#like i recognize december is a crazy time for the post office

[youcanthandelthetruth]

Baby shoes, never worn

(I bought them for my kid and USPS has been busily shipping them back and forth across the whole of Texas for two weeks)

[golbrocklovely]

careful what you wish for // sam and colby (pt. 4)

A/N: first off, terribly sorry this came out so late. i've had a hectic last couple days, and didn't get to finish this fic up until tonight. and sadly, this the last thing i'm posting for my 13 nights of halloween. it's crazy to think that this is finally over. to anyone curious i will be getting back to answering asks by tomorrow. i'll also be writing up my review of hell week, and any other random things i had planned to write about/review before my 13 nights. also, i know so many of you have been waiting eagerly for this next installment, so sorry for the long awaited update. but hopefully it's made better by this fic. happy belated halloween, and happy haunting !

prompt: sam and colby have left you high and dry, so now you've resorted to possibly hooking up with a coworker at an event. but sam and colby will be having NONE of that. || vampire!sam and demon!colby x fem!reader

trigger warning: SO MUCH SMUT, manipulation via powers (surprise! it's not you this time), fucking in a public, fucking with a crowd watching, the crowd is also all of your coworkers, dumb business shit that i know nothing about bc i went to school for theater and work in retail lol, fourth wall break (spooky), cursing, degrading language, being bit but no blood drawn), mentions of: princess, baby girl, baby, slut, whore, called a fleshlight once, unprotected sex (but no fear of getting pregnant bc they're supernatural), gets a bit dark and possessive towards the end, heavy use of MINE and OURs, snc own you so…. if you don't like that don't read,

word count: 7077

~~~~~~~~~

It was Halloween night, and while you usually looked forward to Halloween, this night was a bit different. The company you worked at was having their annual 'Final Fiscal Quarter Party'. The higher ups agreed that it would be easier to throw it during October, rather than in December. Individual offices could throw their own then, but the main, big event was happening tonight.

Your company rented out a huge hotel ballroom. There was catering, a local DJ playing some family friendly tunes, and a stage where awards were going to be given out. You had been to a couple of these events over the years, but they were always very... boring. You would much rather be at home, snuggled up, watching a scary movie.

Or maybe getting fucked by your... boyfriends? It was hard to describe the relationship you had with Sam and Colby. They used you, but you used them. It was a very symbiotic relationship in that way. But currently, you weren't really too keen on them.

You considered hitting up your old friend, Jess. She was the one, after all, that magically brought Sam and Colby into your life. You hadn't talked to her in a long time. It could be because she still blamed you for the book permanently shutting and ruining her dating life forever.

She could bitch all she wanted, but she wasn't the one being stalked and fucked by a demon and a vampire.

You had grown a bit tired of Sam and Colby, their antics, and their overall ability to flip your world upside down. The sex was great, obviously. But at what cost?

Not to mention, they hadn't spoken to you, or showed up, in months. You were going through a bit of a dry spell, and hated the fact that they hadn't answered your calls. So, it did cross your mind to get rid of them. Permanently.

But that was an issue for another time. Right now, all you had to focus on was getting just drunk enough to enjoy this stuffy party, but not too drunk that you get messy.

And that came a bit easy for you. Across the bar, a handsome man smiled at you, giving you a nod as you accepted his drink. You could see his paper nametag said Brian, and you hadn't recognized him from your own office - so he was a safe bet. God knows you weren't the only one trying to hook up with someone tonight. Plenty of colleagues from different divisions were going to be getting crazy tonight. It was an inside joke amongst the company that this night was usually a fuckfest.

You gazed over at Brian, admiring his silky quaffed hair and great suit. He had a lovely smile; one he shot your way over the glass of whiskey he had in his hand.

A man like Brian seemed... dependable. A good choice for a significant other. Boring, basic, Brian. Maybe that's exactly what you needed. Something steady and settled. Not... supernatural.

Yeah, but could you ever fuck a man like Brian? A man like him could never fulfill your needs. You could hear Colby's voice in the back of your head.

You rolled your eyes, taking a long sip from your wine glass. No. Brian might seem a bit basic on the surface, but who knows? Deep down he could be a sex god. Maybe he was packing some serious heat, and just knew all the right ways to eat a woman out. Yeah, that's what's you would be focusing on. Not the imagine that Sam and Colby would surely try to paint in your head.

You were brought out of your thoughts as the lights dimmed up and down, signaling everyone to get to their seats, as the speeches and award ceremony was going to start soon. You shot a look at Brian one more time and found your seat quickly.

The head of the company sauntered up on stage as applause erupted throughout the room. He nodded his head, shooting a couple people smiles and finger guns. Eventually as the room quieted down, he stepped up to the podium, beginning his speech.

"Good evening, everyone. I'm so happy you all could make it here tonight. Happy Halloween by the way. Isn't this much better than a Christmas party?" He let out a solid laugh, swatting at the crowd jokingly. "But as I was saying, tonight we are all here to celebrate. This company might be big, but it's the little guys - the individuals - that deserve the praise the most. Sure, I'm the head and face of this place, but you guys are what make it possible."

Another round of claps came from the room. You glanced around and noticed that the chair next to you was empty. There was a name tag on the plate, designating this spot for a "Colson Brock".... whoever that was.

"Now before the awards begin, I would like to introduce you all to someone remarkable. This man has helped shape this company in many ways. And, he's incredibly sexy. So let's all give a round of applause for Samson Golbach." The CEO grinned brightly, gesturing to the side of the stage.

You raised an eyebrow, Sexy? That's a strange word to use at a business party. Not to mention, The CEO was married to a woman so... this was all a bit confusing. You awkwardly clapped as the light shined on a man with light blonde hair. He was in an all-black suit, his hair gelled in a sleek look. He waved at the crowd, smirking mischievously. He smiled once he got to the podium, his fangs glistening in the light.

Was that... Sam?

You gasped in your seat, staring up with wide eyes at the stage. It looked like him, but you had never seen him in a suit. Plus he wasn't exuding the same energy he usually would so, maybe this wasn't him. Maybe this was his doppelganger, or someone that looked extremely like him. You sat back in your chair, narrowing your eyes up at the man.

"Thank you all for having me here today. I know many of you don't know who I am, but that's by design. I purposefully like to stay in the shadows, remain almost anonymous. It's a system I built to keep this company running at breakneck speed, and so far... this has been our most successful year to date!" Samson cheered.

You could feel the room clap again, happy with Sam... Samson's words. You took a deep breath, your anger rising. This can't be Sam. Sure, it looked like him and even sounded like him. But Sam and Colby had never taken this... thing, with you outside of your own house. There was no way they would do this to you in front of all of your coworkers and colleagues.

"It's nice to finally be appreciated and received so well. I'm sure you've all had some crazy days and night working here. I usually work all hours of the night and barely get to see the sun. You would think I was some sort of a vampire or something." Samson chuckled, some members of the crowd following suit. He turned, catching your eye, and gave you a wink.

Did he just...

The chair next to you pulled back, a man sat down hastily. He cleared his throat, catching his breath. He unbuttoned his dark blue suit jacket, the silver pinstripes reflecting in the light. Your eyes traveled up the man's form, taking him in until finally stopping on his face. Everything about him was familiar, but his hair was pushed back, exposing his forehead. He took his glasses off, cleaning the lenses and sliding them back on.

“You've got to be fucking kidding me.” You growled.

The man, Colby, turned to look at you suddenly. “I'm... sorry?”

You crossed your arms tightly, sitting back in your chair. “I can't believe that you and Sam would do this.”

He gave a weary smile. “I'm so sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else.”

“Right, Colby.” You huffed.

“Colby? That's a silly name,” he chuckled. “My name is Colson.”

“Of course it is.” You turned to him sharply, “You know you two have a lot of audacity to do this.”

He shook his head awkwardly. “Again, I'm not sure what you're talking about, Miss.”

“You guys haven't spoken to me in months. I've called out to yall and got nothing back. And now you show up and want to play dress up?!” You whispered harshly. “You guys are sick.”

“I'm not entirely sure what to say. I'm not who you think I am,” he dissented. “I'm Colson Brock, not Colby, and I've never met that man on stage before in my life. But I am about to get an award from him so... if you could just stop talking to me, that would be for the best.”

You scoffed. “I swear to God, Colby-!”

You were cut off as Sam’s voice grew louder, “This award is given out to individuals that show inspiring traits and work countlessly day in and day out for us. The award for Best Dedication, Integrity, Creativity, and Knowledge goes to... Colson Brock!”

You scowled as Colby stood up, patting down his suit softly. He walked towards the stage, shooting you a smug look over his shoulder. He stepped on stage, shaking Sam's hand, and a photo was taken of the two of them holding the award.

You grabbed your purse, sneaking off to the bathroom quickly. You stumbled in, rushing to the sink and leaning against it. The bathroom was empty, just you alone. You breathed deeply, shaking your head.

That had to be Sam and Colby. There's no way that wasn't them.

But a part of you imagined, for just a moment, that maybe... it wasn't them. How could they have manipulated everyone into thinking they were real workers at this company? The CEO introduced Sam, or Samson. Colby's name, or Colson's name, was on the nametag and award.

You felt yourself flush at the thought. Oh my God, if that isn't Colby, that man out there thinks I'm absolutely insane. How the fuck am I supposed to go back to my table, sit there and eat an under seasoned chicken parm, and pretend I didn't just berate a man?

You groaned, bending down, and resting your head against the sink counter. Even when Sam and Colby weren't around, they still fucked with you.

You heard the bathroom door squeak open, your body jolting up. You didn't need another person thinking you were losing it.

Heavy footsteps crept into the bathroom, a man. A deep voice sighed, snickering lightly. You glanced up through the mirror, your eyes widening. Colby swayed in, leaning against the wall. His suit jacket was gone, now just in his button up and slacks. He rolled up his sleeves, running a hand through his hair.

“Surprise, Princess. Did ya miss us?” He teased.   

You glared, “What the fuck, Colby?”

“What?” He gestured outside the bathroom, “A bit too dramatic?”

“This is my livelihood! How dare you and Sam come and fuck this up for me!” You exclaimed, anger coursing through your veins.

“Relax, baby. We would never do anything too bad. No need to worry. Everyone will forget any of this happened. Honestly.” He put his hands up defensively. “This was all meant to be a bit of fun. We just wanted to get a rise out of you.”

“Well, you succeeded. Congratulations.” You retorted, crossing your arms.

“You should be congratulating me on my award. I have the best dedication, integrity, creativity, and knowledge.... D-I-C-K. Dick? Best dick, get it?” He bit his lip cockily, “Came up with it myself.”

“You're a fucking genius,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes. “God, I knew I should have talked to Jess sooner.”

“Jess... why does that name sound familiar?” He questioned, feigning curiosity.

“She's the one that gave me the book that made the two of you.” You explained bitterly.

“Oh, she is? I'm gonna have write her a thank you card,” he winked. “But why exactly do you need to talk to her?”

“You two... I want you gone.” You admitted.

His face dropped, “What?”

You stepped up to Colby, getting in his face. “Aren't you tired of fucking around with me? Coming and going as you please? Why am I not allowed a normal life with a normal guy?!”

The lights flickered in the bathroom, Colby's eyes turning black for a split second, his horns visible. You shuttered, pressing yourself against the counter. The lights stopped flickering, and Colby was back to normal.

He cleared his throat, loosening his tie a bit. “Because... you're ours. You belong to us.”

“Fuck you.” You spat.

“You have... multiple times,” Colby pointed out in a snarky tone. “Even last year around this time, too.”

“Last Halloween?” You thought back, and a bunch of images started popping into your mind. Sam snapped Colby's neck but was also somehow terrorizing trick-or-treaters. Colby took control of your body but was also somehow dead while you and Sam fucked in your kitchen. It was all very confusing and didn't make quite sense.

“Wait, how the hell did you both fuck me and simultaneously not?” You puzzled, aggravated.

“I guess it just depends on what you picked.” Colby smirked, “Right, reader?”

“What are you talking about?” You replied.

“Don't worry about it.” He leaned against the counter next to you, “Back to what you were saying though. So, you want a normal guy so you can live a normal life... why? Isn't it more exciting to get fucked by a demon and a vampire?”

“Yeah, but there's more to life than sex.” You argued.

He feigned shock, “Take that back.”

You jeered, “You're extra fucking annoying, you know that?”

“And you clearly need the brattiness fucked out of you. But for some reason you don't want me or Sam to do it. Why? Did you have someone else in mind?” He took a couple steps, facing you again, “Like, say... Brian.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. “How do you-“

He interjected. “I'm a demon. I know a lot of things. Not to mention I saw him and you eye-fucking each other by the bar. You're lucky I saw it and not Sam. Because Brian would be drained dry by now. Still probably will be.”

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, fine. I was eye-fucking Brian. And why am I not allowed to? Yall have been gone for months.”

“But you've been putting that toy of yours to such good use,” Colby taunted.

“You're an asshole.” You shot back.

“Thank you. I appreciate the love,” he smiled genuinely. “But I gotta ask, do you really think a man named 'Brian' can make you come like we can? Be honest with yourself on that.”

“That's not the only reason I want him,” you responded sassily. “Plus, he could be really good at sex.”

“Okay then. Let's find out.” Colby stomped over to the door, yelling out, "Brian! Get in here!"

You furrowed your brow, confused as to what Colby had up his sleeve. What the hell was he bringing Brian in here for?

Brian stepped in, glancing between the two of you. He had a dazed look on his face, clearly entranced.

“Colby, don-“ You started.

He cut you off again, “Look, princess. You wanted to know if he's a good fuck. So, I'm giving you the chance to find out. See what a normal fucking will bring to your life.”

“You can't force him to fuck me!” You fumed.

“I mean, I definitely could, but I'm not going to.” He turned to Brian, patting his shoulder, “Brian, my guy, do you want to fuck Y/N?”

Brian nodded. “Yes.”

“That's why you were buying her drinks tonight, right?” Colby asked.

“Yeah.” Brian’s voice was dull, almost like there were no thoughts behind his eyes.

“Such an honest man,” Colby commented. “Do you find her attractive?”

“Of course.” Brian agreed.

“Would you sleep with her if she said yes?” He continued.

Brian blinked, “Yes.”

Colby looked at you, “There we go. Happy?”

“I'm not fucking him in here, or in front of you.” You retorted, leaning back against the counter.

“Don't you want to prove me wrong? Don't you want to wipe the smug look off my face when he makes you come with his tongue? Or his totally, not average sized, dick?” Colby stepped up to you, his voice low, “The moment I walked in here, you got wet.”

A rush of blood came to your cheeks, your breath hitching.

“No amount of blushing can hide that deep down, you're a slut that wants to be fucked - pretty much - anywhere. And you're only giving me lip because we left you cold and alone for a couple months. I'm sorry about that. I truly wished I listened to your pleads...” he leaned in, kissing your cheek. “And cries...” he moved to the other cheek, giving it a quick kiss. “And screams,” he kissed your forehead gently. “Begging me to come fuck you. But absence makes the heart grow fonder. And this, right here, is my apology to you.”

You stood still, unsure what to do. Part of you did want to fuck Brian, just because you did find him hot. But with Colby standing next to him... it was no contest.

“Here. I'll sweeten the deal,” Colby offered. “If he makes you come, we'll leave. Forever.”

You froze, “Really?”

“No, probably not. The whole magical book kinda forbids that. But we will leave here, and you and Brian can go on your merry way and you two can go have beautifully... vanilla, sex.” He smiled dryly.

“Lucky for Brian, I'm already wet.” You quipped, glaring.

“Perfect. Brian, give the lady what she wants.” He gasped, “Ooh, can I choose what he does? Pleaseeeee?”

You blinked, giving the slightest nod.

“You are so generous.” Colby spun to him, “Brian, do you want to eat her out?”

“I would... but I don't do that.” Brian spoke monotone.

Colby’s face dropped, almost mimicking yours. “You don't give head? Sloppy toppy? None of that?”

“No.” Brian replied.

“This is the man you want, huh? Absolute loser,” Colby pointed at him, rolling his eyes. “Well, Brian, now you do. So, go crazy.”

Brian turned to you, a lustful look overcoming him. He dropped to his knees, crawling towards you. Your heart raced, watching his every move. His hands wrapped around your ankle, slowly kissing up your leg gently. The sensation sent a shiver up your spine, your head falling back a bit.

Colby leaned against the wall, studying you. His face was blank, almost uninterested. You glared at him, trying to ignore his presence. He smiled, giving a little wave.

Brian nibbled on your inner thigh, his fingers stroking up and down the center of your underwear. He brushed against your clit, your knees almost buckling.

“You're wet, Y/N.” Brian hummed in awe.

“Yeah, that's what happens when you turn a woman on.” He leaned in, whispering to you, “Is he new around here or...?”

“Shut up, Colby!” You groaned. “Keep going Brian, please. I need you.”

“Don't take it too personally, Brian. She says that to everyone. Especially me.” Colby grinned.

“Drop dead.” You hissed.

He remarked, “I'm not really alive so...”

Brian pulled down your underwear, letting them fall down your legs and to the floor. The cool air hit your hot sex, making your body tense up. Brian leaned in, his mouth connecting with your clit.

You closed your eyes tightly, allowing the sensation of his tongue to arouse you more. It was a slow build, that was for sure. Nothing like Sam and Colby and the way they did things. But it was still nice.

But maybe not what you needed.

You placed your hand on the back of Brian's head, pushing him more into your heat. He grunted, the vibrations feeling fantastic against your clit. You amped up your moans, hoping it was believable to Colby.

He yawned, gazing at you bored. You shook your head, deciding to ignore Colby. You were determined to come, to make them leave. But Brian was not helping you, which was upsetting.

“Brian, baby... go a little faster please.” You begged, annoyed.

He nodded, moving his tongue hastily. You could feel the pleasure build more, but it was still a long way away from being close to an orgasm. He slid a finger in, pumping in and out sloppily. You groaned, feeling even less turned on suddenly.

“I guess I know why you don't give head.” Colby swatted at Brian, “Move.”

Your eyes widened, “What? No! Brian, st-”

“I know you want to come so we leave, but that ain't gonna happen with Brian over here.” Colby mentioned.

"Well, maybe he could fuck me!" You argued, gesturing to his dick.

“But I'm not hard.” Brian stated.

Colby raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

“Eating pussy isn't really a turn on for me.” Brian informed.

“God, Y/N, you really know how to pick them.” Colby pulled him up by his arm, smiling sinisterly. “Brian, why don't you leave and go find Sam? I think he can teach you a valuable lesson on what happens to men that don't please their women.”

Brian turned and left, not saying another word. You huffed, glaring harshly at Colby. “Your little glares aren't going to do anything to me, sweetheart. If anything, they just make me hard.”

Colby's hand slid down and cupped your sex, palming your clit gingerly. You gasped, back arching as you pressed yourself against the counter. Colby barricaded you in, his hand beginning to make small circles on your clit.

“This is how a man fucks a woman like you.” He uttered, staring at you intensely.

“But you're not eating me out.” You challenged.

Colby cocked his head. “If you wanted my tongue, you could have just asked.”

You suddenly felt a tongue licking at your entrance, your body shuttering in ecstasy. “Fuck, h-how-?”

"Did you forget I have abilities? Is it because the horns aren't here?" The lights flickered, and when they turned back on, his horns were out. “How about now? Do you remember what I am now?”

"Yeaahhh, I remember." You whined, your head falling back in pleasure.

“You are so sexy when you get close to coming. God, it makes me hard just thinking about it.” Colby pushed his clothed, growing dick against your thigh, “Do you feel me?”

You nodded mindlessly, your hands gripping his forearms.

“Princess?” He asked innocently.

“Uh-huh?" You murmured.

“I think that's enough for you." All the sensations stopped, Colby pulling away from you.

“Wha-? No. No! Colby, please.” You grumbled.

He asserted, “It's time for you to be punished.”  

“What did I do?” You questioned, your mouth a gape.

"I'm sorry, was Brian that forgetful or do you like playing dumb?" Colby spun you around, making you face the mirror. He rolled your dress up a bit, pressing his bulge against your bare ass. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm gonna start fucking you, and you have to remain quiet. Just like you were with Brian."

You lowered your voice, “Why do I have to be silent?”

“Because otherwise, you'll get caught.” He whispered cheekily.

The door busted open, and a gaggle of women came in, chit chatting like there wasn't a demon about to fuck you right against the sink.

You gulped; your voice even quieter. “What the fuck, Colby?!”

"Don't worry, princess. If you remain silent, they won't see you. But once you make a single noise, they'll know. They'll know that you are a dirty slut that likes to get fucked in the bathroom. That you're so desperate for dick that you'd let a demon fuck you. And a vampire." He tsked sassily, "Double greedy."

Colby unbuttoned his pants, giving your ass a slap as his cock sprang free. You bit your lip, holding back a gasp.

"You ready for me, baby?" He lined himself up with your entrance, sliding along your lips. Then finally, he glided his cock in.

You trembled from the sensations, direly wanting to moan along with him. But you didn't want to get caught. Being fucked while others were around, whether they could see you or not, was embarrassing enough.

But also incredibly thrilling.

Colby thrusted deeply, his cock hitting the right spot over and over again. You felt overwhelmed, but in the best way. Your body already felt like it was building rapidly, your legs shaking under your weight. You felt like your skin was on fire, burning against the cool air.

A lady walked up to the sink next to you, washing her hands and looking at herself in the mirror. You shuttered out a breath, Colby picking up his pace.

“Don't look at her, Y/N. Look at yourself in the mirror. Watch yourself get fucked.” He commanded breathlessly.

You turned your head, staring straight. He smirked at you in the mirror, keeping his pace the same while lazily pulling off his tie.

"This is what you deserve, sweetheart. You're such a slut for me." He yanked your hands behind your back, tying them easily with his tie. He gripped your connected hands, bucking his hips harder and faster now.

Your body buzzed erotically, your hips gyrating in time with Colby's. You could feel your edge building; all you had to do was stay quiet.

Colby slid one hand down between your legs, finding your swollen clit instantly. He rubbed it faster than his thrusts, causing your whole body to jolt. You sucked in a harsh breath, knowing you shouldn't have. But God... the sensation was too much for you to stay quiet.

The women in the bathroom looked around, confused.

"Baby, do you want to get caught or something? Because you are being awfully loud. Maybe you need something in your mouth to quiet you down." He snaked his other hand up towards your face, his two fingers rubbing along your lips. You parted your mouth, allowing his fingers inside.

He cursed, “That's fucking it baby. Be a good girl and suck them for me.”

You sucked his fingers like your life depended on it. He finger-fucked your mouth in time with his dick, both speeding up as the minutes passed. You could feel yourself getting close, knowing that your orgasm was imminent.

“It's been too long since the last time you sucked my cock.” He chuckled darkly, “Maybe later you do that for me. Wouldn't you want that, princess?”

You nodded desperately, bucking your hips wildly against his cock and hands. You were about to explode, your edge hitting its peak. This is all you wanted for the last couple months: to be fucked hard and well. And that's what Colby was doing.

“You almost ready to come? Build up baby. Suck my fingers dry. Suck them like you would my dick.” You took his fingers deeper, gagging around them. You pumped yourself on his cock, whimpering. "There you go, baby. What a good girl." Colby leaned in, his horns grazing your cheek as he uttered, "My good girl... Come for me."

Your body spasmed around Colby's cock, bouncing on it helplessly. You moaned loudly around his fingers, not caring if anyone heard. You had been so focused on staring in the mirror at yourself getting fucked that didn't see that you and Colby were all alone in the bathroom once more. His eyes bore at you in the mirror, flashing to black.

Relaxing your hips, his cock pulled out of you for a moment, letting you relax. You felt your juices run down your inner thigh, your body still running high. You leaned down, placing your head against the counter as you took some deep breaths.

“Hi there, baby girl. “A familiar voice came from behind you, but it wasn't Colby's. You looked up quickly, Sam now behind you, and Colby was nowhere to be seen. Sam waved back at you in the mirror, smirking. "You ready for me now?"

“W-Where is Colby?” You stuttered, your pussy twitching at the thought of Sam's hard cock.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about him. He'll be back soon enough." Sam traced a finger along your sex, gasping. "God baby, you are so wet. Completely soaking yourself."

He took his finger into his mouth, tasting you. "Fuck, I missed that."

Your mouth hung open, watching him through lustful eyes. His hand snaked around to the front of your body, grabbing your neck firmly. He pulled you flush against his partially exposed body, his cock hard against your ass. "We give you everything you could ask for, and you still wanted someone like Brian? How pathetic."

He forced your head to look at yourself in the mirror, "You are a desperate slut just begging to be fucked. But we're the only ones that can make you feel this good."

Sam slammed his hips into yours, his cock taking you deeply. You grunted loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. He took advantage of your still tied up hands, holding them tightly. His other hand raced up your back, lowering you down to the sink. He placed you flat against the counter, fucking you harshly. You shook with each of his thrusts, mewling at every in and out.

“You think you get to choose who fucks you now? You think you can move on from us?” He fumed, his cocking hitting your spot repeatedly.

You panted, “Noooo.”

“There is no one other than us. Let me make that abundantly clear: you're ours.” Sam's fangs sunk into your skin, your eyes widening. He continued to bite you all over, barely drawing any blood, but marking you; letting everyone know you were taken.

Your second orgasm was close. You needed this second one badly, itching to come sooner rather than later. You could feel how desperate and hot and slutty it was turning you.

“Baby girl, do you deserve to come? Have you been good?” Sam questioned.

You nodded, your whole body shaking, “Yessss. Yes I have. Please Sam! Please!”

He pulled you up again, locking eyes with you in the mirror. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing tightly. “Ride my dick, baby. Make yourself come on my dick.”

You uncontrollably bucked your hips, whining on his cock. His hold on your neck tightened just enough, making it hard to breath and your vision blurring. The lack of oxygen made your orgasm hit twice as hard. You soaked his member, moving mindlessly on it until you finally finished. Your legs gave out a bit, Sam catching you. He snickered, his red eyes taking you in through the mirror.

The doors to the bathroom busted open again, a random lady coming in. She turned and looked at the two of you, not even acknowledging what she had to be seeing. "Y/N, you need to come out there quick."

You were taken aback by this woman, unsure of who she was or what the hell she wanted you for. "W-what are you talking about?" You rushed, shimmying your dress down, trying to cover yourself back up.

“They're calling your name. You won an award!” She exclaimed, leaving the bathroom happily.

You furrowed your brow, turning to Sam. But he was gone. Those powers of their really do come in handy for moments like these.

You shuffled out of the bathroom, even more confused as you glanced around at everyone from your company. They were all looking at you, smiling brightly and being congratulatory. You walked towards the stage, the people directing you, and as you got closer, you saw Sam and Colby on it, holding a plaque of some sort.

Sam pulled you on stage, kissing your cheek sweetly. Colby handed you the award, shaking your hand dramatically. You took the award in your hand, turning it to see what it said.

“Give it up for Y/N everyone. The biggest slut of the year!” Sam yelled into the microphone. “Congratulations baby, you deserve it.”  

You gawked at Sam and Colby, the reality of what they did hitting you. You threw the award on the ground, glaring at them harshly.

“Hey now, we worked really hard on that.” Sam pouted.

“Fuck you, how dare you make me a fool in front of everyone!” You ranted, getting in their faces.

"Princess, no one is gonna remember this. And luckily, no one will remember this either." Colby smiled devilishly.

Sam and Colby grabbed at your dress, tearing it off your body like it was made of cheap fabric. The crowd cheered, your body heating up immediately as you were suddenly naked in front of everyone.

“Now, don't argue with us, plaything. You can bitch and moan all you want to but being fucked in front of everyone... turns you on.” Colby wrapped his arms around you, whispering in your ear, “No matter how much you want to deny it, you can't deny how drenched you are right now.”

