your analyses are always so on point!

Hello anon! I’ve done bits and pieces about the scene but not really an analysis as such and because there’s nothing I like more than overthinking them in S1, I miss them too, and I am so disappointed by the direction SK decided to take with their story arc, I fully intend to go overboard with this.

I’m not sure how much attention you pay to my blog but I’m writing a fic rn (yes it’s still coming I promise) that fills in the time between the end of 1.05 and their Garrison scene of 1.06. It’s an interesting exercise particularly for Grace’s character because during that time she’s relieved that she’s made her choice; she knows it to be the right one for her; they’re in the very first flush of love and in a heady time where everything is magic. Running counter to that though she’s fallen for a guy she thinks is capable of killing her if she’s found out, and hence has to plan her departure. The day when Tommy will be distracted at the races is her best bet and her intention is to play her part through until the Small Heath Rifles head off; but Tommy’s uncharacteristic happiness, declarative gesture going behind the bar to pull beers with her and not-quite proposal break her. She has to confess she’s going and give him the gentlest goodbye she can.

The idea of confession ties in to their church scene of 1.04 and Tommy’s ‘I confess’ in the space traditionally used for admitting one’s faults before an entity bigger than any other. Tommy is twisting the idea because he doesn’t believe, but uses the space because it is beautiful and because it is unfamiliar to Grace and places him in a slightly stronger position in regard to what he plans to tell her. Grace’s (thwarted) confession (SK’s toying with the idea of her absolution in Tommy’s eyes here, I think, especially with the love your enemy notion that comes through the letter) takes place in The Garrison, the location in the series that truly is the church for the damned, a cathedral to alcohol and escapism full of light and shining surfaces in the midst of the Small Heath grime, a place for congregations to gather and sing reality away.

Tommy’s emotional proximity to Grace is reflected through the series by their relative physical positions in The Garrison. He might own the pub, but in S1 the space more truly belongs to Grace who (excepting the very early scene with Freddie and Danny Whizz-Bang before she’s even made that entrance in emerald-isle green) is always there when he turns up. Always. The only scenes where she isn’t present come after the scene you’ve asked about and then her absence is the whole point. Their relationship is so closely tied to The Garrison that it could be implied in 2.02 as Tommy, alone, looks out over the re-opening celebrations even before her letter comes out for a sorrowful torching. Honestly he’s never looked more isolated and I still break a little at that moment. Anyway, Tommy S1 initially spends a lot of time in the snug, his bit of The Garrison, and frequently early on his interactions with Grace are either side of the pass-through. Then he’s more frequently in the main bar, culminating in the telling moment at the end of 1.04 when he’s left his brothers in the snug to spend time with her. And 1.05 happens: we see Grace for the first time working out the back where Tommy comes to tell her about Black Star Day (she moves out to continue on the paperwork for the scene with Arthur, and as there’s no logical explanation for that I think it indicates relative levels of intimacy, as well as serving the purely practical purpose of bringing the cash register into the scene); then Tommy is behind the bar with her for the ‘here’s how to handle my gun’ (lmao) scene that leads into the murders; lastly they’re in the back room, alone, and he’s facing imminent danger to see her. So they start in a public space with almost a wall between them, and wind up in a private space with a wall between them and everyone else. Notably, following those scenes in the back room, their next together are both at Grace’s bedsit and more intimate still.

The scene in episode 6 reprises the back room scene from 1.05 in many ways, but turns the tables. They switch positions as who is making the disclosure changes; Grace is pulling a risky move to be there. But, where Tommy was going to ‘be back,’ Grace isn’t, so she attempts to tell him ‘some things’ because she’s not going to have another opportunity, or so she thinks. She loves him, she owes it to him, it’s a further step she’s taking to rectify what she had to do in her job (the first was hiding him that night). It’s utterly heartbreaking for her (and us) because he’s just made a fucking joke and semi-proposed, in front of everyone, while pouring pints to help her out. A jaw-dropping ‘who is that guy?’ moment (and designed somewhat for viewers to compare Tommy in love to Freddie in love…).

But now to Tommy’s lines, delivered with increasing desperation. Once Grace says she’s leaving and is clearly upset about it he reaches for why and finds his class insecurity; “I know you weren’t born to be with a man like me.” He then promises that he will make good of his circumstances, something he always intended; then, to shut down ‘some of that other stuff,’ something he possibly did in the moment to convince her he’s worthy and has ultimately good intentions, but when he says it he means it. He tries to impress her, another theme, by talking about opening a club in London. He changes gear when he reminds her she’s got a contract with a real ‘limited’ company (calling to her line ‘to be respectable you have to be limited’ from 1.04), an obligation she has to him and for just a second his gesture is slightly controlling as he grips her chin before thinking better of it. He promises he’s going to make a success of things, she believes him and tells him she knows, cradles his face. So then he thinks she might just be overwhelmed by the idea of marrying him (class issues again) and says he’s not talking about that, slightly loses his train of thought, and winds up holding her hands with the lines that unintentionally really twist the knife in: “We know each other. We can talk. We’re the same.” He’s right, and here the scene echoes the ‘you’ve seen me’ moment that is the most explicit portrayal of them as mirror images of one another. The camerawork frames her face, then his, then hers etc in a paean to blue eyes, bone structure and innate communication (the same approach is taken to the scene at the races in 2.06). All of it breaks any remaining resolve she had not to disclose her reasons for coming into his life; “Tommy, I’ve done something terrible to you.” Jeremiah Jesus bursts in with the news about Kimber and his men, they share a final, shocked look and Tommy leaves hastily to round up the men and weapons.

Thank you anon xx

[miwiheroes]

no bc rewatching and realising there’s literally an episode called ‘holly, jolly’ LIKE UHHHH i’m stupid?? i thought i had the media literacy skills u guys 😔😔😔✊✊💔💔💔

Are we not going to talk about how Holly’s probable s5 disappearance was foreshadowed in s1?