#like. this means hes aware of the danger of law enforcement. i need to pick his brain about his job

[vyeoh]

The most baffling character decision I've ever seen goes to Carlos Reyes, who doesn't want to join the Texas Rangers due to their history of murdering innocent people of color and instead stays with the clearly better alternative of the police department.

[bimswritings]

This Is Our Way

Ch.1

Summary: What happens when you make the mistake of thinking you can steel from a Mandalorian? You land yourself and job and a plethora of adventures and emotion you could never even dream of.  The question is; where will those emotions lead.

Warnings: Typical canon violence, NSFW implications and scenes later on

You can also read it on my Ao3 account.

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Clouds. Dark, impenetrable, depressing grey clouds are what greet you as soon as your eyes open, just like they have every day for years during your existence on the scrappy planet of  Corellia. Home to the most desperate and cruel criminals, along with the enslaved and weak civilians and captives. All mixed in with your average day citizen trying to get by.

A great place to live.

The sound of tie-fighters overhead is what first woke you, screaming as they made their morning flight overhead, acting as an ever present reminder of the Empire's presence and signaling the start of your day. Bones and joints crack in sync as you push yourself up, rubbing your eyes and crawling from the busted old weapons crate that acted as a poor supplement for a bed. Its lid laid discarded to the side, allowing the cool night air of one of the only dry nights of the month to flow in while you slept. The hard metal lining was barely tolerable, even when padded with the few scraps of fabric you had managed to snag over the years, but it was sturdy and the lid provided great protection from the ever present rain on the overcast planet.

Taking care not to trip while climbing from the enclosed space, you stumble out onto the main section of the roof and stare over the city as you stretch, trying not to cringe as certain bones popped back into place painfully. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and not even the fresh breeze that floated in from the sea could make it any more appealing.

Boring, industrial buildings stretched as far as the eye could see in varying colors of black and steel, hardly standing out against the horizon of equally dull colors only punctuated by the occasional crism Empire flag. In the middle of it all was the only decently maintained and sizable buildings on the planet, where the majority of ships for the Empire were produced. It was thanks to the presence of that one building that there was even an economy here, keeping it from turning into a more dreary and wet version of Tatooine, the outlandish world it was. The sight was enough to make your stomach churn, but had nothing on the aching pain that radiated from the organ and had you mind wondering when you had eaten last. Three, four days maybe? It didn’t matter. However long it was, the meager scraps you had managed to find behind the restaurant district of the wealthy were but a distant memory. It was this very hunger that drove you from your safe space, forcing you to climb down the pipes lining the outside of the building you resided on.

The metal creaked and groaned in protest under your weight, but you didn’t give it a second though, knowing there was nothing to worry about. You had been climbing along these fixtures for years, nimble hands and feet finding the smallest of purchases as you move along with ease.

When the ground was close enough you dropped, rolling through the impact to your feet and taking shelter behind an abandoned stall as you momentarily stumbled, vision swimming and black dots dancing before you. Force, you really need to get something to eat soon. Rainwater could only fill your stomach for so long before it lost its abilities to hold you over.

Peering around the corner, your eyes scanned the narrow alleyway, looking for any sign of stormtroopers or other rough characters that would cause trouble. You were never much of a fighter, but today especially was a day you were feeling particularly weak.

‘Alright. All I need to do is slip out, grab a couple of credits, and get back. It should be fine as long as I don’t run into-’

��Well well well. Look what we have here.” Leon’s voice spoke from behind, making you cringe and berate yourself for not being more careful. This was the last thing you needed to deal with, and Leon’s sickly smooth voice only served to grate on your nerves more as you turned to face him and his three lackeys, identifying them as Sho, Everett, and Corin.None as dangerous, but all as bad tempered as their leader.

Glacial blue eyes stared from pale skin beneath his shock of blond hair, a combo that drew ladies like flies to him. Pair that with pearly white teeth and he could have been a poster boy for some prep school on Coruscant. If not for the tattooed arms and green vest that held the insignia of a ranicore tooth, marking him as one of Sozin’s many street enforcers. His kind was the one you hated most. Cocky guys who thought that just because they were someone in some gang they had power over everyone else, not giving a second thought to those they hurt, be it man, women, or child. As long as they got a nice cut at the end of the day they were fine. Despite your hate for them, by all means joining a gang was the best way to survive here. It promised food, shelter, and constant work. All you had to do was give up your own self respect and humanity in return.

“The little Jawa had finally come out from her fortress. Tell me,” He smirked as the others formed a loose circle around you, effectively caging you in. “Get anything good lately.”

You wanted to spit at him, slap that stupid smirk off his face and leave him to go crying back to his boss. But you didn’t. Instead, you took a more casual, defensive stance, ready to get away the moment you had the chance. Slapping a fake smile on your face, you cocked an eyebrow in mock teasing.

“Please. If I had anything of interest I’m sure you of all people would know.” You were getting more nervous now, keenly aware of how close Sho was getting to your current position. Far too close for your liking.

“And with the patrols increased and punishments cracking down, things have gotten harder.''

“True, but I just never know what those sticky fingers of yours may manage to pick up. Your skill has a reputation after all.” His eyes skimmed over your body, not even trying to hide the way he was practically undressing you. The slimy bastard had been pining after you for years, ever since he had watched you lift a number of things from a trooper when you were both just young teenagers. He claimed it was for your skills but it didn’t take a genius to see he was looking for something more. “Maybe you could give me a live demonstration some time.”

And there it was.

You said nothing, only pushing yourself further against the cool metal of the wall behind you in an attempt to create some sort of distance in between you. Your stomach, the traitor it was, decided that it would be the best time to voice its own opinion, letting out a loud growl of protest that didn't go unheard.

Leon’s face took on a mask of concern and sympathy, and you might have fallen for it had you not known any better. His tone took on a softer, more whispery tone, like he was speaking to a stray feline. Not that far off if you thought about it.

“You look hungry. Why don’t you come back with me. I can get everything squared away with Sozin, and I promise, I’ll take real good care of you.”

His hand extended out in invitation, strong fingers that had ended the lives of so many gently relaxed, the other crossing behind his back in a mock gentleman pose, as if he even knew what being a decent guy even started with.

“C’mon. Think about it. No more empty stomachs or fighting for every scrap. You’d even have a nice bed to lay in at the end of the day. No more sleeping on the filthy streets.”

Scoffing, you summoned the last of your confidence, brushing past him and ignoring his invitation. “I’d rather take the streets than your blood soaked sheets any day.”

That should have been it, and it would have been for anyone else on just a code of respect among those here. But Leon wasn’t known for taking no for an answer. Before you could even make it  three steps his hand closed on your elbow, bringing you back closer to him. Despite all you twisting and pulling, his superior strength kept you close, breath fanning your skin as he spoke.

“Listen here, I’ve been more than kind in my advances. A saint some may even say, so you’re not going to walk away from me, understand? No your going to come back and-”

“Hey!” A shout from the end of the alleyway interrupted him, drawing all your attention as the squadron of storm troopers rounded the corner to the alley, falling in line behind their captain.”You there! What’s going on?”

At the sight of the local law enforcement and their blasters, Leon’s grip loosened a fraction. Just the smallest amount really, but enough for you to be able to slip from his grip and between Sho and Corin before they could stop you. You ignored the shouting of the officer, sprinting in the opposite direction and around the corner into the main streets of Corellia.

‘Good luck trying to find me now.’ You smirked, pulling your hood up to conceal your face as you effortlessly blended into the crowd, becoming just one of the thousands of faces that traveled through as you continued on your way. Now it was time for the real work to begin.

Just as with the seasons, your own hunting grounds changed, ever rotating through the different sectors in order to keep law enforcement off your tail. It was one of the first lessons you had ever learned; never hunt in the same spot for more than a few weeks.

Today was a fresh start in the port district, leaving an abundance of new and unaware targets. It was a popular place for travelers as well, who were especially naive, but even with that you knew today would be a challenge. It hadn’t been a lie when you told Leon that the troopers were cracking down. More patrols and increased severity of punishments had started to begin in order to ‘cut down the crime’, as your senator put it. Fat chance of that though, as one could argue that Corellia ran on crime. Still, the effort put forth was really putting the pressure on smaller people like you, who were just trying to survive, not to mention the street vendors and shop owners had installed their own new security measures in place, leading to an unfavorable combo that led to your current weak and hungry state. So you were here, looking for some oblivious fool to cop a few credits off from your perch just outside the mechanics.

As your eyes scanned the crowd, looking for visible money holders or those with liftable jewelry and other items, you saw him. He was hard to miss actually. The beskar he wore from head to toe shone proudly even without the light of the sun hidden above, speaking of its own durability and care shown by the owner. Alongside him was a pod, closed, and most likely carrying whatever supplies he had picked up from the market. The brown cape around his shoulders did nothing to hide the gun scross his broad back, nor the dozens of smaller weapons strapped to his person.

He stood tall above the crowd, most parting like water around a stone to avoid him, and it was no wonder. Even you had heard the stories about the Mandalorians. Fierce warriors and fighters who could track their prey to the ends of the galaxy. They were the best bounty hunters and hired guns on the market. You had been witness to more than one lowlife being pulled from their seat in the cantina by his kind, kicking and begging to no avail as they were carried away, dead or alive.