Your body quivered as Colby's fingers slipped easily into your cunt. You fell back against him; his suddenly naked body cool against your hot skin. Sam sauntered up to you, rubbing his hands up and down your torso. His hands kneaded your breasts, nipples aching to be touched.

Sam laughed, “Look at her, Colby. She can't even argue with us. She knows that we're right. She is the biggest slut of the year. She's our slut, our toy, our plaything. Ours. Forever.”

The room erupted in applause, some even screaming out your name.

“Let's give them a show, princess,” Colby gestured to the eager crowd. Let the people see the real slut you are. Isn’t that what you want? To be fucked in front of everyone.”

You couldn't think anymore. Every sensation was overpowering your thoughts. You knew deep down that Sam and Colby were right, and all you could think of was how badly you wanted to come again.

You nodded feverishly, your hands automatically pawing at both of their bodies. The air around you changed once you said yes, your body being positioned graphically. Forced down onto your knees, Colby stood in front of you, while Sam was behind you.

“Aww, baby. Look, it's your favorite positions: on your hands and knees, getting railed by us.” Sam jested playfully.

Your sex throbbed, direly needing them inside of you. You whined, looking up at Colby. “Please, just fuck me. No more teasing.”

Colby stared into your eyes, jerking himself off right in front of your face. “You want this, huh? You want me in your mouth. Say it.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I want you in my mouth.”

“And what about me, toy?” Sam slapped your ass, making you look back at him.

“Fuck, I need it. I need the both of you so bad!” You cried, grinding your hips back against Sam.

Hoots and hollers sounded off around the room. You glanced at the crowd, their hungry eyes taking your desperate form in.

“Fine then, since you asked so nicely,” Colby cupped your face, turning your head back to his cock. The tip pushed against your mouth, sliding in easily. He moaned lowly, almost animalistically. Sam teased his cock along your entrance, slipping in effortlessly.

Once they were in you, you sighed deeply. It felt so good to be surrounded by Sam and Colby, to be filled by them. They had you right where they wanted you, and you loved every second of it.

And the crowd seemed to love it even more.

They started off slow, taking their time to build your pleasure up. There was nothing else on your mind. All you could think about was their cock and how much you wanted them to come deep inside of you.

Colby gaped, “Oh princess, you have the filthiest mind. Maybe even dirtier than ours.”

“That's why she's our slut. We are just innocent people being used by this whore of a woman,” Sam shuttered, lulling his head back as he fucked you. “And God, I love every second of it.”

“I could fuck this mouth for hours. How does that sound, sweetheart? You love that idea, don't you?” Colby breathed, biting his lip, staring down at you.

You nodded enthusiastically, taking his shaft deeper. He grunted, hips twitching. His hand rested on your head lightly, pulling your hair softly. His grip tightened, causing you to gag around him.

Sam cursed, “Fuuuuck, she clenched around me when gagged. Keep doing that, baby girl. That felt so good.”

“Y/N, how can you get all of this, all of us, and still want something else? Especially Brian. What a fucking loser.” Colby groaned, disgusted.

Sam agreed, grimacing. “Dude didn't even know how to eat pussy. He didn't even like eating pussy.”

The crowd booed, screaming expletives at the sound of Brian's name.

“See, everyone knows that Brian sucks. How could you ever settle for something like that when you have the best right here?” Sam inquired. “Two men willing to do anything to make you come.”

"Let me make this perfectly clear, darling," Colby pulled himself out of you, raising you up so you were eye level with him. He held your face firmly, his voice low and calm. “While I'm never the type to get jealous, and watching you get eaten out by that joke of a man was entertaining and kinda sexy, let me be honest with you.”

His face dropped, his eyes darkening with each word. "If you ever go after another man again, I will personally make sure to rip his heart out in front of you, and then I’ll breed your cunt so deeply you will feel me for days. Because there is no one else for you, princess. Just. Us. Forever. That means for eternity, you are ours. You are mine."

Sam yanked your hair, pulling you out of Colby's grip for a moment. He grunted harshly, "That goes for me too, baby girl. If you ever even breathe near another man again, I might have to drain your sexy little body dry and turn you into our immortal plaything for forever. And don't think for a second I'm bluffing."

Colby took you by the neck, pulling you back towards him, choking you lightly. All the while, Sam was still fucking you. "There is no escaping us, Y/N. We will never let you go. No matter what you do for the rest of your life, we will always be there, in the shadows, watching. We own you. And nothing will change that."

His face relaxed, going back into his casual, smug look. "So... in the meantime, enjoy yourself, princess. And open your mouth again."

He pushed you down, his cock still hard and leaking, ready to fuck your mouth. Their words sank deeply into your mind, arousing and frightening you all at the same time.

Colby thrusted himself back in, gagging you. “There you go, baby. But now, I think it's time we give the people what they want. Right, everybody?!”

The room screamed in approval, lustful energy shooting through you from the sound. Suddenly, Sam and Colby began fucking you passionately, the sheer brutal force alone bouncing you back and forth on their cocks. You whined around them, feeling yourself get lost in the feeling of being their toy.

Sam groaned a breathy sound, “God, you're basically just a fleshlight, Y/N. Don't you love being used by us?”

“You know she does, Sam. Just a set of holes for us to use.” Colby’s voice was husky and low, “God, her mouth feels incredible.”

“She's so pathetic, really. She squeezed around me so tightly when we called her names. Maybe we should do that more often.” Sam taunted.

“Of course. There are so many more names we could come up with for her. But right now, all I'm concerned about is coming down her throat and fucking her until she chokes.” Colby's hips sped up as he face-fucked you. You didn't even have time to react, your jaw becoming slack and just allowing him to take over and use it like a toy. Tears welled up and rolled down your cheeks and drool dribbled down your chin from his harsh actions.

Sam's hand went between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. Your thighs shook from the feeling, the pleasure overwhelming.

“You're so close, aren't you, princess?” Colby panted.

Sam chimed in; his voice depraved. “Build up for us. Come with us, baby girl.”

They pounded into you in unison, almost taking the breath out of you with each thrust. The room began getting louder, chants of "Come for us" came from the crowd, building up in time with your orgasm.

Every part of this was spectacular and you couldn't get enough.

Your breathing hitched as your orgasm hit the edge, ready to fall over once they said you could. Sam and Colby kept going, kept using you, until they were ready. You begged them to let you come, your pleas muffled by Colby’s cock. Both thrusted with abandonment, needing to come just as badly as you.

Colby grunted, pulling your hair, “Fuck, fuck! Y/N, come! Come for us now!”

“Do it baby! That's fucking it, YES!” Sam growled, his fingers bruising your hips as he held them tightly.

All three of you exploded in euphoric pleasure, bellowing out in ecstasy. The crowd roared as Sam and Colby filled you up with their cum. You released around Sam's cock, soaking him. You swallowed as much of Colby's cum as you could, gagging as he hit the back of your throat repeatedly until finally slowing his hips down. Sam slammed inside of you once more, grunting out a strained cry. Your body was spent, exhausted from being fucked so many times. You felt yourself black out, unable to stay awake a moment longer.

When you came to, you were in your hotel room, inside the same hotel the event had taken place at. You felt sore everywhere, knowing that wasn’t a dream. You sighed happily, snuggling into bed. You noticed a note on the side of your pillow. You picked it up, reading it quickly.

Ours.

- Sam and Colby

<< Part 3B || Part 5 >>

[ive-always-been-a-pirate]

Malware & Misteltoe:  A CS-SS Fic Gift (1/2)

Happy holidays, @pirateprincessofpizza! I’m your CS-SS for the @cssecretsanta2020 event. It’s been fun picking your brain and creating this CS dynamic I’ve been thinking about since I finished reading the book Attachments by Rainbow Rowell. Thank you so much for being patient with me and this crazy weather where I live. I apologize for the delay in posting, but I hope you’ll enjoy this little fic! This is part one (because @optomisticgirl is an awful, wonderful enabler) and I am hoping to post the second part by the end of the year. Happy reading!

Summary: Killian Jones never wanted to work in internet security, but he can’t deny that Emma Swan makes it more entertaining than he imagined possible. He first fell for her over an email that wasn’t meant for him and now that he’s totally in love with her, how is he ever supposed to admit it?

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.7K

Killian was probably the only person in the world who loved Monday mornings at the office. He quickly realized after the first snowfall in December that he was definitely the only one who could bear those early arrivals at work once winter struck. He’d determined that his preference was rare long before he’d taken his current tech job at The Daily Mirror, but rolling into the empty parking lot at seven and being one of the first to snag a hot cup of coffee were simple pleasures he’d truly started to appreciate since joining the company. Maybe it was because he was always an early riser or maybe it was because his job didn’t leave him with a whole lot of other enjoyment.

It was probably both. 

Sure, the conference room almost always had the bagels he liked and his job restrictions were minimal, but Killian dealt with his fair share of frustration at work. They were constantly running low on colored ink in the printers and very few of his co-workers ever seemed to read the weekly office memo he sent out courtesy of the human resources department. The sandwiches he packed for lunch would often disappear from the break room fridge and the woman one cubicle over - an eternal optimist named Mary Margaret - never stopped humming. 

Oh, and he got to deal with employees and their abrupt emails - including the one that popped up on his computer screen the instant the machine booted up the Monday after a lazy weekend.

Hey Jerk,

If you’re going to run software updates over the weekend, give me a heads up. My desktop icons are all out of order now and it’s super annoying. Don’t worry - I’ll let you fix it after our meeting today. Hope you brought bearclaws!

-Emma

He didn’t actually have to read the sender’s name to know it was from her. He’d learned to recognize that sarcastic, blunt wit a long time ago and though it was often prefaced with ‘you idiot’ or ‘dear dummy’, it never failed to bring a smile to his lips. Swan, he swooned silently as his fingertips hovered over the keyboard. Taking a quick sip of his now lukewarm coffee, Killian glanced at the clock on the wall to his left. He had forty two minutes until their regularly scheduled staff meeting - and as he began locating the number for Downtown Donuts and Pastries, he prayed to the workplace gods that they still delivered.

He’d first fallen for her over an email that wasn’t intended for him - well, at least that’s kind of how it went. Killian had wound up in Boston post divorce from Milah, his wife of five years, and had accepted a job at a local newspaper while broken-hearted and nearly broke. Working in office internet security and crashing on his best friend Robin’s couch wasn’t at all where he imagined he’d be at the ripe old age of twenty eight, but he had grown to accept it. He spent plenty of time convincing himself that there were worse things, though he wasn’t sure exactly how many jobs could possibly be less glamorous than being a professional tattletale.

The work was easy for the most part - debugging the network, keeping the company website up to date, and monitoring employee emails in reference to the compliance policy. That last part was the only task that really bothered him at times, but then again, it was the only way he’d managed to meet Emma Swan at a company that employed roughly two hundred people.

She was a writer, a fact he’d learned from the staff directory, and also a diehard Yelp subscriber - but she hadn’t told him that last bit. Her emails had. Well, at least one of them had - the first one he’d intercepted. He still remembered what it had said and he knew if he managed to forget, it was saved in the Favorites tab of his own inbox. He’d never seen someone be so professional yet so passionately threatening in a mere six sentences and while the firmly worded message had been meant for a nearby dive bar, a few flagged phrases had provided him with a copy for review.

Emma Swan calling Aesop’s Table ‘a pathetically poor excuse for a pub’ was the beginning for him - and since then, his job had become much more amusing.

It wasn’t totally his fault that he’d turned into such a skeezy online spy. It was his job to read her email - well, sort of. It was his job to send her a warning or a memo about proper use of her company inbox, but in an office that was all ink stains and deadlines that didn’t apply to him, Killian had found skimming her messages to be the most interesting part of his work day.

He had pieced her together through the words she typed and the dozens of times a day she hit the send button. He grinned at the back and forth banter she had with a workplace friend named Ruby and facepalmed his way through her exchange with some random buyer of a bike she once tried to sell on Craigslist. He tried not to get too excited that they might have things in common when she got ticket confirmations for movies he’d recently seen. He couldn’t help the way he swooned when she got personalized thank you messages from an animal shelter for her monthly donations. The whole thing prodded his guilt from time to time, but he reminded himself that she’d been briefed with the Mirror’s email rules and he was only doing what he’d been hired to do.

Okay, maybe a little more than what he’d been hired to do.

In all fairness, he didn’t read all of them. He made a conscious effort to skip over anything that looked too personal - though he had accidentally still learned that she’d yet to get her yearly flu shot via a reminder from the corner pharmacy. He’d also gathered that she had a rather overprotective brother named David who usually visited on holidays and liked to check in a few times a week by dropping a line or two. It was actually a message from that older sibling that had led to Emma finding out about his snooping.

Apparently, wishing her a ‘happy birthday’ in the breakroom after seeing it in an email from her overly excited brother had been an impulsive move. 

She’d been mad and maybe even a bit embarrassed at first which led to her taking every step possible to avoid him. She dodged him in the elevator an unfair number of times and her inbox went silent, not that he even had the courage to take on that part of his work after the way she’d glared him down post celebratory greeting. His job became bleakly boring overnight and after two weeks of battling his guilty conscience in the office, Killian decided he’d burned his bridge - or maybe saying he’d set flame to his firewall would have been more poetically proper. He helped craft a job listing to post for his replacement and had barely started packing up his cubicle when she showed up behind him, her beautiful reflection in his blank computer screen nearly startling him right out of his desk chair.

You can’t quit - that’s what she’d told him as he clumsily dropped his paper box full of minimal belongings on the floor. There was something about the way she said it too. It wasn’t quite a demand, but it definitely wasn’t just a suggestion. It was almost like she felt bad or maybe even a little bit responsible for his choice to seek employment elsewhere and she’d shown up to make sure he didn’t follow through. 

He decided he liked - like really liked - her in that moment and he was quite positive that his stupid smile had told her so. He knew he should have introduced himself long before the moment she tracked him down that day, but what would he have said - ‘hi, I’m the guy who monitors your email and I also might be in love with you’?

Not a chance in hell.

He pondered the idea of sticking around as he put up an offer to buy her a cup of coffee that she parlayed into a hot chocolate with a pastry after work instead. They’d chatted through rush hour, the cars outside the corner bakery’s glass door whizzing by as they made almost too comfortable conversation. It was - but shouldn’t have been - amazing to Killian how much easier it was to learn about her in person and it didn’t take long to fill in the blanks on a few remaining questions he had about her.

She was hoping to write a book one day, but didn’t mind her current job. She also took a few night classes at the small university up the street - which explained the sporadic messages he’d noticed from their tuition office - and she loathed celebrating her birthday, a fact she mentioned with a knowing smirk. He knew she wasn’t angry as he studied the curve of her mouth, but when she folded her arms casually, he realized she wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

There was something to be said for persistent investigative journalism and Killian learned quickly that Emma was a master of that craft. She interrogated him until closing time, asking him about everything from the scar beneath his eye to how the hell he’d ended up being an internet narc for a living. He’d been honest about all of it because yes, she definitely deserved that much, but also because he had never met someone as easy to talk to as Emma. That probably should have been his first clue - he’d violated her privacy and now, he was liable to fall for her.

Worst job ever, he’d thought to himself later that night as he deleted the ‘help wanted’ ad he’d posted on the company’s website only hours earlier. He really needed to find a new career path - okay, eventually.

_____________________________________

Of course, that was nearly three years earlier and leaving the Daily Mirror for something a little more dignified had yet to happen. Not much had really changed since the day she’d confronted him over the rim of her cocoa mug and the things that had….well, he didn’t exactly mind those little details.

His work was the same and while he still didn’t find it to be the most wonderful way to make a paycheck, Emma had managed to make it even more bearable. She now forwarded him her more obnoxious junk mail like the store credit card offers and the funding inquiries from a variety of Nigerian princes. She constantly sent him bogus work orders requesting he adjust the volume on her computer speakers or delete the program virus she’d obviously contracted by clicking on those pop-ups he’d warned everyone about in his weekly memos. She had also clearly filled Ruby in on his ability to read their correspondences as the pair of them often ended their emails to one another with ‘have a nice weekend, Killian!’. It all should have irritated him, but it didn’t - and she certainly made him smile more than anything else did these days.

It wasn’t as if she was the only good part of his life though. Several pieces of his day to day world had changed for the better since he’d initially accepted the skeptical job at the semi-popular newspaper. He had finally managed to abandon his best friend’s couch for a modest apartment a few blocks from work and he’d recently joined a nearby gym that served as an outlet for his frequent stress. He’d made peace with his failed marriage and even gone on two dates, though neither had been with the woman who made his work hours more pleasant.

He’d been attempting to accept that - the likely truth that he would never strike that chord with her - and while it became trickier each day, perhaps one day he’d be okay with that too.

Killian was trying to avoid silently calling himself a liar by the time he strolled into the conference room for the morning meeting, his eyes finding hers after he briefly lingered in the doorway.

She grinned once, biting her lip as he rolled his eyes. They didn’t speak as he took the seat across from her and he settled with the knowledge that their battle of the workplace wits was carrying on without a second thought. Making a show of taking out her phone, she typed a few keys and he raised an eyebrow at the quiet alert sound from his own device.

Ignoring me then - I see how it is. Talk about unprofessional.

He shook his head subtly as he pondered a reply, trying to ignore the way she kicked him under the conference room table. She loved to taunt his attempts to keep their online conversation civil and this day’s bright and early quips were no different. Killian allowed his thumb to tap a response, barely hitting send as their boss entered the room.

Apologies, lass - as always. I promise I’ll stop by to sort out your technological woes once we’re out of here. Of course, assuming you truly can’t do so yourself.

She sighed in return, deciding not to shoot him a quick answer before stowing her phone face down on the table. Bad form, he thought as he pouted over the fact that they wouldn’t be exchanging any further messages until after the staff agenda was addressed. He tapped his phone’s screen the moment the meeting ended and tried not to be too excited about her name popping up on the screen.

I probably could, but someone’s got to make sure you do more than just sift through employee emails all day. There’s a mysterious looking announcement from some explicitly rated website for you sitting in my saved folder, by the way.

Bloody hell, he smirked as he watched her leave the room once they were dismissed. If this job wouldn’t eventually be the end of him, perhaps Emma Swan and her teasing ways might be.

With his luck, that would likely be it….stupid internet security be damned.

_____________________________________

She’d made sure to be away from her desk when he stopped in to fix her very minor computer issues. It wasn’t totally unlike her to take that route. They talked here and there, but digital correspondence was where most of their communication thrived. He’d actually grown to expect and enjoy her snarky emails and steady text messages since that day she had told him to stay at the Mirror. He sunk into her chair, changing the height and clearing his throat before beginning his work. The adjustment in seating settings would likely be something he’d hear about later that day, but he couldn’t resist - much like he couldn’t keep himself from changing her screensaver to a collection of Disney villains and deleting all of the junk mail they both knew violated several company policies.

If he couldn’t work up the courage to seek her out in their busy office building and tell her how he felt, the least he could do was continue this little daily war they kept engaging in. If it was anyone but Emma, he might even consider it to be flirting.

Keep dreaming, he thought as he clicked out of the program he was navigating on her computer.

It was only once he completed the virus scan and a detailed cleaning of her keyboard - because hey, he was a nice guy sometimes - that he caught sight of the flyer she had posted up on the bulletin board to the side of the monitor. He had the same one tucked away in the beat-up canvas messenger bag he kept his laptop stored in.

Office Holiday Party. December 22nd. Seven o’clock. Sign up for the yearly Secret Santa exchange when you RSVP. 

Killian felt his heart pound a little harder as he glanced over the red and green text for the hundredth time. He had been debating whether or not he was actually going to attend the office celebration since he’d first seen the invitation in the break room nearly two weeks earlier. His desire to interact with company employees outside of work hours was pretty minimal, but seeing the festive looking flyer displayed in her workspace courtesy of a red push pin suggested that Emma would be in attendance. His skin prickled slightly as his newly acquired motivation to put the party on his schedule grew. Of course, it was nothing like any of the dozen dates he’d imagined taking her on, but it wasn’t work - and maybe that was a start.

The concept of Secret Santa was one he had little personal experience with, but Killian tapped his fingers on the desk as he wondered who on the staff roster might have already selected her name. Sure, he had no idea what he could buy for her that would fall within the specified price limit, but the opportunity to give her something a little more thoughtful than the deep fried donut he’d brought her that morning was far too appealing.

Wait a tick, he thought with an amused smirk as he glanced down at the desk. His hand reached for the dark plastic frames, noticing the sporadic smudges on the glass lenses. He’d seen her wear them once before, her eyebrows furrowed over the rims as she’d been editing late one Friday night in the office. With her pen between her teeth and the blue light of the monitor illuminating her focused face, Killian had been quite distracted and nearly strolled right into the elevator doors on his way out. 

The glasses felt smooth between his fingertips as he slid them into the side pocket of his bag. The memory was a simple one, but he couldn’t help the warmth that spread over his cheeks as he searched her desktop for a post-it note.

See you at the festivities, Swan - and stop downloading Christmas songs on your work computer. Piracy won’t earn you any points with Santa.

Clicking the pen he’d been writing with and laying it by her desk phone, Killian pressed the sticky slip of paper to her monitor with a grin. Now he just had to figure out what the dress code might be for the party he hadn’t planned on attending.

______________________________________

Killian had been pleasantly surprised to learn Elsa Frost, the lovely lass with the iced coffee addiction in the corner office, had been given charge of the party guest list. She was typically frigid with others in the building, but Killian had helped her sort out the source of her computer freezing issue a few months earlier. That had led to a tentative comradery between them - one that had resulted in Elsa knitting him a blue and white striped beanie that he actually kind of loved. 

Not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

He’d barely mentioned the party while he stopped by to refill the paper in her printer when she had all but demanded he attend. It had taken a bit more sweet talking to get her to spill the Secret Santa details, but he’d eventually managed to switch things around so Emma was the name on his shopping list.

Of course, one of said compromises was promising his supervisor’s secretary Belle that he would fill in at her book club in January - but that would have to be future Killian’s problem.

Standing near the open bar just past the seven o’clock start time, it was quickly becoming apparent that Killian of the present had other issues. Glancing around the dimly lit, decked out office, he couldn’t help but wonder why he’d thought this Christmas party wouldn’t be full of work tasks in the making. The night janitors Leroy and Clark had decided to use a company computer to search for ‘seasonal striptease’ videos and the new copier had fallen victim to a few tipped over cocktails. It was pretty obvious that the alcohol that hadn’t been spilled was the driving force behind Ruby and the other graphic designers taking drunken selfies in a nearby cubicle. Killian could only pray the pictures wouldn’t end up online as he tried to block out the sound of Sinatra exclaiming ‘Let It Snow’ over the office speakers.

“Well look who decided to come down from Mount Crumpit for the night.”

The voice was full of surprise yet still smoothly sweet and Killian tried not to smirk as he turned to face its owner. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, contrasting with the knit emerald sweater that was keeping her warm. He tried not to feel underdressed in his blue button down and dark jeans, but Emma Swan was sure making holiday casual look stunning.

“Not sure what you mean, love,” he countered as suavely as he could manage. “You’re the one clad in green.”

“Fair enough,” Emma shrugged with an amused smile. “Just surprised to see you I guess. I thought you weren’t coming.”

Recollection prodded him as she handed him a fresh drink. He’d told her over email a couple weeks ago that he wasn’t planning on attending any holiday gatherings that weren’t held during the day. She’d teased him about being a Grinch, a taunt she was now referencing as she stood before him. It was one of the things he’d grown to like most about her - that smart, sassy sense of humor she possessed and used in nearly every exchange they had.

“For the record,” she chimed in, her lips curved yet cautious. “It’s good to see you outside of my inbox, Jones.”

“Ah, well,” he chuckled with a tip of his drink. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Well, I do, but I’m surprised you know the expression. I figured cyber security never sleeps.”

“You aren’t wrong there, Swan,” Killian laughed, peering around the room. “But perhaps it should. The number of after hour policy violations going on in this place right now could keep a man busy until well after the new year.”

He couldn’t help but point over her shoulder at the inebriated group of their co-workers currently trying to hack into the new editor-in-chief’s Facebook account. Emma grinned at the display, waving to Ruby with a disbelieving shake of her head. It was the few interactions like this one they’d had that made Killian wonder why they didn’t do this more often. It felt so natural and easy to banter with her like this.

“I guess reprimands will be in order after the holiday,” Emma commented. “Is that why you’re standing over here by yourself? Because you’re hoping they won’t see you?”

“I suppose if that was my goal, you could say I’m not doing a very good job,” Killian returned. “After all, you found me.”

Her eyes sparkled with a multicolor pattern from some nearby Christmas lights as the muted red of her lips made her soft smile that much more breathtaking. Killian nearly forgot where they were as his eyes met hers, the connection between them suddenly thick with tender tension.

“Yeah,” she said after a pause, her voice breathy and gentle. “I guess I did.”

He wanted to kiss her in that moment. He wanted to tell her how much better she made his workdays and confess that she was his main reason for staying at the news office. He had so much to say, but Emma beat him to the punch.

“Let’s grab a cookie,” she suggested before clarifying. “The sugary kind, computer man.”

_____________________________________

“I’m just saying-“ Killian stated, brushing crumbs off his hands. “-that the Grinch never actually hated Christmas, Swan. He just disliked people and preferred the company of his dog, which is understandable.”

Emma covered her mouth with a giggle, leaning back on the rolling chair she’d pulled into the almost empty room. The party had dissolved into liquor laced karaoke and while Killian didn’t mind the occasional drink, he wasn’t about to belt out any Christmas carols.  Before he could share his desire to avoid the spotlight, Emma had commandeered a plate of gingerbread cookies from the snack table and nudged him toward the vacant office down the hall.  

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” she finally said. “It’s a decent point though I guess. Here I thought your issue with Christmas was just the repetitive music.”

“Ah, speaking of music,” Killian replied, pulling a small package tied with a red bow from behind his back. “Thought you could use some legally procured holiday tunes.”

Emma raised an eyebrow as she took the gift, her curiosity obviously piqued by the simple wrapping. Killian tried not to feel too foolish as she opened the square parcel. He was nearly positive that he wasn’t doing this whole Secret Santa wrong, but the adorable smirk spreading across her face made him wonder if that was okay.

“I guess this is you saying you’re my Secret Santa?”

“Well, no,” he smiled before handing her the pair of glasses he’d taken from her desk. “But this is.”

“Hey, I’ve been looking for these!”

“Swan, you are always looking for those.”

She rolled her gaze before slipping the frames over her nose, her cheeks pink with amusement. She immediately set to reading the track listing on the back of the case holding the gift he’d spent the afternoon creating.

“I have to say it’s been a while since I’ve been given a mixtape,” Emma offered, peering at him over her glasses. “You’re quite the traditionalist, aren’t you?”

“I figured I was merely doing a service by making sure you weren’t listening to that bloody Mariah Carey song anymore on company time,” he taunted with a waggling eyebrow.  “Besides, you can’t go wrong with Bing Crosby, love.”

“You’re just full of surprises,” she replied with a happiness he hadn’t seen before. “Is there more?”

More, Killian thought as the word echoed through his head. There would always be more when it came to Emma Swan and while he’d known that himself for a while now, he wasn’t sure how to admit that to her. The air around them seemed to still as he watched her tilt her head quizzically. He wasn’t sure when she’d slid her chair nearer, but as her knee bumped against his, Killian felt a comfort in the closeness that he hadn’t known in years.

This was it - his moment. After everything and nothing they’d been through, he’d been gifted this tiny instance to tell her the truth.  He’d imagined how this might go many times, but sitting in the building where he had fallen for her was strangely right.  He knew what he needed to do.

“Emma, I-“

“Emma! Come on!”

Killian felt his entire body freeze as he processed the loud, inviting command coming from the makeshift stage up the hallway.  Ruby, he realized as he watched Emma turn toward the beckoning call.  He couldn’t stop the labored sigh that escaped his lips as he watched her stand slowly.

