#like watching our cart when mom and I pass the wine aisle in the grocery store lol

[trollbreak]

I think it would be funny and thus should happen where like. Someone’s trying to talk Ethann down from violence and is like “This isn’t the answer here! Rabbit, tell her!”

And rabbit is just off to the side cackling and goes “get his ass”

[therealvalkyrie]

What Could’ve Been Without the War

Pairing/setting: Jean Kirschtein x Female!Reader, modern!AU within the Walls, set after the War; canon divergent w/ modern tech

Summary: You and Jean embark on your weekly trip to the grocery store.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: equal parts angst and fluff, idiots to idiots, mutual pining, unsatisfying ending (i’m so sorry)

AN: Surprise Jean! I hope you are all having a wonderful Friday evening and that I don’t ruin it too much with angst. This piece started out as a super fluffy drabble involving grocery store shenanigans and kinda....uh....got away from me. Ahem. It was also originally intended as a 157 follower cool prime number thank you! I think we’re up to 180-something now, but we can still count it. Big thanks yet again to the love of my life @ghostlightprincess for her edits and encouragements:) Please come let me know what you think in my DMs/askbox/comments!!  ~valkyrie

Jean opens on the third knock on his apartment door, already shrugging on a jacket. He greets you with a short “hi” and receives the kiss you plant on his cheek out of habit.

“You ready?” You’re practically bouncing on the balls of your feet, car keys jingling off of the magenta key ring looped around your finger. It’s cute, and he finds himself matching your enthusiasm with a grin of his own.

“Almost,” he replies, reaching back to his coat rack to grab a scarf. “Honestly, I still don’t understand why you’re always so excited for the grocery store.”

He looks back to catch you rolling your eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re not. A grocery store is a magical place, with all of the cheesecake and ice cream you could ever wish for!”

He chuckles and joins you in the hallway, leaning down to lock his door behind him. “Need I remind you that you’re lactose intolerant?”

“That’s what Lactaid is for, stupid. Come on!” He lets you pull him down the hall, your small gloved hand in his big one. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Croft!” you greet his elderly neighbor as you pass her open door, sticking your head in with a wide smile. “You need anything from the store? Jean and I are just on our way.”

Jean stands beside you awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with his shrewd neighbor. You haven’t let go of his hand and he can feel a blush working its way up his neck. 

“No, that’s alright, honey, I just went this morning.”

“Okay! Well, let us know if you think of anything!”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Have a good afternoon, ma’am,” Jean chips in as you wave. 

“You kids have fun.”

The next second, you’re pulling him away again and he misses the way Mrs. Croft chuckles knowingly and looks back to her knitting. 

—

“What’s next on the list?” Your voice drifts down the aisle back to him, and Jean pauses in pushing the cart to shuffle the papers in his hands. 

“Umm… AP flour, vanilla extract,” shuffle, shuffle, “brown sugar, olive oil, yeast.”

You hum in acknowledgment and he watches as you flit from shelf to shelf, gathering items in your arms. He pushes the cart up to join you.

You dump everything in haphazardly, and he sighs, leaning down to straighten it all out into categories.

“What’s next?” You’re already halfway down the rest of the aisle again, gazing up longingly at the Oreos on the top shelf.

God, she’s cute.

He joins you, reaches up to pluck a pack of Double Stuf off of the shelf, and wordlessly places it in your section of the cart, suppressing a smile of his own as you grin up at him.

“You sure know how to treat a girl right, Jean-bo.” You reach up to ruffle his mullet. 

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, ducking away and flushing red like a smitten schoolboy. “Next is the frozen aisle.”

—

“Was it the lasagna that she liked last time? Or the shepherd’s pie?”

“The lasagna.” He accepts three frozen dinners as you pass them over from where you’re leaning past the glass freezer door.

“Hey,” he looks up sharply at your soft call to see you staring down the aisle like you’ve seen a ghost, hand still holding the glass door open. He follows your gaze and sees him just as you say, “It’s Erwin.”

It’s not, but Jean’s heart twists all the same at the resemblance the stranger carries. Same neatly parted blonde hair, broad shoulders. But he’s shorter, still has both arms. And he’s alive. 

“It’s not, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“It is, look he—” you insist until the man turns and instead of the Commander’s piercing blue gaze you’re met with brown eyes that flick between you and Jean in confusion. “Oh.” Your face falls and you allow the door to close, turning into Jean’s side.

“You alright?” He tilts his head to catch your expression. It’s pure pain, mouth twitching into a frown and eyes unfocused. Your hand comes up to grip the bottom of his jacket, and after a second he can see you physically force your face back to neutral. 

“Fine,” you nod. He knows you’re faking, that it’s a survival tactic, so he lets it go for now, only steps back to let you in between his body and the cart. 

“Up you go,” he prompts you to step up, feet on the bottom shelf and hands clutching the bar. He starts to push as you ride, walking first then running down the aisle until you finally throw your head back and laugh genuinely. 

He misses the exasperated look an employee gives him as the pair of you whizz past, too preoccupied with your smile.

—

“What do you need three dozen eggs for, anyway?” you ask incredulously, nevertheless opening each carton to inspect before handing them over. 

“They’re a good source of protein,” he defends. “Plus, you always end up running out and coming to me to complain. Ran me dry last time.”

Another playful eye roll. “It’s only ‘cause I messed up my brownies! And I needed them to entice the landlord to finally fix my heater.”

“Your heater’s been broken?”

“Well, it’s not anymore. Espresso brownies work wonders, I’ll have you know.”

You’re trying to brush it off as you normally do when he worries, but the thought of you shivering and blue-lipped keeps him pushing. “How long did you not have heat for? It’s February!”

“Not the point, Jean-bo!” You poke at his cheek and twirl away towards the cheese. 

“It definitely is the point. Come to me next time and I’ll fix it.”

“And lose my deposit?” You scoff, reaching for mozzarella. “Fat chance.”

“Freeze, then.”

You grin back at him. “Why d’you think I came over so much last weekend?”

“Is that all I am to you? A hot water bottle in your time of need?” He feigns hurt, but some pride swells in his chest that he kept you warm, after all. 

“And a cute one, at that. Think fast!”

His hand flashes up to catch the mozzarella you toss deftly. 