Teeth gnawing on inside of your cheek, you debated with yourself. On one hand, he was a high risk target, undoubtedly being used to these kinds of places and the people who lived here. Stealing from him would earn you a blaster shot to the head if caught, that is, if he were feeling merciful enough not to crush every bone in your body. But then, he was a bounty hunter. They always carried a lot of credits, and ones worth more at that. One swipe from him could set you up for days, if not weeks! He was also the only target you had seen open worth any value the entire day, and you weren’t sure you could go much longer without food.

You debated with yourself, going back and forth as you watched him grow closer to where you sat. If you didn’t make a decision soon you would lose your chance all together.

As if detecting your hesitance, your body made the decision for you, loosening another growl from its depths, prompting you forward and before you knew it you were on the move. Pulling a small guide book from your pocket, you pretended to be grossly interested in the useless thing, eyes moving to falsely skim the words as you carefully adjusted your path closer to his, threading between the crowd with as much ease as he cut through it.

The moments before were tense, each step leaving you feeling more electrified as adrenaline coursed through your body, only feeding your blind confidence as you counted down.

‘6..5...3..2..1….Now’

You pretended to stumble, tripping on your own feet as naturally as you would walk, veering from your course and bumping into the armored man. You winced slightly as your shoulder made contact with the metal, which made your grunt of pain that much more believable and distracting while your hands got to work. Like all bounty hunters, he kept his money in front of him, just slightly to the left of his leg. A tactic to prevent pickpockets like you that frequented the scenes they often found themselves in. Smart, but you had gotten used to this tactic before, and it was a simple swipe of your hand as it quickly entered and retreated the pouch, fingers closed around an unknown number of credits, all within a fraction of a second as you mumbled apologies, raising your opposite hand in distraction as your other moved to pocket your catch.

As soon as your own fingers left the pouch, you knew you were in trouble. Years of being on the streets had taught you when you had the upper hand in a situation or not, whether you were the predator or prey. In that moment, that small fraction of a moment, you went from poised victor to the most demure of prey.

And the man in front of you was the hunter.

His hand, even quicker than your own, moved to latch onto the retreating limb. The very one holding the credits you had thought had been yours.

Head snapping up to meet his, you were faced with an unfeeling gaze in the form of silver surrounding a small ‘t’ of inky darkness that prevented you from seeing his face. You tried to pull away, only to have his stern grip tighten even more, the leather of his glove squeaking in symphony along with the crackling of the joint. Yet you still refused to drop the credits, stubbornly holding onto them out of spite and fear. If he hadn’t seen them yet, there was no way he could indefinitely prove you had taken anything from him, though the way he focused on it told you he already knew the truth.

Kriffing hell. Why had you even thought this would be a good idea. He was a Mandalorian, and in your hunger driven brain you had somehow managed to convince yourself it would actually work. Well congratulations, you had the credits, but now you were as good as dead. If he didn’t decide to deal out his own justice and kill you then and there, surely he would turn you over to the stormtrooper.

The skin on your back tingles and warmed at the thought, memories of public whippings flashing in the back of your mind and doubling your heart rate and raising your panic even more.

Maybe you could still get out of this though. He was a man, as far as you could tell anyways, and all men were susceptible to one thing, hardened warrior or not. You could distract him, try to get a trade or compromise in return for forgetting about the situation. If not him then the clones. Maker knows they were always willing to pass up small crimes every once in a while in exchange for a way to sate their horniness. Though you had never tried the practice yourself, you had heard of numerous others getting off the hook that way. How hard could it be?

Your thoughts were interrupted by movement, bringing you back from your blind panic of plotting how to get out of this. The Mandalorian had tilted his head, t-visor still trained on your face as he observed you. Those around you were all too eager to ignore the situation, walking past with explicitly diverted eyes as they went about their business. The hand not holding yours moved, making you flinch back but with nowhere to go as he kept you trained in place. It moved towards your face and you braced, eyes scrunched and ready for the impact of a palm or fist making contact.

Yet, it never came.

Instead, the soft worn leather gently pressed against your face, fingers gently running along the curve of your cheek, highlighting the bone that protruded with hunger. The occasional scrape of his beskar along the skin makes you shudder, but if he even notices he doesn’t say anything, only continuing to stare as his hand tips your face every which way for him to examine. Then he just...let go. Without another word he had dropped his hands, stepping around and continuing on his original path, leaving you behind him, frozen in place and in a state of shock.

You could have stood there for any measure of time, be it seconds or minutes. Your brain was too busy trying to process what had just happened to even think about anything else. It was only when someone rudely bumped into you, almost knocking you to the ground, that you finally snapped out of it, and suddenly you were running. Feet pounding the uneven ground as you gained speed, faces flew past as little more than blurs as you continued to put more space between you and your should-have-been attacker. If it had been any other time you might have been proud of the speed you had, the burning in your lungs of little significance. Not even when you had seen Leon once again did you blink, blowing past as he called out and tried to grab you.

Before you knew it you were rounding the alley back to your little home, leaping more than climbing up the pipes with record speed as your feet barely touched the rickety metal. You practically dove into your little crate of a home, pulling the lid and locking yourself in darkness as you tried to sooth your pulse, taking deep breaths that did little to help. Absentmindedly, you began humming to yourself. A song so out of tune and unrecognizable it would have made a wookie weep, but it was what you needed as you pressed the burning and sticky skin of your forehead against the cool metal of the wall.

Eventually, after countless repetitions or the short tune, you managed to steady yourself, bringing enough sense back to realize you were still holding onto the credits from before, which were now gripped tightly in your hand. Enough to the point where the skin had turned a pearly white and your fingers hurt to move as you slowly unclenched them, revealing angry marks and even places where the rectangular currency had bit deep enough into the skin to draw blood. But oh what a beautiful sight it was.

One hundred credits laid in your fist, clustered together in a jumble of varying amounts and different kinds, but a total amount of one hundred. You normally only got this after a week of extremely successful hunting in the summer months. The sight of it now was enough to make you cry.

Despite the urge to go and get food from the nearest vendor, you knew better than to go out right away. For all you knew he had only let you go just to follow you back to your base, probably thinking he could turn you into the stormtroopers for a bigger ransom than what he lost, or loot your own place for anything you had stored up. Jokes on him if that was the plan, because he would only get back what you took from him.

The thought stayed stuck in the front of your mind, forcing you to stay tucked in your hiding space for the remainder of the day and keeping you awake through the night. Every little sound made you jump, convinced that you would once again find yourself at the receiving end of his burning gaze, the helmet he wore only masking his expression and leaving your fate uncertain. He never showed though, never ripped the lid off your container or dragged you out into the open.

By the time you managed to fall asleep, your body finally running out of its immense supply of adrenaline, the city itself had just begun to awaken below to the wee hours of the morning, and the fighters had just begun their morning rounds once again.

‘Maybe...maybe just a few hours of sleep.’ You thought to yourself, burrowing down into your small nest of blankets. What could be the harm?

Well, apparently a lot.

You had woken up in a panic, cracking the lid to see that the sky had already gone dark once again. Swearing to yourself, you emerged once again like a Nightshrike from its cave. Foregoing any normal rituals, you allowed your body to stretch itself as you moved, hustling from rooftop to rooftop, something you only did under the cover of night. The last thing you need is someone seeing you and discovering your home up top. You would never be able to get any peace after that.

You were in a rush though, and the thought of wasting a day of work didn’t bother you nearly as much as the thought of your favorite shop closing. With the amount of credits you had now, you wouldn’t have to worry about money for a while, so the only thought you had while the dim lights of the city flicked to life below was getting there as soon as possible. Who knows, maybe you’d even have enough to treat yourself to some fruit, an expensive and rare treat for anyone on the planet.

Skidding to a stop just before the end of the row, your eyes lit up at the sight of the shop still open, clearly readying to close. Shimmying back down to increasingly deserted streets, you were already drooling at the thought of biting into something and not having to wonder what it would taste like. No more than ten minutes later you were leaving, pockets now full of brick bread as the owner locked the doors behind you.

The plan was to only eat half of one on your way back, the nutrient rich and dense pastries giving you enough energy for the day in a single bite, but not even halfway back you found yourself licking the crumbs from your fingertips, hardly holding back from grabbing one of the four remaining loafs. Instead you reached into the opposite side and grabbed the meiloorun fruit you had managed to snag.

Now this was the main event.

Sinking your teeth into the soft skin, you nearly groaned as its taste exploded on your tongue, making your taste buds dance and sing as the sweetness became so intense it almost hurt. You still loved it.

Your stomach was full for the first time in forever, almost foreign as you had begun to forget the feeling. Juice dribbled down your chin as you continued on your way home, making a deliciously sticky mess to be wiped away and cleaned by your lips, intent on not letting a single morsel go to waste.

Thankfully the trip back was less eventful than your previous outing, helping instill an eerie yet calming silence over the city and prompting you to take your time.

You always enjoyed it up here on the roofs. Hardly anyone came up, not many having the same confidence and agility possessed by you and few others, and there was an ever present breeze up here that didn’t quite reach the lower levels. Not to mention the view it gave, which was one of the main reasons you had chosen a roof as your spot for a base camp. If only you could see the stars, but alas, the sight was as rare as greenery here, leaving it up to your own imagination to construct an array of bright lights on the top of your crypt.