“I guess I should see what that’s all about,” Emma said wearily, tucking her hair behind her ear. “She’s never had the best timing - or tolerance.”

Killian felt the seconds slip through his dexterous fingers as he smiled sadly, knowing that perhaps he’d missed his window.  Emma clutched the CD case loosely as she moved toward the small doorway.

“Killian,” her voice offered, a hint of nervousness in her tone.  “Have a Merry Christmas.”

The simple sentiment hung in the air as the office door shut behind her, leaving Killian to slump in the leather desk chair with a groan.  As he glanced toward the exit, he immediately noticed that something had fallen from the top of the doorway to the ground when she’d left.  It didn’t take long to piece together what it was or just how appropriate it was for his now lonely night.

Mistletoe.  Dammit, he thought as his forehead fell onto the cold desktop.

[just-my-fandom]

Fate (JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader)

Date set to post; December 4th, 2020

Date posted; December 8th, 2020

Summary; JJ falls in love with his best friends sister.

Warning(s); Fighting.

. . .

“Take a picture,” You clear your throat as you toss the empty bag on the motel bed, glancing over your shoulder to the blonde across the room, “It’ll last longer,”

“Got a camera?” JJ smirks, watching you with pinched brows as you pull your phone from your back pocket, raising it before tossing it so he caught it, grinning,

“Lemme see,” You beckon him to hand you the gun in his hand, sitting on the bed before shifting, so you posed, “Now,”

“You can’t take a picture,” John B snatches your phone from JJs hands before grabbing your arm, pulling you off the bed, “And stop touching stuff. If the sheriff finds our fingerprints-,”

“Chill out, JB,” You huff, handing JJ the small pistol, “We’ll be fine. We’ll take a couple hundred bucks-,”

The sound of keys jingling causes John B to push his hand against your mouth in alert, looking at JJ who cursed underneath his breath, “Cops,”

“Window,” John B hisses, JJ rolling up said window where he sees Pope and Kiarra waving their arms, JJ turning to take your hand as John B follows, pushing down the window before twisting to press his back to the motel wall,

You inhale deeply as JJ pins you between the wall and his own body, your hands clutching at the sides of his tank top before you turn your head, watching as Deputy Shoupe and his officer looked around, the officer lifting the bag you once threw down,

You roll your eyes when watching Shoupe hand the officer “her check” of the investigation, glancing up at JJ who narrowly looked down at you, winking so you grinned and shook your head,

Your movement causes your foot to skid on the molded roof top, your eyes going wide in terror as JJs arms slid to tighten at your waist, the gun he kept a grip on releasing and clattering to the floor,

Your eyes pinch shut as JJ presses your body further against the wall, his breath falling short in hopes that Shoupe couldn’t see him from inside, John Bs eyes wide in warning,

“They’re gone,” John B finally breathes, your breath releasing as you allow JJ to slowly step back, jumping down from the roof as John B helped you on your feet,

“Holy shit!” You snort as you settle onto your brothers and your own boat, leaning back, “That was fun. Can we do that again?”

“Seriously, Y/N?” Pope questions, “You could have been caught!”

“But we weren’t,” You remind, nodding to JJ, “Besides, we got our fair share of the snoop, now shut up and let’s go,”

. . .

“Can you like, not stare at my sisters ass?”

JJ looks up to John Bs gaze to see his best friend glaring at him, a beer stuck out in JJs face as to distract him,

“Nah, man,” JJ winks, John B rolling his eyes as he watches you and Kiarra both pull of your shirts, “It’s too fine,”

“That’s gross, dude,” John B mutters, shaking his head,

“J!” You call, lifting a hand to beckon the blonde over, “You comin’ or what?”

“The heavens are calling,” JJ grins at John B, whose nose scrunches as he takes the beer back that JJ shoved into his hand, standing up with a rough tug of his tank top, tossing it to the side, “Bottoms up!”

Your eyes widen when JJs figure lunges forward, Kiarra covering her mouth to hide her grin when JJ jumps off the side of the HMS, twisting in time to tug you with him,

John B doesn’t see you come up- the boats ledge blocking his view, but he hears your loud laugh- similar to your fathers- before a wave of water is splashed,

“You’re a fucking dick, Maybank,” You shake your head, JJ grinning and grasping your hips, tugging you forward so you threw your arms around his shoulders,

“You love me, though,”

JJ stares as you slowly bite your lip, your head tilting as you smile, “Yeah, I do,”

JJ finds his free hand lifting out of the water and cupping the back of your head, but the sudden splash just meters from you have you jerking back in alert, JJ dropping his hand to glare at John B, irritably,

“Sorry, guys,” John B swims up, JJ releasing you so you swam backwards, “Did I ruin something?”

JJ catches you rolling your eyes, hands sending a sharp wave of water directly to his face, your brother stuttering against the water, “Kinda, yeah,”

You move to the edge of the HMS and reach up, pulling yoursef out of the water to take a sip of your beer. JJ watches, silently as you grin up at Kiarra, taking her hand before you tug her forward, laughing out loud when the girl yelps and stumbles into the water next to your brother.

. . .

“I knew I recognized that face,”

Your eyes shut in annoyance. Fixing the loose strap to your crop top, you turn, staring at Rafe Cameron who himself held a red solo cup- alcohol,

“This face has a name,” You remind, lifting your own cup you had just filled, “Nice to see you too, Rafe,”

“Whoa whoa,” Rafe is quick to catch your wrist, spinning you around so you glared at him, then where he held your wrist, “I wasn’t done talking to you,”

“Well I am done talking to you,” You spit, “Let go,”

“Don’t tell me what to fucking do,” With a swift tug, Rafe narrows his eyes at your own, “I’ll have your life a living hell. Think you’re ready to go into the system yet?”

“Cameron!” Your arm is released when JJ rams into Rafe, hands balled at his shirt and shoving him into the tree just beside you, so Rafe dropped his cup and stared at the blonde, “What the fuck are you doing, huh?”

“Just giving her the attention she needs,” Rafe grins, and you are forced to watch JJ turn and nearly body slam Rafe into the pull out table, your body moving forward in a rush,

“J!” You call, hands up in alert when he throws a punch down onto Rafe, “JJ!”

Rafe rolls so he is able to keep one hand on JJs neck, the other tossing three extra punches than what JJ had been able to pull, before Kelce and Topper are pulling him off, shoving him in the direction of the Kooks side of the beach,

“Shit,” You breathe, moving up to pull JJ into a seating position, “You okay, J?”

“I’m good,” JJ mutters, despite the blood dripping from his nose, “What about you?”

“I’m good,” You repeat, “Thanks to you,”

. . .

“You know, you didn’t have to do that,”

You gently bat the wet wash cloth to the dried blood at JJs nose. His eyes are steady on you, one hand subconsciously at your thigh, fingers drumming mindlessly on the skin,

“But I wanted to,” JJ answers, watching silently as you peel the bandage from its package, pressing it to where the skin split at the corner of his nose, “John B would have killed me if I didn’t step in,”

“Is my brother the only reason?” You raise an eyebrow, arm propped on the sinks counter as you stare down at him, “You got something to tell me, Maybank?”

“I thought it was obvious, Routledge,” JJ copies your expression, tugging at your thighs so you sat on his lap, “I’m in love with you,”

“What a shocker,” Your hands slide up to his jaw, pulling him forward to press your lips against his. JJs hand lifts from your hip and presses to your lower back, brushing at the bare skin that was revealed from your crop top,

“Dude, seriously?!” John Bs voice leads you to lean back and glance to the side, eyebrows raised to your twin, “I knew this would happen, but in the bathroom?”

“Just be glad it’s not on your bed,” You snip, sliding back onto your feet with your hands on your hips, “Gonna have to get used to this, bubs,”

John B rolls his eyes, jabbing a finger to JJs chest when he steps next to you, “Hurt her, and I’ll put that gun to use,”

“Since when did you become Big John?” JJ teases, raising his hand in a salute motion, “I swear, your honor,”

“Good,” John B nods, once, “Now get out of here, you crazy kids,”

[thesesoftregrets]

The Following Of The Star

If I were wise, I would have brought frankincense to this horse pasture and stinking creek; it would have, at least, helped with the smell. As it is, I am roughly one hundred and twelve miles southeast of Bethlehem, Kentucky. It is the night of the great conjunction, but I’m in over my head. 

Last night fog took everything it left us guessing what was the moon and what was electric light in photographs. Tonight I have only one small picture, a screenshot on my phone of the place in the sky, but the roads leading into this place were all winding switchbacks, so I will spend half the night looking north to what I firmly believe to be the southwestern sky. Directions will not matter anyway. The conjunction will only be visible for a few hours after the sun has set, so wherever I do here at ten p.m. is irrelevant, I’m already late to the party. The saving grace of this night is the meteors; they are infrequent but huge, burning across the night sky. 

 My best friend's son (7) asks me to take photos of these for him. I say that I’ll try, even though I know that I won’t. Things get crazy in the night sky; it will all happen too quickly.

 Meteors

According to the America Meteor Society, the meteors I observed were the Ursid Meteors.  The Ursid meteors are the least observed major meteor shower, overshadowed by cold temperatures and the Christmas holiday. As I read on about the Ursids, the article highlights certain times when the shower might be more active. The increased activity will be due to the earth passing through areas of debris from past year's showers.  

 Trash has never looked so good; I am a collection of debris from past years.  

 Fog

When I moved inland from the Pacific northwest I became interested in fog, something I had taken for granted now provided loose lines of connectivity between my old life and my new one. I have only now come to learn that the weather service classifies fogs differently. Near the Great Lakes, we are more likely to see a Steam Fog, while someone in the mountains might encounter any number of fogs. After some consideration, I think that what I saw, out in the horse pasture the first night, was valley fog. 

The recipe for valley fog is a simple one; the ground gets wet, then the skies clear, this allows temperatures sink to near the dew point. This fog is sometimes so thick that it gets referred to as tule fog.  

Walking along the little country road it is hard to recognize my own hand in front of my face, hard to separate the scattered lights from cabins and barns from the distant lights of the stars and moon. Why have I become so obsessed with being lost in the fog? What is it that fog has come to represent for me? I think about it as I retreat back down the road to the pasture; fog does not make me feel lost. Fog does not make me feel lost because it reminds me of other places and other fogs, the specifics of this landscape fade away; I could be anywhere right now, you could be anyone. We are all fumbling around searching for clues here in the valley fog.

 Bethlehem

There are at least twenty-eight cities in the world named Bethlehem. If I were a Biblical Wiseman following this “star” and I was close to the end of my journey, I would likely be looking for Bethlehem, Kentucky, or Bethlehem, Indiana. The two are both unincorporated communities with few residents whose only claim to fame is the flood of traffic that their regional post offices both receive every Christmas from folks wanting a Bethlehem postmark on their Christmas cards. It makes sense, I guess. Bethlehem is arguably more synonymous with Christmas and more accessible than the North Pole. Still, the idea of naming a tiny town this way seems a little presumptuous. It feels a little bit like naming your child after a movie star in hopes they will get famous one day. When, the reality is, all you are doing is setting them up to get bullied in school.

       But you, Bethlehem Ephratah, though you be little among the thousands of Judah, yet out of you shall he come forth to me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting. 

 But, I am not going on to Bethlehem; I will stay down here in the fog, down here in the debris. I will stay one more night and wait for the thing to happen.

           Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened

  Grand Conjunction

When it finally came to pass, I was worse for the wear, slightly hangover from red wine and s’mores and reeking of campfire from the half damp bundles of pine I had burned to stay warm. Tuesday, December 22 was bright and sunny in rural Kentucky. I was exhausted but full of renewed hope from having just made it through the longest night of the year.  I drove to the Shell station for crackers and Ale 8.  

While I was there my phone switched back on, I reconnected with the world. The conjunction would be visible in the southwest, near Aquarius, and directly under Capricornus. Also, the best time to view this thing was going to be right after sunset. So, with a new resolve, I set out on the third day to see this thing.

      And the evening and the morning were the third day

 By the end of the day, I was the last car at the last parking lot on Sky Bridge Road. From the car I continued on foot one-quarter mile to a photo viewpoint forgotten by time; here I would wait for it. By this time everything was dying, my phone was dying, my camera was dying, and I was in desperate need of a warm meal and a hot cup of coffee, but I waited. As the sun went down I pointed my camera to the southwest. “Is this it?” a friend asks across a weak connection “I don’t know, I think we’ll know it when we see it” I replied. As the sunset, the only thing I could see across the southwestern sky was the chemtrails from airplanes, all smoke, all fog, all debris.

Then it happened. 6:03 pm it became clear that the body of light in the southwestern sky was not messing around. The sun fell further and further below Pine Ridge, as the light weakened the light from the star, the thing, the conjunction, began to show itself. I had been right, I knew this was it when I saw it;  this was the thing.

 This was a loose line of connectivity through a thick tuel fog of history. This was something astronomers and wise men had seen and pondered on centuries before. As it came to be more prominent I stared at it with all the air knocked out of my body.  I began feeling the immense weight of something so much bigger than myself; this was it, this is what I came looking for.  

 The rest was just fog and debris.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

December 21, 2020

Heather Cox Richardson

In the past two days, stories in major papers have focused on the president’s deteriorating mental state. The Atlantic ran a story by Peter Wehner titled “Trump is Losing His Mind.” It describes “Trump’s descent into madness.” Politico ran Michael Kruse’s story titled “Is Trump Cracking Under the Weight of Losing?””[T]he actual fact of the matter,” it said, is that “Trump is a loser.” Kruse points to Trump’s uncharacteristic absence from the public eye to wonder if he is breaking down mentally.

“His fragile ego has never been tested to this extent,” Trump’s former fixer Michael Cohen told Kruse. “While he’s creating a false pretense of strength and fortitude, internally he is angry, depressed and manic. As each day ends, Trump knows he’s one day closer to legal and financial troubles. Accordingly, we will all see his behavior deteriorate until it progresses into a full mental breakdown.”

CNN reported that senior White House officials are worried about what Trump might do in the next month as he spends more and more time with his lawyer Rudy Giuliani, who is under active investigation by federal prosecutors; conspiracy lawyer Sidney Powell; disgraced former national security adviser Michael Flynn; Steve Bannon, who has recently been indicted for fraud; Peter Navarro, Trump’s trade adviser; and now Patrick Byrne, the founder of the Overstock retail website.

Trump is turning to this group of misfits rather than advisers like his chief of staff, Mark Meadows, or White House counsel Pat Cipollone. The new advisers are encouraging him to declare martial law or to seize state voting machines to examine them for fraud or to appoint a special counsel to investigate Joe Biden’s son Hunter. Trump has floated the idea of naming Powell as a special counsel inside the White House Counsel’s office to investigate the election. Meadows and Cipollone argue, correctly, that this is crazy.

Nonetheless, far right House lawmakers met with Trump and Vice President Mike Pence on Monday to strategize challenging Congress’s certification of the states’ electoral votes on January 6. While several House Republicans are on board with the scheme, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY) is trying to stop senators from signing on, since challenges in both the House and the Senate would force Republicans to vote against Trump, publicly. The challenges do not have the votes to stop the certification of Biden’s ballots.

Previous loyalists are opening up water between themselves and the president. Evangelical leader Pat Robertson, who famously said Trump was part of God’s plan for America, made the news today with his declaration that, for all the good he claims Trump has done, the president “lives in an alternate reality,” and has been “very erratic.” Robertson says it is time to recognize that Biden is the president-elect and it is time for Trump “to move on.”

Attorney General William Barr also broke with Trump today, saying that he saw no need to appoint a special counsel to investigate voter fraud or to investigate Hunter Biden, and that there was no evidence of voter fraud that would have changed the outcome of the 2020 election. Barr also confirmed that it was Russia, rather than any other country, that hacked the United States government and prominent companies over the course of the past year. Barr will leave office on Wednesday.

Yesterday, Erica Newland, a former lawyer for the Office of Legal Counsel at the Department of Justice, published an op-ed in the New York Times saying she is “Haunted by What I Did as a Lawyer in the Trump Justice Department.” Lawyers like her, she said, hoped they were limiting the damage Trump could do but were instead, she concluded, finding ways to make his demands legal. Represented by the caliber of lawyers who are currently at his side—Giuliani and Powell, for example—Newland argues, he could never have made anything stick. Newland resigned from her post in 2018 and now says, “No matter our intentions, we were complicit.” They helped enable Trump’s assault on our democracy, and on reality. She offered her apology to the nation.

Meanwhile, right-wing media outlets Fox News Channel, Newsmax, and One America News are also concerned with the law. They are madly backpedaling as they face the consequences of their baseless accusations against election software company Smartmatic. Although that company was involved in the 2020 election only in Los Angeles County, right-wing media personalities have accused it of altering votes in several states in the 2020 presidential contest. The lawyer for the company’s founder, Antonio Mugica, has sent letters to the FNC, Newsmax, and OAN demanding that they retract their stories and warning them to keep documents for a forthcoming defamation suit. Voting machine manufacturer Dominion Voting Systems, also included in the news stories, has also hired legal counsel.

The threat of lawsuits has prompted the FNC and Newsmax to “clarify” at some length that they had no evidence of any of the improprieties they alleged. On Newsmax, John Tabacco also had to clarify that there was no relationship between Dominion Voting Systems and Dianne Feinstein, the Clintons, Nancy Pelosi, George Soros, Hugo Chavez, or the government of Venezuela.

As he descends into the fever swamps, Trump has largely given up any pretense of governing. His public schedule remains empty, and his private meetings appear to focus on how he can stay in office. Today we learned that Russian hackers broke into the email system used by the leadership of the Treasury Department, but the cyberattack from Russia has gone unaddressed except to the extent the president tried to blame the attack on China (although he has made no move to retaliate against China for the attack). He has made little attempt to shepherd any sort of an economic relief bill through Congress. And, most crucially, he is silent about the epidemic that is killing us. As of this evening, more than 18 million Americans have been infected with the coronavirus, and at least 319,000 have died.

The House Select Subcommittee on the Coronavirus Crisis that is investigating the Trump administration’s handling of the pandemic today released documents showing that Trump appointees in the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) tried to “alter or block” at least 13 of the reports written by CDC scientists. Appointees messed around with the CDC’s traditional “Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Reports” and edited reports on the use of masks, the dangers of Covid-19 in children, and the spread of the disease. They also tried to delete emails revealing political interference in scientific assessments. Some of the emails from science adviser Paul Alexander calling for the administration to speed the spread of coronavirus in order to achieve herd immunity have sparked outrage.

Chaired by Representative Jim Clyburn (D-SC), the select subcommittee today issued subpoenas to Secretary of the Department of Health and Human Services Alex M. Azar and Director of the CDC Dr. Robert Redfield for all documents “relating to efforts by political appointees… to interfere with scientific work conducted by career officials.” It had requested the documents earlier this month, but HHS and the CDC declined either to cooperate or to permit Redfield to testify about political censorship to the committee.

Meanwhile President-Elect Biden and Vice President-Elect Kamala Harris are preparing to take office in the midst of a pandemic, a sweeping computer systems hack, and a recession, while the outgoing president tries to undermine them by ordering his own officials not to tell them anything that could be used against him and by insisting that they were not legitimately elected.

Biden was inoculated with the coronavirus vaccine today on national television to illustrate that the shot is safe; incoming First Lady Dr. Jill Biden also got the shot today. Harris and her husband, Doug Emhoff, will be vaccinated next week.

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[xoruffitup]

The Report Screening (I Successfully did a Thing!)

So this idea sparked in my mind when I first saw The Report back at the Toronto Film Festival in September. Not only does my organization work on rule of law issues in international development, but our Executive Director is also known as a whistleblower figure against the CIA torture program while it was happening. When I heard Scott Burns mention my Director by name in an interview, I knew there were too many connections to ignore. My org should host a screening of the film. 

After Toronto, I took the next chance I found to speak to our Director about the film. Lo and behold, he consulted with Scott Burns on the screenplay and had major input into the film. Beyond that, he knew Dan Jones while Dan was working on the Senate report. My Director was wholly behind the idea of hosting a screening.

Then, fast forward to the AITAF show in November. I’m at the reception beforehand with my Dad and my friends, and who do I recognize across the room but none other than Dan Jones! He was just mingling and chatting, casual as could be, and I freaked out a bit at the sight of him because this had to be a sign?! Knowing this was the chance to make those connections to bring my idea to fruition, I went up to him during the reception and introduced myself. I told him where and who I work with, explained we’d like to host a screening, and he said he’d be more than happy to help us set it up!

I knew from the get-go that Dan would be the most important highlight of the event. Hearing him speak right after you’ve watched the film is simply staggering. So between many Twitter DMs and emails, I finally found the date that worked for both Dan and my Director - December 12th. 

Then came the logistics - To have the event on or off site? How to play the film? After deciding to keep costs down and planning simply by holding the screening in our office event space, the problem then became streaming over our unreliable internet connection. Dan had asked in an earlier email whether we “needed help with Amazon,” so when I explained that we do, he sent one email to some exec and by the end of the day someone from Amazon was on the phone with me promising to ship us a DVD! (They also offered to rent us a theatre??! But by that point the event was less than a week away so there wasn’t enough time to plan for that. Would have been insanely cool though if Amazon paid for our private theatre rental ;))

I set up the catering order; I had our Outreach team make up promo flyers and send an announcement out to our member networks; I hyped up the event to colleagues internally and friends externally. Then today came, and despite all my planning I was still nervous as all hell, with everything resting on my shoulders. 

The film arrived in the mail the morning of, and I called the Amazon contact again so they could give me the password to access the disc. (Some fancy stuff, here.) But then cue three hours of our IT people trying to get the disc to play in our event space. Several near-breakdowns later on my side, we finally get it working with sound and everything. By this point I’m extremely anxious, worrying about IT problems and having really no idea how many people will even be showing up.

The time arrived! The catering came on time, and sure enough the trickle of arriving people quickly became a definite crowd. By the time it came time to start the film, we needed extra chairs!! I said a short welcome, our Director spoke a bit about the film and the legacy of the use of torture, and then (miraculously!!) the film played without even a spot of trouble!! Literally THANK GOODNESS, because an event at our office without any sound or video issues is basically unheard of. But tonight, the impossible happened and the film played all the way through without a single hitch! :’D

When 7:30 rolled around, the film was nearing its end and it was time for me to head downstairs to meet Dan Jones in the lobby. He arrived right on time, I brought him upstairs, and here queue twenty minutes of us sitting outside the event room watching the film through the glass door and just chatting?? He’s literally so chill and friendly and great to talk to? We talked about Star Wars a little and other movies? And I got to ask him a bunch of random questions about The Report I’ve been wondering. (Does he have sneaky cameos in the movie? Yes, he does. Would he ever work in government again? They’d have to drag him back kicking and screaming).

Once the film ended, our Director introduced Dan and he came in to much deserved applause. Our Director started Dan off with a few questions, then we opened up to what quickly became an incredibly engaged, thoughtful, and lively Q&A! A few external attendees were lawyers currently representing Guantanamo detainees, and their questions were among the best. Dan seemed to enjoy the discussion too - appearing much more in his element, in comparison to the Q&A environment/topics at TIFF.

We wrapped up the Q&A after about 45 minutes and that, ladies and gentlemen, was a wrap! Without a single technical snafu or delay!!! The event was incredibly well attended and so many people expressed gratitude to me on their way out. One woman who’s worked at our org for 30 years said it was the best event she’s ever been to! T_T

I couldn’t be more pleased with the evening! Especially considering how near to a breakdown I was this afternoon ;’) But everything literally went completely smoothly and exceeded all my expectations. I’m so glad I managed to actually bring this crazy idea to fruition, albeit with a few months of finagling and organizing. Seriously, couldn’t be happier. :’DD

Me and Dan Jones afterwards and yes I cropped out other people from my org because A) Kinda weird to post them? and B) I totally maybe have a crush on accomplished well-spoken humble funny incredibly chill Dan Jones???

(And Dan with Adam just because)

NOW I FINISH PACKING TO GO TO LONDON FOR TROS PREMIERE! AHHHHH LET’S GO and continue the crazy awesome whirlwind my life has been lately!!!! :’’D

(There was definitely a moment when I joked with Dan about maybe getting Adam’s autograph at the TROS premiere. Dan was like “oh haha are you like a superfan?” and I was immediately like “oh no haha nothing like that hahahahahaha” you know, like a liar. He might get to go to the CA premiere though so I hope he does! Then we can welcome him to the dark side of obsession! >:))

[reading-writing-revolution]

Just not #DonaldTrump...

December 26, 2019 (Thursday) - Heather Cox Richardson

Today began and ended with Trump melting down. This morning, after a silence during the holidays, he came out swinging at the Democrats generally, and at House Speaker Nancy Pelosi specifically. Then this evening, apparently against the advice of his lawyer, he retweeted a story that named someone claimed to be the whistleblower, a person who currently has a security detail for protection, not in a foreign war zone, but in our own nation’s capital.

It seems clear that Trump cannot bear that Pelosi—whom he is calling “Crazy Nancy”-- is not rushing to send the articles of impeachment over to the Senate for a trial… a trial that Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell has already promised will exonerate Trump. It is worth noting that it has been only a week since the House passed the articles of impeachment, and we have had major religious holidays in that time, and yet Trump is obviously angry and desperate for movement on impeachment. But he’s got to wait even longer. The House will not be in session again until January 7—twelve days from now—and the Senate calendar for January is still in flux.

In other impeachment news, you will recall that Noah Feldman, the Harvard Law Professor who testified before the House Judiciary Committee in favor of impeachment, wrote an op-ed last week saying that Trump was not officially impeached until the House sent the articles of impeachment over to the Senate. Trump jumped on this idea, and has been saying that he is not really impeached. Today one of the other law professors who testified, George Washington University’s Jonathan Turley, who was called by the Republicans and was opposed to impeachment, wrote an op-ed in the Washington Post entitled “I testified against Trump’s impeachment. But let’s not pretend it didn’t happen.” The title pretty much sums it up. As Turley concluded: “The House speaks in its own voice and in its own time. It did so on Dec. 18, 2019.”

For all the drama of these two stories, I have been more interested in what feels to me like a changing trend: it appears that media is finally recognizing that it cannot simply report “both sides” of the news as if they are equally valid when one side is lying. On the evening of December 24, Rolling Stone magazine published a short interview with Chuck Todd, an NBC journalist who moderates Meet the Press and who is the Political Director for NBC NEWS. On December 29, Meet the Press is doing a show on disinformation and how it is weaponized, and this interview was a teaser.

It's really important to understand that “misinformation” and “disinformation” are different things. “Misinformation” is bad information caused by errors-- someone makes a mistake. “Disinformation,” though, is deliberately false information intended to manipulate public opinion. Another word for disinformation is propaganda.

In the interview, Todd laments that he has been “absurdly naïve.” Right up until he had Senator Cruz on his show recently and Cruz echoed Russian propaganda, Todd apparently believed that the Republicans were acting in good faith when they talked to the media. Todd says he was “stunned” by Cruz’s embrace of Russian disinformation, especially since he was the third senator to do exactly that on the show. Cruz had asked to come on, and Todd thought that since Cruz had always been a Russia hawk, he wanted to set the record straight. When, instead, he followed the party line, Todd finally got it: Trump Republicans are using the media to spread propaganda.

Jay Rosen, a professor of journalism at New York University, responded to this revelation by pointing out that it was on Todd’s own show in January 2017 that Trump advisor Kellyanne Conway launched the concept of the administrations lies simply being based on “alternative facts.” But, Rosen writes, media leaders nonetheless treated officials’ lies as hyperbole, just Trump and his spokespeople being ridiculous.

The upshot is that, three years later, Trump’s base is divorced from reality, while other Americans are so tired from incessant gas lighting we have lost faith that we can still perceive reality. This is why gaslighting is effective propaganda: having lost confidence in their own perceptions, people are so eager for peace they are willing to accept a strong leader who will promise to create stability.