“You wound me.”

“Eh, builds character. What’s next?”

Shuffle, shuffle. “Wine and flowers.”

—

Jean watches as you bounce in the driver’s seat, hands almost dainty on the wheel, leaning forward to stare resolutely out the windshield at the darkening road. You’re singing along to some song he doesn’t know that’s playing from the stereo.

It’s so familiar, this Saturday evening ritual with you, and it wraps Jean up like the softest blanket. He knows why you’re always so excited about grocery shopping, and it’s not the cheesecake — it’s the way this routine has centered itself in both your lives. He feels it too, the semblance of normalcy, of domesticity, that you’ve cobbled together with him in between hard weeks and harder nights.

You navigate the bends and odd intersections of his old suburban neighborhood with ease, having driven to his house maybe thousands of times since you were teens. The elementary school passes, then the vet clinic, until finally, your old black sedan pulls into his mom’s driveway alongside her silver minivan.

You shift to neutral and yank on the parking brake habitually, then turn off the car and settle back into your seat.

You’re both quiet for a moment: you staring out the window lost in thought, Jean checking the time on his phone.

“Jean?”

“Hm?”

“Do you ever regret enlisting so young?” This catches his attention, turning sharply to look at your contemplative profile.

“Never. It was the right thing to do.” He’s resolute in this conviction, always. The War had seemed to be at its worst when you’d joined up, driven by the promise of Wall Maria’s reclamation and impassioned by your comrades’ fury. It had been the only choice, in his view.

“I do, sometimes,” you admit quietly, eyes downcast to where your fingers twist in your lap. “Maybe then my head wouldn’t be so messed up,” you laugh dryly and tap your temple, then shoot him a sideways glance. “And maybe—” you cut yourself off.

“Maybe what?”

“Never mind.” You’re out of the car so fast Jean almost questions if you moved at all. It reminds him of your natural grace on the ODM gear, how you’d whoop and holler as you hurtled past him among the trees during training. He wonders for a moment when your agility turned from a source of joy to an escape mechanism, then stops himself. He knows exactly when that happened.

—

The grocery store tulips thankfully survived their ordeal in the trunk of your car, bright against Ma Kirschtein’s tile kitchen backsplash as you arrange them in her favorite vase. After a minute of fussing, you take a step back, give a nod of satisfaction, and scoop up the trimmed stems off the counter. The rest of the groceries are already put away, organized so she can reach them without trouble.

It’s as you’re stepping on the trash can pedal to open its lid that the voices from the living room catch your ear. You pause, smiling as mother and son converse.

“Have you been eating enough, Jean-bo? You look so skinny….”

“Ma, I—”

“What am I saying, of course you haven’t. You’d waste away to nothing if you were left to your own devices. I’m so glad that darling girl is there to look after you.”

“Ma, she’s not my keeper—”

“When are you two getting married, again? I could’ve sworn I wrote it down in my book, but I looked the other day and couldn’t find the date anywhere.” She sounds serious. Confused, even, not a hint of teasing in her tone. Must be an off day. A symptom of her early-onset dementia.

“Ma, we’re not even together.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been together since high school.” She’s so convinced, so sure, and you squeeze your eyes tight against the reality that you and Jean have only ever been friends. In the adolescent insecurity of high school, in the intensity of military training, in the fucking heat of battle, all you’ve ever shared is friendship.

“Ma, I don’t think… I don’t even think she—” He pauses and your ears strain in the silence to catch his last quiet phrase. “She doesn’t think of me that way.”

You just know, you can tell, he only says it like that to ease her confusion. It’s the opposite, really, he doesn’t think of you that way. Before you can hear more sideways rejection, you toss the flower stems and make a beeline for the bathroom.

—

“What was that movie you were telling me to watch, again?” You ask around a mouthful of spaghetti with sauce fresh from the jar, covering your mouth with one hand.

The pair of you are eating shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor of your apartment two floors above Jean’s. It’s got the decidedly better view out your picture window, complete with the perfect Eastern perspective of the river that cuts through Trost and its famous bridges. It’s this, the third leg of your traditional Saturday evenings together, that makes you feel the most warm.

Jean has the manners to chew and swallow before replying. “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood? Connie, Sasha, and I went to see it when they visited last month—”

Your snicker cuts him off and he raises his eyebrows as you roll your eyes and take a sip of wine. “The feet movie? Sasha said it was pretentious.”

“Really? I thought she was too preoccupied with the fact that the theater sold chili fries to pay attention.” He teases back, twirling more pasta onto his fork.

“I’m telling her you said that,” you warn with a jab of your own fork in his direction.

“Snitch.”

“Hey!”

He ducks to avoid your swat to the back of his head, grinning at your pout. “No, but seriously, apart from the feet it’s a good movie.”

“Hmm. I’ll consider putting it on the roster for next week.”

You take a moment to relish the comfortable silence, looking out at the city lights as you chew thoughtfully. His thigh is heavy and warm against yours under the thick knitted blanket his mom gave you last Yule. Your belly is warm and full, your shoulders relaxed in the company of your closest friend, your lungs breathing easily.

Jean says your name quietly and you turn to see him staring pensively down at the plate in his lap. “About what you asked earlier… in the car?”

You nod, eyes wide and mouth serious.

“Sometimes… I do regret it.” He grits the words out through his teeth, like it’s difficult to force the truth into the world. “Not because I regret what we did in the War. But because sometimes I wonder,” his eyes cut to yours for a split second, “I wonder what could’ve been. Without the War.”

You don’t say anything, don’t say you understand, because you know he knows. Instead, you loop your arm into his and lean your head against his shoulder. It takes a moment, a release of breath and the fall of his chest, but eventually he closes his eyes, turns his face into your hair, and allows himself to sink into the what could’ve been. Just for now.

[neverending2012]

My Journey to You Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

SUMMARY: Rachel has a birthday party and connects with Finn. LaTonya and Cooper face issues in their relationship.

RATING: Mature. Sexual situations. Mild cursing.

NOTES: I hope you enjoy this chapter!