Finishing the fruit, you paused at the edge of the building before your own. Small lights danced in the darkness, the occasional lamp illuminating a hustling figure and the street walkers that lined the corners of streets, calling to anyone in sight. The occasional search light of a patrol ship would shin above the buildings as it made its rounds over the city.

‘Must be looking for someone’ you mused, turning back to return home. No reason to get caught out tonight, especially when you were looking at a few days of relaxation.

As you turned, a familiar flash caught your eye, triggering a new taught panic response. You could hardly believe your eyes, rubbing them extra hard just to make sure you were seeing things right. But alas the sight before you neglected to change, unfortunately not a trick of the eye like you had hoped it was, and the Mandalorian you had thought you escaped the previous day continued walking down the dark alley.

You began to sweat backing away from the edge and further out of his line of sight, trying to still keep him in yours as you peered back over and tracked his progress as he got closer.

‘Kriff. I should have known he would want his money back.’

Panicking, you began going over all the escape routes near you. Ones through city street and sewers that would be much too small for him to fit through. Though, if he had tracked you here then chances were he would be able to find you wherever you went. This really wasn’t good. You might not even be able to go collect what meager possessions you had back in your box.

Then, materializing out of the darkness as if he were made of it himself, was Leon. He stepped into the path of the Mandalorian like he had no fear and, knowing how stupid he was, you thought he might actually not have any for the bounty hunter. But why would he when he was the primary enforcer for Sozin and still had his own backup, the three from earlier.

“Hey there.” He spoke in a voice that promised nothing but trouble, hands casually resting in pockets that undoubtedly concealed a weapon of some sorts. "I've been meaning to have a talk with you. The shiny Mandalorian warrior everyone is talking about."

This, you thought, was not good.

[writings-of-a-crazy-lady]

Invisible Ties

Word Count: 2,249

Chapter 14

My fingers glided across the ivory, the simple melody that I knew encasing me in a fantasy world.  I was lost in my mind, unaware of my surroundings or those that came and went.  I had a few human “maids” that would often check on me, asking if I needed any water or food.  But I was entranced in the song, humming the words that I had practiced over and over again in school when I was able to attend.

Music was always an escape for me.  Always a way for me to slowly lose myself, forget my troubles and pain.  Even when I was nothing in my mind, in the world of song, I was something.  I could sing away my troubles, my broken heart or soul.  I was able to disappear and become something.  Prove all of my bullies and cruel mother wrong in just a few minutes.

I heard the door open to the room, but my fingers did not stop the melody as I allowed my hands to move across the keys.  I never allowed the words to fall from my lips, merely humming the tune until I felt hands touch my shoulders.  I quickly stopped playing the piano, allowing the unfinished notes to ring in the air that left me feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“Yes?” I looked up, spotting the crimson gaze of Marcus.

“You seem troubled, little one.”

“Is it that obvious?” I sighed, scooting over to allow Marcus a chance to sit on the bench with me. He took the hint, sitting close to me. I had closed my eyes, but I could feel his concerned gaze upon my face, as if he was searching for an easy answer to his many questions.

“Not obvious, mia amore.  I can feel the disturbance.  It is slight,” he quickly corrected when I looked at him, my immediate discomfort of the others knowing that I was unhappy showing.  “But none the less there.”

“I guess I can’t keep it a secret, can I?” I sighed heavily.  Aro could easily discern it if my power did not block him and now Marcus seemed to feel our connection and could sense if something was wrong.  All that is left is for Caius to have some secret ability at discerning my emotions and then it would be a losing battle to deal with my discomfort alone.

“Never keep secrets from us. If anything, then you can tell me whatever is bothering you.  I do not judge, little one.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?  Little one? Do I seem small to you?” I tried to change the subject, distract him somehow, but Marcus was as attentive as ever. His eyes gave that much away.

“I am much taller than you,” he pointed out, reminding me how short I was.  I nodded before sighing again, glancing down at my hands before staring straight at a wall.  I wasn’t sure how to tell him.  How to explain my discomfort at what had transpired recently.  After my panic attack at the pool, I spent the rest of my evening contemplating everything since I spent much of it alone.  And being alone was apparently dangerous since I overthought everything.  Every little detail of my life, my body, my hobbies…. All of it.  And honestly, I was second guessing their attraction or their faith in me.  Which was easy since my confidence was non-existent and the Volturi had a high level of it.

Still, I found myself unable to form the words, much less look at him.  How would he feel if I told him that I had zero faith in them?  That their affections could not be true? Marcus would probably feel hurt more than anything.  Something I didn’t want him to feel.  But I couldn’t help this doubt, no matter how much I wish I could.

A soft melody began to play, immediately gaining my attention as I turned to look at my partner. It was a tune I did not expect Marcus to know, yet he played it none the less.  Long fingers glided across the ivory keys as I found myself hearing the words in my mind.  It wasn’t a popular broadway musical, in fact, it flopped quite horribly.  It didn’t live up to the expectations of its predecessor but one particular song always stuck with me…

“~Who knows when love begins?  Who knows what makes it start?  One day it’s simply there, Alive inside your heart.”

I started the tune, the words quick to fall from my lips.  I didn’t realize I had gotten his attention, not seeing how Marcus’ gaze focused on me.  He just continued the melody as I sang the song, the words meaning something to me.

It was simply about love. How it ensnares those around them. Love was a mysterious emotion, never knowing how it begins or ends, if it ends at all.  And the fact that it can cause you great pain and lonely… Love itself was a confusing thing.  It could bring happiness and destruction all at the same time.  And in the end, it still endures.  Even through all the breakups, there was always a little bit of love left.

During the song, as I allowed the music to consume my everything, I had allowed my eyes to close once again.  My mind emptied of all my worries, every single thought slowly ceasing in my mind until nothing but a blank slate was there.  Just the words of the song and the emotions I was feeling.  And during that time, an audience began to form. Just 2 individuals, but still, an audience nonetheless.  Something I wasn’t quite use too…

The melody surrounded me, my voice carrying through the room.  Marcus never once missed a beat, keeping up with me as I hit the climax of the song, following the notes until I was able to reach the end of the song.  And I couldn’t help but ponder on the words for a few seconds more as he finished the melody, allowing the tune to ring in the air as if it was a thick blanket surrounding us.  Love truly was a strange concept.  To appear, even when you least expected it.  Doubtful anyone in the world could understand it.  Especially surrounded by twinkling vampires.    

“Brava!  Brava!” estatic clapping forced my eyes to open, my whole body immediately standing to attention as I finally realized that it wasn’t just Marcus and I in the room alone.  It took me a few seconds to finally realize that it was Aro doing the clapping, Caius not at boisterous but seemed quite impressed with my impromptu performance.

“E’stato magnifico, il mio amore,” Aro gushed over me, clasping his hands together.  “Truly marvelous.  You have such an enchanting voice.”

“Indeed, much like the siren we claimed,” Caius agreed.  I found myself blushing, rubbing my cheeks to dull what I could of the red.

“It’s nothing really,” I tried to pass off the praise, the idea making me far more uncomfortable. But I could tell they didn’t want to pass it off, trying quickly to continue the compliments.  Even when my stance turned to me hugging myself, forcing a fake appreciative smile on my face.

“Aro, enough,” a sudden snap from Marcus made him stop, the low growl not something I expected from my gentle giant.  I had to look up at him to make sure he wasn’t angry, but I was merely greeted with a calm look.  One that hid a small bit of worry underneath.  But the compliments ceased, Aro and Caius sharing a very confused look.  They didn’t speak, at least, not at an interval I could hear.  I mean, they could be sharing some telepathic language that I am not aware of… right?

“Forgive me, I’m just not use to attention or praise.  Truth is, I’m use to being exactly what I am good at, and that’s being invisible,” I started, knowing now that I had their attention.  Truth was, I was debating with telling them about my past.  I knew it would be difficult to explain, but Aro was right in a way.  Perhaps one of them knew exactly what it was like.  They were thousands of years old.  Lived through a time that I could never fully understand myself.  So perhaps someone understood.

“I grew up in a very chaotic life.  My father abandoned us before I was born.  Mom held some hope he would come back but he never did.  And mom and I could never see eye to eye.  She hated me.  Hated that I existed and took away the one person she loved.  We often lived in the poorest and darkest parts of town,” I paused, picking at a spot on my shirt.  It took me a second to gather my thoughts in order to continue.  “It was easier I suppose.  Mom often performed sexual favors to get out of paying rent or if she was short.  She drank a lot.  Got into some heavy drugs.  There was hardly any food in the house so I scraped by with what I could get ahold of. Mom, of course, never wanted to really see me out and about so I had to sneak around to avoid her.”

“I see,” Marcus’ voice held a sad note, his eyes void of any light that I was used to seeing.  He probably saw the line that connected me to her. He had explained his gift once to me. So, it was only logical.  I’m sure it didn’t look all that pretty either. Probably frayed and merely connected by a single thread.

“Yeah.  It’s like I told the Cullens, I saw a lot of red eyes where I lived.  Ran into a group that I guess activated my ability because they tried to attack me. But I disappeared on them.”

“Do you remember them at all?” Aro’s voice held a bit of retribution in it, my eyes finally connecting with his.  I guess my ability blocked out that part of my life because I could tell this was news to him.

“I could recognize them if I saw them.  But not off the top of my head,” I answered honestly.  Aro nodded only once, sharing a look with Caius as if he could deduce anything.

“Rogues.  They frequent the less fortunate areas.  High crime rates, missing persons- any attacks can go unnoticed and unsolved by law enforcement,” Caius shook his head.  “We cannot fault them for that.  Or we would have to fault ourselves for not finding her.”

It only took me a minute to realize what Caius meant, knowing then that Aro held some animosity toward the ones that attacked.  Which was odd.  I figured Caius would be the one to throw some sort of fit about them.  Not Aro.

“Alessandra,” a soft sigh made me look at Caius, the blond vampire having some sort of understanding in that moment.  It took a lot for me to not bolt when he held his hands out.  I didn’t know if I disappointed him yet I couldn’t feel that coming from him either.  Caius, to my surprise however, didn’t rush me.  It was as if he knew something the others didn’t.  Something about me.  Or about my situation.

“You do not need to blame yourself for anything that had happened to you.  I can see it in your eyes,” those words made me stiffen.  Aro and Marcus did as well.  Which surprised me once again.  I didn’t know what to think of those words.  Perhaps the shock came from it being Caius, the most volatile one of the bunch.  Yet he was not rushing, not snapping at me… what was going on actually?

“Masters!”

All three turned toward the doorway, Marcus quick to shelter me in his robes as they addressed the one who had bothered us.  It wasn’t one of the normal guard, I could easily tell that.  This one was probably of the lower ranks, though it made me wonder for a brief moment how large their army was.  I mean, vampires couldn’t die of natural causes, so an endless army was possible to build.

“What is it?” the familiar snap of the blonde was back, though he was standing closer to my form.  Aro had done the same as well, each standing unbearably close to my form as if they couldn’t trust the new comer.  Again, made me wonder…

“Multiple visitors have arrived, requesting your presence,” came the news, the young vampire swallowed thickly, her focus quick to snap to me.

“Tell them it can wait. We are busy,” Caius’ words were not kind as he turned to face me.  But his features did not match his words, as if he was hiding his displeasure from me.

“I understand, Masters, but-“

“But what?”

“One of them has asked to see Lady Alessandra,” she paused, bowing deeply before adding, “by name.”

“Who would ask for me? No one knows I’m here aside from the Cullens,” I countered, suspicious by the situation.  No one knows but them.  They were the only ones who mattered anyways.

“I am not sure, my lady. But she claims,” the vampire paused, again unsure of what else to say.  At least until Caius snapped again, peering over his shoulder toward her.  And that was when she uttered a single sentence that made my body go cold with shock and horror.

“She claims to be your mother.”

[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 6

Chapter title: Tip of the iceberg

Word count: about 4300 words

WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of blood and violence.

Author’s Note: I must admit, while I said a couple of chapters ago that this was inspired by Mission:Impossible, that’s by no means the only inspiration for this fic.

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...

It was the next day after the heist, and the whole team was exhausted. Still, they had to remain on the run, and they all knew that there was still work left to do.

The three had decided to head into the sprawling city of Westopolis. It was a thriving seaside metropolitan area with a big name for tourism- a good place to hide out among the crowds.

They ended up renting a small, lower-level room in a towering hotel made almost entirely out of glass and steel. The receptionist was very reluctant to hand over the keys, clearly expecting Rouge in particular to trash the room and break all the furniture.

“Miss...Ruby, was it?” he asked, arching an eyebrow condescendingly. “I suppose you may stay here, though you must pay for any...damages incurred.”

“Absolutely.” she replied, without the slightest hesitation. Turning on her heel, she walked off with Shadow and Omega in tow, leaving one immensely surprised employee in her wake.

Their room was decently clean and nicely furnished, albeit a little plain and without the excellent views those on the higher floors would receive. Rouge left shortly afterwards to go find a VHS player, leaving the other two alone in the room. Omega remained standing and attempted to curb his impulse to break something simply to spite the receptionist. They didn’t have an unlimited supply of money, after all.

Meanwhile, Shadow simply slumped onto the bed and glowered at the wall. The E-series robot, after a minute of studying him, decided that he was likely tired from the mission yesterday, as well as highly apprehensive about what he would have to do soon. 

Omega did not normally give a second thought to the emotional state of most organic life-forms. The large majority of people, to him, were mostly irritating but otherwise of little concern or importance. He remained indifferent to- if slightly perplexed by- their hormonal imbalances and the ‘feelings’ that they produced. It was simply foolish to be ruled by something as fickle as your emotions. (He was aware that he had acted in a manner deemed irrational in the past, but this was due to his programmed goals, not a spur-of-the-moment sensation.)

Shadow was an exception to this rule. Omega viewed him as a person who had fought by his side many a time with impressive skill. Now, the awareness that the hybrid was reduced to a weakened mess simply by the constraints of his organic body was...strange. Omega found that he disliked seeing a talented fighter being laid so low by something as fickle as a few chemically induced sensations.

While the robot would never admit it out loud, Rouge and Shadow were people whom he would defend from any danger or displeasure, no matter what. Although most organics could handle the world just fine on their own, he had decided, these two in particular were talented enough (and their company was enjoyable enough) that he would punch anyone and anything who dared to harm them. And then fire a few missiles at the offending thing for good measure.

This thought process, he decided, explained why he sat down on the bed and proceeded to pick up the dejected hedgehog as though he weighed next to nothing.

“Hey- Omega! Put me down!” Shadow shouted, flailing in surprise and embarrassment as he was lifted into the robot’s arms. He made several grumbling noises upon realizing he was trapped, but ceased the majority of his movements.

“You are still not acting like...you.” Omega said, looking at Shadow thoughtfully. “We are currently attempting to remedy the issue, but it appears that this is more of a long-term solution. What would be an acceptable short-term solution?”

The hybrid rolled his eyes. “There is no ‘short term solution’, Omega. Running from the most dangerous law enforcement in the country tends to make people a little tired. There’s no need to search for a solution, anyway. I am perfectly capable of dealing with this on my own.”

Omega considered how best to proceed. Despite Shadow’s protests, he clearly required aid. And he hadn’t missed the hybrid’s refusal to admit to the effects of his past on his current state. He was never very good at dealing with emotions or stubbornness- that was more Rouge’s strong suit- but Rouge wasn’t here. And he was.

He had been told before that physical contact was often pleasant for organics, when initiated with people that they trusted. And Shadow trusted him, correct?

Thinking for a moment longer, Omega chose to touch the hybrid’s quills in a calming manner. He did so cautiously, ensuring that his sharp fingers would not cause any unwanted harm. Shadow was too caught off guard to protest, his eyes closing within moments as he resigned himself to being pet. As the mechanical creation continued in his repetitive motions, he noticed a quiet noise emanating from somewhere in the room.

Further examination revealed that Shadow was the source of the noise, and that he was purring.

It wasn’t much, just a little rumble in his chest, but something about the indescribable noise made Omega tighten his grip slightly on the small (oh so very small) hedgehog. Despite Shadow’s incredible prowess in battle, he was still reminded in this moment of just how fragile and vulnerable even the most powerful organics were.

Embarrassingly enough, this was when Rouge decided to fling open the door. Shadow snapped out of the daze Omega’s attention had put him in and squirmed as he tried to escape the steel trap that the robot’s arms had created. His effort was too little, too late, however, as Rouge squealed upon seeing the two ‘bonding’. “Awww! You guys! This is so sweet! I swear, I’m getting cavities just by being in the same room as you two.”

Omega glowered at her. “This is not ‘sweet’. I am attempting to…” He trailed off as he realized that what he had been doing did, unfortunately, fall into the category of cute things. “...fine. I was merely aiding Shadow in his moment of emotional distress. There is no need to make such loud shrieking sounds.”

“I’m fine.” the hybrid grumbled sulkily. “Stop worrying about me.”

Rouge shook her head. “Hon, we’re never going to stop worrying about you. That’s pretty much what being friends is about. We care about how you’re feeling.” She tried to wrap her arms around both Shadow and Omega, but resigned herself to the fact that she didn’t by any means have long enough arms for that. Instead, she worked her way into Omega’s hold, smiling warmly at the two of them. “Hugs are good for everyone.” she declared. “That’s just a fact.”

Shadow allowed himself to smile, just a little. “I...appreciate you both doing this for me.” he said quietly.

The E-series robot watched this interaction with a certain amount of...he wasn’t sure what this was called, actually. He was...pleased? Yes, he was pleased to see his two favorite people getting along.

He decided to hold them a little longer as a result.

Rouge sighed after a minute, though, resigned to what came next. “I guess we’ll have to get to the difficult part eventually.” She looked over at the VHS player, before pulling the box of tapes out. “Which day was it again?”

Shadow pointed at a cassette. “That one.” he muttered, staring down at the bedspread.

“Can you not remain in an adjacent room or go somewhere else for the duration of this video?” Omega asked him.

The hedgehog shook his head. “No. No, if we’re putting this out there, I want to know what it looks like.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to us, hon…” Rouge reminded him.

“I need to prove it to myself.” he declared, an air of finality to his words.

Omega stood and plugged the player into the TV set, before putting the tape in. He began to set up the screen, and it seemed to take an eternity before everything was ready to go. Rouge grabbed Shadow’s hand and squeezed it tightly. The robot, on returning to the bed, took his other hand. He took a deep breath. 

“Do it.”

Omega pressed play.

...

The tape shows a grid of all the security cameras throughout Space Colony ARK. The footage is slightly grainy, but the three can make out vaguely distinguishing features on all of the people. 

Omega fast-forwards the video until the moment that the first G.U.N. soldier appears. Shadow holds both their hands tighter.

They watch as the soldiers begin to move through the space station. At first, they don’t cause much alarm- the space colony was funded by G.U.N., after all. Their leader and a couple of others enter the main laboratory and speak to the scientists. After a minute, an alarm goes off.

One of the soldiers fires on the scientist who triggered it, and he sinks to the floor, red pooling around him. All of the other researchers freeze.

Several screens away, a small hedgehog and his sister begin to run.

The space station itself is against them. They were sitting and stargazing on the exact opposite side of the structure from the escape pods. The two have to rush through an endless maze of corridors, avoiding the soldiers throughout it all.

The soldiers are now firing indiscriminately on civilians and government scientists alike, as they are blocking the halls and the soldiers are desperate and violent. The people are only unintentionally in the way, of course- they’re simply fleeing the destruction. None of the researchers knows where Project:Shadow is right now, and the soldiers are frustrated. Every second that slips by is one where they don’t have what they came for.

Clearly, they didn’t come into this situation looking for a peaceful outcome.

Meanwhile, the blond-haired human pauses to catch her breath. She is very sick, after all, and has not run much in her lifetime. The hedgehog looks worried, but remains by her side. He is partly fearful due to her health, after all- and he would never leave her side in such a dangerous situation.

He startles at the first sound of gunshots and begs her to keep moving.Thankfully, she gains a second wind from the adrenaline and they continue to run. Despite the fact that the hedgehog is skating, pulling her along, they are not moving very fast. Not fast enough.

Behind them, the carnage continues.

On the bed, Shadow is crying silently. Rewatching the destruction of his childhood home breaks his heart, and both of his friends can see it. He looks at the desperate hope in the eyes of the hedgehog on the screen (who isn’t that much younger but at the same time so different) and knows what comes next. 

He spots an elderly scientist with an instantly recognizable moustache, handcuffed to a railing. The man is one of the few survivors of the massacre. He begs the soldiers to spare his daughter’s life, to bring her back safely. Shadow is startled to hear, among the words, a plea to please remove Project:Shadow alive. To not kill him.

The scientist looks desperate and tells the soldiers that he loves his children. He tells them that he needs to see them again.

His children. Plural.

The sound of crying rings out across the hotel room.

The human girl convinces the hedgehog to get in the escape pod first. He can’t work the controls because he’s a little too short- ‘fun-sized’, she calls it. Besides, it’ll make her feel better. He could never argue with that.

The soldiers arrive. The girl looks back and forth between the pod and the controls. Shadow pinpoints the exact moment, this time, when her expression changes from fearful to resigned. He wishes he hadn’t eaten this morning- his breakfast won’t sit still.

Shadow screams “No!!” as she lunges for the control panel, the word ripping raw from his throat as though he can somehow save her if he just shouts loud enough. He chokes as he hears the gunshots, as he sees her fall. He sees himself clawing at the glass, screaming and crying unintelligible words as Maria speaks her dying wish.

He barely even sees the pod eject, his eyes blurred with tears. Omega pauses the video.

...

Rouge pulls Shadow into her arms. He’s shaking and barely seems to be aware of what’s going on, silent tears trickling down his face as he sits limply in her embrace. She feels him gasping for breath- he can’t quite seem to get the air he needs.

“Breathe, Shadow.” she murmured. “I’m here, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay, I promise, but all you have to do is breathe.”

He reached out and held her back tightly, clinging to her with enough force to drive some of the air out of her own lungs.

“I’m here for you, Shadow.” Rouge whispered. “Just let me know what you need when you can.”

“I will not go anywhere either.” Omega said, turning his volume down. “You will be safe here with us.”

Shadow gasped for breath one last time before whispering quietly, “You promise?”

“Of course you are.” Rouge rubbed circles on his back comfortingly. “We’ll always watch out for you.”

“Absolutely.” Omega added.

After another few minutes, Shadow began to relax a little, but he made no move to pull back from the bat. “Sorry…” he muttered.

“No, don’t apologize.” Rouge said, her voice strong and warm. “None of this is your fault. None of it. I promise.”

“I shouldn’t be reacting like this.” he growled.

Omega placed a hand on his back. “It is completely normal to react in such a way to traumatic experiences, as a matter of fact- and that is the truth.”

“You’ve seen it now, hon. We’re going to watch the rest of the video, but you just turn your back and lie down, okay?” Rouge offered.

“Okay…” Shadow sighed, too exhausted to fight- and he didn’t really want to, anyway. Both of his friends kept their hands on him as he turned around, and his face relaxed more as he closed his eyes, exhausted from his panic.

“I will mute the sound.” Omega informed him.

…

Mostly, the rest of the video was just filming the cleanup and shutdown of Space Colony ARK. Eventually, once the crews started getting to the lower levels, the cameras were shut down. It seemed that G.U.N. didn’t want anybody to know what happened next.

But there were still five full minutes left of film…

Omega and Rouge shared a look. The bat turned to Shadow and told him that the tape was going to run longer than expected. They’d watch it all the way to the end, even if it was just a black screen.

It turned out that it wasn’t blank at all.

When the camera opened with a new security camera view, Rouge grew tense. 

The date says it’s about ten years ago. It’s dark out. The footage shows G.U.N. soldiers standing in the shadows, watching a gathering of people. It looks like someone’s speaking to them from a stage. One of the soldiers gives a signal to the others.

They charge into the crowd without warning. People begin to shout and run as the soldiers move through the crowd, stunning people with batons and taking prisoners left and right.

Amidst the chaos, the speaker begins to film the event. She is grabbed from behind by two soldiers while a third points a gun at her. She appears to talk to them, panic evident in her eyes. The third soldier snatches her phone with one hand and steps on it before shooting it twice. The speaker doesn’t look to be above twenty.

She looks scared. She doesn’t look like a criminal. She looks like an ordinary person.

The tape ends there.

Nobody speaks.

…

“What happened?” Shadow asks, turning over just as Omega switches off the TV. “What is it?”

“I’d have to watch it with the sound on to be sure-” Rouge swallows thickly at the idea- “but it looks like G.U.N. attacked a bunch of innocent citizens.”

Shadow looks shocked. “I thought that was-!”

“Illegal.” Omega says flatly. “That is illegal...and it goes against everything G.U.N. is supposed to stand for.”

“I...I’m going to watch it again.” Rouge said. “I have to know. Shadow, go for a walk, okay?”

He leaves without question.

They watch it again.

Once they’re done, Omega watches as Rouge sits for a minute to process the film, before she rewinds the tape. Squinting at the screen for a moment, she sags slightly when she finds what she was looking for. 

The bat walks into the hallway and sees Shadow standing at the end of it, looking out the window. The sunlight frames his strong stance and alert ears. Anyone else would say he looks powerful. 

Rouge thinks he looks apprehensive.

“Shadow?” she calls, walking over to him. A twitch of his ear signals his acknowledgement. “There’s more.”

“What is it.” he responds, his voice monotone.

“This took place in Empire City. On United Federation soil. With ordinary people talking about nothing but their ideals. I suspected it the last time, but I had to rewatch it- there’s a couple of background clues in there.” Rouge’s voice shakes.

Shadow shakes his head. 

“She was just a girl, Shadow.”

Suddenly, his back straightens. “She?”

Rouge realizes she hadn’t told him this before. “There was a girl, speaking to the crowd. She was a teenager, it looks like.”

Shadow drags her back into the room. He stands there for a solid minute, trying to control his breathing, but has to give up and grabs a pillow, digging his gloved hands into it. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears again. “Is she alive? Did they kill another granddaughter? Another sister, did they-”

“I don’t think she’s dead. There would’ve been a lot of protest if that happened, and the film’s recent enough for me to have heard of it.” the bat said.

“We don’t know that for sure. Rouge, we can’t stop here. Not now. Not when there’s more.”

She exhaled heavily. “I agree. Completely.”

“As do I.” Omega said. 

Rouge groaned. “People get away with something awful once and they think they’re invincible. Ugh.”

“Not anymore.” Shadow hissed. 

The hybrid realized something, his eyes widening slightly. “Omega. Go call Sonic or Tails. Now.”

Omega came to the same conclusion as him immediately. Without comment, he left the room and descended the stairs to the ground floor. If G.U.N. had visited the two...with that kind of reputation…

He managed to find a public phone in a store a couple of blocks away and dialed Tails’s number.

“Hi! This is Tails speaking!” 

“This is E-123 Omega.”

“Omega!?” Tails gasped. The next sentence sounded muffled, as though the microphone was being covered. “Sonic! Omega’s on the phone!”

The robot heard a faint shriek of “What?!” before Tails came back on the line.

“Has G.U.N. visited you at all?” Omega asked, keeping his voice absolutely level. No need to frighten the fox if nothing had happened.

“Actually...yeah.” Tails said, sounding a little tentative. “They didn’t hurt us, but I did have to rescue Sonic.” He proceeded to recount the entire event, from the agents’ arrival to their (reluctant) departure. He also updated Omega on the latest news stories, which were predictable, but still irritating.

The robot did not like Tails’s story though. Not the news, not the agents, and especially not the part with the Taser. However, as much as he would like to fire lots of explosives at all of G.U.N., he decided that it would be best to update the two on his news. “We have found the security files from Space Colony ARK. They prove beyond all doubt that G.U.N. killed many of the inhabitants of said space colony in cold blood, including one Maria Robotnik.”

“That’s great!” Tails exclaimed, before realizing what he’d said. “Uh...relatively speaking.”

“However, one of these files contained excess information. We do not know whether this was on purpose or by accident, but either way, they show soldiers of G.U.N. taking multiple people into custody without giving any reason for their actions. When asked why they were doing this, they gave no reply. Further investigation is necessary, but it seems that they treated ordinary people like enemies of the state. And this was done while the current commander was in charge, according to the date on the security camera files.”

Omega heard Sonic start shouting unintelligibly in the background. Tails responded to him once or twice with a “Yeah” or “Mm-hm”, but suddenly called, “Sonic! Be careful, you’ll break something if you keep up like that!”

The fox turned his attention back to his slightly confused audience. “Sorry, he’s angry and just like roundhouse kicking the air and stuff. Though I think he’d rather be smacking around G.U.N. robots- no offense, by the way.”

“None taken. I am fully aware of my superior status regarding those mindless drones.” Omega scoffed.

“Yo Omega!” he heard Sonic shout from the background. “How’s Shadow doing? Is he there?”

Tails sighed in a rush of static. “Sorry, he’s...kind of rushing around right now so he’s forgetting his manners and isn’t coming to the phone himself, but that’s okay, I guess.”

Omega would have smirked, had he been built with the necessary components to do so. As it was, he simply answered, “Shadow is not here. He has been...struggling with the combined knowledge that G.U.N. is even worse than we realized and rewatching his sister’s death. In respect to his privacy, I will not say more.”

Tails relayed this information over to Sonic, who sounded sad. “Oh...aw, man. Hey, can you tell Omega to let him know I miss him?”

The fox seemed upset by this news at first, but then he giggled. “Did you hear that, Omega? Sonic really misses Shadow and he wants him to know, isn’t that cute?”

“Absolutely.” the robot agreed, fully aware of what Tails was trying to do. 

About two milliseconds later, Sonic roared, “I meant RACING him, Tails! Stop ASSUMING THINGS!!”

Tails laughed again, the wickedness of it obvious this time. Suddenly, Omega heard a loud clatter, and then the crackle of someone picking up the phone. “Sorry, Omega,” Sonic hissed into the speaker, “It’s been nice talking but I have a fox to launch into the sun. Gottagobye!”

Omega walked back to the hotel, pleased that Tails and Sonic seemed to be doing alright. (He wasn’t as worried about Knuckles, he was basically unreachable by anyone. The echidna would be fine.)

When the robot neared his hotel room, he heard loud voices. It seemed that Rouge and Shadow were participating in something he remembered was called ‘venting’, in which they were able to express their feelings without producing any significant action plans. He believed that its purpose was to release emotional tension, and it was sometimes good for them. It was also a very fun activity when he was the one allowed to rant.

“I know, right?! I mean- who do they even- oh, hi Omega!” Rouge exclaimed when he returned, smoothing down her hair from its slightly messy state.

“Greetings. I have learned Tails and Sonic are both alive, healthy, and generally safe. Shadow, Sonic wished for me to inform you that he misses you and would like to race you again at some point in the future.”

Shadow smiled faintly. “That’s nice to hear.”

“I know, right?” Rouge sighed. “Finally, some good news.”

“Although.” Omega added.

Rouge covered Shadow’s ears and then proceeded to say a series of very rude words that Omega could never repeat around Tails. The hybrid waved his hand at her once she was done, muttering something unhappily about not being a little kid.

“G.U.N. did visit them.” the robot said.

“And?” Rouge asked.

“And Sonic was very close to being on the wrong end of a Taser.”

A hint of gold flickered behind Shadow’s brown contacts. “They. Did. Not.”

“They did. But Tails rescued him, so do not destroy the room.” Omega informed him.

Chaos energy still sparked slightly between the hybrid’s fingers. “Who did it.”

Omega decided after a moment of thought that Shadow was unlikely to blow up the room or cause other serious damage and spoke. “A barn owl by the name of Agent Toya.”

“I knew her...she was always pretty quiet. And intense.” Rouge said. “I’d like to get you a meeting with her sometime.”

Shadow smirked darkly, before sighing and falling back onto the bed. “Ugh. I’m too tired to spear her right now.”

Rouge walked over to the window for a minute and looked out, before spinning back around, her eyes bright. “What we need-” she declared, pulling Shadow off the bed and grabbing Omega’s arm with her other hand- “is to go out to a park or something, grab some food, and make fun of all the rich people with their expensive condos and million-dollar handbags. We can listen in on all the hot gossip too. How’s that for an idea?”

Omega was pleased with this idea. “I will taunt all of the people who think they have nice cars. Ours are far superior to their puny vehicles.”

Shadow smirked. “Only if I get to have a lemon iced tea.”

“You could get literally anything and you choose lemon iced tea, but fine. I’ll grab lunch and get you your ye olde drinke while I’m at it, mister 50s.” Rouge rolled her eyes, but she was only joking and he knew it.

“Shut up.” he huffed, swatting at her as they walked out of the hotel.

Rouge cackled so hard she had to sit on Omega’s shoulder for a while to catch her breath. Once she was finished, she grinned down at him. “Feeling better?”

Shadow’s expression briefly darkened, and Rouge regretted saying anything. But then, he seemed to seriously consider her question. “Yeah.” he said quietly, allowing his mouth to twitch up into the faintest hint of a real smile. “Yeah, I am.”

[sgtransformersdork]

Autobots

So there I am, wondering what to make a post about next, and I realized I haven't mentioned much about the Autobots. I made a couple posts about certain Autobots what feels like forever ago, but they feel outdated and a little clunky. So I'm writing some blurbs for the entire Autobot roster (except Ultra Magnus, I talked about him not too long ago, also he's not part of the Ark Crew). I'm still working on the characterizations, but I'm just getting my thoughts out. This is going to be a long one, so hang on to your afterburners.

Optimus Prime- Sadistic, narcissistic, tyrannical, and menacing. He began the war and intends to end it slowly killing every last Decepticon. He's not an idiot, but he tends to fixate on only one aspect: making a devastating impact. This likely harkens back to his days of activism against classism, making an impact big enough to make his opponents notice, and feel dread. Of course, he's long since become a dictator and a terrorist, causing almost the same disparities he fought against.

Rodimus- Living proof that 'conniving' does not mean 'intelligent'. He once agreed with Orion Pax's views, when he was known as Hot Rod. He moved through the Autobot ranks to become second in command (how is unknown), and altered his frame, becoming Rodimus. He became frustrated with Prime's leadership, thinking he could become a much better leader, thus starting his long history of coups. No one knows why he is still second in command, but it frustrates loyal Autobots to no end.

Elita One- Ever since the movement began, she has been there. She will always stand beside Prime, always combat their enemies, and never relinquish the oath she swore. She loves power, but prefers conquest, constantly lusting for battle. Despite being the reason for the fall of Tarn, Caminus, and numerous other territories, she's never satisfied unless she actively has something to conquer. She even has her own legion, known as Elita's Warriors. Some would suggest that she never wants the war to end, but they would be unwise to express this verbally.

Ratchet- In another life, he could've been a great medic, as he is highly skilled. However, he'd rather try to 'improve' his patients with unnecessary surgeries, and often doesn't take proper precautions. It's not entirely clear whether or not he realizes the suffering his patients go through, but it's very likely he doesn't care.

Wheeljack- Wheeljack is actually a good engineer, and he's far more level headed than other Autobots. Unfortunately, he works under Ratchet, and the poor mech has clearly had his mind broken after all those years of being forced to partake in gruesome experiments. And he has become more and more willing by the day.

Perceptor- A truly mad scientist, he has a twisted, sadistic mind, responsible for creating some of the Autobot's worst devices. Some part of him seems to realize how much suffering his creations cause, and yet, he doesn't care. As long as the Autobots need a mind like his, he will continue on this route. As of late, he's been trying to perfect what he calls 'living weapons'.

Bumblebee- It's said that if any Autobot makes a traitorous remark, Prime will know. Bumblebee is always listening and watching, only speaking when he needs to. Many Autobots loathe him, due to his nature as a snitch and a sycophant, but Bumblebee doesn't care. The only thing that matters is staying in a comfortable position that's not easy to lose.

Ironhide- As far as an Autobot goes, he's fairly mild tempered and level headed. Well, as much as you can be as a weapons expert. Of course, it'd be best to stay on his good side, as he does have a lot of weapons and a good aim.

Arcee- A deadly Autobot assassin, who doesn't care what it takes to eliminate a target. She's sacrificed multiple partners to get where she needs to be. She's liked by Optimus Prime, as she's deadly and efficient, but she doesn't seem to care much about having Prime's approval, she'd rather just have the freedom to kill whoever she wants.

Windblade- Originally from Caminus, she joined the Autobots after Elita One claimed the planet. She doesn't trust anyone, nor does she put anyone before herself. She despises the Autobots, likely due to the destruction of her home planet, but would rather be on the side with the upper servo. Despite her fighting skills, most Autobots often overlook her, due to the fact that she is a flight frame. (Optimus Prime despises flight frames, and by extension, many Autobots do as well).

Strongarm- Any Autobot that's known her for more than five minutes has heard the phrase 'frag the rules'. She may be a part of law enforcement, but she's worse than your average criminal, a great testament to Cybertron's twisted law enforcement. She hardly gives a damn about anything but enjoying herself and turning Decepticons to slag. Well, okay, she also deeply loves and defends her partner Windblade no matter the risk.

Skyfire- Despite his degree and scientific genius he's used for nothing more than a soldier and a carrier shuttle, and he resents this deeply. He's tried to be noticed for nine million years, but to no avail. He's quite manipulative, and a ruthless narcissist, with a dangerous silver tongue (metaphorical), intent to push himself to the top through any means necessary, with no regard for who he hurts. He also has a past with Starscream, something he's not willing to let go of.

Prowl- No Autobot really likes dealing with Prowl under most circumstances. He's wild, unpredictable and frequently follows his own ideas...regardless of whether or not it matches what he was ordered. His plans, despite seeming insane seem to work. Outside of battle, it's nearly impossible to deal with him. No Autobot wants anything to do with him, but they're completely fine with setting him on the Decepticons.

Sunstreaker- He knows his place in the Autobot ranks: he's nothing more than cannon fodder. He keeps out of the way, he follows orders, and doesn't let his morality (or whatever's left of it) get in the way. Truth be told, he only joined because his spark twin did.

Sideswipe- As a lowly Labor Class mech, he was willing to do anything to improve his life. Upon hearing about the Autobot movement, he jumped at the opportunity to sign up. But after all these years, it's broken him, causing him to become emotionless and drone-like. He just wants to shoot at Decepticons until this nightmare of a war ends, and get back to...well, not normal, but anything except for this.

Blurr- He's highly calculating, intelligent, and collected. He also has the ability to travel at high speeds, often confusing and distracting his enemies on the battlefield. Prime once regarded him as a great commander, but has since discarded him for 'better warriors'. Regardless, Blurr remains loyal, albeit slightly resentful.

Hound- Hound loves to cause fear in others, nothing gives him a thrill quite like seeing a terrified Decepticon, or hear their screams. Thanks to his ability of projection, he can create confusion and panic in his enemies. There's nothing worse to him than an enemy that can steel themselves against his projections.

Blaster- A communications officer, with similar abilities to Soundwave, such as picking up on frequencies, sonic powers, commanding a team of minicons, but there's a key difference: Blaster considers himself 'sophisticated'. He's a lover of Cybertronian music, (especially ballads), and absolutely despises Earth music. He has a rivalry with Soundwave, or at least he claims to.

Bulkhead- Once a member of the wreckers (that have long since disbanded), Bulkhead is an expert with causing destruction. Beyond that, he's dangerously calculating and intelligent. Despite his size, he's graceful, but also destructive when he needs to be.

Mirage- Mirage has always been a punching bag for his fellow Autobots, and he's well aware of this. He's always had the interesting ability to turn invisible, and often does so when he needs to flee. Due to constantly living in fear, he's always partially transparent. He's considered defecting, but he's too frightened to run to the 'losing side'.

[danetobelieve]

Ride Or Eye || Roland and Winston

Timing:  in the lead up to the ritual that got rid of squidward Parties: @sgtrolandhills​ & @danetobelieve​ Summary: Winston and Roland are on a ride along when they witness a car accident, unfortunately cultists are involved Warnings: violence and medical blood (there’s discussion of first aid at the end of the chatzy)

Winston had to admit that of all of the things that they got to do in their internship -- which in the internships defense had some interesting parts to it -- their favourite repeated activity was the ride alongs with the Sarge. Aside from the calming, almost fatherlike personality that Roland had, Winston also kind of just thought he was really cool? Which might seem weird to some. But Roland was diligent, hardworking, intelligent, unshakeable and he was really kind. Their ride alongs together were never dull and Winston always found themselves learning things they’d never even considered before. They wished more people in the station were like that. Winston was sat in the passenger seat as rain bucketed down on the windscreen, they were heading back to the station, winding their way along the road that ran alongside the edge of the lake when Winston spotted a car swerving through the rain. “Uh, Sarge, does that car look a little … out of control to you?”

While part of Roland wished they could shield the younger generation away from some of the darker aspects of the world, it was hard to do so with human eyeballs showing up in the streets and through plumbing systems. Aside from the nature of their work today, it had been a relatively peaceful day of making sure Winston was comfortable with collecting evidence without compromising it… well, more than it had already been compromised, anyway. As expected, Winston caught on quickly. Winston was a smart kid and Roland enjoyed working with them. Maybe one day he’d have kids of his own to teach, but he knew he was likely too committed to his job for all of that. His eyes had been carefully tuned in on the road as they drove through the rain that was coming down in sheets, letting the sound of it beating against the windows relax him. This whole thing with human eyeballs showing up in such alarmingly high numbers had left him feeling on edge. How was he possibly supposed to get control of something like this? The eyes were arriving and showing up in bucketfuls. It was disturbing beyond belief. He tried not to focus on that as much as he did on solving it. The sight of a car swerving out of control drew him out of his thoughts. It looks like the swerve had it changing paths directly toward the lake. He grimaced, watching the car and answered, “It definitely does.” He flicked his lights on and carefully followed it’s path. The car seemed to take down a group of strange hooded figures. He spoke into his radio and stated, “We just witnessed an accident near the lake. Winston and I are checking it out now and will advise if an ambulance is needed.” 

Hooded figures. Not good. But Winston wasn’t about to say anything. The Sarge was already aware of the problem that the cultists that had turned up in White Crest posed to the population at large. However Winston doubted that they completely understood the potential problem that they posed to everyone. They had attacked Winston on multiple occasions and if other people hadn’t intervened then Winston wasn’t sure that they would’ve made it out of there as easily. “We’re checking it out?” Winston asked, “I mean, yeah we’re checking it out.” They hopped out of the car cautiously. The rain bounced off of Winston’s glasses before beginning to trickle down them and Winston was already stressed by the smear marks that would be left behind on the usually pristine lenses that they wore on their face. Waiting for Roland to exit the car too, Winston grabbed the first aid kit just in case and pulled their WCPD issue jacket tighter around them as the wind blew through them, chilling their bones slightly. “Do you think that they hit those guys in the robes?” Winston asked, their already poor eyesight struggling to pick out any specific details in the non existent visibility that was available to them. 

“Stay back,” Roland advised cautiously as he made his way out of the car. While it hadn’t been determined if the hooded figures were violent, he wasn’t taking any chances with Winston. He had his radio turned on and his right hand ready to grab his glock if needed as he approached the scene. The car seemed to have gone into the lake, taking a few hooded cult members down with it. “Go ahead and send that ambulance out. We’ll also need to extract the car from the lake,” he directed into the radio as he tried to get a read on what they were doing. They seemed angry and were blocking him from reaching the accident. “Excuse me,” Roland called out, “Please back away from the vehicle so I can get through.” A few seemed to be doing the exact opposite of what he asked. He grumbled a swear under his breath. People in this town really had little respect for the law. “I need everyone to step away so I can help whoever’s inside,” he directed, this time more firmly, earning him some attention from the hooded figures. He kept his hand on his gun, ready to draw as a few of the figures began to ominously approach him. 

Honestly Winston didn’t need telling twice. They were well aware of just how capable of violence the cult was and they didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Roland was trained for this sort of thing right? Winston followed close behind Roland, first aid kit at the ready in case anything went awry. They hoped that these hooded figures weren’t the kind that were inclined to attack on sight. Maybe they had some level of self preservation, attacking law enforcement always seemed like a bad move. It seemed that for the moment the hooded figures agreed. They were also conveniently keeping their heads well covered and no one had flashed their palms yet. Winston was almost certain that Roland was ignorant of the supernatural community in White Crest and Winston didn’t think that this was the best way to break it to them. Besides, Winston wasn’t really sure that it was fair to just pull them into everything without a good reason. If the Sarge really needed to know something then that was one thing but Winston wasn’t about to just throw them in the deep end for shits and giggles. Lifting their radio up to their lips, Winston pressed the button. “Hey, dispatch, can you send a couple of cars out to our location. Please.” Winston was pretty sure they weren’t allowed to do that, but they weren’t about to tell Roland to do it, that would kind of give the game away. “Please can you all take a step back.” Winston addressed the cultists trying to be authoritative, they weren’t sure it was working. 

It didn’t seem like the hooded cult members were paying him much mind and Roland felt a sense of dread wash over him. He had a strong hunch that they were somehow connected to the eyeballs that were turning up, but the investigations were pulling nothing up in that regard. Right now, their primary focus had been identifying who the eyeballs belonged to. The entire state of the town was unsettling to him. The way the cloaked figures moved, refusing to show their faces, also left him feeling uneasy. This wasn’t the kind of situation he wanted to bring an intern into, but he’d try to keep things from escalating until back-up arrived. He heard Winston’s voice on the radio and confirmed, “Authorized by Sergeant Hills. Send some back-up out to the lake.” Still, the people weren’t moving and giving him access to get to the car. It was only a matter of minutes before there was no chance to save whoever was inside. He needed to act quickly, so he put on his best authoritative voice and demanded, “Move out of the way!” A couple of the figures looked at him, a few approached slowly, but none seemed to want to give way. To hell with it. He stepped forward, head high with purpose and gun in hand, and made his way toward the lake. Saving lives was more important than whatever the hell it was these people were doing. 

Winston gulped. Roland pulling his gun out was a necessary escalation of a normal situation, especially when lives were at risk. Obviously the issue was that Roland was unaware that this was as far from a normal situation as could possibly be. The cult members seemed to bristle as Roland stepped forwards with his police issued fire arm in hand. It was almost as if they were daring him to come closer, as if they wanted him to try and get past them. Winston knew that Roland clearly was duty bound to do anything that he could do to help whoever might be in the wreckage. Back up couldn’t get here soon enough and Winston was running out of ideas about how they could make this work. They were going to have to do something though and so they followed after Roland. 

Uneasiness had settled in him, but Roland didn’t dare show it. Not to these strange cultists who couldn’t even actually see him. It felt like they were likely connected to the eyes in town, but he couldn’t focus on that in the moment. There were lives at risk and he needed to get to that car before the people inside drowned. He moved forward and pressed, “Move.” He shoved a few out of his way, gun still firmly in hand, and made his way into the water where the car was. He elbowed one of them hard as they tried to reach for him and threw him aside. More of the figures seemed to be coming toward him and he paused, not swimming out to the car. If he got too deep in the water, this could get dangerous fast and Winston was still back there-- wait, not they were approaching. He shot Winston a stern look, trying to get them to back away, while trying to get himself situated between the cultists that were now rapidly approaching. “Stay back,” he yelled, gun now pointed toward the figures. Shit, he had not wanted Winston to see this. One kept approaching him and instinctively, he cocked his gun aiming for the cultist’s chest and pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang through the otherwise quiet area. The cultists seemed unfazed another approaching, but this time as he went to fire, he felt his arm being pulled down. Shit. Where was that back up? One of them must have been in the water and he grappled, struggling to keep his firearm in hand. 

Roland seemed to decide that it was more important to get to the car and Winston watched everything go to hell not quite in a handbasket, but it might as well have been. The now all too familiar sound of a gunshot rang out and Winston watched one of the cultists drop into the river like a rock. Roland was in the water and Winston’s pulse raced. They had to help. But Roland didn’t know about Winston’s magic and they weren’t excited to be showing anyone else from the station what they could do. Which meant that this would have to be subtle. No fireballs for once. Which was probably good. They didn’t want to hurt Roland. But Roland had also made it clear that Winston couldn’t get any closer and they weren’t going to disobey a direct order, they didn’t want to lose this internship. Shit. Gasping with concern, Winston spotted the cultists grappling with Roland. “Hey, leave him alone!” Winston drew back a small sphere and hurled it at the cultist, missing completely and making Winston look like an idiot. But that didn’t matter, because as soon as the sphere was beneath the surface Winston reached out and activated the tightly wound spool of wire and used it to weave a tight tendril around the cultist’s leg, weighing him down. 

Damn it. Roland groaned as he grappled with one of the hooded figures while also trying to keep a close eye on Winston. It was much easier said than done, trying to keep a good grasp on the quickly escalating situation. Where the hell was their back up? He grunted as he put a firm elbow into the cultist’s side. It seemed Winston had tried to throw something at them, but it hadn’t gone over well. At least the elbow seemed to have them momentarily stuck in place, clutching their side. Another shot fired through the air as Roland shot his assailer. There was a heavy splash as they fell to the ground and he quickly made his way out of the water to assure he was upholding his duty of keeping his interns safe. With how much time was passing, it seemed like there was little hope for the driver of the car. He could at least keep Winston safe. As he raced toward the shore, he tried to zig zag around the cultists, but when he stepped on to the shore, one had leapt and tackled him, sending his firearm flying in front of him. Shit. He squirmed under the cultist, trying to gain the upperhand. 

Although Winston knew that they could rest assured that they had been successful in their attempt to help Roland, it hadn’t gone over all that well with some of the cultists who had suddenly noticed Winston. As they turned, two in particular approached them and Winston couldn’t help but shoot a hopeful glance over their shoulder, searching for the assistance that they had requested a while ago. No sirens, not yet at least. That meant Winston would have to deal with this on their own. A gun shot rang out and Winston spotted the sergeant kill another cultist. It was strange to think of the figure that they knew Roland to be actually killing someone, yet here Winston was witnessing it. Just when they were sure that anything couldn’t get more weird and apparently it did. But they didn’t have time to dwell on that right now as one of the cultists darted towards them, a hunting knife flashing in the dim light of the rain storm that had now soaked Winston to their bones. Winston managed to catch the knife and pressed the tiny pads that coated the inside of one of the rings they were wearing against the man’s skin. Willing a short burst of electricity through them, Winston watched as the cultist convulsed and dropped to the floor, shaking but incapacitated for now. 

For how much larger Roland was than the cultist grappling with him, he found himself struggling. He was still on the ground, uniform now not only wet but covered in mud and he worked to free his arms from the surprisingly sharp grip of the cultist. His knees tried to nudge the man off of him, but it was to no avail. His face went pale when he saw the hunting knife in tow. He had to get out of this. If he didn’t, Winston would be in great danger. Why were there no siren sounds? What was taking their back-up so damn long to get here? The situation was well past his control at this point as he dodged the first blow the cultist tried to make. He propelled his upper body up with enough force to get the man off him momentarily. As he tried to regain his footing and reach for his gun, he winced as he felt the hand reach for his ankle and the blade slice through his pants. “Shit,” he muttered, finding it in him to kick the man off his leg only to see another cultist approaching him and another one falling before Winston. 

Fortunately, there was only one more cultist for Winston to deal with. Roland seemed to be holding his own against a much more capable foe then Winston would have been able to deal with. There was only one more cultist left that they would have to deal with, the others seemed to be unwilling to get involved. Winston was wondering what they could possibly do. Roland was still grappling with the guy with a knife and Winston didn’t really think. Hurling themselves onto the back of the man who had Roland pinned, Winston tried and failed to hold both of the man’s arms back, instead succeeding in clinging to his left side and dragging him down. The cultist wordlessly grunted and tried to shrug Winston off ineffectively. “Where the fuck is the back up?” Winston immediately regretted swearing, especially in front of their superior. 

While he tried to keep his swearing to a minimum around colleagues, especially interns, Roland couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. Back up seemed to be taking their sweet time getting here. Winston shouldn’t have to be-- No, there wasn’t time to think on that. He had to save both of them. Whoever was in the car was already lost. Winston jumping on the cultist gave him the opportunity to lunge forward for his gun. Firearm in hand, he carefully aimed at the fallen cultist letting out a bullet in his chest. Winston’s ears would probably be ringing for a while. He hated having to shoot someone so close to them down, but the alternative was the cultist rising with that knife and going for Winston. The others all seemed to be off giving them space. He looked to Winston and asked, “Are you hurt?” 

The ringing of the gunshot reverberated in Winston’s ears and they watched the cultist crumple. They’d been thrown from his back a moment ago and as they dusted themselves off they couldn’t help but be fixated by the pool of blood that was spreading from the man’s back. Swallowing, Winston tore their eyes from the corpse of the cultist and spotted the sirens on the horizon. Ironic. They were too late. “Yeah, I mean, no, I’m not hurt, I’m all good.” Winston looked around them for the first aid. “You’re hurt though, you should let me look at the wound. I know you’re going to say no but I’m first aid qualified.” And extremely squeamish Winston reminded themselves. But they were determined to do this, grabbing the first aid kit and hurrying to Roland’s side.

At the sound of sirens and learning that Winston wasn’t injured, Roland let himself relax a little bit. He still kept a close eye on the remaining cultists who seemed to be backing away now and shook his head. “No, no-- I’m alright. I radioed for an ambulance. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he insisted. It appeared Winston was determined to help him though so he let out a gruff sigh. “Fine, but let’s at least walk over to the cruiser,” he agreed though his tone indicated he wasn’t too thrilled about letting Winston be the one to take care of him. He took a seat on the hood of his car and let Winston pull out the first aid kit as he pulled up the leg of his pants. The gash on his left calf looked a little too deep to be handled with a first aid kit. “I think it needs stitches, you really don’t have to clean it, Winston.” With another officer approaching, he quickly acknowledged them and directed them over to the accident even though he had little hope left for the people who’d been in that car at this point. 

Swallowing, Winston’s eyebrows widened as they spotted the amount of blood that was pouring out of Roland’s calf. Pulling antibacterial wipes, liquid and swabs from the first aid kit. