#like imagine you’re being told your partner is alive but it’s actually just clips of things they’ve said

[xylathesilkwing]

picked up Zero Dawn again after I abandoned my replay and I’m now realizing just how sad the audio clips you find in the gravehoard are. Like not even just the clips of people fighting for a super weapon, but I discovered A WHOLE AREA I DIDNT SEE THE FIRST TIME.

Through the hoard you find these audio messages from a soldier talking about how hard it is with people dying and only fighting for his wife (I think one is titled “so sorry!”), but you find this. idk how to describe it storage room? Where his messages are off and seem like chopped pieces of former ones, and his wife knows! The group told her her husband is still alive but it’s obvious he isn’t! They’re twisting his words to form new sentences! Just to boost morale! I literally did not see this before and now I have with the knowledge of the games ending/discovery it just. makes it all the more sad.

[whoacanada]

Zimmerbro AU

Summary: Andrew Phillip Rowe could skate before he could walk, and it wasn’t until he was almost twenty and well on his way to becoming a Las Vegas Ace before he knew why.

a/n: that’s right we’ve got a secret zimmermann brother au based on the fact that Bob was an active pro athlete for almost 15 years before Jack was born and almost definitely had relationships before Alicia. This particular one resulted in a secret love child.

When the call finally went out that year —  a request for players willing to billet the incoming draftees —  Andrew had been the first in line.

His already sparsely decorated guest room had been primed for a new tenant since he’d learned Las Vegas’ abysmal season had earned them the first pick of the 2009 draft. In his mind, Andrew had envisioned a tearful confession. A family reunion nineteen years in the making where he’d finally get a chance to connect with a half-brother he’d grown up learning about through news articles and stats pages.

He wasn’t ready for Jack to pull out of the draft days before the ceremony; wasn’t ready for the claims of an overdose or speculation about suicide attempts. He certainly wasn’t expecting to have to open his home to a young man with limp blonde hair and deep circles under his eyes with the same enthusiasm he’d promised he’d offer to a son of Bob Zimmermann.

Andrew was hoping for a little brother. 

He got Kent Parson instead.

______

“You remind me of my boyfriend.” Kent slurs one night, completely gone on Johnny Walker Blue borrowed from Andrew’s wet bar. “It’s your . . . face.”

“Shouldn’t talk about things like that,” Andrew cautions gently, covering his own surprise. “Never know who might be listening.”

“Who fucking cares? He won’t talk to me,” Kent continues, ignoring him and sniffing like he’s on the verge of sobbing or puking, both options equally unwanted. “They wouldn’t tell me if he was even alive.”

Another unwanted puzzle piece locks into place.

“Jack?” Andrew suggests softly, and Kent begins to cry.

“You won’t tell right?”

Andrew shakes his head no, long enough for Kent’s bleary eyes to focus on the gesture and take it seriously.

Things are different, after that conversation. Not worse, or better, just different.

________

“He’s my brother.”

Andrew admits this one night, for no reason other than that he can.

Kent is across the room, backlit by lights from the Strip, his legs dangling off the arm of his favorite couch as he scrolls through his phone looking for distractions. Parse hasn’t lived with Andrew for almost two seasons, but he still turns up like a bad penny whenever he needs to commiserate with someone who knows his more lascivious secrets. Truthfully, Andrew’s grateful for the company. He’s a pretty genial guy, but he’s always kept his distance, a personality trait he likes to think he shares with an unassuming sibling, but there’s no way to know for sure. The farther Andrew gets from the 2009 Draft, the less faith he has in a reunion that won’t just bring crippling sorrow to everyone involved.

A secret Zimmermann son who actually made it in the NHL. Who has his name on the Stanley Cup, not once, but twice, largely thanks to the spitfire forward lounging in Andrew’s living room.

“Who’s your brother?” Kent asks, not looking up from his phone.

“Jack Zimmermann.”

Kent barks a laugh and rolls his head lazily to smirk at Andrew.

“That’s funny. I guess you kinda have the same chin. Was Marky digging for chirps?”

Andrew has no idea what that means, but he sets down his tablet and says, “No, he’s actually my half-brother. My mom dated Bad Bob in ’84 and got pregnant.”

The lackadaisical smile on Kent’s face falters as his gaze sharpens, like he’s actually looking at Andrew for the first time. Andrew responds by gesturing at himself lamely.

“That’s not funny.”

“No.” Andrew agrees. “It isn’t.”

Kent swings his feet down off the couch and braces himself against the overstuffed leather. He doesn’t look mad, but there’s something too close to disbelief for Andrew to convince himself everything’s okay. It takes a moment, but Kent must find what he’s looking for on Andrew’s face.

“Does Bob know?” Kent asks with that familiar overfamiliarity, as if they both still have some personal relationship with the living legend.

“Yeah. When Mom got pregnant she told him she didn’t want the attention since it was only a fling — ”

“Who the fuck doesn’t lock down Bob Zimmermann?” Kent breathes. “Also, why the fuck did she tell you that?”

“No shit, right? She got him to sign away parental rights, set up a trust, never spoke to him again as far as I know. I didn’t find out until after I signed with the Aces. She didn’t want me to get blindsided if it all came out, but the story never broke.”

“I mean, does Bob know who you are?” Kent questions. “Does Jack?”

Andrew shakes his head no, because he doesn’t think so, and Kent flops back against the cushions, face slack with disbelief; it doesn’t take long for his features to shift to anger.

“You knew this whole time and you didn’t tell me? Even after I told you —“

“Okay, there’s a whole-ass difference between you fucking dudes and and me being ‘Bad Bob’s bastard’,” Andrew bites, curtailing Kent’s imminent hissy fit. Appropriately, Kent closes his mouth, almost pouting.

“Fine. But that’s fucked.” Kent says after a loaded moment of silence. “I’m sorry you’re . . . you.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry you’re you, too.”

“You know Jack’s signing with the Falconers, right?” Kent offers like the worst kind of olive branch, unintentionally telling Andrew exactly what he was up to during that stretch of time between New England games a few months prior. “It’s not public but it’s happening. Ink’s dry.”

“I know. That’s why I told you. It’s gonna be weird,” Andrew swallows, thinking about playing Providence in the coming months.

“Fucking right it’s weird.”

_________

For the most part, the Las Vegas Aces are decent, stand up guys. Even with the accusations of gambling debts and mob connections with the ownership group, Andrew’s never been asked to hit a certain player a little too hard, or to take a dive so the other team gets a shot at a power play. A lot of talk, a lot of conspiracies, ‘Typical Aces hockey’, but there’s no malice. Not really.

Andrew thinks it’s hilarious he plays the game a lot like his estranged father, but he’s not a legend in the making, hell, at this point he’s barely regarded as more than a mid-level, reliable center that can bring home 40 points a season.

Carly whips behind Zimmermann’s back to clip his skate with a stick, dropping a ill advised chirp that sets every player in earshot on edge. Parse is close enough to catch the quiet slur, stiffening like he’s been hit, and Andrew watches Zimmermann recover quickly, steely and resolute. 

Jack has his mother’s eyes — not the warm brown Andrew catches every time he looks in the mirror.

“He’s a fucking goon,” Andrew breathes, gliding up to Jack’s shoulder in lieu of an apology. Zimmermann doesn’t miss a beat, his gaze flicking to Andrew with the quiet rage of ‘who gives a fuck’. Andrew admires his commitment to the game. Coming back after so much, after so long, to willingly subject himself to the same kind of treatment that Andrew knows likely led to his original fall from grace.

“Hey,” Kent ducks his head as he slides up a little while later, mouthguard clenched between his teeth, and asks, “You see his twink?”

At Andrew’s obvious confusion, Kent jerks his head toward the glass behind the Falconers’ bench, to a raucous group of fans all sporting fresh Zimmermann jerseys. Andrew’s gaze drifts along the row of faces, lingering longer on the familiar, handsome couple beside the blonde young man. He may be imagining things — the stadium lights catching a bad angle —  but for the briefest moment, Andrew holds eye contact with his father.

“He’s cute, right?” Kent says bitterly, like he doesn’t have a partner of his own back home.

“Yeah, he is. You gonna do anything about the slurs, Captain?” Andrew counters, earning a stern look from Parson.

“I’ll deal with Carly.”

“Oh, you will? Because I’ve never seen you shut him down before.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Kent’s expression goes stormy, and he gives Andrew a hard shove before skating off to set up for the next shift. To his credit, he does grab Carly by the arm and tell him something that earns a look of displeasure from the larger man, but Andrew knows a verbal warning won’t curtail someone as dead-set in his conservatism as Carly.

The next play, Carly flashes Andrew a toothy smile over the lineman’s shoulder, as if they’re in on the same joke, and his vision goes red.

__________

__________

“Bad Bob’s outside,” Scraps rasps, like whatever brief interaction he’s just had has physically winded him. “He wants to talk to Flip.”

Andrew blinks up from the water bottle in his hands, previously concerned with the pink-stained gauze wrapped around his knuckles. A few of the guys start chirping, but most of them remain silent, still processing the fact that Andrew assaulted one of their own without clear motivation, in defense of an opponent.

“That’s what this was all about? You gunning for a trade?” Sorenson spits from his stall. “Needed to impress Bad Bob by beating the snot out of Carly?”

“Maybe I am,” Andrew sighs, pushing himself to his feet, wincing at the way his jaw aches from the few good hits Carly had managed to squeeze in before he went down. “What the fuck are you gonna do about it.”

_______

Andrew’s grateful he kept his skates on. He needs the boost of confidence that comes with the added height, especially when he finds Bob Zimmermann waiting patiently in the corridor like he’s just another staff member and not the second most recognizable figure in modern hockey.

“Hey kid,” Bob greets, casting an approving, overly-familiar eye over Andrew’s padded bulk and sweat-slick hair. “You can throw a hell of a punch. Don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy beat the piss out of a teammate before. Off ice, sure, but never during a game.”