LUCKY

Sam pushed the shopping cart down the baking and spices aisle in the Super Fresh supermarket; while Jake cried as he sat in the flip-up child seat in the front of the cart because Sam wouldn't let him pull the jars of honey off the shelf. Jake's face turned red and he let out a helter-skelter scream at the injustice of being denied the right to grab jars of honey; he slammed his little fists against the shopping cart handle, shaking his head, while his straight black hair stuck up every which way; his red denim overalls were stained with apple juice due to a mishap during the car ride to the market. Needless to say, it wasn't a great start to their day.

"Jacob Blue Hummel, that's enough," Sam said glaring down at his son, whose brown eyes were exactly like his mother's from their doe shape to that special sparkle in them when he laughed or smiled. He was Mercedes' son all the way, except for his creamy pale skin and straight hair, which Sam figured came from him.

"No!" Jake said, still crying, "Honey!"

Sam sighed. People were starting to look at them. He remembered when he was single and childless, and how he would judge the parents whose kids as Aunt Josephine would say, "act a fool" in the grocery store and throw tantrums. He was the ringleader of the eye-roll and dirty look whenever a child went into brat mode in the middle of a store. Now, as they say, karma is a bitch, because all those disapproving looks and silent judgments he doled out in his single days were now royally biting him in the ass.

A brunette who looked to be in her late 50s with a frumpy figure, and wore a rhinestone studded denim jacket, shook her head at them in disgust as she picked up few boxes of baking soda; and another man, in a baseball cap, with a mountain man beard that reached his stomach, sucked his teeth and said "Shit, that kid's loud," under his breath.

Sam wasn't going to let their remarks take his focus away from his son.

"Jake, do you want a time out?"

Then someone touched his shoulder. It was an old Latina woman, she had a wooden cane, and her dark eyes shined from behind her glasses that were connected to a silver chain around her neck.

She spoke in Spanish to Sam, who had no idea what she was saying; but the sound of her voice was soothing, and Jake stopped crying and stared at her. She then patted Jake on the head, making sweet little sounds with her tongue and smiling; she reached into her purse and handed him a small red rubber ball that you got out of those cheap toy vending machines, and put it in Jake's chubby little hands. Patting him on the head once more, she walked away, waving good-bye. Then Sam called out after her:

"Gracias!"

That was the only Spanish he knew. Whatever the woman said to Jake worked because he calmed down, clutching the box of cookies. Sam took a pack of tissues out of his jacket pocket and wiped Jake's tear stained face. Soon, his son was smiling at him. Whatever storm they were in had passed. He kissed the top of Jake's head.

"We need to finish shopping, so we can meet your Mom and Rosy at the check out line."

Jake opened his arms, gazing up at his father.

"You want a hug?" Sam asked him.

Jake nodded.

Sam picked up his son and hugged him close, then spun around in the middle of the aisle, laughing, and Jake laughed with him.

"Love you!" Jake shouted.

Sam kissed his fat little cheeks.

"Love you, too."

He put him back in the child-seat and began getting the items on his list with new vigor. Jake would point to things, but no longer demanded them. When they were finished getting everything, they went to the check out line where Mercedes was waiting with Rosy. She was talking to their daughter and laughing, her hair was braided in one long braid and she wore sneakers and blue sweats; and Rosy daughter was smiling up at her, clapping her hands, and all Sam could think was: "Damn, I'm lucky."

They were both so beautiful to him. He wheeled up his cart next to hers and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him, he kissed her wonderfully plump lips that tasted like vanilla lip-gloss and a chai latte, and he could feel her standing on her tiptoes.

"Wow," she said, smiling at him, "What was that for?"

"I love you. I love our kids. I love our life. That's what that is for."

"I feel the same way," she said.

Rosy clapped her hands.

"Da!"

Sam picked her up and hugged and kissed her, smelling the coconut oil on her hair, and rubbing her soft cheek against his.

"Hey, Miss Pretty," he said.

After he put her back in the child seat, they began loading the groceries onto the conveyer belt. When they had checked out, they made their out to the parking lot, unloaded the groceries into the SUV and started their journey home.

During the drive home, Mercedes said to Sam:

"I hope tonight goes well."

"Me too," Sam said, as he changed lanes, "I hope Rachel enjoys it."

"She should. It was all her idea."

"Yeah."

Rachel had asked for a small birthday party even though her birthday wasn't for another six months; nobody questioned why because they knew why, instead they focused on the party. She didn't want any gifts, but everyone had to wear white. It was going to take place late that night because Rachel wanted to watch the Perseids meteor shower that was scheduled to begin at about 11:00 pm. And she made one other request: Nobody could cry. Sam wasn't sure if he could follow through with that, but he would give it his best shot, after all it was her party.

"How are you and Finn doing?" Mercedes asked him.

Sam took a deep breath while getting off the freeway to take the exit home.

"Much better. Finn's opening up to me again. We feel more like brothers."

"I'm glad."

"So am I. I missed him."

"I know, sweetie," she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

Sam felt a warmth spread through him at her touch.

"Schätzchen?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for being so great about all of this. I mean we just had Rosy and Jake, getting our new house, and all and then this happens and you've been so kind and so amazing through everything. Thank you. I appreciate everything you've done."

"Sam, I love them too. I can't imagine how any of them are feeling. They're not just your family. They're our family and I'm glad we can help them."

Sam picked up her hand and kissed it.

"God blessed me twice over when he sent you to me."

Mercedes got teary-eyed and she squeezed his hand once again.

TODAY I LIVED

Everyone sat around the outdoor fire pit in the back yard, the light from the orange flames, flickering on their faces. Stars sparkled in the black velvet sky. The breeze was cool, carrying the fragrance of the wild evening primroses, their scent reminiscent of springtime with earthy, spicy undertones. Crickets and cicadas chirped, adding to the night sound landscape; their distinct song echoing through the yard. When they bought the house, Mercedes was surprised that Sam wanted to have a fire pit built, but now she was glad that they had.

It was round and made of cathedral gray granite stones, and it was surrounded by a circular stone floor, which they placed their patio chairs around. Rachel was lying on the outdoor recliner, her feet elevated, her toes were painted rose red. She wore a long, white sundress, made of delicate woven lace, her wig was sleek and shiny; teardrop diamond earrings dangled from her ears, twinkling in the firelight; and red lipstick coated her lips. And per Rachel's request, everyone wore white, Mercedes thought that the request was odd, and even joked that she must think that she was Sean Combs throwing his annual Labor Day party, but Rachel never gave her reason; only that she thought it was peaceful and serene. Mercedes admitted that it was calming: seeing the bold white in the glowing firelight.

Everyone was enjoying a piece of the three-layer strawberry birthday cake that Sam had baked; it was fluffy and light, and had sweet strawberry filling between each layer, and frosted with strawberry buttercream frosting. They balanced the plates on their laps as they ate, talking and joking with one another.

Finn was beside Rachel, assisting her when needed, as she ate tiny bites of cake, her face more alive than usual. The neuropsychologist had given her memory exercises that helped a lot with her chemo brain, and she took herbal supplements that Sean found for her online. Both tactics improved her memory.

Matt, Lucy, and Abby sat on the other side of Finn. Matt was in a white button down shirt and shorts; while Lucy and Abby wore matching white sundresses and white satin headbands on their hair. Hiram and Sean sat beside Sam and Mercedes, sipping on club soda and taking small bites of cake; their faces solemn, their white linen suits reminded Mercedes of lawn parties where people played croquet and ate watercress sandwiches.

Finally, after everyone was finished eating, Rachel tapped her fork against her wine glass to get everyone's attention. When the chatter quieted down she said:

"Thank you for giving me my party. I have something for all of you. I wrote each of you a letter. I want you to read them in private."

Finn got up from his chair and handed everyone a white sealed envelope with everyone's name written in metallic gold ink across each one. After the letters were handed out, she unfolded a piece of notebook paper and said:

"I want to tell you about how good today was for me, so I wrote every thing down." Then she began to read aloud:

"I'm happy tonight. I ate a wonderful French meal that took me back to my Paris years with Aba and Pop, when I wore plaid skirts and patent leather shoes and each morning I could hear the cathedral bells ring.

This afternoon Lucy painted my toenails red and told me about a dream she had, she flew over mountaintops and I was holding her hand; this made us happy.

Then Matt lay his head on my lap while we watched a documentary about rocket ships and he asked me if he would ever be tall, and I told him to worry about the size of his heart instead; and he smiled up at me and he looked like the baby boy that I once held in my arms.

During nap time, Finn sang me a song when he thought I was asleep; I heard every word and I keep the lyrics in my heart the way I do the first time we kissed and it was raining and my sneakers got muddy and the thunder clapped, and his hands tangled in my hair.

Later on, Abby brought me a bouquet of wild violets and we looked at the petals under her magnifying glass. I saw clear glass dewdrops and thin lines running together on the surface and it was a whole world I've never seen. Abby said that's how she sees people, you just have to be close enough. I agree.

And when I was getting ready for the party, Mercedes combed out my wig; and I was sitting there with my bald head, oxygen tubes in my nostrils and she told me I had beautiful eyes, and then we talked about our kids, our husbands, our lives, and it was wonderful.

Afterwards, I watched Sam bake my birthday cake, he told me a story about how he liked to pick strawberries as a little boy in Tennessee; how the sun felt beating down on them in the strawberry fields, how sweet the berries smelled as they dropped them into the basket; he sang as he worked and then he let me lick the spoon, and wished me a Happy Birthday. I felt joy in that moment.

Then later, Aba and Pop said a beautiful prayer for me; taking me in their arms, they thanked God for giving them such a wonderful daughter to love. It was in the den and the sun was setting and purple light filled the room, and I thanked God for my fathers.

This may not be the day that I was born. But it was certainly a day that I lived.

I love you all."

It was hard for Mercedes not to cry or anyone else for that matter. Never before had she heard such remarkable words of gratitude. Everyone gave Rachel a hug, pretending that tears weren't forming in their eyes, and she received their embraces, telling them again that she loved them.

Then the Perseids meteor shower began, and the meteors resembled tiny points of light that flashed across the sky, leaving bright white streaks of light behind them.

Rachel looked up. Her face breaking into a huge smile.

"Beautiful," she said, pointing to the sky.

Mercedes gazed at the sky too, and Sam put his arm around her.

"It's like a sci-fi movie," he said, "Only better."

"I want to catch one," she said.

He leaned down and kissed her, holding her close. His green eyes shined by the light of the fire, just like emeralds, and Mercedes thought of his kiss in the supermarket; and the tender hug he gave her when she stepped out of the shower that morning, saying he felt like holding her as he wrapped her in a towel. Those were the moments that Rachel talked about, so tiny, but so wonderful that you kept them forever.

Everyone stayed outside a long time. Rachel held Finn's hand as they peered up at the sky together.

"They're like jewels," she said to him.

Matt, Lucy, and Abby tried to capture the event on their phones. Hiram and Sean were nearby with Hiram standing behind Sean, his arms wrapped around his husband's slender waist; and they sort of swayed together, stealing kisses now and then.

After it was over, and the fire died out, everyone went into the house to go to bed. Mercedes and Sam checked on the twins and then crept into their bedroom. As they stood side by side at the double sink in the bathroom, brushing their teeth, Mercedes dropped her toothbrush into the sink, and began crying. Sam stopped brushing his teeth and held her. There was nothing to be said. It was a beautiful night, but it couldn't stop the pain and grief that filled her heart and tore her to pieces.

MY SKIN

Rachel stood still as Finn unzipped her dress, gently pulling it down her thin, fragile body, the white lace pooling at her feet. He kissed her shoulders as she stepped out of the circle and he picked up the dress, hanging it up in their closet. She sat down on the bench in front of the vanity table, her back to the mirror, and Finn removed her lipstick with a tissue, Rachel's breathing was somewhat labored and she sat perfectly still.

Next her wig came off and Finn carefully placed it on the Styrofoam head sitting on the vanity table. Then he removed the beige wig cap, leaving her bare baldhead exposed, with sparse remains of her once long dark hair. She sat there in her bra and panties, looking up at him, staring into his eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He kneeled down before her, holding her face in his big hands.

"Remember what you said about our first kiss?"

"Yes."

He kissed her, pressing his lips against hers, treating her like crystal, careful, gentle, doing his best not to break her and Rachel accepted his kiss, her mind going back to all those years ago, before Matt and Lucy, and engagement rings, and disapproving parents, and betrayal and reconciliation, and cancer; she went back to the beginning, to that moment when she stood in the rain with Finn, and she pulled him closer.

Did he see her that way? Despite how she looked now? Was she still that girl to him? As if hearing her thoughts, he broke the kiss, and caressed her sunken cheeks.

"Your spirit is still there. That's what I see," he said.

"I know how I look."

"Baby, I don't care about that. When I'm holding you, I'm always with that girl, but honestly, you're better than her."

"How?"

"You've grown. And so have I."

They hugged and he kissed her neck.

"May I make love to you tonight?"

"Finn, I want to, but I'm scared."

"Dr. Rhoden said it was safe."

"I know. I don't know what it is. I just, it's been a while, ok? I haven't felt the urge for a long time, but I feel it tonight."

"Blame it on the meteors."

Rachel laughed, kissing his cheek.

"I love you, Finn."

"I love you too."

They kissed some more, and Finn cupped her small breasts covered by the white cotton bra, squeezing them gently. Rachel felt her arousal heighten.

"I'm willing to try," she whispered.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, along with the oxygen tank too. Once he laid her on the bed, he undressed, and joined her. Finn had lost his pudgy stomach and thighs and was more lean and muscular.

"Turn off the lights," she said.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I want to see you. I love you. There's no reason for you to hide from me."

For the first time that night, Rachel let herself cry.

He held her as she cried, and she was glad that he didn't offer useless words of comfort, but stayed silent, and let the tears flow down her cheeks; she only wanted to release the agony inside her; and when she was done; she felt some relief and serenity in his arms, and she wanted to connect with him, and they began kissing and touching. He helped her take off her bra and panties, and when she was nude, he stroked every part of her body and she did the same with him. Her nipples grew hard like small pebbles, and when he touched her between her thighs, she gasped at the sensation.

"Was that too much?" he asked, pulling his hand away.

"No, it felt good."

"I'm turning on the ceiling fan."

"Why?"

"Remember, Dr. Rhoden said it was best not to get overheated."

"Thank you for remembering."

"You're welcome."

Once the fan was on, they began touching again. Finn grew hard as Rachel's delicate hands gripped his member, fondling it.

"I need you," he said.

He got behind her and they spooned.

"This is the safest position," he said.

Rachel looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

"I feel like we're making a how-to guide for how to have sex with chronically ill spouses."

Finn chuckled and kissed the back of her baldhead.

"You're the sexiest cancer patient I know."

"Finnegan Hudson, you can't be serious."

"Hey, I'm only telling the truth. Nobody works an oxygen tank quite like you."

"Oh, God," she said and laughed out loud.

Finn put his arm around her tiny waist and held her tight against him.

"I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time."

"I know."

"Baby, it was nice to hear."

"Thanks, it was nice to feel it."

They went slow, and when he entered her, Rachel forgot how much she loved the feeling of having Finn inside of her, filling her up; it was so sweet, he gyrated his hips with a cautious rhythm, and she enjoyed every pleasurable moment of it, his hands wandered to her breasts, squeezing them and she closed her eyes, touching her clitoris, and he kept pumping his hips, moving within her, giving her so much love and care that tears sprang from her eyes; she wasn't expecting fireworks, in fact that's not what she needed, what she needed was this intimacy with Finn, this vulnerability that let him see her cancer stricken body, and make love to her anyway, even though he had been her caretaker through her treatment, and had seen her naked plenty of times; this was different; this was seeing her illness and finding her beauty and spirit within; she bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out, but Finn said:

"I want to hear you."

"But what if – "

"Forget, what if."

She released a low-pitched cry as she came, her breathing was shallow, and she began to cough as she shook in his arms, feeling his come filling her up. Finn immediately stopped.

"Baby, are you ok? Look at me."

"I'm fine. Just winded. Could you get me some water?"

Finn hopped out of the bed and went into the bathroom, coming back moments later with a glass of water.

He rubbed her back as she drank the water.

"Take it slow, that's my girl," he said.

Her breathing returned to normal, but suddenly she was so tired that she could hardly move. Finn caressed her face.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, that was great."

Finn kissed her, his eyes were worried.

"I think we should call Dr. Rhoden."

"Finn, I'm fine. Thank you so much for that. It was wonderful. I felt beautiful and alive."

He leaned down and kissed her.

"It was wonderful for me too. I'm checking your tank."

He checked her tank and replaced it, and he got her pink silk scarf that hung on the side of the vanity mirror and tied it on her head, since her head grew cold as she slept. Mercedes taught him how to tie the scarf so it wouldn't fall off. He also turned off the lights and ceiling fan and finally got back into bed. Rachel yawned, snuggling up to him. Finn covered them up with the blanket and they both fell asleep.

MORALS AND CONSEQUENCES

Cooper stood beside the man's bed. The gun pointed to his head. As he was about to pull the trigger, the man woke up and turned around.

"Oh my God!" he said.

He was young. Not much older than 30. His baby girl slept in a crib in the next room. His wife was downstairs in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa because she couldn't sleep, completely unaware that her husband was about to be killed. Cooper remained silent. His face covered with a mask.

"You can have anything. Don't hurt my wife and baby."

Cooper saw the fear in the man's eyes. He probably dreamed one day of becoming somebody important like a fireman or policeman; he went to college, fell in love, got married had a child, but did his future also include child sex trafficking? Were there pictures of missing children amidst his Crayola drawings of a bright future?

Because that's exactly what business this man was in and on an international level.

He was Cooper's hit. And Cooper always followed through.

"Please don't kill me."

Cooper stared at him, saw the tears in his eyes; in the darkness, those tears shined, a car drove past outside, it's headlights shining into the bedroom.

"Please…"

He heard his wife coming up the stairs, walking slowly, each step creaking under her weight. The Grandfather clock in the hall chimed off the hour. It was 2:00 in the morning.

"I can give you anything just let me –"

Cooper pulled the trigger. Once. Then twice.

The gun had a silencer. Nothing could be heard.

The man fell back on the bed, blood spilling from his forehead onto the pristine white pillow. Cooper slipped out the window. His wife came into the bedroom. He heard her scream.

One down. Ten more to go.

ooo

Cooper shot the grandmother in the chest. She headed the operation. No one would ever suspect that a plump, white haired Australian woman who was known for making wonderful Pavlova for church gatherings could ever do something so heinous and profit from it.

It was in Sydney. It was early evening and a heavy rain fell from the sky; she wore a yellow slicker and she carried her famous desert as she walked through the dark parking lot on her way to St. George's Presbyterian Church for the evening service. Her hair was covered with one of those old lady plastic scarves and a big black purse was slung over her shoulder. She had six grandchildren and five children of her own.

He stood in front of her, blocking her path.

"G'day," she said smiling at him, there was a smudge of pink lipstick on her otherwise pearly white teeth.

He didn't give her a chance to say anything. He just shot her. And she stumbled and fell, the white meringue dessert hit the pavement splattering on the dark surface.

ooo

That night he drank vodka in his hotel room. He looked up her six grandchildren and five children and saw their happy, smiling faces on social media: sunny beaches, brick homes, picnics and flying kites.

And then he remembered the victims, and recalled the god- awful pictures he saw of them performing disgusting acts with government officials. Bought, traded, and sold.

It was enough to keep him going.

In Japan, a little boy cried over his father's body, poking him in the chest.

In Bangladesh, a man said a prayer, before he shot him in the back.

On a cold morning in Ireland, he talked to a priest in the park, told him fantastic lies about how he lived a moral life, and the priest listened, smiling, offering him some bread and cheese before leaving; and Cooper wanted to call him back and tell him the truth. That he was a worthless killer, that he believed in justice, that blood was shed, and it couldn't wash away; but he heard the children's voices and he kept going until he had nothing left.

But there were too many bodies, too many screams, and too much pain.

THE UNIVERSE COLLIDES

A bar of Cooper's bath soap was on his pillow, it had a rugged, spicy, herbal fragrance with notes of chamomile and lavender that LaTonya loved smelling on his skin. She kept the soap there whenever he was away; so that for a moment, when she woke up, she could smell his scent and pretend that he was in the room with her. Though it smelled stronger on his skin, the illusion was enough to soothe her.

It had been three months since she saw Cooper, but every day she felt him, and he surrounded her in that house; she heard echoes of his voice, deep and reassuring, telling her that everything would be fine; saw his reflection in the windows, when the sunlight hit the glass at certain angles, and for a brief second, Cooper flashed before her; his blue eyes pensive.

But it wasn't his physical form that she encountered the most, it was his spirit that was even stronger; his essence dwelled in that house. He was on a secret assignment; she believed he was working with government intelligence though she couldn't be certain; and he couldn't tell her anything. He gave her a special, untraceable phone that could pick up reception anywhere in the world from mountaintops to dense, lush forests, and arid deserts, and it also worked in any type of weather.

It was an expensive phone, costing thousands of dollars. He would only communicate with her by calling her on this special phone. She never knew when he would contact her so she kept it with her all the time, and jumped whenever the odd ringtone would play, it sounded like a teakettle's forlorn whistle. They never spoke longer than five minutes. He missed her. He loved her. She knew that. She also knew that she wanted him home. The worst part was that she had to lie to everyone and say he was in London for business. She hated lying. The only one who figured it out was Abby.

"Abby, he's still in London," LaTonya said, when the girl called a few weeks before. She was in the kitchen sorting through the mail, drinking tea, pretending to be normal. But what was normal about waiting for a strange phone to ring and hear Cooper's breathless voice saying he's ok, while gunshots were in the background.

"He isn't in London," Abby said.

LaTonya didn't confirm or deny it. Instead she said:

"Have you been using your magnifying glass?"

"Yes. That's how I know."

"Abby?"

"God will help him," Abby said.

LaTonya turned over and looked at the empty space beside her in bed. She picked up the soap and held it, her fingers gliding across the smooth yellow surface.

Suddenly, the bedroom lamp came on, and she heard Cooper's voice:

"That's a poor substitute, don't you think?"

LaTonya sat up, crying out in surprise, and Cooper stood before her, his hair cut so close you could see his red scalp beneath the sparse white-blonde hair, he was dressed all in black, the outline of his gun visible beneath his thin black sweater, he held a silver steel brief case which he sat on the floor.

"Why don't I ever hear you come in? She said gazing up at him, the soft lamplight, shining on him; he appeared unreal, as if he were just another mind trick that made her see him everywhere in quick flashes before disappearing into air.

"Because you've convinced yourself that I'm not coming back."

"That's not true."

He sat beside her on the bed and held her close. He smelled like smoke and death. She pictured him standing in ashes.

"I'm here," he said, rubbing her back.

She pulled away and touched his cheek, her thumb grazing over a tiny jagged scar he got in a schoolyard fight as a boy.

"I still think you're some sort of magician."

Cooper kissed her, his gun pressed against her stomach.

"I love you," he said.

"Were you in a fire?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What can you tell me?"

"That I'll be home for a while this time."

"How long is a while?"

"I don't know. A long time."

LaTonya wasn't sure why but she began crying and he held her in his arms.

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's ok," He said, whispering into her ear, rocking her gently.

She stayed in his arms until he said:

"Let's take a bath."

He pulled her long, lacy nightgown over her shoulders, leaving her nude as he hurriedly undressed, piling his clothes in a black heap on the floor, and putting his gun on the nightstand.

He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. Her prosthesis wasn't attached; she felt like a child and woman all at once; she recalled how her father used to carry her around in the hospital, and sometimes he pretended that he was a plane and would make ridiculous motor sounds and she would laugh until the nurses were annoyed and told them to keep it down. She would be in so much pain but the laughter cut through it all.

Yet Cooper carrying her was a different story, it wasn't paternal, though it was protective, and he hummed a soft, sweet melody that settled into her chest; he knew how to soothe her, make her anxiety dissipate into fragments.

Her large bathroom had a safety shower with a a bench that was wide enough for two people; and it also had a separate rectangular walk-in bathtub with safety bars, and an U-shaped door that was made of tempered glass and stainless steel which opened to get inside the tub which had hyrdojets and built-in heated seats at each end.

He opened the bathtub door and sat her on one of seats and then he got in, closing it behind him. He turned on the faucet and the tub began to fill; he kneeled before her and rested his head on her lap, as the water flowed in around them, she stroked his head, and felt a few of his tears fall onto her bare thighs; it was his turn to cry.

She comforted him as he had done for her, whispering that she loved him so much and how brave he was; he cried into her lap, choked sobs escaped from deep within him; it was only in moments like this that he was a vulnerable little boy again, wanting his parents to love him, wanting the shadows and darkness to go away. As the water rose, he lifted his head and she hugged him to her heart.

When the tub was full, he turned the faucet off, and grabbed a washcloth hanging from one of the safety bars. He squirted blue bath gel that smelled like beaches and oceans onto the washcloth and began washing her body: arms, legs, breasts, shoulders, belly and then he leaned her forward, resting her against his chest, so he could wash her back. Each stroke of the washcloth was gentle and loving, sometimes he kissed her wet skin; his tear filled eyes gazing at her, but try as she might, no matter what she did; she couldn't save him.

The nightmares that left him trembling in the darkness, and made him reach for her in his sleep, and the blood that stained his clothes and the bullets that pierced his flesh… she couldn't stop any of it. And that haunted look in his eyes when he knew he she couldn't save him … it was awful but she faced it anyway; because some roads were walked alone. Even so, she could hold and love him, wait for his call, and listen to his screams, let his tears and blood mix with her own, and that's what she did. Because in the end, he could never tell his whole story.

When he was finished the ritual of washing her body, leaving her clean and warm and feeling loved and broken-hearted all at once, Cooper bathed himself, though she tried to reciprocate, he waved her away and began soaping up the other washcloth with his favorite soap. He carefully washed himself and she noticed the new scars on his body; his back had a healed gash, shiny and raised, like a red serpent living beneath his skin; on his shoulder it looked like someone had burned cigarettes into his flesh, and his torso had a round purple bruise that was beginning to heal; because it's color was faded. When he was done, he drained the tub, picked her up, opened the door and sat her on the closed toilet seat. He grabbed a big, fluffy towel from the shelf behind him, wrapped it around her shoulders and carried her to the bedroom where he gently lay her on the bed, and dried her off.

He rubbed lotion all over her skin, massaging her arms, legs, and the full globes of her buttocks, giving teasing squeezes to each cheek and then turning her over and pinching her plump, sensitive nipples, and ghosting his fingers over the surface of her vagina, but never plunging inside. She bit her lip and moaned and he kissed her before he pulled away and quickly dried his damp skin, returning to the bed, and gathering her in his arms, kissing her again; he was hard, his pale skin was flushed red, and his breathing was shallow.

She touched his face and nodded; he smiled as she opened her legs, and he didn't hesitate before pushing himself inside her, and she clenched her walls around him, as he stroked her. His hand glided over her residual limb, while she lay beneath him, accepting his thrusts; he grew urgent, each stroke became harder and faster until she couldn't hold back and neither could he, and they came within moments of each other, shaking as they held on to one another for support; his heart beat against hers; she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the new scar, trying not to cry, thinking about how it got there, and he kissed her face.

"I'm ok."

Her tears fell; she looked up at him.

"There's scar gel in the bathroom cabinet."

"Thank you," he said kissing her.

LaTonya said nothing; they lay tangled together, resting until they needed each other again, and they made love all night.

ooo

Cooper had to decompress. Sleeping was futile. So he wandered the house at night reliving what happened during his assignment.

He got a lot of money for it. So much in fact that he probably wouldn't have to work for the rest of his life; especially if he invested well. He and LaTonya could spend their time, just living their lives, raising a family, traveling… anything.

But then darkness came.

And it began.

He hated headlights flashing into the window from the street. Hated the sound of car alarms and dogs barking and thumping hip-hop music those stupid teenagers played across the street when their parents weren't home.

Everything was magnified and too close. He always felt someone was behind him, waiting. He looked over his shoulder as he walked down the hall to the living room or as he went up the stairs to the bedroom.

Shadows appeared on the walls, and he felt the breath of his captors on his skin, hot and menacing, taking him back to the sun-drenched desert with visible heat waves that left you feeling as if you were dreaming; and when he did dream; it was of LaTonya, her voice, her smile, her scent, all taking him back to their home in Tennessee with cement steps and a dilapidated gazebo in the backyard.

But now that he was back home, he was also someplace else, back in the secret world he couldn't talk about. He checked on LaTonya more times than he could count; and she would wake up and stare at him with those beautiful, dark eyes of hers, reminding him of black pearls shining in the moonlight, and she would beckon him, holding open her arms and he would go to her and she would hold him, kissing his cheek, whispering her love for him. But it wasn't enough.

Though he finished most of his assignment, one piece remained to be done, and it was tricky.

Now he sat in the kitchen. His untraceable phone by his side. A cup of steaming hot tea and a plate of warmed over Chinese take-out was in front of him but the food turned his stomach and the tea tasted funny. He drummed his fingers on the table and at 2:00 in the morning; he got the call from Paul Dill, his employee now working for him on some operations overseas.

"We got rid of all the bodies. It wasn't easy."

"Ok."

"Is LaTonya ok?"

"She's fine, why?"

"I know it's not my place but…"

"I can't stay on the phone. Be brief."

"She agreed to marry you."

"I'm aware of that."

"Did she agree to this lifestyle?"

"She knows what I do for a living."

"That's not my point. When she was your assistant she only knew about your legit cases. What we're doing now well, it isn't exactly."

"I understand the morally ambiguous nature of certain assignments."

"Cooper, I like LaTonya and she loves you. I don't want to see her life in danger and it could come to that with some of these cases we work on. Intelligence communities are getting stronger in other countries; they could strike back out of revenge and hurt those you love."

"I'm aware of that."

"And are you also aware that you're no spring chicken and can't escape death like you used to?"

"Since you brought all of this up, I need to tell you - "

Suddenly, LaTonya appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Cooper who are you talking to at this hour?"

She glanced at the phone.

"You're going away again, aren't you?"

Cooper wanted to take that hurt from her eyes. He gripped the phone.

"Paul, I'll have to call you back," he said and pressed the end button, placing the phone on the table.

"Sweetheart, come here."

"You've only been back a few days," she said, shaking her head, "I thought –"

Cooper stood up and walked over to her, kissing her forehead. He took her by the hand and sat down again, pulling her onto to his lap.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not?"

"No, in fact, I've made a decision."

"And what would that be?"

"That was my last assignment."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not doing that type of work any more; I'm retiring."

"Cooper, are you sleep deprived?"

"I am sleep deprived but my mind is fine. I've made enough money for us to live comfortably."

"But you love your work."

"I do. But I love you more."

"I can't ask you to give up what you love for me. I've seen that happen with other couples; and they end up breaking up."

"We're not other couples. I've thought about this a lot and while I love seeking justice, it's weighing down on me too. The death that I see is finally getting to me more than usual. When I come home, all I want to do is grieve; and it follows me. I don't want to live in two worlds any more; I only want one world with you."

LaTonya kissed him.

"I love you."

"I love you too," he said, caressing her cheek, grateful that he had her.

"You're not one to sit around, so what will you do?"

"I'll do some consulting. Remember that idea you had about running an online business that specializes in security clearances?"

"Yes."

"It's an excellent idea and I figure we can run the business together; I love working with you. Don't worry, we'll be financially sound."

"I'm not worried about that, but will that be enough for you? You like being challenged, what will challenge you now?

"I don't know," he smiled, "I suppose the challenge will be in finding a challenge."

"We'll figure it out together."

"I know we will."

"You know," she said, looping her arms around his neck, "I can defend myself while you're away. I'm a good marksman and I own – "

"You own a Smith and Wesson Shield 9mm, a Ruger LCR, and a Bersa Thunder."

"How did you know?"

"It's difficult to keep secrets from me."

"I wasn't keeping secrets."

"Why are you bringing up your shooting skills?"

"I love that you protect me and I know you worried about my safety while you were away, and I miss you something awful when you're gone, but if your decision is based solely on keeping me safe, then I need you to understand that I do know self defense and I can shoot."

"I know this. And even the most well-trained soldiers couldn't face the things I was up against; I'm not denying your abilities, but the forces I was reckoning with surpassed a lot of what most of us could handle. I don't want those forces hurting you. I love you."

"I understand. Come on, let's go to bed," she said getting up from his lap.

He yawned.

"I'm suddenly sleepy."

"Did Paul give you good news?"

"He gave me news."

LaTonya chuckled as they walked up the stairs with their arms around each other; and Cooper felt a peace that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

ooo

Two weeks later…

"Honey, I need to talk to you," LaTonya said as she walked into the kitchen early on a Sunday morning.

Cooper sat at the kitchen table; he was shirtless and only wore a pair of gray sweatpants that were snug on his muscular legs and sculpted buttocks. The bullet wound scars on his chest and torso did not detract from his masculine beauty. The table was cluttered with stacks of manila file folders containing old cases he worked on; and he was in the process of deciding which files would be scanned into their archival database. A small plate of fried bratwurst links and bröchten rolls with butter was next to his elbow.

He was staring at his laptop and smiling. He looked away from the screen.

"Abby sent me pictures from the Daddy Daughter Ball that she went to with Sam. They look so happy," he said, and turned the computer around so she could see.

The pictures showed Abby in her pretty green ball gown with Sam in a tuxedo in various candid shots: dancing together under a crystal chandelier; standing in front of the museum on a red carpet; sitting inside the limo holding glasses of soda… in all of the pictures, Abby looked radiant and Sam looked like the proudest father in the world, his protective arm was around her small shoulders, signaling to the world that this was his daughter, and that he kept her safe from harm.

"They're beautiful," LaTonya said sitting down beside him, "Sam is a good father. Now I need to tell you that - "

"Yes he is," Cooper said, looking down into his blue speckled coffee mug and frowning a little.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you think I will be a good father too?"

LaTonya placed her hand over his, her soft fingers, stroking his rough, ruddy knuckles.

"Of course."

Cooper sighed.

"I'm not like Blaine. I don't have this sixth sense with kids. He's great with Carrie."

"Thank God, you're not like him."

Cooper raised his white blond eyebrows, his blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm glad you're not like Blaine. I'm glad you're you. Everything different about you is what makes you so special. I fell in love with your quirks. Who cares if you're not like Blaine? You're an original and I wouldn't have you any other way. So no more brother comparisons, alright?"

He leaned over and hugged her, giving her a kiss.

"Alright."

"And you are good with kids. Look at what you have with Abby. You connected with her at her darkest time. I wish you could see how wonderful you are," LaTonya said, as he held her in a strong embrace, "You're fine, Cooper, just as you are."

As loving as her words were, he still had his doubts, considering how he handled justice, but he didn't want to bring it up, so he said:

"I love you so much," he said, kissing her again.

LaTonya kissed his cheek.

"I love you too. And don't think I can't hear your thoughts. I know your job has you doing things I could never comprehend. But I don't care. I love the man that you are. And if you want to know what kind of father you'll be, you'll find out in nine months."

He leaned back to look at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said you'll find out in nine months."

"Are you saying that you're – "

"Yes, sweetie, I'm pregnant."

Tears formed in Cooper's eyes.

"LaTonya, are you serious… when… when did this happen?"

"My period is late and I just took a pregnancy test . It was positive," she said reaching into the pocket of her robe and taking out the stick.

Cooper looked down at the stick that proudly said pregnant on the LCD display.

"I can't believe this," he whispered.

"Neither can I."

"I'm so happy," he said and pushed his hand under her faded blue t-shirt, rubbing her bare stomach, "I can't wait to see your belly grow."

"That's not the only thing that will grow," LaTonya said.

"What do you mean?"

She pointed to her chest and hips.

"They will take on a life of their own," She said, smiling at him, "So be prepared."

"I think it's beautiful. Your body transforming for the baby. Besides, what's wrong with a fuller bosom and hips? You're gorgeous, LaTonya, nothing changes that for me."

He patted his lap.

"Come here."

She sat on his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Let's get married weekend," she said.

"Ok, we can arrange something. I don't want to put it off any longer either. Even if you weren't pregnant. I'm sure Blaine will be shocked," he said, rubbing her belly again.

She ran her hand over his closely cropped hair.

"Is this going to be a thing with you now?"

"A thing?"

"Yes."

"What are you referring to?"

"Rubbing my belly like I'm Buddha."

Cooper laughed nuzzling her soft neck.

"Yes, I suppose it will be a thing. It's suddenly become my favorite part of you."

She kissed him.

"Mine too."

END NOTES: Thank you for reading and reviewing my story!