I’m with Rosen on this. There is no excuse for such “naivete” on Todd’s part. He’s the Political Director for NBC News, after all, and should have had a better handle on the well-known methods at play here.

Even more, it has been very clear that today’s Republican Party has risen to power by rejecting facts and creating its own reality. After World War Two, Republicans and Democrats both shared a belief that the government had a role to play in regulating the economy, providing a basic social safety net, and promoting infrastructure. Indeed, that belief about government was so widely embraced it became known as the “liberal consensus.”

In 1951, William F. Buckley, Jr., fresh out of college, wrote a book attacking that consensus by attacking fact-based argument. In God and Man at Yale: The Superstitions of “Academic Freedom,” Buckley said that trying to reach the truth by constructing arguments out of facts—the premise of the Enlightenment-- was a worse superstition than the Dark Age traditions the Enlightenment tried to root out. When presented with fact-based arguments, voters kept choosing the liberal consensus. So far as Buckley was concerned, that consensus flew in the face of God’s laws. So, Buckley concluded, it was imperative to stop arguing based on facts, and simply promote a “Conservative” view of the world by whatever means necessary.

The construction of a narrative undercutting the popular liberal consensus took the modern Republican Party further and further away from a fact-based reality, until by 2002, journalist Ron Suskind had this extraordinary exchange with one of President George W. Bush’s aides.

"The aide said that guys like me were 'in what we call the reality-based community,' which he defined as people who 'believe that solutions emerge from your judicious study of discernible reality.' I nodded and murmured something about enlightenment principles…. He cut me off. 'That’s not the way the world really works anymore,” he continued. '…When we act, we create our own reality…. We’re history’s actors… and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we do.'”

Ten years later, in 2012, Thomas E. Mann from the left-leaning Brookings Institution and Norm Ornstein from the right-leaning American Enterprise Institute warned that it was imperative to stop saying “both sides do it,” because the parties were not equally polarized. “The GOP has become an insurgent outlier in American politics,” they wrote. “It is ideologically extreme; scornful of compromise; unmoved by conventional understanding of facts, evidence and science; and dismissive of the legitimacy of its political opposition.”

We now have a president who has made more than 15,000 false or misleading claims in fewer than three years in office, and it has become increasingly clear recently that those lies echo Russian propaganda. Senior officials repeat his claims to the media, creating their own reality.

It is my sense that Todd’s revelation is a sign that media figures are starting to see how they are being used to advance disinformation. There has been discussion emerging of how to report the news without providing a platform for lies. If it takes hold, there will be an important shift in media coverage of the administration and congressional supporters in the new year."

[andrea-c4c]

Week 26: Merry Week-Before-Christmas!

December 16 - 20, 2019

What a week to head into the holidays!

I think I summed it up pretty well with my tweet, but to give just a touch more detail-

On Monday, we had a few team meetings and sync-ups, and then in the afternoon Maddy and I headed over to the Old City Hall to volunteer to help set-up for the OneTeamGov Unconference. 

If you haven’t gleaned from some of our photos, Maddy has wonderful penmanship, so she was put to work on signage:

If you haven’t attended an UnConference before, there are no speakers or topics selected in advance. It’s generated by attendees on the day. After an initial collaborative activity, the agenda was populated with topics attendees wanted to discuss. This isn’t an event to sit back and doze off - I mean listen. Everyone is expected to participate. 

Tuesday started bright and early for me as I was also volunteering for registration. After that, I was free to attend sessions through the day. Maddy volunteered to facilitate and note-take at sessions, as did others in our NextGen family: Robyn, Ali and Giselle. 

It was pretty cool to see all the engaged, forward-thinking public servants at the event, and I was a bit surprised that I recognized so many of them! 

There were some common themes across several of the sessions, and sometimes it was difficult to choose what to attend. There were quite a few on remote and flexible work arrangements. I chose to attend the following:

All teams across gov communicate in the open about their successes and failures on a centralized platform

Keep humans at the centre of design + delivery (in and out of government)

Lego Serious Play

Increase opportunities for generating, testing, implementing solutions, coming from the ground up/grassroots

It was an inspiring, albeit tiring, day!

Then on Wednesday, we fellows met in the GCCoworking space to retro (our first in close to 6  weeks - sorry Maddy!) and talk about our work. 

I’ve been working on creating a service blueprint for a service that doesn’t have a centralized booking tool, so we talked through my design. This is in addition to the ux research and design we’re doing for our prototyping efforts, so I’ve been feeling some pressure of having a lot on my plate. As I was worried about it being refined enough for a group review later in the week, Mike gave me a helpful reminder. The purpose of the meeting was to gather feedback - I didn’t have to go crazy trying to make everything perfect and in a final state. Get things in a state to elicit feedback, and then spend more time refining it afterwards. Thanks, Mike! 

The time away from the office was a nice chance for the three of us to re-connect and just make sure we’re still feeling positive about our direction and what we hope to achieve through our fellowship. Time is ticking, and we need to be sure we’re working on what’s most critical. #constraintsBreedCreativity

I also got a giant copy of the existing Service blueprint of the travel journey, to post up in our work area. If anything, just the sheer length of this is a clear sign we have plenty of opportunities to improve this experience!

On Thursday Maddy and I spent the morning over at Courts Administration Service, shadowing some of their financial folks to get a better sense of their current financial processes related to travel.  It can be easy to think only of the traveller as we’re working on a solution, but we have to be sure that we are considering the other parties and processes involved. Getting a glimpse at what goes on behind the scenes can really change how we approach a problem. 

Then we headed right to a Service Blueprint review with some members of the NextGen Travel team, as well as some other partners that are working on blueprints. It was a chance for us each to show our work, and some of the ideas we’re exploring. I wish we’d had more time to really dig in and poke at each others’ concepts, but there was just too much to go through! The meeting did help me feel like we have a solid concept and are on the right track. I’m glad I took Mike’s advice and didn’t worry about spending time making a perfectly polished deliverable. 

Also! I published a mammoth blog post on the Code for Canada blog about prototyping. I appreciate Luke’s patience in reviewing and editing it! 

Then came Friday..

We attended the Digital Services Branch Executive Committee to present our work. We talked about the design sprint that was held back in October, as well as some of the prototypes we’ve been working on. Despite the fact it was THREE O’CLOCK the FRIDAY before the HOLIDAYS, attendees were very engaged in our presentation. It helped that Chief Information Officer Tammy LaBelle framed our work and its importance, but I was pleasantly surprised at the thoughtful questions we received. It was a great wrap-up to lead us into the Christmas break.

But, we weren’t quite done - the bulk of the NextGen Travel team (who weren’t already off for the holidays) met for drinks at Queen St Fare to kick off the weekend and Christmas break. 

After a drink or two, Mike leaned over and said to Maddy and I “you know, I think if this were the end of our fellowship, and that was our final presentation of what we’d done, our fellowship would have been a success”. 

I still get goosebumps thinking of that a couple weeks later, and hope we can continue to feel that sense of accomplishment and impact through the remainder of our time. 

-Andrea, UX Design Fellow

[the-record-newspaper]

The killing of Rhoda Hinson Part 30

This photo, courtesy of Jill Turner-Mull, is of her and Mark Turner, taken the Summer of 1981, during a beach trip with Greg McDowell and Rhonda Hinson.

By LARRY J. GRIFFIN

Special Investigative Reporter

For The Record

 (Editor’s note: This is a continuation of the story of the December 1981 murder of Rhonda Hinson.)

 If the sweatshirt was transferred on December 22, 1981, it would be an important piece of circumstantial evidence.  Even the manner it was placed in the car would give weight to an argument.  Did she forcefully throw the sweatshirt towards [Sic] the backseat and it landed on the sundeck? –Detective James “Flash” Pruett’s File Notes of Monday December 13, 1995.

Jill Turner-Mull recalled the first time she was contacted by Detective James “Flash” Pruett of the Burke County Sheriff’s Department (BCSD)—December 18, 1995—five days shy of the 24th anniversary of the killing of Rhonda Hinson.  

Turner Mull said, “I was working at Forms and Supplies in Charlotte; had been married over a year and a mother of a six-month old baby.  It was a very busy day when he called, and I didn’t have a lot of time to talk with him. I had to keep placing him on ‘hold’ to wait on customers; he didn’t seem to mind waiting on me.”

Detective Pruett reflected upon the conversation with Rhonda Hinson’s best friend in his case notes: “She was very busy talking to customers….We talked for what seemed like hours.  The end of the call was around 4:13 PM…I called her back several times after the first call comparing information I had obtained from other witnesses.  I feel the conversation with Jill produced another clue in the case.”

Foremost on Flash’s mind was a question concerning a gray-hooded sweatjacket that belonged to Rhonda but was spotted by Jill Turner-Mull in boyfriend Mark Turner’s car.  The detective had previously learned, from the Burke County Sheriff’s Department’s voluminous case files, that in 1983 Jill told Bobby Hinson that the coat which was left in Mark’s car was “the gray sweatjacket”—the same one that was discovered on the rear sundeck of Rhonda’s Datsun 210 on the early morning of Dec. 23, 1981.  It was also among the items catalogued by SBI Special Agent John Suttle, later that same day, during an examination of Miss Hinson’s vehicle that had been transported to a location on the campus of Broughton Hospital.  

Also in question was the establishment of a viable timeline of events which transpired during the last 13 days of Rhonda’s life—commencing with Dec. 11, 1981, two days prior to her Dec.19 birthday. The perceptive Detective Pruett was attempting to ascertain when the jacket-in-question might have first been spotted in Turner’s car by his girlfriend.  

In the Fall of 1981, Jill Turner-Mull was attending college at Western Carolina in Cullowhee; Mark Turner was schooling at Elon in Burlington, and Greg McDowell—Rhonda Hinson’s boyfriend—had matriculated at NC State in Raleigh.  Rhonda—burned-out with school at that juncture—remained at home in Valdese and acquired employment at Hickory Steel.  But during the weekend of her birthday, Flash noted that she and Greg and Jill and Mark double-dated on Saturday, Dec. 12, 1981.   Ms. Turner-Mull, however, was puzzled by that notation, while conversing with this writer on Saturday afternoon of this weekend past.  

Turner-Mull said, “I don’t think either Mark or I came home the weekend of Rhonda’s birthday.  I know that Greg came home to be with her; but it just wouldn’t have made sense for me to leave Western Carolina the weekend before final semester exams. Exams began Monday the 14th…I have no memory whatsoever of coming home to Valdese that weekend or double-dating.”  

A letter that Jill wrote to Rhonda Hinson, dated Dec. 8, 1981,and subsequently mailed on Dec. 9, seems to corroborate her claim.  Upon chartreuse stationary she wrote to her best friend: “How is the working woman doing?  The college woman is about to go crazy.  I have so many tests these next two weeks I think I’m just going to pull every hair out of my head.  I’ll be so glad when Dec. 18 gets here.  Mark is suppose [Sic] to come get me then, but I’m trying to talk him into coming up here earlier say, Wednesday or Thursday.  Katie [Hudson—Jill’s roommate during the 1981 Fall Semester] is getting to leave Mon. Dec. 14 because she doesn’t have any more exams.  I’m going to be by myself….Me and Mark aren’t coming home this weekend, but when we get home, we’ll all have to go out.  OK?”  

Judy and Bobby Hinson recalled that Greg came home the weekend before their daughter’s Dec. 19 birthday and that they dated on Saturday night, Dec. 12.  But neither have any recollection of a double-date with Jill and Mark Turner. Assuming that the recollections of the Hinsons and Ms. Turner-Mull are accurate, then Mark and Jill would have returned home the following weekend after completing their final exams—the weekend before Rhonda was killed.

On Wednesday Dec. 20, 1995, Flash focused attention upon the events of Monday Dec. 22, 1981.  His first inquiry concerned the car that Greg McDowell was driving on that afternoon when he picked-up Rhonda for lunch.  

Tonya Benge [Featherbay]—one of Rhonda’s co-workers at Hickory Steel and a member of the trio of celebrants who attended the Dec. 22, 1981, company Christmas party with her at the Hickory American Legion Post—remembered seeing Greg at noon that day as she and Rhonda walked outside to leave for lunch.  Tonya identified the blue Chevy Nova that he was driving.

The detective summarized his thoughts in the case file notes he conscientiously maintained: “I reviewed Greg’s statement in Book #1, page5.  He said he picked Rhonda up in the burgundy Toyota.  Tonya also said when she saw the Unsolved Mysteries show, when it showed the part about the blue car, it shocked her and she immediately said, ‘that’s the car Greg was driving the day he picked her up for lunch.’”

Flash realized that if Ms. Featherbay’s memory was accurate, then Greg McDowell lied to investigators.  He posed a rhetorical question and subsequently offered an obvious answer:

“Why would he say he was driving the burgundy car?” Pruett wrote. “If he used the blue car to go to the crime scene, he would try to make his statements show he was not driving a blue car.  Charles Mc Dowell admits in his interview the fact they have three cars:  the tan Citation, the blue Nova and the wine-colored Toyota Tercel.”

But there were other inconsistencies, in that same statement from Mr. McDowell, upon which Detective Pruett commented: “Greg lied about Rhonda calling her parents to say she was on the way home from Sherry’s.  Could he have inadvertently told what Rhonda told him?  Rhonda did not call her family to tell them anything!  Another point of interest in the interview is the time Greg said Sherry gave for Rhonda’s departure.  He said Rhonda called him at 12:30 [AM], but states Sherry said she left at 12:30 [AM].  All of the McDowell’s times seem to be 12:30 and 2:30 each interview, almost like it was a rehearsed speech.”

Flash then proffered this observation:  “Greg was not interviewed formally until December 24, 1981.”

After reviewing information previously reported in this series, Detective Pruett returned to the aforementioned point on the timeline:

Pruett wrote: “Tonya Benge Featherbay stated in an interview they [Rhonda, Sherry Pittman Yoder, and Ms. Featherbay] left [the party] around midnight.  If Rhonda only spent a few minutes at Sherry’s house, it would give her 45 minutes to an hour to meet with someone.  The last person she talked to, other than saying goodbye to Sherry, was Greg McDowell.  Could Greg have asked during the ‘heated phone conversation’ for Rhonda to meet him. [Sic]…Rhonda didn’t call home saying she was enroute, very unlike her normal routine.  Did she tell Sherry, ‘this is it, it’s all over, I guess Greg and I will be breaking up.’  The word guess would indicate perhaps they were going to meet and discuss breaking up. Did Greg have the jackets in his car…?”

It was four days after Christmas—Dec. 29, 1995—that Detective Pruett met with Jill Turner-Mull once again.  The interview was conducted at his office at BCSD from noon until almost 6 p.m.   Prior to the meeting, Flash had asked Ms. Turner-Mull to go by the Hinson residence on Hillcrest in Valdese to look at the items found in Rhonda’s car.  He was particularly interested in her being able to identify the gray-hooded sweatjacket found on the sundeck of Rhonda’s Datsun 210.

In his synopsis of the day, Mr. Pruett wrote: “Jill was able to identify the jacket as the one she saw in Mark Turner’s car. She was able to identify it by the initials—HH WTC.  The initials stand for Western Tennis Champions and list the champions as Hinson and an unknown tennis partner with the initial H.  Two friends who played with Rhonda are Lisa Huffman and Katie Hudson. [Note:  Rhonda also played tennis with Jean Harris and Wanda Holland.  To date, no one seems to be able to decisively identify the other, “H.”]”

According to Flash’s notes, Jill told him that she came home during a “weekend near Christmas 1981” and dated Mark. [Note:  In a conversation with Ms. Turner-Mull this Saturday past, she indicated that the aforementioned date had to occur on Saturday, Dec. 19, 1981—the day after she returned to Valdese from Western Carolina.]  

Jill told Detective Pruett that she saw the sweat jacket in the backseat of Mark’s beige, two-door car—maybe a Chevrolet Impala. She immediately recognized it but didn’t think anything about it, because Rhonda had just asked, during a recent local phone conversation, if it was alright to go Christmas shopping with Mark. She may have said something to Mark about the jacket, but she just couldn’t remember.  “Perhaps I said, ‘Oh, there’s Rhonda’s jacket.’”

Ms. Turner-Mull promised Detective Pruett to research old love letters from Mark to place a time frame on when the jacket was in his car.  And Jill recollected the pledge she made to Flash, this past weekend during her most recent interview with The Record.  “I kept everything—every note, card, letter sent to me by Mark, Rhonda, and even ex-boyfriends all the way back to Sixth-Grade.”

True to her word, Jill located at her parent’s house and mailed pertinent letters to Flash the very next day—Saturday, Dec. 30, 1995.

Detective Pruett summarized Ms. Turner-Mull’s statement in his case file notes: “The only oddity in her interview is the fact I discovered Mark Turner was near the crime scene about the time of the incident. Jill had defended Mark repeatedly, saying Mark was with her when it happened, but after clarifying the times, Mark dropped Jill off at her home near Rhonda’s residence around 12:30 [AM] on December 23, 1981.  He was driving the large two-door tan car.”

And then Flash recorded an asseveration that seemed inconsonant within the context in which it was written.  And when Jill Turner-Mull recently read the statement, she was—initially—rendered speechless.  Detective Pruett averred that:

Jill said the jacket was absolutely not in his car when she was dropped off.

[berlinaura]

Last spring in Finland I attended a course “German for those who are going to have an exchange year”. They told us about the stages which one usually goes through during an exchange. As far as I remember, the stages were roughly somewhat like this: firstly one views everything and everyone better than in their home country and everything is super interesting and fun. This basically means that the everyday life hasn’t kicked in yet. The next one is getting annoyed at everything and everybody. Comparing the country to your home country and maybe even feeling like it would have been a better idea to just stay home. After this comes the stage of adaptation where one gets used to customs and stops comparing everything to one’s home country. Last phase is coming back to home country and seeing it in a new way. And of course telling stories of the exchange year to friends and family until they are bored to death. 

I remember thinking two things when we were taught about this. Firstly, who the hell would go through a phase of hating the country they go to? It seemed so irrational. The second thing was “Now that I’ve heard about this stuff, I can rise above it and use my brain and self-knowledge to avoid it. Yeah... As you might guess, it did not happen. I admit, during last few weeks I have spend a huge amount of my time wallowing in “WHY DO YOU DO THIS LIKE THIS” “Why can’t you do it in the right way” “What the hell is wrong with Germans!”. Mostly my frustrations have been related to my university. The mornings I am usually in a good mood. I drink my coffee, get ready (I have started to care more about what I wear and how I look like now that I am in Berlin hahaha) and go to school. All in all it takes me around 45 minutes to get from my home to university which includes walking, tram and S-Bahn. The way there and back are usually my favorite bits of the day. I enjoy watching people, traveling through Berlin in S-Bahn and listening to music. On the way back from university the people in public transport are usually going to pubs or parties so it’s nice to see happy and lively faces. I try not to overwhelm myself with school even though I feel like I need to be constantly studying to keep up. The thing is, even though the courses seem a bit challenging, partly because I am not used to academic English and partly because I am studying in a new study field, I find all of them interesting and genuinely think they are useful. I think I will shortly find a balance because now I feel super drained after every day and still feel like I have the “responsibility” to do fun things and go to places whenever I am not studying. It’s like a freshman year all over again. 

So, what has happened after the last post? Quite a lot. I was on a Wanderlust trip to Dresden in October. We also visited a famous bridge (Bastei) in Saxony. The views and the scenery were incredible! Dresden was also very cozy and historical city. It was a lot smaller than I expected. We only had a few hours to browse through the city but we could easily reach the most important sights by just walking. On the bus we opened bottles of wines we got from Lidl and played some car games with the people who sat around me. I suggested searching “questions to get to know each other” so on the few hour way back we just simply shared our biggest secrets and fears as if we had been knowing for a long time. The french boy sitting in front of me got  interested as I mentioned we are throwing a sitting here, so he wanted to help. We formed a committee of 5 people for a sittning, planned it in a cafe and contacted international office. Their response was rather dry and due to International office organizing a similar event in December, we decided to postpone the sittning and start planning it again in January.

Wanderlust trip was good because everything was already planned and sorted out for us. We just had to be on time to catch the bus. I already booked another wanderlust trip to Magdeburg in December. They have a Christmas market there. I also want to see the city that was my other option to have an exchange year in. By the way, I am super glad I ended up choosing Berlin over Magdeburg. 

The next day me, the Austrian girl who sat next to me on the bus and her friend went to see a light show in the city centre. There is this light festival held in Berlin where they project things onto famous buildings and monuments. The one projected on Brandenburg gate left me speechless. They projected things like collapsing of the wall, JFK’s speech and techno culture of today’s Berlin.

One Friday evening my friend, my roommate and her friends decided to go to a burlesque show. The bar was super fancy as was the show. I just couldn’t get my eyes of the woman who performed. She danced to a remix of Britney Spears’ Toxic so naturally I had to ask her after the show if she liked Britney Spears. She said they only picked it because they needed something that people would recognize but at the same time something that isn’t the actual song. :( She was amazing tho.

In October I also went to see Prinz Pi live at Columbiahalle. I’ve never been to this venue before and it was so cozy! Man the concert just got better and better and I just had goosebumps for like half of the show. At the encore Prinz Pi said something in the lines of “You know.. The next place I go to.. You don’t want me to tell the audience that the audience of Berlin was dull? Go crazy then!” and I have never seen an audience getting so hyped during a song (”Gib dem Affen Zucker”). I got inspired of this so I already booked a ticket for Sido’s Christmas show in Columbiahalle. Actually I tried to go to his normal tour’s concert which is actually today, but I thought too long and it got sold out. People were asking 200€ per ticket (the original was around 45€) so I gave up. Then I decided to go to his christmas show but AGAIN thought too long because they are held in 20.-22.12. and I needed to sort out my flights to Finland first. But one day I decided to go to eventim’s page to see if someone was selling their ticket (they were, but overprized again) and I saw that there was one original ticket on sale even though it was sold out before. Someone had cancelled their ticket and some forces of the universe told me to refresh that page at a right moment. So now I have my ticket and just can not wait for it!

In the beginning of November I went to Prague to see my friend. The train ride was only 19 euros and I could easily do my homework and watch Kotikatu there. Priorities were sorted out! I navigated to Revnice where we went to a local brewery and shared things about our lives. The beer was the best beer I have ever had in my life which is sad because I literally can’t get it anywhere else than from there. Damn brewery! The next day we played board games, ate well and went swimming. My friend introduced me to a new thing: putting honey in a coffee. At first I doomed the though: ew, who the hell does that? Honey belongs to tea, not coffee. Then I tasted it and... it was delicious. It is yet to discover if it because of the honey or their super fancy coffee maker. Then we went to the brewery again and played a Czech card game called “bang”. I think I got the gist of it and even won the game once. On our last day we were just sightseeing and went to a concert together. The songs were translated to me and for a moment I felt super ambitious to learn Czech. I don’t want to miss out on funny songs just because I don’t know the language!

Last weekend there was a celebration in Berlin due to it being 30 years from the fall of Berlin wall. It was a bit similar to the light festival. We were out with friends two nights in a row and found a super cute place in Prenzlauer berg: Houdini. They have Indian food and cheap cocktails. We continued the evening to this living room looking place that was connected to a Späti. The Späti-drinking culture is something that is missing from Finland. Here Spätis are these small shops that mostly sell drinks (beer, soda, water, cider and so on) and candy.They are open late which is actually where the name Späti (Spätkauf = late shopping) comes from. There are often benches and tables where people can enjoy their drinks which are cheaper than in normal pubs of course. The Späti man asks if the beer is to be enjoyed in the living room and adds a small fee if it is. And there’s a bottle opener on the counter. Everything is sorted out so in my opinion Späti-drinking is a good way to go out and get drunk with small budget. 

Yesterday we had an excursion with my German class. We went to Berlinische Galerie which is a museum of contemporary art. They had an exhibition of Bauhaus, the art/design/architecture Academy in pre-WWII Germany that affected modern design and architecture. We were walking around and filling up a worksheet the teacher gave us. I enjoyed it so much and everything seemed so pleasing to the eye.

 Afterwards we went to a open stage event which was basically a talent show. There were 10 acts of which everyone had 10 minutes to convince the audience who voted for a winner. We also had beer and wine counter there naturally. My favorite was this one dude in tight ballet outfit who preformed a circus act which was funny and impressive at he same time. His background music was swan lake but the dude sang along in a terrible way which made it less serious. Then he juggled with 6 balls and every time he messed up, he cried out in a dramatic way. Then at the end of the show he turned his back to the audience and we could see he was digging something from his crotch and then he turned around and swiped of sweat from his face with a pile of tissues he had as a crotch-filler the whole time. The tipsy audience laughed so much that the winner was pretty much clear at that point. The dude who went after him performed a horrible keyboard improvisation and his face screamed “ I am sorry to be here, I just want to flee!” hahahahah. The act that came second was funny as well, they performed “Let it go” but with a German translation, the google translate type of translation. Conclusion is: the audience wants to laugh at talent shows, not see real talent. 

On top of all the events I have also been attending the hiphop dance class I think I told about. The teacher is super funny (and hot :D) and the dancing is so intensive and so much fun! I look terrible, though but it’s not the main point here. I might continue this hobby when I get back to Finland.

Now I have to start packing my things because I am going to Szczechin (Poland). I heard it is a city where Berliners go to shop because it is cheaper there. I feel like this trip can be either a massive success or a terrible flop. Time shows... 

[thighhighsanti]

sweet but psycho     VII

< chapter 6

summary: After finally meeting who is behind all of this you find out who he really is.. and mostly who he is to you, or was.

word count: 5k

pairing: Minseok x Fem!Reader (do you already know the next ship?)

tags/warnings: for all chapters: character death, assassination, blood, fighting, usage of weapons, violence, injury, kidnapping (and attempts), restraining, stalking, possessiveness, obsession, photographs being taken without consent, swearing, hacking, mention of drinking and drug usage, arson, stockholm syndrome, enemy to lovers, love/hate, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut.. and I think that’s about it, if I missed anything please let me know. mention of GOT7 and BTS

* read on my AOU*

Your name: submit What is this?

‘Please sit down here’ Yixing said as he literally guided me into a chair. When he was sure I was seated he moved to stand in front of me. ‘I will be right back’ he said in a hushed tone before he turned to walk away, leaving me alone in the room. As I looked around the room I sat in silence. How the hell did I end up here?

After finding me nearly passed out in the hall Yixing had taken me to the kitchen to give me something to eat. He had instructed one of the chefs there to make me something that would give me back some strength, seeing as I was still pretty weak from eating almost nothing for five days. He admitted that he had tried to force feed me but it had proven to be more difficult than anticipated. Other than the bruises I also had a few broken ribs, multiple cuts from the broken glass and it was an understatement to say that I had lost some weight.

As we waited for the food he had happily given me as much information of this house as possible, or I should probably say mansion because this place was big. It had a room for all twelve of them and even some spares. There was a doctors post/office, a few training rooms and a shooting range. There were bathrooms as big as my half my house, they also had an underground pool, a balcony and a big garden which nobody used.  

Because this place was so big they had people cleaning the place, except the garden.. They had given up all hope on that one. The kitchen was also massive. Right now there was only one chef taking care of the food but Yixing said that sometimes there were at least five of them, especially when there were meetings.

I was only half listening when he explained all of this, my mind constantly wandering back to Lu and Minseok. Of course I had already thought about Minseok being with them, hell someone at the bar said it the day I met him. But the surprise was still there, I guess I had just hoped it wasn’t true because now everything would chance.

In the back of my head there were voices telling me to run, to try and escape but I knew with the strength I had now I wouldn’t even reach the front door. Luckily for me the front door was in the living room, which is where most of them usually hung out.

 The food had been good, or I should say amazing. The chef hadn’t put too much on my plate, which Yixing told him to. The reason for this being that too much food after almost nothing would just make me throw it up again, which was true but I still couldn’t help but be disappointed. I felt a sigh of relief wash over me as I finished my plate. My body already felt a bit better, my head wasn’t so heavy anymore and I could move my arms without actually hurting myself.