His accent is just as thick in private as every interview Andrew’s ever caught live — but his tone is unexpectedly warm, even grateful — when Bob laughs at his own recounting of Andrew’s assault attempt, the sound is light and joyous like nothing in the world comes easier to this titan of a man.

Andrew wonders if Bob can recognize the chin they share beneath a his playoff beard; if there’s any resemblance left in a nose that’s been reset a half-dozen times.

Andrew grew up loved and never wanted for anything. His step-fathers, both of them, had been good men who never left him looking for a father figure. It wasn’t until his twenties that Andrew even realized there was hole where his bio-dad should have been, and not just a regular hole, a yawning sinkhole threatening to devour his entire sense of self, because his biological father turned out to be a man he grew up idolizing as a personal hero.

He’s not mad at his mother, but when Andrew struggles to find his voice — which is bullshit seeing as he’s almost thirty-five and a god-damned professional athlete — he can’t stop himself from feeling like a misplaced child.

“Do you,” Andrew swallows, looking over Bob’s shoulder to see if anyone’s watching them. Finding they’re alone, he rallies quietly, “Do you know who I am?”

Bob’s jovial expression softens into something remorseful, but unfathomably kind. “I do, buddy,” he acknowledges, somehow squeezing three decades of affection into one term of endearment. “I’ve known for some time, now. The whole time, actually.”

That hurts more than expected.

“Does your wife? Does Jack?”

Bob shakes his head, but it isn’t a hard no.

“Alicia knows, and Jack has some idea he’s got a half-brother, but it’s all in the abstract. No specifics. Definitely doesn’t know you play. I wanted to respect your privacy and your mother’s wishes. She let me know she’d told you the truth a few years back and I wanted to give you the space you needed if you decided to reach out. When you didn’t, well, a man makes assumptions.”

Andrew looks down at the concrete beneath his skates and sniffs hard, fighting nasal drip from the smelling salts he’d needed in the third period; or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. “I had a plan, back when — ” he stops himself, looking down at his skates. Bob’s eyebrows lift in curiosity, leaving room for Andrew to gather his thoughts, but he doesn’t take the bait, unable to bring up what could have been just yet. Bob seems to grasp the context after the moment.

“2009,” he acknowledges softly. “Hell of a year.”

“Yeah. It was. Is he okay?”

“What, Jack? He’s leagues ahead of where he was then —”

“No, I mean, tonight. Carly clipped him pretty hard before I got in there.”

“Oh, a little bruised up, but he’ll live. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Okay.”

Andrew looks down at his bandaged fist and realizes he’s completely forgotten how gnarly his face must look.

“Trainer says I’m alright, but I’m gonna get leveled with a wicked fine, I know it.”

“Was it worth it?” There’s a look of guilty pride on Bob’s face, like the man’s enjoying himself a little too much when he leans in and whispers, “You just did something I’ve wanted to do since Jack was in mites. Fucking lay out one of those fuckers that’s got nothing better to do than bitch because they can’t play,” there’s a moment of hesitation, as if he’s worried about pushing a boundary, before he adds, “How’d it feel to look out for your little brother?”

Pride, it turns out, in contagious, and Andrew feels like he could go back on the ice and do it all over again. “Pretty fucking great,” Andrew can’t help a smile, wincing when the gesture pulls at his split lip.

Bob slaps a hand on Andrew’s shoulder pads, then gets a grip on the back of his head, heedless of his sweaty hair.

“Crisse, you’re a fuckin’ beaut, kid. I’ve wanted to tell you that for years.”

Andrew can’t blame the smelling salts anymore.

__________

Jack clearly doesn’t see his father standing there with red-rimmed eyes, or Andrew in an equally unkempt state, and has no reason to think anything untoward has happened when he offers a handshake and pulls Andrew into a hug, bouncing his free fist off the back of Andrew’s pads. “I owe you a drink,” Jack says decisively when he pulls back, shooting a grin between his father and Andrew. “Can’t believe you did that.”

“More than a drink, I think,” the blonde guy Andrew saw behind the bench pipes up. Jack’s ‘twink’. Boyfriend. Whatever. “Dinner at least.”

“A pie,” Bob suggests tightly, keeping his voice even as he turns to quickly scrub his fist over his eyes. Andrew recognizes the statuesque woman who strides up beside Bob, and one quick look tells him she definitely knows who he is.

“Hello, Andrew,” Alicia greets softly, genuinely. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” he says, the tightness in his throat coming out as gruffness rather than emotion. “This is great, but I should go shower and, uh, it was nice meeting you all.”

Bob’s hand whips out and fists the sleeve of Andrew’s sweater, keeping him in place.

“You have plans tonight?”

Andrew debates lying, because he doesn’t know how to move forward from this point, but they’re all looking at him. Waiting. Expectant. There’s too much at stake, and yet somehow — A sharp whistle drags Andrew’s attention back to the locker room. Kent is peeking his head out, and god knows how long he’s been eavesdropping.

“Yo, Zimmermanns. Bittle.”

“Parson.” The blonde says curtly, earning a wry smirk from Kent.

“Flip, we got a presser if you feel like putting a bow on the evening,” Kent’s gaze drifts to Bob’s flushed face, and he adds, “Or, you can shower and slip out the loading bay while I cover for your aggro ass because this is not going to be fun. Your call.”

Andrew looks at the small family surrounding him, his family, and says, “I don’t want to explain.” Kent shrugs and ducks back inside while Bob’s brow furrows in confusion. “I can do dinner, but I don’t want to,” Andrew holds his hands out in front of him, trying to gesture what he means, and Bob snaps his fingers in understanding.

“Ah, ha, I got you, kid.”

“Neat. I’m gonna go shower.”

“We will be here when you’re ready,” Alicia offers. “Take your time.”

“Oh, I will,” Andrew replies before he can stop himself, cringing the second his back is turned because what the fuck could he be any more awkward?

Time will tell.

_____________

.

[ahopelessromantic]

Calm After The Storm ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Word count: 2,6k

Warnings: none

Your new intern causes you to look back on years of companionship with Spencer and think about what’s still ahead of you. (Inspired by Calm After The Storm by The Common Linnets :))

“Excuse me, are you (Y/N) Reid?” Still on your first coffee of the morning it took you a moment to realise that you had been addressed. With a sheepish smile you looked up from your desk to meet eyes with an unfamiliar face. “Depends on who’s asking.” You joked half-heartedly, scanning the unknown woman’s attire for a badge or visitor’s pass. “I’m Anna, Anna Wilde. We talked on the phone?” Realisation dawned on your face. Anna’s father was a friend of Hotch, he had called in some favours with your boss so she could have an internship in your unit. “Of course!” You smiled and got up to shake her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you want to start by meeting the rest of the team right away?”

“So, these are Agent Morgan, Agent Prentiss, Agent Rossi and Doctor Reid. And you already know Hotch, of course. Guys, this is Anna, our new intern for two months.” The team all smiled at her friendly, sensing how nervous she was. It wasn’t every day you met a bunch of FBI agents. After the round of introductions, you took her to the small kitchenette, telling her all about the small kinks the coffee machine sometimes had. “And feel free to ask any question, be as outright as you want. This is a tough job; I don’t want to sugar-coat anything.” She nodded, looking conflicted for a moment before speaking up.“You said Doctor… Reid? Are you married?” You chuckled, flashing her your wedding ring.

“You’re perceptive, that’s good. Yes, Spencer is my husband.” She frowned. “Aren’t there like, policies against that or something?” “Oh, believe me, there are. Relationships can pose a huge conflict of interest.”, you laughed again. “But we annoyed everyone around us with our crushes on each other for so long that everyone was actually grateful once we actually got together. We just had to make it clear that we wouldn’t treat each other differently because we’re romantically involved.” Anna nodded, still looking surprised. “Are you prepared to see some case pictures? We’re about to go into our morning meeting to talk about our next case, but you don’t have to look at anything you don’t want to look at.” Her eyes lit up at that and she nodded decidedly. “No, I’m ready. I used to intern with a surgeon. I can see some blood.” You almost told her that a dead body and an alive, breathing one under anaesthesia weren’t quite the same, but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. She was so young, and so ready to take on the world. In some way, she reminded you of yourself. Young you had been so ready to kick down doors and arrest bad guys when she started out in law enforcement, and it had taken some time for you to find the golden way between enthusiasm and a cool head. But despite her eagerness, or maybe even because of it, Anna actually didn’t do too bad during her first two weeks with your team. She knew how to take orders, something you hadn’t known back then, and also knew herself well enough to step down from a case when she couldn’t stomach it, something you also should have learned way sooner. Once, she even figured out the one clue that had kept you all from figuring out who the unsub was. You were growing to really like her, and she would make a great agent should she actually decide to join the bureau further down the line.

“(Y/N)?” “Hm?” You answered, still in the middle of writing a report. It was late in the evening, and the day had been eventful. The case had ended in a shooting, a bullet had barely missed your shoulder and given you a nice graze wound. “How do you do it?” It was only after hearing her question that you looked up from your screen. Upon seeing the confusion on your face, she elaborated further. “How do you and your husband make it through all the stress? You constantly have to worry that your partner is going to get shot, or kidnapped, or even worse, die. How do you deal with that?” You gave her a gentle smile and gestured for her to sit, using the short moment of silence to organise your thoughts. “I think… as cheesy as it sounds, honesty is the key.” You spoke. “We never leave anything unsaid, so that we’re in the clear if… something happens to either of us. There’s nothing we don’t tell each other; we’ve learned our lesson with that.” Anna nodded solemnly. >“I think I’ve never met a couple like you. Most married couples I know would have long split up.” You had to chuckle at that. “I think that’s because there probably aren’t any couples like us. Somehow, people think that when you’re married you either hate each other or are constantly overly lovey-dovey with each other. But Spencer is my best friend, my partner. The one person I want to come home to after a long day. He’s kind of just like my sexy roommate.” “Hey!” Spencer called out from his desk across the bullpen. “I heard that!” “Good!”, you yelled back. “You were supposed to!” Both you and Anna laughed, your eyes meeting. “It’s not easy, but I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. He’s also kind of the only one who understands my horrible working hours.” Anna nodded and chuckled. “Thank you. For being so honest with me, about everything. Most people just belittle me when I tell them I want to join the FBI.” You smiled. “Trust me, I know how you feel. Anything to give you a better picture of the life you have with this job. Do you want to go get some dinner?”

Later that night, after grabbing some orange juice from your fridge at home, your eyes landed on wedding picture that was pinned to its door. Spencer and you had been so young when you had met, barely even adults. Never before had you realised just how young you had really been, until you had seen Anna and how different she still was from your nearly mid-thirties self. The two of you had been so hellbent on proving yourselves to the world back then, so quick to prove anyone who told you what you could and couldn’t do wrong. Basically, the only people you felt safe to relax around had been each other.It had always been obvious that one day, there was going to blossom love between the two of you. Urged on by the pictures on your fridge you got a box from your living room and spread its content across your kitchen table. It was all the memories you had of yourself and Spencer, collected since the very start of your friendship. There were clippings from newspapers, pictures from birthday celebrations, museum tickets from all over the country. A plastic figurine Spencer had won for you in an arcade, a poker chip from when you had taken him to a casino and of course, quickly gotten kicked out again. But your favourite, of course, were the pictures of your wedding. The happiness on your team’s faces, small Henry bearing your rings, the way Spencer looked at you in your dress. He had been your companion for years now, your shelter, and the love you felt for him only ran deeper with every passing day. Working the job you did, the one thing you really needed was someone you didn’t have to question, and he was just that. The keys turning in the front door’s lock shook you out of your trip down memory lane. “Babe, I’m home!” Spencer announced, knowing damn well that you never slept until he was home. He often stayed at the BAU longer than you, always making sure the team hadn’t missed the littlest of details in a case.

“Hey.” You greeted him happily, pressing you lips to his. Your husband sighed into the kiss, pulling you closer. “I missed you today.” He murmured, gaze wandering across your face as if he had to memorise your features all over again. “You saw me a few hours ago.” You chuckled. He scrunched his nose. “Still. It’s been some time since we had a full day off. Are you looking at pictures?” He asked excitedly upon seeing the mess on the kitchen table. “Mhm.”, you hummed. “Talking about you with Anna brought back some memories.” He chuckled, immersed in the pictures spread out in front of him. “I wish I'd had someone like you being so open with me about the job back when I started at the BAU.” You joined him at the kitchen table, sneaking your arms around his waist. “Would you still have joined?” He looked at you, running his fingers through your hair. “I don’t know, actually. What I do know is that I wouldn’t have met you then, and I don’t know if I’d still like my life without you in it.” You felt yourself blush and buried your face in his side. “Shut up.” Not paying much attention to your shenanigans, he took a picture in his hands with a gentle smile. “This one is my favourite.” You furrowed your eyebrows. It was a picture of the two of you on the jet, months before you had even confessed your feelings to one another. You were asleep, face smushed against your seat, and Spencer was sitting next to you. He had an open book in his hands, but in the picture, he wasn’t reading. He was looking at you, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. You didn’t even know who had taken the picture, probably Emily or Morgan. “I think this was the day I realised I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.” Spencer mused, his trademark shy smile on his lips. You looked up to him with wide eyes. “You already liked me back then?” He chuckled. “You really didn’t know? I felt like I was constantly embarrassing myself in front of you.” You laughed, shaking your head. “That was the time when I was still in denial.” You sighed and looked at the picture again. “It’s going to be eight years since we’ve met soon.” Spencer pulled you closer to his side. “Feels like it was yesterday to me.”

“What happens when an FBI agent gets pregnant?” You laughed at Anna’s question. She had become very comfortable around you over the course of her internship, and you couldn’t even imagine her not being around anymore. “You have to ask JJ about the kids stuff.” “Do you not want children?” Her question took you off guard. Did you even want kids? Of course, right? You were successful in your job, had an amazing partner… how had you never thought of that? The whirlwind that had been your twenties and first years at the bureau was over, and the current calm after the storm seemed to be a good time to think about it. Anna disappeared to ask JJ some questions about being a mom working for the FBI and the day went on, but her question didn’t quite leave your thoughts. Even when her internship was over and she went back to university, her words still echoed through your head. The young girl seemed to have given you a new appreciation of your life and had especially caused some thoughts about adding more to it.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” You bolted up from your thoughts, eyes zoning back in on Spencer’s face. “Huh?” You hummed stupidly. He deadpanned at you. “First you’re not able to look anywhere but the witness’s baby bump, and just now you were looking at my nose for ten minutes straight. Is everything alright?” You chuckled nervously, tucking your hair behind your ears. You had been staring at your husband’s face without an explanation. “I, uh…” You looked around the jet, making sure that no one else was listening in on the two of you. “It’s embarrassing to talk about.” Spencer just sent you a look. “We’ve been married for years and worked together for even longer. I thought we had gotten past ‘embarrassing’ a long time ago.” He did have a point; you had been the one to hold a big speech to Anna about honesty. “I…”, you sighed. “I was thinking about how cute your nose is, and if our baby would get it if we were to have one.” Your words seemed to completely catch him off guard. For few moments he just looked at you in frozen shock. Then facts about genetics started spilling from his mouth. “Actually, up until this day scientists can’t predict what a baby will look like based on its parent’s dna, but the philtrum is around 62% likely to be inherited from the parents, the tip of the nose 66% even. Additionally, considering the fact that male genes are generally more aggressive than female, ones it’s actually quite likely that a child of mine would have my nose.” Upon seeing the look on your face, he grew quiet. “But… judging by your expression I’m starting to realise that that’s not really the answer you had in mind.” You smiled at him, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the minute. “Not really, no.” He gave you a long look, then sighed. “Do you think we’re ready for that? I don’t know if I am.” You took his hand, squeezing it gently. “You would be an amazing dad, Spence. I don’t think anyone really has an idea what they’re getting themselves into when they decide to become parents. And yeah, I think we’re ready. I mean, we have stable incomes, an amazing support system… and I’m not really getting younger.” “Statistically, you’re still of great age to birth children.” He cut himself off and shook his head. “Okay, I heard it myself this time, this is making me nervous.” You pressed a long kiss to his hand. “Relax, my love. I’m not saying we have to get to it right away. I just know that that’s something I want now, and I wanted to talk to you about it.” He nodded. “Maybe it wouldn’t even be too bad if it happened soon. If it happens it happens, right?” You laughed incredulously, but then thought back to all the times Spencer had held the Team’s children with nothing but fascination and adoration in his eyes. Maybe he had been playing with the idea even before you. You watched his gaze space off into the void. “I have so many books to read.”, he said with an empty expression. You chuckled, looking at his nose again. He really had a cute nose. And it wouldn’t be too bad if your children inherited his eidetic memory, too, you guessed. While Spencer stared out of the window, probably trying to remember everything he had ever read about pregnancies and parenthood, you leaned back into your seat and closed your eyes. Whether you were going to get pregnant and be prepared for it or not, you had the best soulmate by your side you could wish for and there was nothing you didn’t trust the two of you to accomplish. You were so ready for the next challenge that was going to be baby Reid.

[darkestwolfx]

Attack of the Reptiles - Re-Review #43

We’re in the centre of South Africa searching for the great horned ape today! Or rather, two humans?

I actually missed these two (probably not as much as Gordon though)! Buddy and Ellie are two of the good regulars that IR have on the books. But seriously, even Buddy asked;

“What could be worse than that?”

There’s always something to come when you say something like that on this show.

And this place doesn’t look at all creepy.

“These are badlands, very dangerous!”

Hmm... I wouldn’t have guessed.

I like this version better! You know before it became over run by giant reptiles. Even so, maybe this is a message we shouldn’t be messing around with nature.

“I’m not even going to think about how long that’s been there.”

How about all the way back when EOS was pinging Bagels everywhere at the end of ‘EOS’? That would be my best guess because I can’t imagine John as messy besides then. Anyhow, I love how he chucks it out of the way to become all IR business like.

“I checked the camera feed. Look what it’s filming now.”

“They’re either really into dirt or the camera’s been dropped. That’s not a good sign.”

“The guide said you’d have to be crazy to go in after them.”

“Oh, I’ll do it! We can’t let Buddy and Ellie disappear! They haven’t finished filming season 14 yet.”

We all know what that waiting for the next series to air is like.

“Yes! More adventure with the Pendergasts!”

That little dance he does gets me every time! It’s so realistically Gordon and the animation is on point.

“I’m such a huge fan!”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

I love episodes where we get to see a bit of Scott and Gordon interaction. I mean, Virgil and Gordon, and Gordon and Alan both work great as duos, but there is still so much potential in scenes with these two. And there was a slight amendment to the launch sequence. After all, besides Brains, we’ve always seen Scott travelling alone in Thunderbird One.

“Do you have visual on ground?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then we need someone on the ground.”

“You’re clear. Ready to go into the unknown?”

Did anyone else here this line and instantly think Panic at the Disco? Or was that just me?

Is it a bird?

Is it a plane?

No, it’s a parachuting Tracy!

“Now to make a nice, soft landing. Oh no! Not exactly soft but it could have been worse.”

I’m holding off on commenting for a moment because-

“You just had to say something didn’t you?”

-Gordon said it for me for once!

He did stumble across Ellie though.

“Gordon Tracy!”

“I’m here to rescue you! Could you chuck me a rope?”

One of my favourite starts to a rescue. I’m not sure which is best - Scott and Ned, or Gordon and Ellie.

“We do search and rescue all the time. Couldn’t be simpler! Oops, sorry, did see the hole.”

“Uh, Gordon, that’s a footprint.”

“John, are you getting a life sign nearby?”