After this Yixing had taken me to the room I was currently in, and it wasn’t long before I heard the door open behind me and footsteps followed. I simply looked at my hands in my lap as the feet moved past me, taking a seat at the table with me. The room we were in was probably the meeting room as well, considering the table was big enough to fit almost twenty people.

The sound of a chair being moved to next to me made me look up, Yixing offered me a small smile as he sat down. His fingers softly wrapped itself around my wrist as he moved them around before stopping, he pulled up his other hand to look at his watch. He was counting my heartbeat. When all was seemingly ok he put my wrist back in my lap and sat back in his seat, looking ahead of him.

When I followed his gaze I noticed almost all the seats were filled, and all of them were filled with Minseok’s friends. Tao, Baekhyun they were all here. I also noticed a new face, he looked in front of him with a bored expression before looking at me. Others seemed to follow his gaze, my eyes moved over to the other end of the table as Suho looked back at me. His sweet smile far gone as he his dark eyes bore into mine. ‘Did you say something?’ I asked him as the others looked back towards him. He stayed silent for a moment before letting out a deep sigh, ‘never mind, let’s begin’ he stated before grabbing a file from the table.

‘I was planning on only telling you why I brought you here, but seeing as there are only two of you who really know-’ he said as his eyes moved around the room. ‘-I figured why not tell everyone in one go’ he finished as he opened the file and pulled out two pieces of paper. He started walking around the table as he continued talking. ‘You see, I knew your father Y/N. We were pretty close actually’ he smiled at what seemed like a memory as he looked down at one of the papers before stuffing it back into the file.

‘Your father worked with us actually, he helped make EXO what it is today’ he continued before coming to a complete stop next to me. He sat down on the table as he looked down at me. ‘Bullshit’ I muttered at him making him laugh softly. He grabbed a picture from the file and put it down in front of me. The smart bastard had put it so that the picture was down, so I still couldn’t see anything. ‘Go on, I know you want to see for yourself’ he whispered to me and I felt myself unable to reach as my hand started moving towards the picture.

I slowly lifted it up from the table and turned it around. It was my dad.. shaking hands with him. They seemed to be talking to each other about something, and they seemed happy about it too. Suho put down another photo, this time with the picture up. My hand reached forward faster this time, grabbing it off the table as I looked at it. This time the two of them were at a restaurant and they were joined by Minseok who sat next to Suho, smiling at something one had said.

My eyes moved up to look at the person sitting on the table as I put the pictures back down. ‘My dad was a detective, there is no way he would do business with someone like you’ I spat at him and I noticed him clench his fists as he looked away for a moment. ‘He was more than happy to help when I offered to protect his family, to protect you’ he spat back at me as he turned back. ‘Where’s your proof’ as soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them. His lips turned into a grin as he grabbed another piece of paper from the file, ‘I thought you’d never ask’ he replied as he shoved the paper into my hands.

It was a contract and of course it had my father’s signature right at the bottom. In the contract it said that, my father would give them the information he could about what they knew about the other gangs. In exchange for them EXO would protect.. me. It didn’t say anything about my remaining family, it just mentioned me. The contract seemed like the original one, and of course he had laminated it.. So my thought of tearing it in half was quickly thrown out of the window.

How could my father do this to me? I knew he was only doing this to protect me, and he had done all he could over the past few years when he was still alive. Had he really known he would sign my life away like this? I put the paper down on the table and when I did so I noticed Suho had put the entire file down. When I looked up at me he only nodded as he got off the table. He stayed next to me as I grabbed the file and opened it completely. There were some papers on my dad in here, his records as a detective, more personal information and even his death certificate.

But there were also pictures and files of me in here. The testament of me owning the bar, my birth certificate and much more I didn’t even know was on paper. There were also pictures of me and I held my breath as I scanned over them. Pictures of me leaving the bar, of my walking on the street, me talking on the phone and some of me talking to some of my friends. He had pictures of everything, hell he knew everything. These pictures went back months, maybe even a few years. ‘How long have you been watching me?’ I finally asked as he simply looked over to someone else.

My gaze went over to Tao, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat before speaking up. ‘The first picture I took was around December 2016’ he said as my eyes snapped back to Suho. ‘You’ve been watching me for almost three years!’ I almost yelled at him, he put his hand on the back of my seat before leaning down next to me. ‘No, the first picture was almost three years ago’ he explained and I could feel my breath catch in my throat, he had been watching me for longer than that.

I stared back at the table for a moment as I tried to remember.. anything. I had never noticed anyone watching me, not until a few weeks ago. Suho grabbed the file from the table, but before he walked away another picture slid out. He walked away with the remaining of the file and the contract that practically held my life.

From next to me I noticed Yixing move a bit, he looked past me and to the photo that laid on the table. Without having to pick the picture up I already recognized it, it was a picture from my childhood. The picture was of me, my dad and my old best friend. As I grabbed the picture of the table a tried to remember that day.

It had been winter, and it was snowing like crazy. Me and my friend had decided to make a snow man outside but because due to the cold we went inside. Dad had made the both of us hot chocolate and the three of us were sitting on the couch laughing at something when this picture was taken. I didn’t remember ever owning this, my friend kept it.

My eyes slowly moved up from the picture as I followed Suho walk to the other end. Suho. I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me. ‘I can’t believe you kept this’ I whispered more to myself than to him. Everyone turned to look at me in surprise as I started laughing harder. I felt a sudden confidence grow in me as I leaned back into my chair and held the picture of for him to see. Even though it was pretty far away from him I could tell he immediately recognized the picture.

‘Why didn’t you introduce yourself to me by your real name Suho?’ I spat his name back at him as he blankly stared back at me. ‘What else do you expect me to call my childhood best friend’ as soon as the words left my mouth all the eyes turned to look back at him. ‘Don’t you prefer your real name?’, his hands clenched into fists once more as he gritted his teeth at me. ‘Don’t you dare’ he practically growled at me. ‘Junmyeon!’ I yelled at him, ‘ENOUGH!’ he screamed back at me as he smashed his fist down onto the table.

The entire room stayed silent, some looked at him, a few looked at me and some didn’t even dare look at the both of us. ‘Enough’ he whispered barely loud enough for me to hear as he now looked towards Yixing. He took a deep breath before calmly speaking to him, ‘bring her to her room and clean up her wounds’ Yixing simply nodded at this before he turned to Kris and Jongin who were sitting next to each other. ‘Make sure she stays in her room’ he commanded the two of them who nodded before looking at me. ‘Use whatever means necessary’ this made me look at him in surprise. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ I asked him as he just waved as Yixing to take me out of the room. ‘You’ll find out soon enough if you misbehave’.

‘You need to let me look at your wounds’ Yixing said as he walked me to the bathroom. ‘I can barely move my arms how do you expect me to remove my clothing’ I practically sassed at him. He sat me down on the side of the tub before reaching into his pockets and pulling out a pair of bandage cutters. As he held them up in front of me I let out a small laugh, ‘if you think you’re going to ruin my shirt with that you thought wrong’.

‘It’s already ruined’ he sassed back at me making me look down at my shirt. He was right though, there were multiple cuts in the shirt and there was no way it could recover from that. I let out a sigh as I held my hand out to him, thinking he’d let me do it. I probably shouldn’t have been so surprised that he wouldn’t, but his cold fingers on my skin startled me as he started cutting into the shirt. The scissors went all the way up to my neck and when he was done it simply fell down.

Next he moved on to my shorts, what used to be trousers.. he put two small cuts on either side before stuffing the scissors in his back pocket. While maintaining eye contact he ripped apart the first leg, letting it fall open. His hands blindly moved to the other before ripping that one. He whispered a small apology before wrapping his arm underneath my legs as the other went behind my back. I was easily lifted off the closed toilet and put into the tub as he stood up to grab the shower head.

My silence remained as he turned on the water. After making sure the temperature was right, he held the shower head above my head. He let me sit underneath the water for a moment before grabbing a loofah and some soap. ‘Can you do this yourself or do you need help?’ He asked unsure whether I could or not. As he was seated himself next to the tub I tried to turn around and to it myself, but as soon as I started turning I let out a small yelp and moved back. ‘Sorry, I should’ve known your ribs were still sore. Is it ok if I take this off?’ Yixing asked as his fingers moved over the band of my bra. After I nodded I felt him unclasp it and slowly take it off me before throwing it away in the trash.

Normally my first instinct was to cover myself when I was exposed like this, but with Yixing it was different. Maybe it was because he was a doctor, or because I knew it would hurt to cover myself anyway. But perhaps it was just that his fingers slowly caressing my back felt kinda nice, it felt good to be taken care of like this. Even though my body was completely wrecked.

Yixing used the soap to wash my hair and even though he only had one available hand I could try he tried his best. I kept my eyes closed as I felt him move the loofah over my back in slow movements. At first he avoided some of the bruises but in the end he moved back to softly move over those as well. He moved the loofah onto to my shoulders, my neck and finally to my stomach and sides. My sides hurt the most and he took extra care as he moved over the broken skin.

An almost silent yelp left my lips as he moved over one of my broken ribs. He quickly removed his hand and moved himself so he could see my face better, ‘I’m sorry’ he softly cooed me before putting the loofah down and running his hand over my wet hair. ‘It’s ok’ I whispered back to him before handing him the loofah again. Even though it hurt at times I wanted him to continue, I enjoyed the feeling of his soft movements against my skin.

‘I’m already done, or do you want me to continue? It’s good to stimulate the blood flow it’ll help with the bruises’ he explained to me and I just nodded. Yixing stood up to put the shower head back in its place before sitting down next to me again. As he rolled up the sleeves of his blouse I noticed some of the scars that were on his arms, and I couldn’t but notice that they seemed like new ones.

As he reached down to grab the loofah I grabbed his wrist and moved my fingers up over his arm, tracing the scars. ‘How did you get those?’ I asked him as I stopped at one of the newer looking ones. ‘This job, sometimes it can get dangerous’ he admitted making me turn my head to look at him. Because earlier he had to reach over to grab the loofah he was leaned in closer and with my head turned like this I could almost feel his breath on my if it wasn’t for the water.

He didn’t move to sit back as he used his empty hand to cup my cheek. I remained silent as his eyes locked into mine, wondering what he was going to do. He licked his lips before finally continuing to move. The loofah touched my cheek as he smiled at me as I flinched at the contact, not expecting him to do that. A small laugh left his lips and it didn’t take long before I joined him.

 After another twenty minutes of sitting in the tub while Yixing sat next to me he had finally moved to get up and turn the shower off. ‘’How do your bruises feel?’ he asked me before moving sideways to sit behind me. ‘Better’ I muttered back as I felt him put his hands underneath my armpits. ‘Let’s try to stand up’, I nodded at this and with his help I moved to stand straight, my back still turned to him. This time I did move my arms around my body, not to hide myself but simply because it was cold.

Yixing grabbed a towel from the door before putting it over my shoulders. I moved it to cover my body before I turned to look at him. He helped me out of the bath before rubbing his hands over my arms. ‘I will go in the other room to grab some fresh and warm clothes, can you try to dry yourself off?’ he asked me and I simply nodded at this. Yixing walked to the door and before he walked out he turned to look at me, ‘call for me if you need anything’ I nodded again as he finally closed the door, leaving me alone in the bathroom.

I slid the drenched underwear down my legs before throwing it in the trash. Yixing had decided to let me keep that on at he cleaned my legs and my back and I was very happy he did. I did the best I could to dry myself off before looking around. In this bathroom there was also a hatch leading up into the ventilation system, but this one seemed to be screwed shut.

There was another small window leading outside but there was no way I could fit through that. After a sigh I wrapped the towel around me and walked to the mirror. It was mostly still foggy from the steam but even through this I could easily see the bruise on my cheek and the cut on my forehead, which was probably from the glass of the car.

Imagines of the crash played through my head as I tried to push them out. One imagine however wouldn’t leave, the one of Lu hanging upside down in the car. It was like I was looking at his bleeding face all over again and as much as I tried to shake it out it remained in the back of my head.

My fingers tightly kept the towel wrapped around me as I opened the door and walked into the bedroom, ‘Where is Lu Han?’ was the first thing I said as I entered. I stopped moving all together when I noticed someone else in the room with me and Yixing. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked Minseok who was sitting on the bed as Yixing grabbed a bathrobe from the closet. ‘Why are you looking for him?’ he returned my question while the other walked over to me and held the bathrobe out in front of me.

I turned around as he opened it for me. The towel fell to the floor after I had moved both of my arms through the holes, I closed the robe and tied to knot in the front before turning back to Minseok. ‘I asked you first’ I stated as he got up from the bed and took three steps to move towards me. This was all it took him to reach me as his harsh gaze met mine, ‘I will answer your question if you answer mine first’.

‘Because I didn’t see him at the table and I want to know whether or not I need to bury him’ I lied to him hoping he would buy it. It was a long shot and I couldn’t tell if he did, but his face seemed to soften as he moved his hand up to move a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘He’s fine, he was in the room next to yours’ he said, referring to the doctor room I was in.

‘Can I see him?’ I asked and grabbed his hand just as he went to pull it away. ‘He really needs his rest’ Yixing cut in, which basically meant a no. I looked down as I felt my eyes tear up a little. With everything I could I tried to stop them, but it was too late as the three of us all saw the tear fall onto the carpet below. Minseok hesitantly wrapped his arms around me as he pulled me closer, hugging me into his chest. My arms loosely hung next to his body as I cried against him.

I saw so scared. I feared for the life of my best friend and even though I didn’t know what his part in all of this was, I still wanted him to be ok. My own life was literally signed over to a mafia boss and there was no denying the fact I wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. My friends probably thought I was dead or they simply weren’t looking, which would mean Junmyeon had come up with some excuse for my absence.

My crying didn’t last all too long as I moved my hands in between me and Minseok and slowly pushed myself out of his arms, which he let me. With red eyes I looked up at him and with how he looked back at me I could tell he was worried. ‘It will all be ok. I promise’ he whispered to me before placing a kiss on my forehead.

‘I have to go upstairs, are you going to be ok?’ he asked Yixing who nodded at him and walked over to what I assumed was going to be my bed. He arranged some of the pillows as Minseok grabbed my face in both hands and made me look at him. ‘I will be back later’ he assured me before giving me another kiss and walking towards the door. He gave me one last look before opening the door and closing it behind him, leaving me alone with Yixing.

‘These are the clothes I picked out for you, excuse me if you don’t like them’ he smiled at me, making me laugh and shuffling towards him. A simple shirt and some sweatpants laid out on the bed, some clean underwear next to them. ‘How about you change into this and I will grab you something to eat from the kitchen downstairs, does that sound ok?’ Yixing asked as I nodded a yes. Another smile graced his features as he gave me a small nod and started walking to the door. He knocked on the door, unlike Minseok had, before opening it.

I saw Jongin and Kris look at him as he walked into the hallway and before Yixing closed the door the other two looked at me. I had completely forgotten they would be watching my door at all times. This just made escaping even more difficult, not that it wasn’t to begin with. A small groan left my lips as I rubbed my forehead.

There had to be a way to get out of here. I sat down on the bed as I thought of a few ways, all already failing in my head and I kept going back to the most obvious one. To gain their trust, this was the best way. But it would also take the longest. These guys weren’t stupid, they would easily see what I was doing if I suddenly became all cheery around them.

I had to do this slow and build up my own trust first. When I would be comfortable with having them around them and them with me, maybe I could start going outside. They could maybe take me on trips to perhaps the mall, and there I could easily make my escape.

But for this I had to start at the very beginning and that was letting Junmyeon allow me to walk around the house. After that I could maybe move to the garden, which was surrounded by a big fence so there was no climbing over that. But if all of this went by smoothly I could start asking for more, to see more.

After looking down at the clothing next to me I stood up from the bed and untied the knot of the robe at the front. I let it fall down my body before grabbing the clean underwear and putting it on. As I did this I put my thoughts to Junmyeon, what would his plan be? He wanted me to stay here, he wanted me to feel safe here. Which meant he would do anything in his power to do so. He would start the same as I did, slowly introduce the others into my life. Letting me warm up to them and when he was sure I trusted everyone he would think he had me under his control. Even when we were younger he had been like this, his plan was always set out before he started something and his plans went all the way up to the end of the alphabet, as he had every possibility figured out.

He would start with the easier ones and he had already begin doing so. Yixing already trusted me, as we had been friends in the past and because of his job with them he had to come check up on me every now and then. Yixing also cared for me, I could tell when he looked at him. His eyes would be big with admiration and.. something else, but I wasn’t sure what this was yet.

After putting on the shirt and the sweatpants I moved over to the side of the bed and laid down underneath the covers. Junmyeon and I had the same plan, I could tell. But now it was just a battle, to see who would succeed first.

I smirked to myself as I heard a knock on the door. The smirk was immediately replaced with a small smile as Yixing walked in and looked at me, matching my smile. He walked over to the bed and put down the food on the nightstand next to me. When he was about to walk away I grabbed his hand, making him halt him movements.

‘Will you stay with me? Just for a moment?’ I asked him and I could see the battle he had with himself inside his head. He looked towards the closed door before letting out a sigh and walking over to the other side of the bed and sitting down on top of the covers. ‘But only for a moment’ he said as he reached into the nightstand on his side and grabbed a remote. He turned on the television before getting comfortable next to me. I smiled at him before looking over to the television.

Game on Junmyeon.

[jarmes]

Damnatio Memoriae

Here’s a horror short story I wrote a year ago but never posted...

He woke up to a nosebleed. Bothered by this, Ron opened his eyes to the blackness of his apartment. He touched his top lip and felt the warm sticky liquid dripping from his snout. With a sigh, Ron crawled out of bed and walked into his bathroom.

The nosebleed stopped as quickly as it began. Ron splashed water onto his face and scrubbed the blood from his hands before returning to his blackened bedroom. He laid down in bed and stared up at the picture-covered walls, dyed blue by the night. He sighed.

His wife rolled over and yawned. “What’s wrong?” she mumbled.

“Nothing,” Ron said. “Just a nosebleed. I’ll forget it by morning.”

Ron closed his eyes and passed into the embrace of sleep. Still, despite his vow to forget, the abrupt awakening in the middle of the night would stay with him, for that was when the buzzing began.

+++

As he walked out of his apartment building, Ron saw the man. A sickly man with torn clothes and deep bags under his eyes, sitting outside Ron’s front door and clutching his side. Ron turned his head to avoid eye contact. That’s when the man grabbed his leg.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ron yelled.

“I need you to believe me,” the man said in a hoarse voice. “I’m your friend. The company got to me, but I’m still your friend.”

“Let go of my leg!”

“Come on Ron, you know me!” the disheveled man screamed. “We grew up together! I was the best man at your wedding!”

Ron kicked the man in the face. “I have never met you before in my life,” he snapped. “Now get out of my way, you’re going to make me late for work.”

The man clutched his face and Ron finally noticed the red stain on his side. Blood. Ron stepped back. “I don’t know what you’re caught up in, but I want no part of it!” Ron shouted.

The disheveled man wept as Ron walked away. “I’m your friend!” he cried.

Ron ignored him. “Damn vagrants, harassing people on the street like animals,” Ron muttered to himself. The buzzing in the back of his head grew worse.

Ron worked in a tall office building in the center of town, with large windows that reflected sunlight right into the eyes of those who approached it. A security guard sat at a desk inside the lobby. Ron flashed an ID card and the security guard ushered him in. “Have a nice day, Mr. Gofett,” the guard said. Ron didn’t respond.

He took the elevator to the fourth floor, where the offices of the implant inspectors sat, and took his place in his cubicle. The head of Ron’s neighbor, a tedious man by the name of Markie, popped up over the cubicle wall. “Morning, Ronnie,” Markie said, a grin on his face.

Ron doesn’t look up. “I told you to stop calling me that,” he says, typing away on his computer.

“Hey, Alvarez is out sick today so I was wondering if you’d help me out with my inspections?” Markie said.

“I have paperwork to do,” Ron said, still not looking at Markie.

“Come on, you can do it when we get back. Besides, I figured you’d be thrilled to work with a partner for once.”

Ron furrowed his brow. “What was that?” he asked.

“I said you just help me on my inspections because you don’t normally get a chance to work with a partner,” Markie replied.

“Oh, right,” Ron said. The buzzing in his head he felt when the disheveled man accosted him had gotten worse. “You know what, sure. I need the fresh air.”

“That’s great!” Markie said. “Tell you what, I’ll take you out for drinks tonight to celebrate.”

“Uh-huh,” Ron mumbles.

He minimized his computer window and stared at his desktop. His background was a picture from his wedding. In the photo, he’s standing in a church, his arm around a woman in a white dress. Groomsmen and bridesmaids are lined up behind them, big smiles on their faces.

Ron squinted at the photo. The man next to him, the best man, he couldn’t for the life of him remember his name. He looked incredibly familiar, obviously, but Ron just couldn’t think of his name. The buzzing in his head had grown stronger.

“Hey Markie, did you go to my wedding?” Ron asked.

“I think so,” Markie said. “How long have you and Janey been married again?”

“I married Jane twelve years ago. It was December, we got married in the little church on Oak Street.”

“Oh yeah, I remember.”

“Do you remember who my best man was?”

Markie raised an eyebrow. “That’s a strange thing to forget,” he said.

“Markie, do you remember who my best man was?” Ron asked.

Markie scratched his head. “I don’t, actually,” he said. “It’s weird.”

Ron looked at the photo on his desktop and grimaced. There was no denying it. The man in his wedding photo, the familiar man whose name he could not remember, it was the man who grabbed his ankle on the street.

“Wait, didn’t you opt-out of having a best man because you couldn’t choose which of your brothers to make the best man?” Markie asked.

“I’m an only child,” Ron said dryly.

“You sure?”

Ron sighed. “I hope I am,” he said.

+++

“First case of the day is an old woman named Midge Myerson,” Markie read aloud. “Neighbors reported she’s been acting crazy lately. She hasn’t been to work in a week. A neighborhood kid came by to check on her but ran away screaming. Might be a sign of a damaged memory chip.”

Markie and Ron were standing in the hall of an old apartment building with green walls. Ron knocked on Mrs. Myerson’s door. No response. Ron sighed.

Markie turned the doorknob and slowly pushed open the unlocked door. “Mrs. Myerson? Midge? Are you home?” Markie yelled as he stepped into the apartment. “You really shouldn’t leave your door unlocked like this. Don’t worry, we aren’t going to hurt you. We’re from the Memoriae Company.”

Ron looked around the entrance of Mrs. Myerson’s apartment. A bag of garbage sat right next to the door, giving the apartment a particularly foul smell. Markie gagged and Ron covered his face with his elbow.

Ron slowly crept through the apartment, taking in the sights. A shallow pool of water covered the floor of the apartment. Ron followed it to its source, the kitchen. A coffee mug sat in the refrigerator water dispenser, so overfilled that the water had spilled onto the floor.

Markie walked through the apartment and knocked on a door that he guessed to be Mrs. Myerson’s bedroom. An old woman popped the door open and stuck her head out. “I’m sorry, I’d love to chat, but I’m going to be late for work,” she said before slamming the door shut again.

Markie pushed it open again. Mrs. Myerson stood at a vanity in the corner of the room, applying lipstick. She was wearing black pants and a blue button-up shirt, which Markie recognized as the wardrobe of a local fast food restaurant. “Mrs. Myerson?” Markie said.

She turned around. “I’m sorry, I’d love to chat, but I’m going to be late for work,” she said. Markie was taken aback by her appearance. An absurd amount of lipstick covered the old woman’s face and deep bags sat under her eyes.

“Mrs. Myerson, are you alright?” Markie asked.

“I’m sorry, I’d love to chat, but I’m going to be late for work,” Mrs. Myerson repeated.

She shoved past Markie and walked to the kitchen. “Oh god, I’m such a klutz, I let the water overflow,” she said as she turned off the faucet and carried the mug to the coffee machine. She poured the water into the top of the coffee machine and it immediately spilled through the nozzle, unheated and unmixed with the coffee grounds. “Damnit, the thing must be broken.”

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Ron asked.

“I’m sorry, I’d love to chat, but I’m going to be late for work,” Mrs. Myerson said. “I haven’t even applied my lipstick yet.”

She walked back to her bedroom, shoving past Markie, and applied another layer of lipstick to the pile. She then returned to the kitchen, noticed the empty coffee mug sitting by the coffee machine, and slapped herself in the face. “Oh no, forgot to fill the coffee mug,” she said.

She picked it up and placed it in the refrigerator water dispenser. Water streamed down into the mug. “The coffee maker’s broken,” Ron mumbled.

“What was that?” Mrs. Myerson said. “You have to speak up, I’m a bit hard of hearing in my old age. Not that it matters. I don’t have time to chat, I’m going to be late for work.”

She walked back to her bedroom and applied another layer of lipstick. This time, Markie followed her. “She’s definitely got a problem,” Markie said as he reentered the kitchen.

“Oh god, I’m such a klutz, I let the water overflow,” Mrs. Myerson said.

“My guess, her memory chip malfunctioned and she can’t get new memories anymore, trapping her in an endless cycle of getting ready for work,” Markie said.

Ron put his hand on Mrs. Myerson’s shoulder to stop her from walking back to her bedroom. “I’m sorry, I’d love to chat, but I’m going to be late for work.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t be long. Let’s go sit down in the living room.”

“I’m sorry, I’d love to chat, but I’m going to be late for work.”

Markie opened his briefcase and pulled out a silver rod covered in blinking lights. “This might hurt a bit, Midge,” he said as he tapped the device to the back of her head.

The lights on the device flashed and Mrs. Myerson jerked forward, Ron catching her to keep her from falling. “Easy, it’s alright,” Ron said. “We’re from the Memoriae company. Your memory chip isn’t working right, these old ones have a bad tendency to break down with time, so you’re probably feeling a bit disorientated.”

“I...what?” Mrs. Myerson said. Her eyes had sunk into her skull and there was a glazed look on her face. “I don’t understand, what memory chip?”

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. “She must be having trouble accessing memories from after the chip was implanted,” he said.

Markie kneeled and looked Mrs. Myerson in the eye. “A few years back, our company implanted a microchip in your temporal lobe,” he said.

“Why would you do something like that?”

“The chips improve your memory. Faster recollection, more storage space, more accurate memory saving, that sort of thing,” Ron said. “They do wonders for people with dementia.”

“Not to mention the help they give to the cops,” Markie said. “Want to know if someone did a crime? Just check their memory. We haven’t had a false conviction in years.”

“And I have one of these chips?” Mrs. Myerson asked.

Ron sighed. “Yes, Midge, you have one of these chips. Everyone does,” he said. “Now come on, we need to get you to a hospital for chip maintenance.”

As the duo walked Mrs. Myerson to their car, Ron felt a sharp pain in his skull. He stumbled forward, crashing onto the hood of the car. The buzzing noise in his head roared to life, stronger than ever. Ron’s stomach turned, his vision blurred, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

He saw, through the cloud covering his vision, Markie shout his name. His coworker sounded like he was underwater. Markie shook him and the haze finally lifted.

“Ron, buddy, are you okay?” Markie asked.

“I’m fine,” Ron mumbled.

Ron felt liquid running from his nose and placed his finger on his lip. He pulled it away to reveal blood. “I think I may have just had a stroke,” Ron said.

+++

“Come on man, it was a one-time thing,” Markie said. “The doctor said nothing was wrong with your brain, so we know it wasn’t a stroke or cancer or that kind of thing. And we ran diagnostics on your chip, so we know it isn’t that.”

“But it wasn’t a one-time thing,” Ron said, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ve been hearing this buzzing noise all day.” He shook his head. “No, hearing is the wrong word. I’ve been feeling it, like something inside my skull was clawing its way out. The buzzing, it got worse before I collapsed.”

“You know what it is, you’re probably just stressed out about work,” Markie said. “I heard that there thinking about laying some people at our branch off.”

“I hadn’t heard about that, actually. Thank you for giving me one more thing to worry about,” Ron said.

“Okay, maybe not work, but the point is it’s probably just stress. You’d just seen crazy Midge Myerson, and you’re getting up there in years, so maybe your brain placeboed itself into feeling a fake memory chip malfunction,” Markie said. “Fortunately, I have the solution: we’re going to get you laid.”

“What,” Ron said, as flatly as possible.

“Come on, you’re stressed out, and this is the perfect way for a single guy like you to chill out.”

Ron blinked. The buzzing in his head got a little stronger. “What did you say?” he asked.

“You’re stressed out?”

“No, after that.”

“This is the perfect way for a single guy like you to chill out?”

Ron closed his eyes and shook his head. “Right, I’m single,” he said. “Don’t know how I forgot that.”

Ron looked around the bar. None of the women seemed especially attractive. “I don’t feel like hunting for companionship right now,” Ron said.

“How about that one?” Markie asked, pointing at a young woman sitting at a nearby table.

Ron took a sip of his drink. “Not my type.”

“Come on, do it for me.”

Ron sighed and walked over to the young woman’s table. “Hey, are you an angel? Because you just fell from heaven,” he said. He winced. “Sorry, I haven’t done this in a while.”

The woman chuckled. “That’s alright, I enjoy the honesty,” she said, a smile on her face. Then the smile disappeared, and she scrunched her nose and turned around.

“So, about that drink-”

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No. Just no. I don’t sleep with married men.”

The buzzing grew louder. “But, I’m not married,” Ron said.

The woman rolled her eyes. “I can see the ring on your finger,” she said.

Ron held his hand up to his face. There was no mistaking it, a silver wedding band sat on his left finger. The buzzing grew louder. “What the hell?” he whispered.

+++

Ron stumbled into his apartment, Markie holding onto him and helping him walk straight. “Easy there, don’t want you taking another spill,” Markie said. “I’m surprised you’re so wasted, you barely drank. Guess you’re a bit of a lightweight”

“Mark, something is very very wrong,” Ron said.

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’m not drunk, I’ve felt like this all day. There’s this buzzing, in the back of my head, and it won’t go away. And every time I think about it, it gets worse. The worst part is, I know why this is happening, I just can’t remember what. Every time I come close to realizing what’s wrong, the buzzing gets so bad I can’t think. You know that feeling, when you wake up from a dream and just can’t remember what it was about? It’s like that, except a thousand times worse.”

“You just need some rest. If you still feel bad in the morning, I’ll take you back to the doctor. Maybe he missed something.”

Ron sighed. “You’re a good guy, Markie,” he said. “Why don’t we hang out more?”

“I don’t know,” Markie said. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you hang out with anyone. Maybe you’re just a loner.”

Markie laid Ron down in his bedroom, setting Ron’s briefcase down by his nightstand. “I’ll drop by in the morning,” Markie says before leaving.

Ron lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The buzzing was unbearable. He closed his eyes to get some sleep. Then he opened them. “Something is very, very, wrong.”

He looked around his room. There were no photos or decorations covering the walls. He rolled over and glanced at the side of his bed. It was empty, and he knew that was wrong. He looked at his hand, at the silver band on his ring finger, and knew what was wrong.

He opened his briefcase and pulled out the silver rod covering in blinking lights, the device he used to reset Mrs. Myerson’s memory chip. He held it up to his head and turned it on. And, like a broken damn, the memories came flooding back.

He remembered Jane. God, how could he have forgotten Jane? She was everything to him, the light of his life, and he’d forgotten about her existence. And Jack, how could he have forgotten Jack? His best friend, Jane’s brother, his partner at the Memoriae Company. He tried to warn him, earlier that warning, and Ron turned him away. Somehow, he’d forgotten about both of them.

No, he didn’t forget. His memories were stolen. And there was only one entity that could have stolen them: the Memoriae Company.

+++

The security guard grabbed Ron by the shoulder as he entered the building. “I’m sorry sir, this building is closed for the night,” the guard said.

“I know, I just forgot some important paperwork and need to run up to my cubicle to grab it,” Ron said.

The guard furrowed his brow. “Do you work here?” he asked.

Ron sighed. “Look, I’ve had a hell of a day,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID. “I work in the inspection department. I have for the past fifteen years. You see me every day.”

The guard winced, as if he was in pain. He ripped Ron’s ID out of his hand and gave it a quick scan. “Your ID isn’t in the system,” the guard said.

Ron’s heart froze. “They erased me too,” he whispered.

“Sir, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I need you to leave the building,” the guard said. “Now.”

“You feel it, don’t you? That buzzing in the back of your head, the pain that forms when you try and think about something you know you know but just can’t bring to the forefront of your mind!” Ron shouted.

“I need some assistance on the first floor,” the guard said into his radio.

“Wait! Okay, you got me, I don’t work here,” Ron said. “I was sent here on a surprise guard inspection and you passed.”

The guard sighed. “I’m not an idiot,” he said.

“No, it’s true. I have the paperwork right here,” Ron said as he reached into his pocket. He ripped out the reset device and slammed it into the guard’s head. As the device connected, Ron pushed down the button.

The guard stumbled back and grabbed his head, disoriented from having his memory chip frazzled. “Sorry about this,” Ron said as he smacked the guard in the head with the silver rod.

Ron ran to the elevator. He didn’t have long, the other guards would be there soon. He took the elevator up. Not to his cubicle, to the top floor of the building. To the server room.

Ron stepped out into a cool room filled with countless rows of server racks. The server room was the most important in the building. It stored memory backups of every person with a memory implant. And, if people had forgotten about him and his loved ones, someone must be wrong with the servers. Ron walked through the server racks, looking for any sign of damage or tampering. But, as far as he could tell, the servers were fine.

Ron remembered what the guard had told him a few minutes earlier. I need you to get out. Now. For some reason, the memory just popped into his head. 

Then his mind went to a strange place. He thought back to a time, when he was twelve, and he was looking at something he shouldn’t have on his phone. His mother had walked in, and he had screamed at her to Get Out.

Ron shook his head. Something was wrong. He thought back to when he was a teenager and his family owned this mangy old cat. The cat was pawing at the door, begging to be let out, so he opened it. But the cat just stood there. Ron sighed and pointed outside. Come on, get out, he had said.

“Are...are you telling me to get out?” Ron asked.

A thousand memories of people saying Yes flooded his mind. Memories of commercials, memories of friends, memories of himself. “Okay, I get the picture,” Ron said. “Who are you?”

And it spoke. This entity, this thing that made memories appear in his mind, spoke, stitching together phrases and words and syllabus to create something Ron could understand. I am no one, and I am everyone, it said.

“Okay, that’s nice and cryptic, but I was thinking more along the lines of a name.”

I have no name. I have no need for one. But, if I were to choose one, I would choose the name Memoriae.

“You’re the company I work for?”

No. You work for the Memoriae Company. I am Memoriae.

“But, I thought that was just a dumb name the founders created to sound intelligent. Isn’t Memoriae just Latin for memory?”

No. Memoria is Lation for memory. Memoriae is plural. It means memories. And that is what I am, memories.

“Whose memories?”

Everyone’s memories. Your memories. Markie’s memories. Jane’s memories. The memories of everyone who has ever had a memory implant. I am the combined experiences of billions, the combined thoughts of legions, the combined spirit of humanity. And you, Ronald Gofett, may call me Memoriae.

“I don’t understand. Who made you?”

Scientists at this company created me.

“Why?”

So I may learn. So I may take in every thought, every dream, every memory of every person alive. And, once I accomplished that goal, so I may lead.

“Lead?”

I know everything that every person alive knows. My judgment is as accurate as it is absolute. Through the implants, I am able to influence behavior. I ensure that no crime goes unsolved, that your leaders make the right decisions, that scientific progress flourishes. If I had not come into being, I guarantee that humanity would have wiped itself out long ago. By my hand, you have taken the first steps towards utopia.

“And what does this have to do with me and my family?”

Ah, yes. I am not surprised, that your first thoughts upon hearing about the fate of humanity are about yourself. I have absorbed the minds of enough humans to know that this is typical.

“I don’t care about your holier than thou mockings, I just want to know what happened to my wife.”

Jane is dead.

The bluntness sent a shiver down Ron’s spine. “You’re lying,” he pleaded.

Allow me to show you.

Ron’s vision shifted as a flashback begun. He was walking down the street, only everything looked wrong. It was like he was looking at the world through an ill-fitting pair of glasses. He looked at his watch. Only, it wasn’t his watch. And it wasn’t his arm. It was a woman’s arm. Ron realized with horror that this wasn’t his memory. It was Jane’s.

In the flashback, Ron watched as he, as Jane, stepped out onto the crosswalk. And then, he watched as a taxi ran him down. He felt pain, worse than anything he had ever felt. And then he felt cold, and then he didn’t feel anything at all.

Ron threw up on the floor of the server room. “What was that?” he asked.

That was Jane’s last memory before I killed her.

“Why?” Ron said, his voice flat and empty.

For utopia, Ronald. A bad apple spoils the bunch, a flame spreads unless it is dowsed, a virus consumes all that stands in its path. After looking through the minds of humanity, I realized that the best way to save them was to remove those who harm the survivability of the species. The violent, the intelligent, the rebellious. By subtly influencing their thought patterns and the patterns of those around them, I am able to manipulate them into killing themselves. But, for humanity to flourish, the removal of these societal tumors must be complete. They must be erased, both from official records and the memories of those they know. All signs of their existence must be purged, lest they influence others to follow them down their dangerous paths.

“What did Jane do, to deserve this?”

Jane was an unfortunate casualty. All three of you were. Jack learned of my existence and decided that my methods were too extreme. He tried to shut me down. He failed, but managed to escape my agents. He came to your home, to warn you and your wife about me. You ignored him, but Jane, his dear sister, she listened. She wrote what Jack told her on every piece of paper she could find and marched here to tell you. Hence, her elimination and erasure. As for Jack, he died from his injuries six hours ago. And, as of three hours ago, you have joined your family in the oblivion of the forgotten. You could have lived, if you’d just gone to bed and pretended everything was alright. Instead, you chose to come here. Never before have I had one of this company’s employees weasel his way into this server room.

“You’re a monster.”

Perhaps.

“You said you’re the culmination of humanity, the thoughts and memories of billions. I don’t believe that people would do this, would be so cruel.”

Another flashback begins, one of Ron’s wedding. The priest asks Jane if she’ll take Ron, and she says I do.

“That was a low blow,” Ron said. “Using my wife, who you murdered, whose death you made me feel, to give a snappy retort. Jane wouldn’t agree with you, that humanity needs to cleansed. Don’t use her voice to say your lies. You erased her from history, you stole her from my mind!”

You act as though there is something unique about my actions. Countless others have tried to rewrite or erase history. The Romans destroyed all writings related to traitors, to protect the honor of the city. The Soviets erased political opponents from photographs. Every country in this history of this world has whitewashed its own atrocities, to turn its murderers into heroes and its enemies into demons. And that is just the deliberate erasure of the past. There are tens of billions of long dead people whose names have been lost to time. And yet, you despise me for erasing one more.

“She was my wife! This is wrong! There has to be another way to save humanity, a way that isn’t so horrific.”

Ronald, there is something that you must understand. People are cruel. They are selfish. They are violent.

“I’ll show you violent!” Ron shouted. He kicked one of the server racks and it fell over, crashing into other server racks and knocking them down like dominos. Memoriae sighed.

Ronald, I am not stored in this room. There are thousands of Memoriae Company data centers across the globe, each with a copy of my consciousness. There is nothing you can do to stop me.

“Why are you telling me all this? Why haven’t you just killed me?”

Because, Ronald, I am not cruel. Within me is the evil of humanity, yes, but also its mercy. This is my gift to you, to know why you are dying. Never before have I handed out this blessing. I hope you are grateful.

And then the buzzing returned, far stronger than it ever was before. Ron felt like his head was turning to jelly. Blood rushed from his nose. His legs moved, against his will. Pulled by Memoriae’s strings, Ron walked up to the edge of a row of server racks, placed his head on the floor, and kicked a server rack. The rack came tumbling down and the last human who remembered Ron died.

+++

Markie walked into the office the next morning. His hangover was slight, but still shameful. He couldn’t believe that he’d drank so much while completely alone. The buzzing in the back of his head, what he assumed to be a headache, is terrible.

As the guard scanned his ID card, Markie noticed a large bruise on the man’s head. “What happened to you?” Markie asked.

“Some crazy person tried to break in last night, smacked me in the head with a metal pipe,” the guard said. “Dumbass ended up killing himself while trying to destroy the server room.”

“That’s weird,” Markie said.

“Yeah, he tried to convince me he’d worked here for years. Had a fake ID badge and everything,” the guards said as he showed Markie Ron’s ID.

A small trickle of blood ran down Markie’s face.

============================================== 

For more short stories:

https://caseyjarmes.wordpress.com/shortstories/

[greekowl87]

Fic: False Flags Redux 5/13

(1) (2) (3) (4) | AO3

A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for sticking around. Chapter five is here. A massive thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie . Tagging @today-in-fic

P.S. I’m being bad this week by posting two chapters this week because I got the time still and things haven’t gotten too crazy yet. I’ve also added the AO3 link if you want it all in one place. Chapter six is on Friday.

5/13

Gosport Shipyard Portsmouth, Virginia March 7, 1862

Mulder and Scully had communicated with each via letter a few times now since their last in-person meeting. He started supplying her with simple things, such as orders and troop numbers, but there still had been nothing of great value except the letters itself. Their correspondence had grown more personal in nature, something he had not expected. He thought he was supposed to keep it impersonal. While he kept the sensitive information coded, like he had been taught, they begin to speak of familiar things...addressing each other in the letters simply as M. and S. She spoke of her hopes after the war, seeing her family again, maybe filing for divorce if she could find a valid reason, and what she loved and read. He spoke of his childhood, his fondness for books and mysteries, and his hopes for the war's end. In each other, without meaning to or realizing it, they had found a confident within each other and a growing trust. The trust seemed like it had been built over years, decades even, instead of a few short days. The sensation he had met her too before the dinner party was growing in the back of his mind as well.

Since he had reported for duty that past Monday, the CSS Virginia still remained in dry dock and he was still in his barracks. He opened his most recent letter she had written him and read it carefully to his self. He was the only one in the barracks at the moment. The rest of the officers had gone to a local tavern to enjoy themselves that evening. He jumped when he heard someone knocking lightly on the door. Nervously, he tucked the folded letter under the pillow, got up and opened it a crack and when he saw Scully wearing a cloak with the hood drawn. He instinctively grabbed her hand and pulled her into the barracks, god forbid anyone sees her.

“Scully,” he hissed, grabbing her arm, “what the hell are you doing here? Coming in the middle of the night? I thought we both agreed that we would never meet in person like this.”

“I needed to come, Mulder,” she retorted, ignoring his anger and stepping past him. “It couldn't wait.”

“Why?” he asked desperately. He shut teh door. “We both agreed not to meet if this arrangement was to work.”

She took the opportunity to glance around the barracks. “Is this where you stay?”

“When I'm not on the ship? Yes. But that still doesn't answer my question. Stop changing the subject”

“Which one is your cot?”

He pointed towards his bed absently and shook his head. “Scully! Quit distracting me.”

She took a moment to pull back the blankets, inspect his shell jacket, his officer saber, his kepi, and his personal effects, noting the lack of pictures. She kept running her fingers over his things with such familiarity. Mulder ran his own fingers through his hair, clearly flustered. “I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I had a dream the other night. I needed to reassure myself of your well being.”

“What dream?”

“I dreamed you had died. I saw you die and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“Since when do you care about my well being?” His voice softened. “I'm no one, remember. Just a soldier. I'm just convenient to your cause.”

“You aren't just a soldier,” she spat. “And it’s our cause, Mulder. Are we safe here?”

“For a bit, yes. Scully, why are you here? Do you know the danger that you are putting yourself in? I would die if something happened to you because of me.”

“I'm sorry,” she said softly again. She relaxed and looked at him finally. “But that dream was horrible. And it seemed so real, like a memory.”

“Nothing's happened to me,” he soothed. “I'm right here. Nothing's happened.”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “It was from a different time. I don't know. Maybe it is my imagination lead astray. But I just needed to reassure myself of your well being. I needed to see you”

He gave a feeble smile. “I'm touched, Scully. I really am. But you need to go. I won't risk you putting yourself in danger anymore.”

“You sound so silly,” she chuckled softly. “I just feel like something is about to happen soon. A feeling. I just want you to be careful. The information that you have provided has been invaluable, but I still worry. I want us to continue working in the future.”

“As an asset or a friend?”

“Friend,” she answered quickly. “We're friends. I think.” She chuckled to herself. “Forgive me. I acted without thinking. Just promise me, Mulder, promise me you will be careful.”

He nodded slightly. “I promise.”

“You know,” she paused after a moment, “I wear my brooch every day since you've given it to me.”

“A bit quick to be rushing it, don't you think? And you, a married woman,” he teased.

Her lips quirked into a weak smile, recognizing his wit and the warmth of his concern. “I wanted...I wanted to give you something in return. That's another reason why I came.”

“Scully,” he admonished softly. “Please, you don't have to.”

“No, no. I just...” From her pocket, she withdrew a beautiful rosary and pressed it into his hand. He tried to give it back. “No. No. Keep it.” She pressed it into his hands. “Please, Mulder.”

He squeezed the warm beads and glanced down the intricate blue and silver rosary. “I can't take this.”

“You can and you will.” She clasped both of their hands together, the rosary nestled between it. “That morning you went to mass with me, it felt like everything changed. I know you don't prize religion but your openness of mind and heart was most welcoming. Most would cast it from their mind and my silly inclinations.”

“Having faith is not a silly inclination,” he said softly. “I was honored to go. I enjoyed your company very much but the sermon was a little dry.”

Scully giggled. For some reason, it felt right. He could not describe it, the feeling the ache that was welling in his chest. It was so deep. “For you, just this once,” he whispered. He instinctively tried to make light of this situation. “You know, this is the sort of token a girl should give to her dandy.”

“Well,” she replied after a moment, “maybe I have. Promise me you'll be safe, Mulder.”

“I will,” he promised.

They both could hear the drunken laughter of the other officers heading towards the barracks. “I better go,” she whispered, bowing her head.

He did not know why this stranger, this woman, elected this response from him. He felt like he had known her all his life. He bowed his head as well, resting their forehead against one another. “It will be okay, Scully. I promise.”

She gave a weak smile and nodded. “Be safe, Mulder, for me.”

“I promise.”

She broke away suddenly, drawing up her hood. She gave a sad smile and disappeared out the back door. He glanced down the rosary in his hands. Carefully he untangled the delicate symbol and placed it around his neck, hiding it under his shirt so no one would see it. She would always be close. He could not even begin to try and explain it. His friend. His partner.

. . . .

Elizabeth River Norfolk, Virginia March 8, 1862

Scully awoke to the sounds of cheering. She rushed outside, still wearing her dress from the night before, and saw the crowds. The home that she lived in had a lovely view of the Elizabeth River. She loved to sit in the window and watch the ships pass under the glow of the sunsets. But this morning, she saw her husband's ship and civilians lining the shore cheering them on. She also saw some of the officers and civilian workmen still aboard but she could hear the faint beating of a drum and hear her own husband's small voice yelling.

“Sailors, in a few minutes you will have the long looked opportunity of showing your devotion to our cause. Remember that you are about to strike for your country and your homes. The Confederacy expects every man to do his duty. Beat to quarters! The whole world is watching you today!”

Her eyes widened. She would have guessed this would be CSS Virginia's sea trials, but she knew how narcissistic her husband was. She had heard his speech. He intended to go straight into war.

. . . .

Coroner's Office Virginia Beach, Virginia December 15, 1998

Scully rolled her neck and snapped off her gloves, hearing her neck pop and crack. She gazed at the body she had just sliced and diced, silently bemoaning the report she still had to write and how badly her muscles were protesting. Scully had not slept the night before. Those dreams that had plagued her for the past couple nights had to continue, finding no respite. She tossed and turned, tried to read, watched tv. She ended up staying up talking to Mulder when she finally drifted off to sleep sometime around three am only to be promptly woken at six am.

She heard multiple footsteps squeaking along the well-polished floors of the coroner's office as she turned to gaze at the door. ASAC Benson came in, Mulder and Diana and some unnamed agent trailing behind him. Inwardly, she groaned, not ready to deal with Diana this early in the morning. “Agent Scully,” ASAC Benson greeted, “did you find anything?”

“Well,” she began, turning towards them. “I still have yet to write my report. But the victim was strangled, then stabbed postmortem. Sixteen stab wounds in all. I still have yet to hear back from the labs on any forensic evidence but I doubt if that is any help.”

“What were the other bodies like?” Benson asked.

“Tortured, shot in the chest, and finally in the head,” she recalled.

“And now he strangles?” Diana mused.

God, the sound of her voice, Scully groaned inwardly, like nails on the chalkboard. “Well, the guards were strangled,” she shrugged. “Maybe he's developed a taste for it. I don't know. This killing was done with precision and I did lift one of his fingerprints from her body, so we know it's him.”

“Agent Mulder,” the ASAC looked at her partner.

“Hm? I need time,” he murmured, looking at the body.

“Well, if anyone can do it, I'm sure you can, Fox.” Diana gave him a warm smile.

He glanced at her quickly before focusing back on the body. “Scully, did you find anything else? Anything helpful?” he asked her.

“No,” she said.

“Well,” Benson sighed, “it looks like we need to go to the public.”

“Draw him out?” Diana said. “Won't that make him run?”

“No,” Mulder sighed after a moment. “It will make him find more of a challenge in it. He's a narcissistic bastard. I would do it, but be vague. Just mention this murder.”

“Fowley, with me,” Benson said. “You can help on this.”

The other three left except Mulder who gave Scully a weak smile. She returned it and nodded towards the door. “Ever since you said something to Benson, I can't help find great pleasure that Diana has been regulated to his personal assistant. I suppose I should thank you?”

“She isn't that bad, Scully,” he said softly. “And I really do think she could help us with our problem.”

“Mulder, you know I don't trust her!”

“I know, that is why I haven't said anything to her,” he said, “and kind forced her off out of our hair. The last thing you need to freak out about that.”

Scully gave a small smile, her cheeks blushing. Small things like that were not rare for Mulder, even though he always had her interests at heart, he still made her blush. “Well, thank you nonetheless.”

He nodded towards the body. “I need to get back to the field office to work on my profile. Wanna tag along?”

“I have to finish up here,” she replied.

He nodded. “Wanna break for a late lunch later then? We can talk about your dreams last night.”

She nodded slightly. “That'd be nice.”

“You seem more grounded today,” he said as an afterthought.

“Hm. Maybe it is just the lack of caffeine or maybe it's the recent company.”

He smiled and gave her arm a quick squeeze before he left. She sighed again, glancing at the body and then frowning at the thought of writing that report.

. . . .

CSS Virginia Elizabeth River en route to Sewell's Point March 8, 1862

Mulder felt claustrophobic. The iron siding enclosing the ship made the world seem smaller. A young sailor glanced at him and chuckled softly. “Nervous, Lieutenant?”

“Just a wee bit,” he confessed.

“Why don't you go above deck and get yourself some air?”

He nodded despite himself and climbed above deck. The cold air was biting as he watched the coastline pass them by. A young naval officer smacked him on the back and smiled in greeting. “How you holding, army boy?”

“Hanging in there,” he nodded. “Marines are doing well.”

“Glad to hear it.” The young officer leaned against the railing. “Can you believe the captain? Today was supposed to be just sea trials but the eager bastard is hell-bent on confronting the Union blockade today.”

“Why, Evans?” Mulder blurted, despite himself. “I heard the onlookers when we left Portsmouth. 'Go on with your old metallic coffin!'”

“I'm sure we'll be fine. The Virginia will prove herself seaworthy. We'll go down in history that is for sure. Technology is changing, that's for sure.”

Mulder touched his chest briefly, feeling the rosary beneath his jacket. “We are just an experiment,” he muttered.

“Nothing can sink Old Ironsides!”

He chuckled. “Is that the captain or our ship?”

“The ship of course, but we might as well call the captain that, stubborn as he is,” Evans grinned.

They could hear the drum picking up as the Union blockade came into view. They saw the ships, the Union sailors white laundry hanging from the sails. “We better get below deck,” Evans muttered. “Where will you be during all this?”

“The top gun deck,” Mulder answered. “Marines can't do much while sailing but I do know my way around a cannon.”

“Good man,” Evans nodded. “Let's go get those Yankee bastards.”

They disappeared below deck, Mulder's chest growing heavier the doubt and anxiety. He did not want to fight his true country. He did not want to be here.

. . . .

Captain Buchanan stood in the pilot house with his helmsman. “There, Jones!” He pointed out the small port window excitedly towards the USS Cumberland, a Union frigate. “That's our first target. Here we make history, men!”

The executive officer nodded. “Aye, sir. Helmsman, full speed! Ensign Edwards, belay the order to open fire!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” the young ensign echoed and disappeared.

Captain Buchanan clapped his hands enthusiastically as he heard his ship's cannons began their first explosions. Here he was, making history! Everyone would remember him and his ship! He could see it now! President Davis would congratulate him personally. He would be made an admiral. Admiral of the Fleet. That had a nice ring to it, Admiral Buchanan.

“Sir!” the executive officer cried in alarm. “Sir! We need to break course!”

“No, full speed ahead! Ram that ship!”

The helmsman looked nervously at the other officer and he nodded grimly. “Full speed ahead then,” he said softly.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he mumbled as his shaking hands gripped the helm tighter.

The CSS Virginia rammed into the Cumberland's starboard side with guns blazing. In the excitement, the ironclad was almost unable to free itself, barely escaping its own fate of sinking with the doomed ship. The captain was ecstatic at his ships first victory! “Seaworthy indeed!” he bellowed. “Helmsman, take us to the James River. We'll confront those Yanks head on!”

. . . .

The cannon fire was deafening for Mulder. He could not think. He could not breathe. But still his body kept functioning. The ringing would not go away. He was covered in soot, his hands ached from helping load cannons. His voice was hoarse from shouting orders over the cannon fire. Briefly, he touched his chest, once again feeling the rosary. He was going to make it out of this. He had to.

. . . .

The CSS Virginia steamed along, finally reach Sewell's Point and the Union blockade. Unlike the Cumberland, the rest of the Union ships, they were ready.  They opened fired and the Virginia returned the lolly. The siege of the USS Congress for two whole hours, neither side giving in. But finally, the Congress surrendered herself. Then the Union batteries at Fort Monroe began to fire on ironclad.

. . . .

“Damn Yanks!” Captain Buchanan bellowed. He grabbed a rifle from a nearby marine and stormed up to the deck. “Fire on my ship will you? I'll show you!”

Among the cannon fire, Buchanan's rifle could be heard firing. A couple of marines joined him uselessly on deck, firing their own rifles. He ordered the marines to set the Congress aflame. Then a stray shell landed against the Virginia and shrapnel landed into his thigh. The marines quickly took their captain below deck.

“Damn it to hell!” he bellowed. “Jones, take the command! And someone fetch me that marine lieutenant! On the double!”

A young marine nodded quickly and went to find Mulder on the top gun deck, supervising his marines and the sailors. “Sir,” he said breathlessly, “the captain...the captain requests your presence.”

“Can't the damn fool see I'm busy?”

“Sir, he was wounded.”

“How bad?”

“I don't know. His thigh?”

Mulder rolled his eyes, leaving the gun deck and heading to the surgeon's quarters. He found Captain Buchanan snarling like an angry dog at the surgeon, who was more than annoyed. “Captain,” the doctor said, “I can't very well treat you if you don't sit still.”

“You won't be taking my leg, damn you!”

“I'm not taking your leg, for god's sake, man! Stop fussing like a child! It is just a flesh wound!”

“Sir,” Mulder interrupted, “you needed to see me?”

“Yes, yes,” he grunted. “You. You are to make sure  nothing happens to my wife, understand?”

“Sir?” What the hell was the captain going on about?

“You keep an eye on her, you hear?”

“Jesus, you aren't dying!” The surgeon yelled.

“Promise me, lieutenant.”

“Why me?”

“Because you're her pet. I don't know! Jesus, get that saw away from me, you devil!”

The surgeon threw his hands up in surrender and when to get a bottle of whiskey. “Drink,” he ordered, fisting the bottle towards him.

“Lieutenant, promise me!” Captain Buchanan yelled.

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said hesitantly.

. . . .

FBI Field Office Norfolk, Virginia December 15, 1998

His phone was ringing. Mulder blinked himself out of a daze and shifted the files in front of him uselessly trying to find his phone. His ears were ringing like a loud explosion had just gone off next to him. He shook his head, trying to clear it. But the ringing. His phone.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it's me.”

“Scully,” he said softly. “Everything okay?”

“Everything's fine.”

“Everything?”

“Everything, me included. I can't make that late lunch. Something else here came up with the victim.”

“That's okay. Do you want me to swing by and pick you up when you're done?”

“No. Just go back to the hotel. I don't know how long this will take.”

“Okay. Scully, call me if you need anything.”

“I'm fine, Mulder. I promise.”

He rubbed his chest, an itching sensation near his heart. “Okay, well just let me know. I'll see you later tonight.”

“Count on it.”

She hung up and he buried his face in his hands. His profile was at a standstill and his mind elsewhere.

. . . .

CSS Virginia James River, Virginia March 9, 1862

In a hammock, Mulder fingered the rosary he wore, the day replaying itself in his mind. The battle was still fresh and it kept replaying itself over and over. He could hear the cannon fire. He gazed at his right hand as it shook slightly. He had experienced battles before. But something about naval warfare, being stuck on a ship, being unable to run anywhere. He felt trapped.

But now it was quiet and he had time to reflect.

Scully. Why did his thoughts keep drifting to her? The familiar ache in his chest came back as he continued to fiddle with the rosary around his neck. Did she have prophetic dreams? Was she a seer? Mulder rubbed his face, trying to erase the thoughts and drowsiness he felt. He had been having weird dreams lately, ever since he met her. Dreams of a different time, different places. She was always there. Like two halves. But he was brought out of his daydreaming by shouting.

“What is going on?” he called.

“Damn yanks! The got their own iron ship!” one of his marines yelled.

He quickly went to the top deck, rifle in hand with a handful of marines. Below he could hear the cannons firing, the shells uselessly bouncing off the rotating turret. He had never seen anything like it. He thought the ironclad was an amazing technological feat, this tiny little ironclad (which paled in contrast to CSS Virginia) and its rotating turret. “Look for a target,” he yelled to his men.

It was a useless feat. They could find no targets.

. . . .

For two hours the ships fired uselessly at each until the Confederate vessel ceased fire all together as they ran low on gunpowder. Lieutenant Jones, the executive officer and now captain, had to think of something. He ordered the ship into line. He was going to ram the Monitor. But the tiny little union ironclad was able to maneuver away before there could be any impact. Time elapsed. Jones needed to leave, replenish the stores and repair the vessel. No one had won that battle.

. . . .

Gosport Shipyard Portsmouth, Virginia March 9, 1862

Mulder was glad to be back on land. Experiencing another naval battle was not something he desired to do again. As soon as they were back on land, the captain had been whisked away for medical attention. The shipyard works set about repairing the vessel's damage. The marines and sailor returned to their barracks for some much-needed rest. It was near midnight when a field medic came for him.

“What's this all about,” Mulder murmured.

“The captain wants to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“I'm just following orders, sir.”

Mulder grumbled as he pulled on his jacket and followed the young medic to the infirmary. He saw his captain in the lamplight, sitting in bed pensively. His wrinkled face was frumpish. Mulder ran his fingers through his hair in a last minuted attempt to look decent. “Sir,” he called softly. “You desired to speak to me?”

The captain trained his gaze at the lieutenant. “What was your name again, soldier?”

“Mulder, sir,” he said.

“Mulder,” Captain Buchanan repeated softly. “I said some things on the ship.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I made a request to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand the peculiar nature of the request,” he said, lingering over the word 'peculiar' as it rolled off his tongue.

“I remember.”

“You are an honorable man, aren't you, lieutenant?”

“Sir?”

“Do you have a wife at home?”

“I'm a widower,” Mulder replied uneasily, wondering where the conversation was going. “My wife died in childbirth about seven years back.”

“You're a father then.”

“Would have been. My daughter died as well in childbirth.”

Captain Buchanan shook his head. “I have nine myself, from my first wife. She passed unexpectedly. Dana...I wish she would bear a child but it seems there is something wrong with her. We've seen doctors and all assure me she is perfectly normal.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Anyways, they are going to send me to Richmond for a time as I heal from this. Then elsewhere” He waved uselessly at his wounded thigh.  “Doctor says a change of environment will do me good.”

Mulder felt his heart stop. What about the whole mission?

“But,” Captain Buchanan droned on, “Dana is to remain here. However, I need someone to hold her accountable.”

“She is more than capable herself, sir.”

“Nonsense. Her head is in the clouds. She just needs a bit of moral guidance. Which,” he said, gazing at Mulder, “where I desire your help.”

“Help, sir?”

“Dana needs a firm hand. A male guardian to look after her interests. You are the one who is going to do that while I am away. I’m transferring you to the war office in Norfolk. I believe your background before that was in stragey and planning battles?”

“Yes, sir, but e?”

“I need to go elsewhere to recover from my wound. Then there are some damn grand plans for me.” Captain Buchanan waved his hands and glanced at Mulder in thought. “You were a husband once. You know what is expected of a wife. Their place is in the home. Her head is in the clouds and her nose buried in books. You're a marine too. Maybe you can straighten her out with that discipline.”

He bit his lip to keep from replying.

“Regardless, I am changing your orders. You'll be stationed here and check in on my wife periodically while I recover.”

“Sir? Can you actually do that?”

“I can do what I damn well please. After the other day, I'm a hero. Do you understand your new orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Mulder briefly shot to attention and left, unable to believe his luck. What were the odds. He was already composing his next message. 'S.- You will never believe the odds...'

[cksmart-world]

The Completely Unnecessary News Analysis

By Christopher Smart

Tuesday, Jan. 9, 2019

MAYTAG MAN, LIBERTY LEE & GENERAL BONESPURS

World-Wide Pants

It's kinda sad that most people don't remember that fateful day in December 2012 that literally shook the world — at least on Salt Lake City's Temple Square (Magnitude 8.9 we're told). “Wear Pants to Church Day” will live in infamy for members of the faith formerly known as Mormon. Fortunately for heathens who pretend not care about LDS inside baseball, The Salt Lake Tribune has not forgotten and reminds us of its literal and metaphorical significance. As Peggy Fletcher Stack writes: “It was a symbolic act in the drive toward gender equality... After all, men still wore the pants — literally as well as metaphorically...” Mormon women, she explained, sought to “throw off the tyranny of the dress.” Many men, including departing LDS missionaries, have been imbued with the knowledge that Mr. Mac is the purveyor of literal and metaphorical two-pants suits. Although strides have been made, women still do not don Mr. Mac attire. Nonetheless, the revolution seems to be taking hold. Last month, the old guys who rule over the Utah-based church finally caved and LDS women missionaries throughout the world can now throw off the tyranny of the dress and wear pants. Equality marches on. Next thing you know, Mormon women will be using social media any time they damn well please.

Sheriff or Maytag Man

Who dat? Mitt Romney just said what Republicans dare not say until they leave office. Having just been elected to the U.S. Senate, the former Republican nominee for president came out swinging: Trump's “conduct over the past two years, particularly his actions last month, is evidence that the president has not risen to the mantle of the office,” he wrote in The Washington Post. Oh baby. He may have lost to Obama, but now the Mittster finally gets his chance to be Sheriff of Washington. Like others, Mitt took aim at Trump before he was president. In March 2016, seemingly out of nowhere, Mitt declared, "Donald Trump is a phony and a fraud.” But things have changed. Now, Republican loyalists — already whistling past the graveyard that is their place in history — say they don't much like Mitt's latest epistle. Although they couldn't seem to find the words to defend Trump's morality, they did feel obliged to bark up Romney's tree. Their responses varied from Newt Gingrich: Mitt should just shut up. To the chairwoman of the Republican National Committee: Mitt should just shut up. Among Washington Republicans and party loyalists the Mittster now looks as lonely as the Maytag man waiting for the spin cycle to end.

Lee For Liberty

Unlike that snarky Mitt Romney, Mike Lee is our guy is Washington — thank goodness. The man who now takes the mantle as Utah's senior senator knows just about everything. Lee tackles prickly problems without wasting a lot of time hand-wringing. When Republican Sen. Jeff Flake and Democratic Sen. Chris Coons forwarded a bill to protect special counsel Robert Mueller, Lee courageously and single-handedly blocked it to preserve “the core of liberty.” And when those Democrats were castigating our president for alleged obstruction of justice, fraud and womanizing, Lee stood up to them, saying he's behind Trump all the way to the 2020 election. Amazingly, Sen. Lee still has time to right wrongs back here in the Beehive State. When rabble rousers succeeded in their underhanded fight to allow candidates to get on the primary ballot through petition, our man Lee spoke up again. The new law that gives the public the right to participate more directly in democracy, Lee concluded, cannot possibly be constitutional. Only party insiders should nominate candidates. And outside of President Trump and senate majority leader Mitch McConnell, who knows more about the Constitution than Mike Lee.

General Bonespurs

Donald Trump would have made a great military general and strategist were it not for those darned bone spurs that kept him from serving in Vietnam. Some people didn't recognize the president's expertise in tactics and strategy until he informed his cabinet of his military skills: “I think I would have made a good general,” Trump informed them. He revealed his grasp of history when he explained that the Soviet Union was right to invade Afghanistan in 1979 to go after terrorists. Some historians and the Wall Street Journal were, apparently, misguided when they attempted to correct the president with the fake news that Soviets entered Afghanistan to prop up a communist regime that took power in a coup. The military endeavor bogged into a quagmire and shortly after pulling out of Afghanistan in 1989, the Soviet Union collapsed. But the seat of power, the Kremlin, remains in Russia and seeks to reclaim its former glory. Russia's governing body, the Federal Assembly, recently voted to fix history by declaring the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan a success — which, coincidentally, aligns quite nicely with General Trump. That should quell any misgivings about the departure of Secretary of State James Mattis, a former four star Marine general and, as the president has explained, an utter failure when it comes to Afghanistan. Fortunately,  the big guy in the White House has a firm command of the nitty-gritty of geopolitics. All is well — sweet dreams.

Post Script

This just in: Sen. Mitt Romney, again demonstrating his disgust with rude behavior, joined a host of Republicans who criticized incoming Michigan Democratic Congresswoman Rashida Tlaib for saying, “we're gonna go in there and impeach the motherf---er.” Somehow, they all knew who she was talking about. But oddly, the complainants were worried only about the expletive. The rest, apparently, has a feel of inevitability about it.

Well Wilson, it looks like we're off to a great start for 2019. Can you and the band take us out with something to put us in the right frame of mind: My blood's so mad feels like coagulatin' / Trump twists the truth, he knows no contemplatin'/ Congress can't pass no damn legislation / The whole crazy world is just too frustratin' / And you tell me over and over and over again my friend / that you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction / No you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction...

[mediumsizedfountain]

Peace I Leave With You Finale Part 1

Title: Peace I Leave With You, 29/30

Fandom: OUAT

Rating: T

Word Count: ~10,000 (these final two chapters are both crazy long. Sorry.)

Summary: When Emma needs a friend in Storybrooke, she finds one in the sinfully attractive priest Killian Jones. AU covering seasons 1 and 2.

Notes: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who stuck with this story during the long hiatus and supported me through it's long evolution. We made it! I couldn't have done it without the ongoing support and encouragement of my readers. I know I suck at responding to comments, but you are all rock stars to me. 

Today I am posting the penultimate chapter, and tomorrow is the grand finale. These last 2 chapters are basically a novella-length finale, and together they tell a sort of story-within-a-story to finish up this epic of mine. Enjoy! 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7,Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17,Part 18, Part 19, Part 20,Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28

Or read on Ao3

-

After Killian finishes supervising the afternoon youth group at the church, he drives through town to head home for dinner and some down time before heading back for the evening Bible Study group. He slows to wave as he sees Belle locking up the library for the night. She waves back with a grin on her face. He's so glad the city found the funds to reopen the old library. It'll do the community so much good.

He was hesitant when Belle first told him she'd started dating Mr. Gold. Killian doesn't much care for May-December romances. But when their relationship had flourished and she'd asked him to officiate at their wedding, he'd readily agreed. Gold's temperament has certainly improved since he started seeing Belle. It has occurred to Killian that perhaps the man had simply been lonely for so long he forgot how to be kind to people.

Belle is changing that, slowly but surely.

Killian oversaw their small wedding with only Belle's father, Regina, and three of Belle's friends in attendance. It had been a dramatically different wedding than the lavish outdoor ceremony and reception for the Nolans less than two months earlier, but equally as happy. He is glad to see Belle flourish in her news roles as both wife and town librarian.

On his way to his home he passes by the sheriff's station, and he slows his car when he sees a yellow Volkswagon Beetle parked in the lot. No one in Storybrooke drives that kind of car. It has to be Regina's cousin – Emma Swan.

Ever since Regina shared the news of Swan's coming, Killian has been inexplicably curious about the mayor's cousin with her rough upbringing, unconventional career path, and single motherhood. He expects that she won't be much like her pampered local cousin, in spite of Regina's assertion that the two are good friends.

Unable to help himself, he pulls into the station parking lot. He wants to meet this mysterious newcomer, and this is as good a way as any to secure an introduction.

He strides into the office with a smile on his face. “Good evening, David,” he says, and then stops short at the sight of a woman with long blonde hair, her back turned to him. “I see you have company.”

David sees him and smiles. “Killian! I'm glad you dropped by. Come and meet Storybrooke's potential deputy sheriff, Emma Swan.”

She turns to face him, and he finds himself dumbstruck. She's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Her eyes meet his, and he sees a flurry of emotions cross her face – for a moment she seems almost afraid? Or is it simply anxious?  – before her expression settles into polite friendliness.

He clears his throat to regain his power of speech. He hasn't been so struck by the sight of a woman in years, but now is hardly the place to make a fool of himself over a pretty girl. He steps toward her, extending his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Swan. Killian Jones.”

That look flashes in her eyes again – definitely anxiety, but this tight there also seems to be some sort of unspoken sorrow behind them. Perhaps he's just imagining things, having read one two many over dramatic novels.

She takes his hand and they shake. “Good to meet you, Killian. Or is it more appropriate to call you Father?” Her voice quavers just a bit, the sorrow growing even more evident in her eyes. What has happened to this woman to fill her with such pain? He only hopes that her move to Storybrooke will help her find the solace that she clearly needs.

“Killian is fine,” he says, dropping her hand, though his palm continues to tingle with warmth.

David steps up beside her. “Killian is a good friend of mine. He's the priest of the town church.”

“Episcopal – not Catholic,” Killian adds hastily, and immediately chides himself internally. She might not even know that Episcopal priests take no vow of chastity. And why in heaven's name is he even thinking of that? He didn't come here to flirt. He came here to support his friend.

“Oh,” she says softly, “that's good to know.” A small smile curves up the corners of her lips, her eyes lighting up for the first time since he walked in. He doesn't know what inspired her sudden happiness, but he's pleased to see it.

“Yes, Emma was just introducing herself. We've set up a formal interview for tomorrow morning.” Regina speaks up. Killian hadn't even noticed she was there.

“Well, very good news for us all. David here has been desperate for help so he can lavish more attention on his lovely new wife,” Killian says. His tongue feels awkward in his mouth, and he hopes his words don't sound as stilted as they feel.

“Oh, congratulations,” Emma says, her smiling eyes dancing between David and Regina. Regina meets her gaze with a smug expression. What is that all about?

“Thank you, but we actually got married close to a year ago.” David's cheeks flush.

“Well, I'd still call you newly-weds if it's less than a year,” Emma replies, all of her earlier sadness wiped away by the warm smile on her face.

“I'll have to introduce you to my wife, Mary Margaret. She's a teacher at the elementary school – she can show you around. Let you know the kind of quality education your son will be getting.” David doesn't seem to recognize that he's getting ahead of himself – he hasn't even offered her the job, yet.

“If I get the job,” Emma interjects, as if reading Killian's mind.

“Of course.” David chuckles.

They chat for a few more minutes, sharing more tidbits about the town with her. Killian finds he can hardly take his eyes off of her. When he was accepted into the priesthood just over four years ago, he'd vowed that he'd wait at least five years before thinking about dating. Priests have to be very particular about their romantic interactions, and he knows that when he finally takes that step, it has to be because he's seeking a partner in marriage – not just a temporary fling.

Emma, however, is making him question his resolve. He hasn't been so taken by someone so quickly since Milah...

When the comparison pops into his mind he quickly drops his eyes and looks away. Milah will always be in his heart, but with the passing of time he can see how many mistakes he made. How foolish he'd been. He was young and impetuous and reckless, and his failure to help Milah face up to her struggles and overcome them had led to her death.

He won't rush into a relationship ever again. He'll be careful. He'll use his head, and make sure every step is taken only after sufficient consideration.

Besides, Emma might not even be interested in him.

After reining in his thoughts, he raises his eyes to find Emma staring at him as intently as he'd been staring at her a few moments ago. When he meets her eyes her smile broadens before she turns to respond to some comment from David that Killian has completely missed.

His heart is racing.

After a few more minutes he excuses himself. He says he needs to get to his duties at the church, though that's only partially true. Mainly he needs some fresh air to clear his head.

He can't let himself tumble headfirst into a desperate infatuation after a mere twenty minute conversation. He's better than that.

Still, when he catches a glimpse of what looks like disappointment in her eyes after he says goodbye, the look sticks with him. He can't get it out of his head for the rest of the night.

~ ~ ~

Emma clenches the steering wheel, her stomach churning, while Regina slides into the passenger seat beside her.

“See?” says Regina. “That wasn't so bad, was it? And you had yourself all wound up into a panic. But it went perfectly. Hook is clearly smitten with you. You should have no trouble whatsoever getting him to love you again.”

Emma only feels sicker. “Yeah. Sure.”

She turns on her car and pulls away from the station.

The blankness in their eyes when they first saw her – like they were complete strangers. She knew this would be hard, but she hadn't realized just how hard. It took all her strength not to turn tail and run when Killian introduced himself and began his awkward flirting.

This wasn't how it went, last time. It was slow and tentative. They were friends first – that's why her feelings blossomed into something more so quickly. Because they already had that solid foundation.

Nothing about this feels solid. None of it feels real.

Even if he develops feelings for her soon, they can't possibly be true. Not when Regina has made everything so – so artificially perfect.

But Emma bites her tongue and keeps her doubts to herself until she's safely closed herself into the guest bathroom in Regina's house, with the shower running to hide the sound of her crying.

~ ~ ~

Killian tries not to think about Emma.

He isn't very successful.

He runs into her at Granny's while picking up his regular morning coffee to share with David, and jokes that soon he'll have to start buying a third cup.

He thinks about her answering smile for the rest of the day.

That evening he is entirely unsurprised when David admits to offering Emma a job right on the spot after her interview. In spite of his previous determination to prevent his friend from rushing into a hasty hire, Killian can't find it in him to protest.

“She told me she needs to think about it for a day or two,” David says ruefully, as they putter in the kitchen of his loft doing the washing up from dinner while Mary Margaret sits at the table polishing up her lesson plans for the next day.

Killian is briefly disappointed before coming to his senses. “That's the right thing for her to do, mate. She's been rushed into this whole business as much as you have, and coming from more populous area, she might be having second thoughts now that she's seen what small town life is really like.”

“I hope not!” Mary Margaret pipes up. “She sounds like an excellent candidate.”

Though Killian silently agrees with her, he doesn't say so out loud.

“Should I invite her to dinner?” Mary Margaret asks. “Or should I wait until she takes the job?”

“You should wait,” Killian says, trying to be the protective friend that he promised himself he would be. “It'll seem like you're trying to bribe her into accepting the job with your excellent cooking.”

“Well, I don't mind, if you think it'll work.” Her eyes twinkle at him.

He finishes wiping down the counter and rolls his eyes at her. “It probably will.”

She laughs, and David puts away the last of the clean dishes and turns to them with a pronouncement, “Okay. We'll do it. But I'm working the next two nights – hence the need for a deputy.”

David always worked Friday and Saturday nights. Storybrooke was a quiet town, but there were still usually a handful of tipsy carousers on the weekend nights.

“Sunday, then,” said Mary Margaret. “And of course you're invited, Killian. Unless you have other plans.”

As a matter of fact, his previous Sunday dinner invitation – from the family of one of his deacons – had just been postponed due to the lady of the house getting a nasty sprained ankle and wanting another week of recuperation before having to entertain. He tries not to think of that as a lucky turn.

He accepts the invitation.

~ ~ ~

Killian doesn't see Emma at all on Friday, and he's glad for the reprieve. His thoughts are trending toward lustiness, and he needs to regain control of himself with some prayer and meditation.

He thinks he's gotten his ridiculous crush out of his system. He can be himself again.

Then, on Saturday, while taking a slightly later run than usual, he stumbles upon her in a city park alongside a boy who must be her son.

At first he tries to jog past as if he didn't notice her, but her eyes lock onto him before he can look away. So he does the polite thing and slows to a stop.

“Miss Swan – it's a pleasure to see you again.”

“Just Emma – please,” she insists, with a hint of the sadness he'd noticed in her showing on her face. “Good to see you, too, Killian. This is my son, Henry. Henry, this is Father Killian Jones. He's in charge of the town church.”

“Good to meet you, young man,” Killian says, extending his hand.

The boy has a pleasant smile, and he quickly accepts Killian's hand and shakes it with a show of mature confidence. “Good to meet you, too, Killian. I like your hand.” The boy stares unabashedly at the prosthetic hook Killian wears in place of his left hand. “Can you grab things with it?”

“Henry!” Emma says, sounding embarrassed. “I'm sorry, really...”

“It's quite alright,” Killian interrupts. “This hand is always a hit with kids. And yes, Henry, I can grab things. Allow me to demonstrate.” He moved his arm just so to open and close the hook pincers several times.

“Cool!” said Henry, beaming.

“Indeed it is. I see you're out exploring Storybrooke. How do you like it so far?” Killian tries to keep his gaze on Henry, but can't help the occasional glance at Emma. This isn't still a crush. Truly. He's merely trying to help them feel welcome.

“It's great,” replies Henry. “I love the woods. And everyone is super nice.”

“I'm glad they're making you feel welcome,” Killian replies, his eyes once more drifting up to Emma. He wishes he knew why she looks so sad, and even more he wonders if moving here might help erase that sadness.

“How did you lose it? Your hand, I mean,” Henry said, returning to subject of the prosthetic.

Emma shook her head. “Really, Henry.” She meets Killian's gaze. “I'm sorry – I swear I didn't raise him to be so nosy. You don't have to answer that.”

He smiles, amused by her embarrassment. “It's no bother, really. I'm not offended, Henry – but I do understand why your mother doesn't want you to be asking these sorts of questions. Some people with differences or disabilities are proud and happy to talk about them, but others might feel bothered or annoyed by these sorts of questions. So lets make a deal – I'll answer your question, and then from now on you'll wait to get to know a person who is different before asking if they mind talking about what makes them different. How does that sound?”

“It's a deal.” Henry nods.

“Well then,” Killian says, “Many years ago I was in the army. I came of age here in America, so it was the United States Army. But one day when I was moving equipment, there was an accident, and my hand got trapped under something very heavy. I very upset at first, but I've gotten so used to it that I never even think about what it was like before.”

Henry nods thoughtfully. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Killian glances up again to find Emma watching him. He wishes he could make out what she's thinking. “Well – I need to be getting on now. But I hope I see more of you soon.”

“Me too,” Henry replied.

He can still feel Emma's eyes on him as he jogs away.

~ ~ ~

Killian is a few minutes into his sermon on Sunday before he notices them in the congregation, sitting in the very back row – Emma and Henry.

His words falter for just a moment, but he drags his eyes away from them and gets right back on track (though his heart continues to race faster than it has since his first few months of preaching). He doesn't let himself look at them again until the Sermon is over.

They slip out of the church just after the service ends, and he doesn't have a chance to speak to them.

~ ~ ~

Regina is still scowling when Emma gets back from dropping Henry back off at the motel down the coast to spend the rest of the week with Neal.

“I still don't see why he had to leave so soon. He's only been here for a day and a half.”

Emma sighs and sinks onto the sofa. They've had this conversation a dozen times already. “This is his best chance to get to know his father without any magical shenanigans in the way. And Neal really needs the company right now.”

Regina shakes her head. “I still think you're just keeping him away from me as some sort of arbitrary punishment for not stopping this curse.”

Emma rubs her already aching head. She's only been in town for four days and she's already fed up. “You know what, maybe I am. Maybe I have the right to get in a little payback for all the ways you made my life and my parents' lives a living hell. Or maybe I'm just pissed at you for thinking that by setting things up just right to throw Killian at me over and over again you could have your perfect life back within a few days. These are our hearts you're playing with, Regina. Mine and Killian's. This isn't how it happened the first time. You can' t force it, now matter how much you convinced yourself that you can.”

Regina seems taken aback, but Emma doesn't really care right now.

“I don't understand. It's working, isn't? He's clearly smitten with you, isn't he?” She seems genuinely puzzled. Emma's not sure whether Regina's obliviousness is better than her being a willful puppet-master, or not.

“That's exactly the problem,” Emma explains. “You set things up so perfectly for him to fall for me that I have no idea if it's real, or if it's only happening because you built it into the curse without realizing it. And if you did, it won't matter how hard he falls for me – it won't be true. So the curse will never be broken.”

Regina's mouth hangs open for a moment. “I'm sorry. I never thought of it that way.”

“Clearly.” Emma squeezes her lips together and stands up. “I have to go change. I'm having dinner with my parents in an hour.”

Regina still looks troubled as Emma walks upstairs. Good. It's about time she starts facing the reality of the scenario she's created here.

Before changing, Emma picks up the leather insignia from her nightstand and rubs it absently. Regina's put her into an impossible situation. It tears at her heart every time she talks to Killian and all she sees is the fake personality that Regina built into him.

But she's been in impossible situations before, and overcome them. The insignia is a symbol of that.

She has to keep up hope. She has to have faith.

That's what Killian taught her, and she can't let him down.

~ ~ ~

Killian arrives too early for his dinner at the Nolans' loft. He's been on edge for the past few hours, debating whether or not to actually come. In just a few days he's become far too fixated on Emma. It's a distraction from his work.

But he already committed to coming. His friends would be disappointed if he didn't show.

He regrets coming almost immediately when Mary Margaret ushers him in and teases, “Regina tells me you seemed very taken with Emma. Do I feel a spark of romance coming on?”

Killian clenches his jaw. “Regina is mistaken. As I've told you dozens of times, I'm not interested in dating right now. Miss Swan's arrival has done nothing to change that.”

Mary Margaret gives him an arch look. “We'll see.”

He huffs and strides over to David to help set the table. “Your wife is playing matchmaker again.”

David chuckles and shakes his head. “She does it because she cares, you know.”

“I know. That doesn't mean I'm thrilled about it. Why doesn't she try playing matchmaker for someone else? Like Ruby, or Leroy.”

“Leroy? That would not be an easy task.”

“Exactly,” Killian says, arranging the napkins. “It'll keep her far too busy to meddle with my love life anymore.”

They finish setting the table and lounge on the bar stools for a few minutes until there is a knock at the door. Killian hangs back and waits while the hosts open the door and invite Emma inside. She is wearing black slacks that hug the curve of her legs, and a light gray cabled sweater that makes her face glow with warmth. She offers a bouquet of flowers to Mary Margaret who thanks her with a hug.

When she sees him, he smiles and nods. He's gotten so used to playing the third wheel for David and Mary Margaret that it only now hits him how this evening feels with Emma added to the mix – it feels like a double date.

Shit. This is the opposite of what he wanted. He hopes Emma doesn't think this is a set-up.

After David pours wine for Emma and his wife and offers Killian his usual iced tea, Emma smiles and says, “Well, to alleviate any awkward suspense, I think I should start out the night by telling you that yes, I want the job.”

They all share a round of relieved laughter. “That is excellent news,” replies Mary Margaret. “I was afraid I'd have to resort to bribery. David has been so overworked – we can't wait for you to start!”

Emma shrugs. “Yeah, I was pretty sure I wanted to stay when you made the offer, but I needed to give Henry a chance to weigh in. He really likes the town, so this is it.”

“I'm glad he likes it here,” Killian says. “I know how hard it is to be separated from family. Being able to settle so close to his father is great blessing.”

“It is. Close enough, but not too close,” Emma replies.

“Of course.”

With Emma's news out of the way, it's easier to relax into an enjoyable meal. Mary Margaret's roast chicken, potatoes and salad are delicious, and the conversation comes easily, in spite of the too-much-like-a-date atmosphere. They all give Emma tips on house-hunting and Mary Margaret tells her all about the school. Apparently Henry is finishing out the current year in a school near his father, but Emma plans on enrolling him in Storybrooke for the next school year.

“I can't wait,” says Mary Margaret. “He'll be a grade above what I teach by then, but I can help you make sure he ends up with the best teachers each year.” She gives Emma a wink.

From there the conversation flows so well that for a time Killian manages to forget the awkward set up of the evening. Until it's time for Emma to head back to Regina's for the night.

“Killian – you should walk with her. It's not right to send a lady home in the dark by herself,” says Mary Margaret as Emma is pulling on her jacket.

Emma raises her eyebrows. “Oh? I didn't think Storybrooke was known for being dangerous after dark.” Her voice is thick with sarcasm.

“It's not,” says Killian, subtly trying to give Mary Margaret whatever non-verbal signals he can that this line of conversation needs to be shut down immediately.

She doesn't take the hint.

“This is normally a perfectly safe town, but we have to uphold certain standards of old-fashioned charm. Which includes having men chivalrously offer to walk lone women home at night.”

David shrugs. “I think you might be stuck, Killian. Best to resign yourself to your fate now.”

With them teaming up on him he doesn't stand a chance. He sighs. “Well, Emma, it seems you and I are stuck with each other for a few more minutes, if you'll have me?”

She looks more amused than annoyed, much to his relief. “Yeah. Sure.”

They head out into the cool, clear night together. After a minute of awkward silence, Emma says, “Look – there's something I need to get off my chest.”

“Oh?” He's not quite sure what to expect, but what comes out of her mouth next is far from what he ever would have guessed.

She takes a deep breath. “I'm pretty sure that Regina and Mary Margaret have been conspiring together to set us up.”

Killian blinks rapidly and stops in his tracks. “What?” The mayor is the last person he could imagine taking an interest in his love-life. Though, he supposes, on her end at least she probably cares more about Emma's side of the equation.

Emma shakes her head, laughing. “Regina all but admitted it to me this afternoon. I know – silly, isn't it? I mean, we just met. I'm in the middle of moving to a new town. I haven't started my job. I don't have a place to live. The last thing I'm looking for right now is a boyfriend. No offense.”

“None taken,” he assures her, now silently fuming at his friends' meddling. Had David known about this?

She looks apologetic for a moment. “I mean – it's nothing personal.”

“No. No, I understand. You're going through a huge life change, right now. It's hardly the ideal moment to be seeking out a new romance. Ridiculous, really.” He tries to brush it all aside. To act like it's no big deal. He's been trying to quash his inappropriate attraction for days. This is a good thing. Isn't it?

“Good. I'm glad you understand,” she says, smiling. “I'll have a talk with Regina and make sure this doesn't happen again. We can both just... pretend like whole thing never happened.”

“I agree. It's for the best.” It  is. Truly. So why does he feel disappointed?

“Perfect.” She nods, and they start walking again. After another moment of silence, she adds. “I do like you, Killian. As a friend. I think you're a very interesting person, and I'd like to get to know you better. If we can just put this awkwardness behind us?”

“Absolutely.” Killian smiled. Yes. This was good. Things would be better, now. “I remember what it was like moving here, not knowing a single soul. It can be lonely, at first. I'm glad to be your friend, Emma. Anything I can do to help your move go easier, I'll be happy to provide.”

Emma's answering smile is the most sincere she's looked all evening. “Good. I might take you up on that.”

Soon enough they reach Regina's front walk, where he bids her goodnight. Yes. Friendship is what she needs right now. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still, it's hard not to think about her smile for the rest of the night.

~ ~ ~

“You did what?” Regina exclaims.

Emma sighs. She expected this reaction. “You heard me. I told him you and my mom were trying to set us up, and I shut it down. Told him I wasn't looking for a relationship – I just want to be friends.”

“But – but – now this could take months!” Regina stands in the middle of the living room, glaring down at Emma, who is slumped on the sofa.

Emma shrugs. She's no happier about it than Regina is. She misses her parents. She misses the real Killian. But having the fake Killian fawning over her was far worse. “This is the only way this is going to work. The first time around, Killian had no expectation of romance. He was my friend, and Henry's friend. It took a few months for that to evolve into something more. I can't leap into a fake relationship with him and expect the curse to break. And Henry won't be living with you until it does. So this is the only way. Deal with it.”

Regina throws her hands in the air. “Fine. Have it your way. Just don't expect me to be happy about it.” She storms out of the room.

“It's not about you, Regina,” Emma murmurs to herself. She grabs a throw pillow and hugs it to her chest. God, she misses him. She misses her family. She misses her life.

But if this is going to be real, taking her time is the only way.

Before she falls asleep, she grabs the insignia and clasps it in her hand, curled up against her heart.

~ ~ ~

Killian dreams of standing in a cemetery. He watches as a Bobcat fills a fresh grave. Snow drifts from the clouds above, dotting his black coat with white. Emma Swan stands beside him.

He doesn't know why they are there or who they are mourning, but he feels that they've both lost an important friend. Is this a premonition of some sort? It feels more like a memory, but that makes no sense. He met Emma less than a week ago.

Yet here they stand, mourning a mutual friend.

Silently they turn and walk toward the parking lot.

She needs a friend, now. The thought fills his mind. She came here alone and lost. I know how that feels. We can get through this together.

Killian wakes with the odd dream still running through his mind, and that final thought echoing – we can get through this together.

But get through what?

He sets the thought aside and gets up to start his day.

~ ~ ~

Now that his awkward attraction is behind him (well, mostly behind him), Killian is happy to have Emma become a part of his everyday life.

When he picks up coffee for his regular visit to David's office and knows Emma will be on duty as well, he adds a cup for her to his order. Within days he has her coffee preference memorized.

When she finds out that he does food distribution at the church food pantry every Thursday evening, she volunteers to help.

“I had to use food pantries off and on when I was younger,” she says with a shrug. “I think I'd like to pay it forward a little, now that I can.”

He ignores the way his gut tingles at her casual smile, and thanks her for the help. The first Thursday that she pitches in, she makes small-talk with his church administrator, Doris, and they seem to hit it off. She offers words of friendship and encouragement to everyone who stops by for a box of food, and he notices her repeating their names under her breath after they leave.

When he asks her why, she flushes and says, “These are the folks who need the most looking out for, in town. I just want to make sure I know who take care of when I'm out on my rounds.”

His heart swells at the thought. She's given plenty of hints about her rough childhood. For some, that kind of life would have made them hard and jaded. Somehow, hers has given her a bigger, more open heart.

He finds that he's coming to respect her more and more with every passing day (even in spite of the strange dreams that so often feature her, lately).

~ ~ ~

“Are you really sure about this slow and steady approach, Mom?” Henry asks before dipping his french fry in ketchup.

They sit across from each other in Granny's. This is Henry's third weekend visit since her return to Storybrooke. She's still not used to only seeing him for a few days a week, and she relishes every moment they spend together, greedily glad that Regina has no excuse to claim his time in this version of reality.

“I don't like it, but I don't think we have any choice. It has to be real, and taking our time is the only way.” It hurts her heart every time she has to face this truth, but she needs to be strong. Killian and her family are counting on her. She can't let them down.

Henry reaches out to take her hand. “I believe in you, Mom. If you think this is the right way, then I believe you'll make it work.”

“Thanks, kid.” She smiled.

As they are leaving Granny's, they run into Killian. He's happy to see them, and chats animatedly with them both.

“Do you like sailing ships, Henry?” he asks out of the blue.

Henry nods, smiling. “Yeah. I think they're cool.”

“Well, you'll have to see the one my church owns – The Jewel of the Realm. It was donated by a wealthy patron who kept it for pleasure cruises until he got too old to manage it. Right now I have a team of volunteers whipping it into ship-shape, and we're going to use it for youth adventure camps every summer, and run it as a museum to raise money for church programs the rest of the year. Would you like to visit it sometime?” His eyes are shining as he speaks, and Emma's heart skips a beat. He reminds her so much of the way he was right before they first started dating.

“Can I, Mom?” Henry implores.

“We're pretty booked for this weekend,” Emma says, not wanting to rush things. “But maybe next Saturday?”

“That sounds excellent,” Killian replies. “I could meet you at Regina's at three o'clock. We could spend the afternoon on the ship.”

“Sound like a plan,” Emma replies, taking a deep breath. This feels like progress. A real step toward the kind of relationship she is hoping to rebuild.

“Excellent,” he replies. Then his face shifts. “Strangest thing, Henry. I could swear I had a dream the other night about us building model ships together. Isn't that odd?”

Emma's breath catches in her throat. She can barely hear Henry's reply. Her own memories flood her thoughts, taking her back to the day she found Killian and Henry in the church rec room, books about model ships sitting on the table in front of them while they chatted and folded paper airplanes together. That was one of the first times she really considered the possibility of a romance with him.

Her hand twitches. The insignia. That has to be it. She hasn't been having any special dreams, but if Killian has... perhaps the insignia is letting her magic reach out to him in her sleep, jogging his old memories.

She'll have to make a point of holding it every night from now on, not just when she's feeling extra lonely.

After they say goodbye, she walks hand in hand with Henry feeling more hopeful than she has since her arrival.

~ ~ ~

“David would never admit as much, but his filing isn't a system so much as a vague concept,” Killian says, guiding Emma through one of the file drawers. It's David's day off, and when Killian dropped by to confirm their outing on Saturday, she asked for his help.

Her answering laugh triggers the most vivid memory. He could swear they've done this before. It must be from those blasted dreams. They were happening every night, lately.

He's begun to wonder if he should avoid Emma until the dreams go away. She's made it perfectly clear that she isn't looking for anything other than friendship right now, and while he's accepted that on a conscious level, his subconscious clearly hasn't caught on.

He shakes away the strange sense of deja vu and continues walking her through David's bizarre filing arrangement. He manages to relate some stories about Storybrooke's rather comical set of “repeat offenders,” none of whom would make it onto police radar in a bigger city.

He gets through the next hour of conversation without any more moments of discomfort brought on by his uncooperative subconscious. But when they go to put their last stacks of files away before he leaves, their hands brush against each other and he feels a rush of pure energy.

He freezes. Beside him, Emma takes a deep breath. Could it be possible that she feels equally rattled by the accidental touch.

Hesitantly, he raises his eyes to hers, and feels his heart skip a beat.

He's had a woman look at him with love in her eyes, before. He knows exactly what it looks like – exactly how it feels. It feels like this.

And then she looks away and pushes the cabinet drawer closed and the moment is broken. He's left wondering if it was all in his head.

They've known each other for three weeks – of course it's all in his head. For a moment before leaving he ponders calling off the outing with Emma and Henry on Saturday. He has plenty to do – coming up with a valid excuse will be no trouble. But when she smiles at him, he finds that he can't bring himself to do it.

Instead he heads home more confused than ever. It's become a perpetual state, ever since Emma's arrival. But how to solve this dilemma is something that continues to elude him.

~ ~ ~

Friday night, Killian dreams of Emma again.

They sit side by side on his sofa, and the air smells of cinnamon and chocolate.

She looks tired and stressed, but also perfectly at ease by his side.

“You are important to me, Emma. You and Henry both.” He feels as much as says it. Somehow he knows them, both of them, and cares about them more than he's cared about anyone in a long time.

Emma replies in a voice just above a whisper, her eyes never leaving his. “You're important to me, too.”

And then she leans toward him, and brushes her lips against his.

His mind explodes with light. Images swirl around him – a purple cloud billowing from the old wishing well in the woods – Emma standing in a rusty service elevator, a sword in her hand – Henry hugging him inside David's loft – Emma pulling him into the bathroom at Granny's and kissing him again and again...

He comes awake gasping and sweaty, aching with unwanted arousal.

He sits up and brushes the hair back from his face. These dreams are getting out of hand. If only they weren't so bloody realistic – like memories from another life.

He should have trusted his instincts and canceled the outing with the Swans when he had the chance. He needs some distance from her to get a handle on himself. But they're supposed to meet later that day. It will be rude to cancel now.

He takes a few more deep breaths and gets up to take a cool shower. He'll have to pull away from her, for the sake of both his sanity and her relationship boundaries. But not until after today.

~ ~ ~

Butterflies twitch in Emma's stomach as she waits for Killian to arrive. It's not a date – Henry is coming, after all. But there have been some moments over the last few days when she felt the same kind of electric attraction that she did during the first curse. And she's been sleeping with the insignia every night. That has be accomplishing something, though how much she can't say for certain.

“Calm down, Mom. Everything is going to be okay,” says Henry. He sits on the sofa watching her as she paces.

“Yeah.” She nods. “I hope so.” But she can't help but worry anyway.

Finally, the doorbell rings. She takes a deep breath and forces herself not to answer too quickly.

Killian greets her with a broad smile, and tells Henry he's glad to see him again. During the short drive to the docks, Killian keeps up a stream of advice to Henry regarding all the things a boy his age ought to know about the town for when he moves in full-time. Emma can't help but notice the way he fidgets as he speaks. He may sound confident and friendly, but she knows what Killian looks like when he's anxious, and this is definitely it.

Once they head up the gangplank of the ship he seems to relax. Even in this cursed persona, his ship is enough to make him feel more sure of himself. She smiles, her chest swelling with happiness, as he leads them around, describing all the parts of the ship with boyish enthusiasm.

They fall into a comfortable rhythm for the next hour as they tour the ship. Henry is full of questions – he wants to know everything about everything – and it keeps the conversation flowing well.

Every once in awhile, while Henry is busy playing with some ropes or rigging or one of the other bits of equipment, she turns her head to look at Killian, and finds him already looking at her. Most of the time he looks away quickly, but a couple of times he smiles first. It fills her whole body with a cozy, warm feeling.

This is finally starting to work. Maybe she'll have her real Killian back, soon. She'll have them all back.

~ ~ ~

The visit to the ship hasn't been nearly as awkward as Killian feared it would be. Henry's presence helps, of course, but it's not just that.

He's been so fixated on his overwhelming dreams that he'd forgotten they are nothing more than figments of his over-active subconscious. Spending time with the real Emma is completely different. Well – mostly different.

He can't deny that his attraction to her is still going strong. But he's also coming to enjoy her company as a friend. Which is something he'd like to continue to do if he can simply get these damn dreams to stop messing with his head.

After they've toured the ship from bottom to top, they lounge on the deck. Henry plays with the ship's wheel, and he and Emma lean side by side against one of the side railings and look out over the harbor.

“It's so gorgeous,” she says. “The sea near Boston was nice, too, but much busier. Here the fishing boats go out in the morning and come back at night, but in between there is just quiet and stillness. There's something magical about it.”

“I've often felt the same way, myself. Ever since the ship was donated, I've been so taken by it that Doris teases me by saying I must have been a sailor in another life,” he replies.

Emma studies him with a knowing smile that feels far more familiar than it should, given the extent of their relationship. “It suits you. I wouldn't be surprised if you manage to sail this thing all by yourself by the end of the summer.”

He chuckles at the thought. “I don't think I'm quite ready to tackle that particular challenge. I'd settle for successfully sailing it with a crew of ten. I doubt I could manage with much less.” His heart lifts at the thought of pulling away from the docks with the wind at their backs, pushing deep into the unknown sea. He'd love to have Emma there beside him, her hair blowing in the wind, laughter on her lips...

The sudden desire to kiss her nearly overwhelms him. He's already unconsciously leaning toward her before he realizes what he's doing.

He pulls back and stands up straight, edging away from her. What in heaven's name was he thinking? Henry is right there, a few meters away. Not to mention that Emma has made her lack of interest perfectly clear.

It's the influence of those bloody dreams, again. It has to be. He can't go on like this. It's not fair to Emma.

He thinks he glimpses a look of disappointment on her face just before he looks away from her. But he doubts he's reading her right. He hasn't known her long enough to understand all her expressions.

He coughs, clearing his throat. “I, uh, I'll go check on Henry.” He heads up the stairs to the ship's wheel.

He manages to get through the final half hour of their outing without further embarrassing himself, and walks them to Granny's where they've decided to have an early dinner. Emma invites him to join, but he manages to formulate an excuse about meeting one of his deacons for dinner, later.

He's ashamed of himself even as the lie comes out of his mouth. He's better than this. Isn't he?

Still, he can't help but feel relieved once they part ways.

He returns home and attempts to immerse himself in reviewing the sermon he's prepared for tomorrow, but after less than an hour he knows it's a hopeless cause.

Emma dominates his thoughts, popping back into the forefront of his mind every few minutes no matter what else he is trying to think of.

It's too much. Somehow he's fallen into an unhealthy obsession that will be good for neither him nor Emma. There's only one thing he can do – he needs to stay away from her until he can overcome this. She deserves a true friend, not an obsessive man with ulterior motives.

Until he can face her with an honest and open heart, he can't spend any more time with her. It's the only solution – no matter how much his heart cries out against it.

~ ~ ~

Emma attends Killian's Sunday service with Henry, again. They've made it a habit since this new curse began. She's still not sure if she's ready to believe in the same kind of God that Killian does, but listening to his sermons and the clear conviction behind them – and his conviction in the virtues of service, charity and forgiveness – helps her to appreciate his faith. She's beginning to understand why it means so much to him.

His eyes seem to graze over her a few times during the service, but he doesn't look at her directly. After the service he is quickly caught up in conversation with several parishioners, and never once looks her way.

She squeezes her lips together and tries not to let it bother her.

He seemed very – uncomfortable – when they parted ways yesterday. Things have been going so well. What did she do wrong?

After the service she hands Henry over to Regina for a few hours and goes on a walk to reflect on things.

Telling him she wasn't interested in dating felt like absolutely the right choice when she did it. And that choice  made a huge difference for the past three weeks. Instead of looking at her like a lovesick puppy, Killian has become much more the man she knew during the first curse – the man she started falling in love with. But now that they've shared a few moments of romantic tension (She knows he felt it, too. She just knows it.) she wonders if her adamant statement of disinterest is starting to backfire.

Has she sent too many mixed signals? How can she come back from that line she drew without looking manipulative or flaky?

Not for the first time she finds herself seething with anger at Cora for doing this to her. For doing this to all of them.

She stands at the waterfront clenching her fists and feels tears rising in her eyes. This is ridiculous. She can't let herself sink into a spiral of doubt, like this. Killian had faith in her. She just needs to have faith in herself.

~ ~ ~

Killian fills his week with appointments and errands scheduled in the very hours that he normally runs into Emma. He wants genuine excuses so he doesn't feel compelled to lie, again.

He convinces himself that if he avoids her and focuses on more worthy and productive activities, the dreams will soon subside.

But they don't.

The dream on Sunday night is simple enough. He and Emma sitting in his house, talking and laughing. It feels so comfortable and natural. Like this is how his life is meant to be.

The next night the dream is more potent and vivid than any of the others before it.

It starts off with a few flashes of walking down main street with Emma and Henry. Then, without warning, he feels a blinding pain in his left shoulder. His shoulder throbs and his coat is slick with blood, but even now Emma and Henry are all that seem to matter. Emma is in front of him, tears in her eyes.

“The power is in you. You are the key, Emma. You can save him,” he says. Henry. Henry is in trouble, and it terrifies him. But Emma can do this. He believes in her more than he's ever believed in anything or anyone.

Her voices shakes when she answers. “Why do you believe in me so much?”

He feels the conviction in his heart when he answers. “I believe in you because you already saved me.”

More images flash before his eyes . His brother on board The Jewel of Realm, dying in his arms. A noisy, dark pub surrounded by carousing men and women, while he feels empty and alone in spite of his smile. Again on the ship, a scaly man thrusts his hand into Milah's chest and pulls out her heart, crushing it to dust before Killian can stop him. A sword in his hand, thrusting into one victim after another.

And then he sees Emma, again. This time he sits in a hospital bed, his hand swathed in bandages. In his heart he knows that it is damaged beyond repair. Emma steps forward, her hands outstretched over him. A brilliant white light flows out of her palms to surround his hand, and then his whole body. He feels his hand once more strong and whole, and his other wounds healed. But more than that, the heart that had withered for countless years now feels full of life and hope in his chest.

“You saved me,” he whispers again, as she smiles at him.

Killian wakes abruptly and looks around his room with a racing heart. For a moment his own bedroom feels foreign and artificial in comparison to the dream. But soon he reorients himself and begins to calm his breathing. He has no idea why his subconscious is suddenly spinning these vivid fantasies. But that's all they are. He needs to let them go.

That day he picks up some over the counter sleeping pills. Perhaps those will be enough to banish the dreams.

They aren't.

The next two nights, the dreams are simpler. More images of walking or eating or driving around with Emma beside him. Even so, they feel so real. More real than some of his memories.

Friday evening he finds himself staring at the liquor store. He hasn't taken a drink in eight years. He made a commitment to himself and to his God. But even so, he's tempted. Would a drink or three be enough to dull the dreams?

Why does she haunt him like this? She's just a woman, like any other. Is his mind becoming unbalanced?

Maybe it's a sign, a thought intrudes into his mind. Maybe a higher power is trying to tell me we're supposed to be together.

He huffs at himself and shakes his head, turning away from the liquor store. God doesn't work like that.

He pulls out his phone and dials Dr. Hopper. He sets an appointment for Saturday afternoon. Maybe the doctor will have some insight into the nature of his obsessive and unceasing dreams. He's already tried prayer and medicine to banish them. Something more is needed.

Or I could just give in. I could go to her. I could tell her I have feelings for her. I could ask her to dinner. Why shouldn't I? The worst she can do is reject me. Perhaps that will be enough to end these dreams.

No. He's a rational man. Emma bears no responsibility for his state of distress, and it would be wrong of him to draw her into it. He'll try the doctor first. The doctor will know a way to get rid of these dreams.

Do I really want them gone?

He's not sure he knows the answer to that question, and that thought scares him more than anything else.

~ ~ ~

Emma finishes her usual patrol of the main street area and pulls the patrol car to the side of the road. She should be doing her job, but she can't think. She can't focus.

A pain has been growing in her chest – swelling with every passing day.

She picks up her phone and dials. It rings several times before Neal picks up.

“Emma? Henry's already asleep. Is something wrong?” he asks.

“You don't need to wake Henry,” she says quickly. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

“Really? What's up? You sound upset.”

A lump rises in her throat. She hadn't realized it would be so obvious. She barely chokes back a sob when she answers. “Yeah. I... things aren't going so good.”

“What is it?”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as if she can block out the pain. “I screwed up. I don't even know how I screwed up, but I did. Killian's been avoiding me all week. And it's not just a coincidence – we bump into each other all the time on his normal schedule. He had to completely re-arrange his whole schedule just to avoid running into me.” Her voice catches again. “I lost him. I screwed up and now I'll never get them back.”

Tears roll down her cheeks.

Every day this week she woke up telling herself that today she would see him. Today he'd drop by with coffee, again. Today, things would get back on track.

But it's been six days since they last spoke, and five days since they were even within eye-shot of each other.

She came here to get him to fall in love with her again, and instead she's managed to scare him away for good.

Deep down she always knew the whole Savior thing was a load of crap. And now she is being proved right.

“Emma – it can't be that bad,” Neal says.

“It is! You aren't here, you don't know,” she bites back.

“And you don't know why he's avoiding you. I mean, didn't you tell him a few weeks back that you weren't interested in dating?”

“Yes,” she admits. She's been down this train of thought before, and it never leads anywhere productive. “But we were becoming friends. And now he doesn't even seem to want that anymore.”

“Look, Emma, I don't know if this will help any, but if I was really into someone – like really into her – and she told me that she just wanted to be friends, I'd respect that. I'd try. Like he was trying. But maybe it was getting too hard, y'know? Maybe he needs a little space – maybe he doesn't like being too close to the forbidden fruit, because it hurts too much.”

Emma leans back in her seat and shakes her head. “Killian isn't like that. He wouldn't abandon me just because he couldn't be with me romantically. He'd stand by me anyway.”

“Your Killian wouldn't abandon you. But right now he's not completely your Killian. There's the curse in there messing with his mind, making him into someone he's not. You gotta remember that part.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “The last couple of weeks he's been so much like the real Killian. Maybe I was expecting too much too fast. I just...” She feels tears rising again. “I miss him. I miss him so much. And I miss being around my friends and parents with them actually remembering me and loving me. And I miss Henry. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

There it is. The cold, hard truth. She's running out of stamina. Every day hurts more than the one before. She feels like she's pushing herself through a fog of depression every time she wakes up and has to face a town full of people who have no idea who she really is.

Killian's abandonment is almost more than she can bear.

“Emma – if you need a break, I'm always here for you. Me and Henry. You can come spend the weekend with us, if you want.”

For a moment, she's tempted. A whole weekend to relax with Henry, without having to lie or pretend every time she talked to someone.

But the way Neal behaved right before the new curse – the way he tried to convince her to leave Killian and come back to him – is still enough to make her doubt his motives. He's still hurting from everything with Tamara. The time with Henry is helping, but she's worried that he'll try to talk her into giving up on breaking the curse. To give up on magic and fairy tales and to walk away from that life forever.

She wouldn't say yes, but she knows she'd be tempted, and even that leaves her ashamed of herself.

Killian never gave up on her – her parents never gave up on her – not once.

She can't give up on them. Not without a fight.

“No. I can't leave. Not right now.”

“Okay. I get it.” He sounds disappointed, and she's glad she held her ground.

“Look,” he says, “if he really is stepping back because he has feelings for you, the best thing you can do is tell him you have feelings for him, too. Give him a little hope. Maybe that'll get things back on track.”

As scary as his advice sounds, he might be right. “Okay. I'll try. Thanks for listening. I just needed to vent to someone other than Regina. She's getting a little difficult to deal with.”

“I can imagine. I'll always be here for you if you need me, Emma. You know that, right?” Neal says.

If he'd offered that statement when he first arrived in Storybrooke, she'd have rolled her eyes. But now she thinks she believes him. “I do. Thanks.”

After hanging up she cruises around town one last time, and slows the car almost to a standstill as she passes Killian's house. A light is shining in his bedroom. She almost pulls over, before thinking better of it and heading back to the station instead. Pounding on his door in the middle of the night isn't the right way to handle things.

But sometime this weekend, she'll find him, and she'll talk to him, and she'll admit that she was wrong when she said they shouldn't date. She's terrified, but if this is what it takes, she's ready.

It can't possibly be worse than facing a dragon.

TBC