“Yeah, but judging by the size it has to be a glitch.”

“Nothing’s wrong with your equipment, John.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

I reckon that doesn’t normally happen when Gordon says that, but we’ll go with it for now. All that hushed whispering was great as well. A nice difference to the usual shouting and orders that we get over the comms links.

“Gordon, what’s going on down there?”

“I don’t know!”

Loved that moment.

“My pet store nightmare just came true.”

Giant reptiles? I think that’s a nightmare for many people.

Now, in the original TOS episode ‘Attack of the Alligators’, on which many parts of this one are based, the nightmare was Alan’s, but it completely makes sense to put Gordon in his place and it works really well in my opinion.

“I can’t see anything- woah!”

Yeah, really well done, Scott, nearly smash Thunderbird One to smithereens. Look where you’re going! Talk and look, I believe in you.

And now we move onto one of my definite favourite moments. Although, not quite the size of Thunderbird Four, me thinks.

“Do you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“And peppers.. and cucumbers...”

“This is no ordinary jungle. We’re running through a supersized vegetable garden!”

We could feed the world with vegetables that size! Or we could release and single? Opinions?

I’m still not sure what was up with all the ‘Thunderbirds are Go’ title cuts that ran through this episode. It’s like they thought it would be too short without them, because I know they aired the episodes without advert breaks. Interesting. It happens about 4 times though and it’s actually really irritating.

“We’re safe for the moment.”

“But how? Who sealed the door?”

“That would be me love!”

“Buddy! You’re alive!”

I love how they’ve been running around looking for him, and here Buddy was, sitting pretty the entire time. All’s well and that’s all that matters, right? Right. Also, I still love how there is a character with a disability so openly shown on a program like this. It’s an absolutely brilliant choice.

“Orchard Industries.”

“John, can you check on that?”

“Orchard industries claim that they could greatly increase the size of crops. But they were shut down years ago.”

Yep, in TOS, Professor Orchard created said growth serum with carries this plot.

“Does it say why?

“The GDF found out The Hood was a silent partner. And there were reports of secret facilities in hidden locations. According to my files they were experimenting with a new type of growth serum.”

The Hood didn’t have any involvement in the original story, but the serum did catch eyes and there was an attempt to steal it, potentially with intent to sell it on, so The Hood could always have heard about it and been a perspective buyer.

“Well that explains the humongous plants out front.”

“And if the reptiles ate those serum filled plants, that would explain how they got so big! Scott, please get us out of here.”

Call on big brother for a rescue. Classic.

Gordon sneezing! Brilliant. I can imagine this was a little bit of a dream situation for him for a moment though - you know, taking away the giant reptiles and the allergies and the danger, and... well, maybe everything save Buddy and Ellie.

“It’s a hover boat. We have a hover boat!”

“And this canal could take us all the way to the river. If the boat was working that is?”

“I just need a hypo-spanner to fix it.”

“The good news is, I know where you can find one.”

“And the bad news? I had to ask.”

Yes, Gordon, you did.

And so, here we go. The desperate attempt to obtain the hypospanner from within the cluster of giant reptiles which nearly ends early when Buddy let’s the wire slip. And then does nearly end abruptly - after some success - when the clip breaks away.

“I’m not very tasty...”

Says you, Gordon, and I’m kinda hoping that you wouldn’t be certain of that.

“Hey, come and get us you overgrown amphibians.”

“They’re reptiles love.”

“Common mistake.”

Um... no comment.

Look, it’s Gordon of the Jungle! I think he’s been watching too many movies.

“I’ll give up celery crunch bars for a year is you please just start.... Yes!”

I would hold off on the cheering, Gordon. Gosh, think how much money will be saved on the shopping!

This is definitely another brilliant episode though. Very Gordon centric, but giving him a story where he definitely has to work out of his comfort zone of the ocean. Scott has to cope with hovering above doing very little actually - which was probably a struggle for him, and John really needs to clean Thunderbird Five.

“What an adventure!”

“Season 15 is just around the corner!”

“You’re doing another season! Oh, wait till I tell Alan!”

“I just hope we have enough material. Occasionally we’re told our show is too far-fetched.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

I love the repetition of certain lines in this episode - it adds to the humour.

“You shouldn’t have. You really, really shouldn’t have”

“Aww, they’re cute.”

Once again, in the original, Tin-Tin bought Alan a Pigmy alligator at the end of the episode as a birthday present, but Buddy and Ellie get Gordon two for saving their lives! That was classic and Gordon’s reaction was perfect. He really must enjoy being their number one fan now! And did Scott actually coo? I think he did.

But, they do look kinda cute...

Cuter than these fella’s were at least;

Sorry this one’s a little short - today is a poor internet day, so I had to take what I could get.

[sweetiepie08]

Musician with Poison Tears (Chapter 8)

Miguel Rivera’s been fascinated by the story of the legendary ghost, the Musician with Poison Tears, since he was a kid. He’s always wanted to know the full story behind the weeping specter that haunts the train station with its invisible guitar. Now 18, the travels to Mexico City to try to observe the ghost from afar and get some clues about its origin. Who knows? He might even get a song out of it.

This story is based on the art and ghost!au created by @melcecilia14​. Go check out her artwork here, here, here, and here. It’s really awesome.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Epilogue.

Bonus.

When they arrived at the train station, Abel and Rosa asked if he wanted them to go in. He thanked them, but decided he wanted to go in alone. I’m the one who messed things up. I should be the one to fix it.

Over the last few days, Miguel had grown used to being greeted by ghostly guitar music and Héctor calling his name. Today, he was met with only the rumbling bustle of the train station. Instead, Miguel scanned the crowd, hoping to see the ghost’s transparent head or floating feet. “Héctor?” he called. A few living men turned and glanced at him before shrugging and moving on, but no ghosts.

Suddenly, he felt something cold whoosh by him. He turned to his left to see Héctor materialize right before his eyes. The ghost gave the glass doors a determined look. He sped toward them, phased through, then rematerialized back inside. Héctor let out a frustrated huff and geared up to try again.

“Héctor?” Miguel tried again. “Ghost Héctor? What are you doing?”

The ghost looked up and his eyes widened when he saw who called his name. A trickle of blood at his lips suddenly disappeared. “Miguel!” He rushed forward and threw his arms around his friend. “I am so sorry, Miguel.”

“You’re sorry?” Miguel asked. A cold tingling enveloped him under the ghost’s attempt at an embrace.

“When I saw you were gone, I was afraid I scared you away, but then I started thinking about how awful you felt when I looked into your soul. I spent all night trying to get out and find you but…”

“Héctor, it’s okay. I’m okay,” Miguel said, hearing himself imitate his father’s comforting tones. “I actually came here to apologize to you.”

“Apologize?”

“For not believing you and…” he swallowed, “for not telling you everything.”

“What are you talking about, Miguel?”

He moved toward a bench by the windows. “You might want to sit down if you can. There’s a lot to go over.”

“Okay, you’re starting to worry me with that face,” Héctor said with a nervous laugh as he perched on the bench beside Miguel. “What’s going on?”

Miguel let out a heavy breath and looked at the floor. He wanted to stare at the tiles for the whole confession, but he heard his mother’s voice in his head. Look them in the eyes. It doesn’t count unless you look them in the eyes. He looked up. “First of all, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you about being Ernesto’s music partner, and I’m sorry I didn’t believe you wrote your songs.”

“What changed your mind?

“My cousins and I did some research,” he explained. “We found old newspaper ads from Ernesto’s first tour and for every ad up until he left Mexico City, there’s a Héctor listed right next to his name. But that’s not all. You know that songbook I told you about? They’ve actually compared the writing in it with samples of his and it didn’t match. They even compared it with examples of his handwriting from the time the book was written, but it still wasn’t a match. There’s a lot of people who think he lied about writing the songs. I never believed it, but now, with you claiming you wrote them, when you have nothing to gain by it and weren’t even alive when he was famous… it just makes too much sense.”

He went quite for a short moment. “If you knew this already, why did it take you a day to believe me?”

A lump formed in Miguel’s throat. He knew the answer, but it seemed so stupid compared to what the ghost had to go through all these years.

“Because I wasn’t ready,” he admitted. The shame pulled his eyes away. “I’ve looked up to de la Cruz practically my whole life. You see, a long time ago, my great-great grandfather abandoned his family to pursue his dream of becoming a famous musician. He never came back. Ever since then, my entire family hated music. They think music is what tore our family apart. But, I just can’t help it. I love music. It just… The way it makes me feel… When I hear a great song or I play my guitar, my imagination goes wild and I feel a fire in my chest. Not like heartburn or something, but more like… the sun is coming from inside me.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Héctor answered. “It is your passion, a part of you.”

Miguel’s face lit up. “Yeah, and that rush you get when performing, or that feeling when you finally find the right note or the right word… With music, I can say things I can’t say any other way. There’s nothing like it.”

“You are an artist, Miguel.” Warmth radiated from Héctor’s smile. “That is why you feel this way. You can’t help being a musician."

“Well, my family doesn’t want me to be a musician,” Miguel huffed, crossing his arms. “That’s why I idealized de la Cruz so much. I’d hear his songs or watch his interviews and I’d think, ‘He gets it. He would understand how I’m feeling.’ Sometimes, before my cousins found out, I’d think he was the only person in the world who would support my dream. When it became clear he was just a liar and a thief, even when the evidence was staring me in the face, I couldn’t accept it.”

“I see, but you understand there are more musicians in the world than him, ones who share your drive to create.”

“Like you.” Miguel could hardly believe it. He was finally having the kind of conversations he hoped to have one day. He always wanted someone, another musician, who shared his passion, who would understand. Who’d have thought he’d find that in a hundred-year-old ghost?

Then he remembered. He wasn’t here to talk music. He was here on business. “I’ve always wanted someone to talk about this stuff with, but I’m afraid there’s more to tell.”

“Okay, uh, you look serious again…”

Miguel swallowed. There’s no good way to do this. “Héctor, do you remember much about how you died?”

“Let’s see…” He closed his eyes to concentrate. When he opened them again, they glowed white. “I was walking to the train station when I felt a pain in my stomach.  I remember falling to my knees, but after some time, the pain passed and I felt fine again. I got up and kept walking. I made it to the station but no one could see me or talk to me. It took me a while to accept it, but eventually I realized I was dead and I was a ghost.” The light went out of his eyes and he turned back to Miguel. “That’s all I remember.”

“What about before? You said Ernesto was there and he gave you a toast.”

“He did, that’s true.”

“Do you remember what he said?”

“You mean that he would move heaven and earth for me?” Héctor answered bitterly. “Instead, all he did was steal my music and try to erase my existence.”

Miguel nodded slowly. Now came the hard part. “Yeah, well, the thing is, Ernesto de la Cruz wasn��t just famous for his music. He also starred in a lot of films.” Does he know what films are? No time to explain, just move on. He quickly pulled up a video on his phone. “In one of them, there’s a character who says something very similar and, look.” He turned the phone so that Héctor could see it.

I would move heaven and earth for you mi amigo. Salud!

Gah! Poison!

As he heard the clip play out, Miguel looked away, hoping to give the ghost some semblance of privacy. He wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was when telling someone they may have been murdered. Would Héctor want privacy? Would he want to talk about it or be left alone? Would he even understand what Miguel was trying to show him?

“Poison?”

Miguel looked back.

The tears on the ghost’s face dried in an instant. “He poisoned me…”

“There’s no way to be sure-”

“No I can be sure.” Héctor’s voice remained quiet. “I remember now, wondering what could have caused my death, if it was something I ate or drank. Now I know. That drink was the last thing I had before I died. Come to think of it, he hid the glasses while he poured it. I thought nothing of it. I never imagined…” His face melted into rage and he rose up toward the ceiling. “How could he do that to me?!”

Miguel opened his mouth then shut it again. What could he say? What was there to say?

The lights flickered rapidly as Héctor continued his tirade. “We were friends! Our whole lives! I never saw my family again! I’ve been trapped here for over a century! All for a few songs? Was that all my life was worth to him?”

“Héctor? Maybe you should…”

“He took my songs! He took my future, my life, my family! He took everything from me!”

The florescent lights overhead burst and the smell of smoke filled the train station. Miguel thought he could feel a sharp shard prick him as it fell. The people around them muttered frantically and the station staff hurried to try to fix the problem.

“Héctor?” Miguel tried again.

The ghost looked down at Miguel. The rage on his face faded and he descended back down to earth, deflated. “I’m sorry, Miguel.”

“No, don’t be. If there were ever a time to blow-up the lights…”

“It’s my fault,” Héctor said. He slumped on the bench, hunched over, eyes toward the floor. “I should have seen Ernesto for what he was. I should have left him sooner. In fact, I never should have left my family at all.”

“It’s not your fault.” Miguel tried to put a hand on Héctor’s back but it went right through. Instead, he held his hand where the specter’s body began and let the cold nip at his hand. “You said you and Ernesto were friends for your whole lives. You should have been able to trust him. He’s the one who betrayed you.”

Héctor looked up. A weak smile tugged at his lip, then disappeared.

“Have you noticed you stopped crying?”

“It seems I have,” the ghost said as he put a hand to his cheek. “Poison tequila, right? I guess, in some way, I always knew.”

“So, no more uncontrollable crying, no more bleeding from the mouth,” Miguel said with an attempt at a smile. “Those must be good signs, right?”

“Maybe,” Héctor looked down at his transparent hands and flexed his fingers. “I know now who I am and why I’m here.”

“But something’s still wrong.”

“Of course there is!” He rose up off the bench. “I just found out my best friend murdered me! I spent a century tapped here! Is this all there is for me?” He sighed and deflated, lowering himself back down again. “I always thought, once I remembered my past, I’d cross over. At least then, I’d get to see my family again. I could tell them how sorry I was that I left, that I stayed away so long. I never came back to them. They never knew I was dead. Do they think I abandoned them? That I didn’t love them enough to come home? They must hate me…”

“Héctor…”

“If I could just see them again, I could tell them that all I wanted was to come home. Every day on that tour, I wished I could be home with them.” He closed his eyes and clutched his hands at his chest. “I love them so much, Miguel. I love them so much that it hurts. I used to never feel anything before but now, it hurts just knowing I may never see them again.”

Miguel chewed his lip as he thought. Héctor had his memories back, at least the important ones, but it still wasn’t enough. Something still had to happen, but what? Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. “You will,” he said firmly.

Héctor looked up. “What?”

“We’re going to make that happen.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re going to figure out whatever it takes to get you to the afterlife.” He tried to put his hand on Héctor’s shoulder, but it phased through. He accepted the cold tingles on his hand and he continued.  “You’re going to see your family again and I’m not going to give up until that happens.”

Héctor flashed a weak smile, but it quickly dissolved. “But when I first met you, you said you had to go home at the end of the week. How much time do you have left? The days run together in here so…”

“I don’t have to go home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m staying with my grandparents and I’m going to live with them while I go to university. I’m coming back in a few months so I might as well just stay. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s settled. I’m staying in Mexico City.”

A familiar scolding tone sounded from behind him. “What do you mean you’re staying?”

Miguel turned to see his cousins standing behind him. Rosa hand her arms crossed and glared at him in a way that reminded him of Abuelita’s stories about Mamá Imelda. “Rosa?” Miguel said with a shaky laugh. “I thought you guys were outside.”

“We saw the lights flickering and got concerned,” Abel answered. He didn’t look as mad as his sister, but he was giving Miguel a sorry-but-I’m-siding-with-her kind of look.

“Oh yeah, well there’s good news,” Miguel piped up, hoping to add some levity to the situation. “Héctor remembered his death and he was definitely murdered by de la Cruz.” He paused and cringed as he heard what he just said. “I realize that doesn’t sound like good news now that I’ve said it out loud but…”

“Forget it,” Rosa snapped. She softened her glare as she turned her attention to Héctor. “I’m glad you’re getting your memories back, but we need to talk to Miguel real quick.”

Rosa grabbed his hand and pulled him away leaving Héctor floating by the bench. “What’s this about staying in Mexico City?” Rosa said, once they were out of the ghost’s earshot. “Our family expects us back in Santa Cecelia in 2 days.”

“I know but I can’t just leave anymore,” Miguel replied. “Héctor needs my help.”

“With what?” Rosa snapped in a hushed tone. “He remembers his past and he’s still here. What more can we do?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure something out. I promised him.”

“You promised Abuelita, remember?”

“It’s just a little bit longer.”

“It’s just a little bit now,” Abel cut in, “but then it’ll be a little bit more and a little bit more until you never come home.”

“You don’t know that,” Miguel argued. What was with them? He was only going to stay a few extra days or weeks. Sure, didn’t know exactly how much longer he’d be here, but it wasn’t like…

“Remember Mamá Coco?”

Miguel’s blood went cold as soon as those words left Rosa’s lips.

“Rosa…” Abel said in a warning tone.

She ignored him and pressed on. “Remember how, toward the end, she used to stare at the door and say she was waiting for her Papa to come home? Remember how painful that was for Abuelita to watch? You want to leave her like that? Staring at the door, hoping that maybe one day you’ll walk though it? Maybe it’ll be little Coco waiting for you.”

Her words sent a sharp pain through his heart. “That’s a low blow, Rosa. I’m not going to be like him. I’m coming back, just not now.”

“Maybe you won’t be like him and maybe you will. That’s up to you,” Rosa said sternly with a steady stare. “But if you don’t want to be like him, you need to start by keeping your promises. You can’t just say you’re coming home, you need to do it and you need to do it when you promised you would.”

“Miguel, go home.”

Miguel turned to see Héctor hovering just over his shoulder. “Héctor, I…”

“It sounds like you have an important promise to keep,” he continued.  

“Helping you is important.” Miguel felt a lump form in his throat. How could Héctor be saying this? He’d been alone for a hundred years. Was he really willing to go back to that again?

“Miguel, all I want is to see my family again,” Héctor said softly. “I can’t keep you from seeing yours. You might think you’ll never run out of chances to be with them, but the fact is you will, and you never know when that day will come.”

Miguel blinked back the tears forming in the rims of his eyes. “I can’t leave you.”

Héctor smiled and floated down to Miguel’s eye level. “I’ll be alright,” he said, putting a hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “It’s only a few months. I’ve lasted this long, haven’t I?”

“But-”

“Miguel, you’ve already helped me more than I can ever repay. Go, see your family. I’ll be alright.”

Miguel leapt forward and put his arms around his friend as best as he could. “I’m coming back for you. I won’t let you be all alone again, I promise. I’ll help you cross over. You’ll see your family again, whatever it takes.”

Cold tingling enveloped him again as Héctor returned the hug. “I believe you, Miguel. Thank you for all you’ve done.” He released the hug and placed his hands on Miguel’s shoulders. The warmth in his smile far outweighed his freezing touch. “Now go. You can’t keep your family waiting.”                    

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter 18

After posting the final chapter earlier tonight, I realized that Chapter 18 had never been uploaded to Tumblr in October so this fic actually had been idle here for a month longer than I thought.  It’s a bit out of order, but I’ve provided links to all of the prior chapters and the final one.  You can also read it in its entirety on AO3 or FF.net

Prologue/Chap1  Chap2  Chap3  Chap4  Chap5  Chap6  Chap7  Chap8  Chap9  Chap10  Chap11  Chap12  Chap13  Chap14  Chap15  Chap16  Chap17  Chap19/Epilogue  (edited to add link to final chapter)

Friday afternoon, Downtown Portland

To say that Jackson Toliver was pissed off would have been a vast understatement. Not knowing what his younger brother might have already divulged to the cops, he stormed into the Portland Police Department's downtown headquarters hoping to do a little damage control. The uniformed reception desk officer, the same who had escorted Benjamin Toliver to Sergeant Haviland's desk earlier that morning, now brought the elder sibling to speak with the sergeant.

"Mr. Toliver?" Haviland greeted the older brother of the young man who was still seated inside the conference room on the opposite side of the wide open bullpen area. Recognizing the face from both the photographs he'd seen as well as from his own surveillance, he could see some similarities between the brothers but Jackson was a good four inches taller than his brother, possessing both a deeper voice and a surly disposition. He looked pretty much like his driver's license photo save for one feature Haviland hadn't gotten close enough to notice yesterday – a deep bruise below his left eye that was just beginning to yellow around the edges. "Thank you for making the trip over here to speak with us today."

"I have a feeling I didn't really have much of a choice," Jackson Toliver growled, his demeanor decidedly different than his brother's. "Think we can make this quick? I don't really want to miss too much work."

"We'll try to keep this as brief as possible," Haviland responded. "Did your brother happen to mention why we wanted you to come down here today?"

"Benny was rambling on about having told the cops that he was hired to kidnap some woman and take her out into the bay on a fishing boat… Kid's got a pretty vivid imagination…"

"So, you're saying that your brother made everything up?" Haviland continued his questioning.

"Pretty much. I love my little brother but do you really think he looks bright enough to be hired for that type of crime?"

"That isn't really for me to determine. I'm just trying to get all of the facts straight because in addition to Benjamin's confession, he was identified by a witness." Haviland's statement seemed to catch Jackson off-guard as he hesitated before answering and at the same time, the officer saw a momentary glint of fear in Toliver's eyes right before the bravado resurfaced.

"Someone says that they saw my brother try to kidnap someone?" Toliver scoffed at Haviland's revelation of a possible witness. He might have been attempting to play this off as mere folly, but the experienced eye of the investigator picked up a few tell-tale hints – like the glistening beads of sweat suddenly visible along Toliver's forehead and upper lip. Haviland could only hope that perhaps the older brother would crack as easily as the younger one.

"According to the witness, your brother was involved in quite a bit more than attempted kidnapping. He'll likely be facing attempted robbery and attempted homicide charges as well."

This time, there was no disguising Toliver's startled face as it quickly shifted to anger. "Homicide? Benny couldn't kill a damned fly…"

"Doesn't necessarily mean he was the one physically committing the crime," Haviland explained. "Could have been a partner or someone else he was with who actually did the acts, but your brother remains just as culpable." He really wanted to make Toliver sweat some more, certain that Jackson was one of those partners and equally as guilty. He just wasn't quite ready to parade their witness out here publicly yet, so he pressed forward with another question. "Any idea where your brother was hanging out on Sunday?"

"Not really. Don't really keep that close of tabs on him. We don't exactly hang with the same crowd, if you get my meaning."

"Sure do. So then Benjamin didn't spend the day with you?"

"Is that what the kid said?" Toliver replied with a question as he shook his head, feigning ignorance. "No idea why he'd say that."

"Well, to expedite a few things here, I don't suppose you'd be willing to help us out by standing in a lineup for our witness, would you? It won't take very long but would definitely help us narrow things down." Haviland was aware that Killian had never actually seen Jackson's face, but he would certainly know the voice and the detective even suspected that the shape of that very distinct mark on Toliver's face might prove important as well. "Wow – that's quite the black eye you've got there too. Looks painful."

"Eh, it's almost healed," Toliver replied, shrugging off Haviland's comment. "I work at a construction site. Buddy of mine dropped a hammer and I got nailed with the business end of it. You know – stuff happens."

"Of course," Haviland said, almost believing that the nearly square shape to the bruise's center could have been formed by a perfectly timed strike from just the right part of a hammer, but it far more closely resembled the shape of a man's ring. "So, what do you say about the lineup? Would you submit to that for us?"

"Sure, why not?" Toliver replied with another shrug. Didn't matter to him whether he stood in a lineup or not. No one had seen his face. Not the shopkeeper, that Scott woman, for sure. The only other person who potentially could have recognized them was the British guy they'd tossed into Casco Bay and he certainly wasn't talking to anyone.

The next step in their plan was easy – gather a few plain-clothed or off-duty officers from around the station and have them flank the Toliver brothers in a semi-official lineup. Neither brother had yet been charged with a crime, nor had they requested an attorney so they had pressed on with the lineup, going through all of the motions. Each of the brothers was asked to step forward multiple times until at last, the administrator thanked everyone for their time and participation. As they filtered out of the unfurnished room utilized solely for lineups, Benjamin was swiftly escorted away by two uniformed officers so the brothers scarcely had a moment to exchange concerned glances before being separated once again.

Jackson Toliver lingered in the hallway outside the lineup room for a few minutes, contemplating what might happen next. He hadn't yet been taken into custody, which was a good thing, but having been so closely scrutinized several times during the lineup had him on edge. Someone had seen their faces, but who? Was that filthy rich bastard, Donleavy setting them up to take the fall for everything he'd done? They'd followed his instructions – well, most of them - but he'd been the one who stabbed the British guy, not them. He was the killer, they weren't.

But then Jackson's blood ran cold when he recalled Sgt. Haviland's description of the charges his brother could be facing which included attempted robbery and kidnapping and attempted homicide. Attempted homicide, he repeated in his head. They hadn't really laid a finger on the Scott woman so he doubted the charge could be related to her. The only other possible person…

It couldn't be, he told himself while trying to shake off the thought. Beside him, the solid steel door to the adjacent room opened up and the sergeant he'd spoken with earlier and a blonde woman in a cream colored sweater stepped out, pulling the door closed behind them. Toliver's eyes were drawn to the blonde and he couldn't stop staring, trying hard to figure out where he'd seen her before - until he spied the Sheriff badge clipped to the waistband of her blue jeans. Oh yeah, he remembered – she was one of the two cops who had questioned Benny at the construction site yesterday.

But no one else exited that room and his mind was swirling. Was there really a supposed witness? Were they still behind that closed door? Wait – the door wasn't completely shut. He could still see a sliver of light between the door and its frame…

"Mr. Toliver?" Sgt. Haviland asked as he approached, derailing Toliver's train of thought. "You're free to go, but your brother is going to be formally arraigned and charged…"

"Wait…," Toliver interrupted. "You're telling me that this supposed witness actually recognized Benny? That's crazy…"

"We'll try to get him arraigned as soon as possible, but it will be up to the judge to decide on bond…" Haviland continued, ignoring Toliver's interruption. "If you have an attorney, you may want to call them."

"No…you've got this all wrong…," Toliver argued. "No one could have seen…" He stopped before revealing too much and incriminating himself, but he'd said enough to catch Emma's interest.

"I didn't catch that last part," she began, her attention piqued by Toliver's slip. "No one could have seen him where?"

"Nothing… Forget I said anything," Toliver backpedaled, but now he was agitated, those earlier thoughts beginning to swim around his mind again. Only two other people had been out on that boat and actually saw Benny's face… He burst forward, shoving his way past both the blonde and Sgt. Haviland, reaching for the knob of the door they'd just closed – the one that Emma conveniently hadn't latched.

"Hey! You can't go in there!" Haviland shouted as both he and Emma reached for their weapons, unsure what would transpire as the door swung open and Jackson Toliver's eyes fell upon the man he'd believed to be dead but clearly was very much alive and seated nonchalantly behind a rectangular metal table.

"No… No way…" Toliver stuttered, his face draining of color as he froze at the threshold, but he shied a step back when the ghost before him spoke.

"Nice shiner you've got there, mate," Killian stated defiantly, curling his hand into a fist with a subtle glance downward at the heavy rings he wore, the one decorating his index finger matching the shape and size of Toliver's contusion.

"You… you drowned…" Toliver stammered as he retreated into the hallway, eyes shifting nervously from side to side as the realization sunk in that his brother was doomed, and very likely, he was too. Panicking, he took a rapid, ill-advised lunge towards Emma who instinctively and defensively swung at the suspect barreling at her, her fist connecting with the unmarred side of Toliver's face and sending him crumpling to the floor. Haviland immediately subdued the barely resisting Toliver as Killian's face appeared in the doorway, letting out a hearty chuckle.

"I warned you my wife could throw a punch harder than you," Killian stated with a broad smirk crossing his lips.

This was a better result than any of them could have expected. All they needed now were the brothers' formal confessions and if all went according to plan, an implication of the person who'd hired them to seal the deal. So, as soon as Toliver was handcuffed and passed off to a waiting pair of uniformed officers who had stepped in to assist, Haviland's next step was go try to convince the Assistant District Attorney that the Tolivers would be deserving of immunity if they named the man who'd orchestrated all of this and agreed to testify. They wanted the big fish, not his hired minions.

Friday evening, Portland Harbor

Killian's eyes were fixed on the horizon as he and Emma sat in her uncomfortably small yellow contraption in the same harbor front parking lot as the previous night, awaiting McCallen's arrival. The Cumberland County deputy and Sgt. Haviland we're finalizing the paperwork to process the deal they'd hashed out for the Toliver brothers. The Assistant District Attorney had given her blessing to the offer which gave the siblings full immunity from prosecution in exchange for them identifying and agreeing to testify against the mastermind of this plan to harass, kidnap and threaten Jean Scott, the failure of which had led to Killian's abduction - and near death - when his chivalrous side had instructed him to intervene.

The outcome to the week of investigating had far exceeded all of their expectations, culminating in success the moment Jackson Toliver opened his mouth. He'd described in detail how Donovan Donleavy had approached him a few weeks earlier, looking for off the books assistance with a strong-arm job. He'd wanted Toliver to frighten the shopkeeper, staging an armed robbery and then kidnapping her at gunpoint to shake the woman's resolve. They'd been instructed to take her to Donleavy's fishing boat and then to head out into the bay and leave her stranded on one of the islands, hopefully distraught and ready to sell her property. Toliver just hadn't stuck to the plan when Killian Jones complicated matters by flashing that gold coin and promising more.

Instead of Jean Scott, they'd abducted the mysterious British man who had come to her rescue. They assumed that Ms. Scott was sufficiently frightened and since they'd not gotten anything out of her till, the offer of gold was tempting to supplement what Donleavy was paying them. They just didn't know that their boss was going to be hiding out on the boat until after their supposed prisoner had gained the upper hand on Jackson and unmasked Benjamin. They'd no inkling that they'd actually kidnapped a Sheriff's Deputy (or a former pirate for that matter) at the time, but at this point in his testimony, Jackson made it quite clear that Donleavy had been the one who stabbed Killian Jones – confirming Killian's side of the story as well. The Toliver brothers had simply been following Donleavy's instructions when they'd thrown their wounded victim overboard.

Their confessions had provided enough corroborating evidence to convince a judge to sign off on a warrant to search Donleavy's boat for traces of blood. The weapon he'd used would be a lost cause as Jackson Toliver informed the prosecution that the knife had been tossed into the sea, but if traces of Killian's blood could be found aboard the boat, it would prove the veracity of the Tolivers' stories. And that was precisely the reason they were back here at the harbor, half a mile from the marina where Donleavy's boat was moored. This was about as close as Emma and Killian could get while McCallen and Haviland executed the search warrant, their participation in the joint investigation now sidelined, but they had McCallen's assurance that he would brief them both as soon as the forensic team was finished. McCallen just couldn't be certain how much later that might be so Emma and Killian were forced to wait – and impatiently at that.

Killian would have preferred to be waiting on the benches closer to the shore where he could watch the waves lapping at the sand and inhale the scent of the salty sea spray, but with his lingering weakness that inevitably led to nausea if he exerted himself too much, he didn't want to take any chances. Besides, a powerful spring storm was making its way up the coast, threatening severe thunderstorms and high winds that Emma didn't want to get caught in and she knew that the experienced mariner wouldn't argue with her logic to remain protected from the weather.

Finally, at approximately ten minutes after six, Emma's phone buzzed with a message from McCallen informing them he was on his way to the park. Emma quickly typed back their location and he responded immediately with a reply that he would meet them in ten minutes. He made no references to any findings so they could only infer that he preferred to deliver their discoveries in person so now, they just had to wait a few minutes longer.

By the time she spotted McCallen's car pulling into the parking lot, Emma was growing even more antsy than Killian. While he sat daydreaming about how much he was missing the sea, she had busied herself playing a mindless matching game on her phone, one that usually kept her entertained on stakeouts but tonight, she couldn't concentrate on the brightly colored symbols at all. She just was itching to learn if they had enough evidence to prosecute Donleavy – not just make a circumstantial case, but have actual, solid evidence to put him away for a very long time.

The impending storm was blowing in quickly, dark clouds gathering overhead as it approached, blocking what remained of the evening's sunset. Gentle sea breezes were giving way to stronger winds and rainfall was certainly imminent, but McCallen was willing to brave the weather. He parked his sedan next to Emma's Bug and climbed out into the elements, walking briskly to the driver's side as Emma rolled down the window and the deputy leaned over the yellow Volkswagen, his expression drawn into a mix of what looked like frustration and disappointment.

"So – what did the search turn up?" Emma blurted out impatiently before McCallen could even say hello.

"Nothing, I'm afraid," McCallen replied dejectedly.

"Nothing? What do you mean nothing?" she asked incredulously. "Even if they swabbed the decks or whatever the hell they do to clean a boat, there should have been some trace…"

"Emma," McCallen cut her off. "There wasn't anything found because we can't locate the damned boat!" Emma and Killian's heads both snapped up in stunned surprise.

"What?" Killian asked, one eyebrow unconsciously scrunching creases into his forehead. "Didn't the harbormaster verify that the vessel was moored there at the marina?"

"Well, the harbormaster confirmed that the boat had been in its slip this morning," the deputy explained. "He didn't see anyone around, but he also admitted that he was away from the marina for an hour this afternoon, from one until two, so it was definitely possible for someone to have snuck away with that boat during that window."

"Damn," Emma hissed, slapping the steering wheel agitatedly with the palm of her hand. "How would he have known? We barely had confessions by then…"

"Maybe someone tipped him off?" McCallen shrugged, "or maybe he had an inkling that someone was wrong? Either way, the boat is missing and apparently, so is Donleavy. There's a bulletin out for him, but if he did manage to get out of here in that window earlier today, he could be well up the Canadian coast by now."

"Not in this weather," Killian interjected. "With those swells, his tiny vessel would barely be able to manage a few knots. He'd have to hug the shallows near the coastline to avoid getting tossed about too much."

"Well, hope you know your seafaring stuff then," McCallen chuckled. "The Coast Guard has already been notified, as have Canadian authorities."

"I, for one, wouldn't question Killian's seafaring knowledge," Emma grinned, despite seething with ire that Donleavy had likely slipped through their fingers. "You know, former Royal Navy and all…"

"Well, until we pick up some news on Donleavy or his boat, how about we all head back to my place before the skies open up? I'm starving so I'll stop and pick up some food on the way home. Anything in particular that you'd like?"

"God, I could go for a huge, greasy cheeseburger with lots of fries, but I'm not sure that would sit well with Killian…" Emma sighed.

"Don't worry about me, Love," Killian jokingly chided her. "If that's what the two of you would like, I'm certain I could think of some lighter fare for myself."

"Burgers it is then. I know a great place about a block from my house. They also make a decent chowder if you think that would be better?" McCallen asked tentatively, not wanting to offend Killian, but he got a smile and a nod in reply. "Alright then. I'll see you two back at my place in about 45 minutes or so? I'd invite Haviland too but he apparently had a date tonight… Me, on the other hand, well, my Friday nights are always free…" Emma wasn't sure if the young deputy was kidding, but he didn't seem bothered or embarrassed by his statement. She was pretty certain that he enjoyed the company but didn't want or need anyone's pity for his single life. And since this would likely be their last night here in Portland, why not celebrate one big victory?

[shingekicornwrites]

‘No Regret’, a hero au drabble

It’s my birthday and instead of relaxing I wrote something???? and actually finished it???? a lot has happened recently and I haven’t been able to work on much because of it but life is slowing down and getting better, so. it’s all good. 

Posted unedited, takes place 3 years before the au begins

Hanji walks into the bar knowing something was horribly wrong. There are multiple reasons why, a list that grew every ten minutes from the way the day had been going so far, but the main reason that they’re focusing on is the fact they were walking into a bar in the first place.

Levi was not a social drinker. At all. He hates people, he hates crowds, he hates loud bar music, and he has the personal opinion that bars are among the top places to contract a disease because of the rampant drunkard germs that cover every inch of the building. But when Levi called Hanji that day he pointed them to a bar and said he’d be there all night. As Hanji enters the bar and looks around they find him where he said he’d be, in a secluded corner of the counter tapping his fingers against the wood and twitching oddly.

The TV above their heads is blaring the news report that’s been going all day. The teen hero Pain is dead, succumbing to injuries gained in the recent villain crisis. The only hero casualty from the incident. Strength hasn’t been available for comment, and is assumed to be mourning in private.

“Do you want me to ask them to change the channel?” Hanji asks as they sit down.

Levi shakes his head. He downs a shot of something amber colored that makes him cringe and flags down the bartender for another. Hanji waits until the bartender leaves before they begin to talk.

“So. I’m guessing there’s a story behind why the news is telling me my very alive patient is dead.”

Levi frowns, staring at the countertop. His fingers are still tapping the wood. Hanji notes he’s doing it in increments of nine.

“He’s doing okay, by the way. His vitals are even, his thought processes are normal, his reflexes are getting back up to speed fairly quickly,” Hanji goes on, watching Levi’s face very carefully as they talk. Levi’s mask is a very good one, one that cracks very rarely, but the tapping against the countertop speeds up. He’s rustled. He’s going to break very soon. “The only thing wrong is that today he looks like he wished he’d stayed under.”

Levi taps, stops, then downs the refilled shot glass. Hanji puts their hand over his before he can signal for another.

“What did you do?”

Levi’s jaw rolls and cracks, his fingers flexing under their hand to clench into a fist.

“What I had to. I told Erwin to spread the news, and I told Eren when I visited today.”

Hanji looks back to the TV, taking their hand away. Levi signals the bartender again but orders a stronger drink.

The news is playing clips of the things Pain has done over the years. The time he saved the mayor when he was twelve. The time he and the Legionnaires stopped a villain alliance before they could destroy the city when he was fifteen. A recent fire, from just a few weeks ago, where he barreled through the burning building to rescue a family trapped inside even when the fire burned right through his gloves and half his shirt. Eren Jaeger’s entire hero career is being played over as a memorial, as the city remembers everything he’s ever done for them, and he isn’t even dead.

What Levi’s done is usually a punishment, in their world. Taking away a sidekick’s alter ego is their equivalent to grounding them, it’s treating them as the children they usually are. Eren’s been permanently benched. His partnership is effectively dissolved and his spot amongst Trost’s finest is gone forever.

What Hanji doesn’t understand is why, because Eren didn’t do anything wrong.

“So why’d you do it?” They ask, as Levi nurses a taller drink. “I’m not here to yell at you. I just want to know why.”

Levi purses his lips, his hand twitching. Hanji thinks he’ll start tapping again but instead he grabs the toothpick dispenser and begins arranging the little sticks in rows. Hanji doesn’t stop him.

“You weren’t there, when it happened.” Levi’s void is dull, flat with what Hanji can only describe as misery instead of Levi’s usual apathy. “It was a standard chase. We didn’t know….we didn’t know what the guy was planning.”

One of the toothpicks snaps in his fingers. Levi throws it on the floor.

“You know how they say time slows down, when shit like that happens? That’s never been true for me. Not like it was then. It…” His hand trembles and drops another toothpick. It messes up the neat row so Levi pushes them all aside and starts over. “It really was like time slowed down. I could see everything. I could see the surprise on his face, and I could—”

Levi’s voice is wavering, just slightly, before he downs half his drink in one go and slams it back against the counter. Some of it sloshes over the side and Levi doesn’t even move to clean it up.

“Hanji, I could see the inside of his head. His fucking brains were half blown out. And then he was gone.”

Hanji takes in everything about him, then. The way he’s hunched over in his seat. The desperate way he straightens the toothpicks, pushing them all aside if they don’t go the way he wants. The way he flinches as the news talks, the way the reporters mention his partner by name.

“You’re scared,” Hanji says. It’s not a question. It’s a statement, because it’s true and Hanji can see it before their eyes.

Levi never gets scared. He gets spooked, or anxious, but not scared. The last time Hanji had seen anything close to fear on his face was years ago, and it lasted a single day before Levi went on pretending it never happened. What happened to Eren is scaring him, and it’s scaring him thoroughly.

“Carla Jaeger hugged me, the day before,” Levi goes on. He’s miserable, Hanji can tell, even if to a normal person he still sounds like he has no emotion in his voice. “She hugged me and thanked me for being so good to her kid. She said ever since he met me he’s been doing better in school. He has friends. He’s happier, more focused. He got his acceptance letter to college despite every teacher he’s had telling him he’ll flunk out of high school. He has scholarships. He has a future.”

He turns and looks at Hanji for the first time that evening, and they see just how wild his eyes are. The bags that normally make him look exhausted make him look damn near feral, the way they stare Hanji down.

“Could you imagine if I had to go up to her, and tell her what I did to get her son killed?”

Hanji has seen Levi at some incredible lows in his life. Not the lowest, that privilege goes to his sister and Farlan, but they’ve peeped a bit down the rabbit hole.

The last time Levi had this look on his face, it had been when Erwin had dragged him into their office on the grounds he thought Levi was extremely sick and no one had noticed. Which he’d been right about. The last time this look had been on Levi’s face he’d entered Hanji’s office scratching his arm bloody and checking out windows every three seconds for people who didn’t exist. The Levi in front of them now has raw looking hands and a sliver of bandages peeking out from his jacket sleeve.

“I’m going to ask you a question as your doctor, instead of your friend. Is that okay?” Hanji asks. Levi focuses on the countertop and nods silently. “How bad have your symptoms been?”

Levi takes a moment to think, running his tongue over his lip. Hanji knows he won’t lie, because they’re the only doctor he tells the truth to. The only one he doesn’t inherently distrust and watch with the eye to injure if they move the wrong way. They’re also the only one who doesn’t judge, or talk down to when he talks about what’s wrong with him.

“I’ve locked the front door 78 times. Petra had to drag me to bed because I couldn’t stop fucking with the window latch. I burned myself this morning because I had this fucking urge to tap things and wound up touching the coffee maker the wrong way. I washed my hands so much they still hurt.” Levi holds out his arm, showing the bandages a little more clearly as his sleeve retreats with the movement. “I also wound up scratching my arm open after…after the visit today.”

Hanji nods, withholding comments. “Have you been taking your medication?”

“I hadn’t gotten the chance when it happened,” Levi admits. His head hangs a little lower with what Hanji recognizes as sincere regret. “And I just…I haven’t, since. Sorry.”

Normally Eren is the one to remind him when he slips. Ever since he found out when he was just a kid, he’d made himself officially in charge of making sure Levi was on top of his medication schedule. Hanji had found it adorable back then. Levi never talks about his disorder, never acknowledges it aside from when he thinks he might need his medication altered, but it had pleased Hanji so much that his little protégé never looked down on his mentor for it and did what he could to make things easier. Probably, Hanji thinks, as repayment for Levi working around Eren’s problems.

It must have been so difficult without Eren there to remind him to stay on track. Or at least, the fact Eren wasn’t there was another stresser on top of a mountain of things piling on his shoulders.

Hanji pats his shoulder lightly, with only three fingers the way he allows them when he’s anxious. “You’re under an extreme amount of stress. Everyone has slips when their life gets bumpy. As long as you get back on it you’ll be okay. I want you to take it first thing tomorrow, after the alcohol is out of your system. Alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” Levi nods.  “I shouldn’t have gone off it in the first place, that was stupid.”

“It was. But you’ll be back on it soon enough,” Hanji placates. A normal doctor would probably call him out for calling his choice stupid, but Hanji is no normal doctor and Levi is no normal patient. “But I have a concern. Do you think you should have been making such drastic decisions when you’re like this?”

Levi’s fingers twitch.

Hanji continues, keeping their tone from being accusatory and watching Levi for a reaction. “I’m not yelling at you. I’m not mad at you. But I’m concerned, as your friend and the only doctor you put your faith in. You made a very drastic choice without consulting anyone, at a time when your emotions are running high and your thinking processes aren’t quite smooth.”

Levi nods. “I know.”

“You’ve put Eren under stress because of it. He’s very hurt by what you did.”

“I know.”

“Then you’re sure about this? It could blow up in your face very badly.”

“I know, Hanji. I just—“ Levi runs his hand through his hair, mussing it for just a moment, before resting his forehead in it. “He’s never gotten the chance to be a kid, has he?”

Hanji makes a confused noise, and Levi continues with that same miserable inflection in his voice.

“I never got that either. Me and Mikasa both had that taken away, so I didn’t think twice about it. But Eren’s spent his entire youth running after me, putting his life on the line. And before that he had shit happen to him that ended his childhood too early. He’s never had the chance to just. Be a kid. Do stupid kid shit.”

That’s the dumbest thing Hanji’s ever heard, because Eren’s always been doing ‘stupid kid shit’. Ever since he warmed up to Levi and got into the swing of the job, he’s acted like the kid he almost never got to be. He acted worse than that, actually, because he was a kid who got to do things normal kids couldn’t and he took advantage of it.

“I have a stock of photos that prove otherwise.” Hanji says, and means it. They have an entire stash of photos from the Legionnaires antics that Erwin isn’t supposed to know about. They have even more that Eren stashes at headquarters because he doesn’t want his mom to see, of him and his friends from the international community.

“Kid shit without masks and sunglasses hiding his face.” Levi clarifies, because he knows the photos too. In all of them Eren is either in costume or wearing civvies that keep his identity hidden. Even among friends he never took the chance of letting them know who he was. “He almost died. He almost lost his life before he got the chance to even live it. Maybe it’s time to give him a shot at that.”

“A shot at what?”

“Being a teenager,” Levi answers, exhausted and looking as miserable as he sounds. “Let him spend the night playing games and procrastinating papers. Let him go out without emergencies ripping him from his friends. Let him just act his age for once. Let him eat shitty takeout and make the worst problem in his life a term paper instead of some nutjob blowing his head off his shoulders on the evening news.”

Hanji nods, seeing his logic. Their job is a dangerous one. Sidekicks are a touchy thing because of it, and dying in the line of duty is so common that Erwin has them compose wills before they ever set foot out on a patrol. Wanting a normal life for someone who’s already spent so much of their years risking it all is reasonable for someone like Levi, who treated his partner like another one of his kids.

But Hanji knows Eren just as much as they know Levi.

“The thought is very noble. But still; do you really think that will make him happy?” Hanji asks, cutting right to the chase. “Do you really think what you did is going to keep him benched forever?”

It won’t. They already know. Eren was the face of despair when Hanji saw him today, silent and frozen as if he couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Levi might have done it for a good reason, but to Eren it was nothing less than having his entire world taken away.

The normal life Levi wants for him doesn’t exist, because all of Eren’s friends and Eren’s plans exist in their world. Killing Pain might set him back, but it won’t get rid of him completely.

“I don’t know,” Levi admits. “But for however long it works, that means he’s alive. He’s alive and he’s safe and he’s just a teenager on his way to university, like he should be.”

Hanji doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s going to fail. He probably already knows.

“He might hate you, for what you did.”

“I know,” Levi says softly. “I’ll deserve it.”

“You aren’t going to beg forgiveness?” Hanji asks. There was a tone of finality in Levi’s voice, one that showed no fight. No urge to fix things if they went wrong. “Levi, I know you’re emotionally not the best person, but that kid is practically one of your own. You’d be devastated if he hated you.”

Levi clenches his hands again. He resumes the tapping. Slower, now that he’s talked about what’s on his mind, but still in rapid increments of nine.

“I made a decision. For now, it’s the one with the least regrets. If wind up hating it, then that’s my problem to bear and no one else’s.”

But it won’t be. It’s going to be a problem for more than just him, and Hanji knows it’s going to end badly for everyone involved. They know this man and his protégé too well to expect anything else.

“Levi—“

“Hanji, please,” Levi cuts them off. He’s sad, he’s tapping his fingers even though his knuckles are red, and the noise of the evening news cuts to the latest college football game with Pain’s death still scrolling at the bottom of the screen. Levi’s face is paler than usual in the bad lighting but he looks at them with every ounce of exhaustion he’s been holding in since the accident.  

They keep their mouth shut, even though they know this isn’t going to end well for anyone.

For now, Levi just wants to be a sad man in the empty corner of a shitty bar and drink his problems away. They can grant him at least one night of that.

“Alright,” Hanji nods. They shift and put their bag on the counter, instead of letting it dangle on their shoulder any longer, and wave the bartender down for a water. “I’m staying, though. If I don’t walk your drunk little tush home Petra will have to come.”

“Thanks,” Levi mutters. He drinks the rest of his forgotten drink, grimaces, and puts the glass out for another.

Hanji gives their situation a small amount of time before Levi regrets all of it. At best, maybe a year. But honestly, knowing Eren? Knowing the way he looked today when Hanji came in and he tried to hide his tears? They give it a few short months before it all goes to hell. Maybe less, depending on how mad Eren is going to be when he’s done feeling sad.

And the worst thing is, Levi’s already accepted that whatever comes is his own fault.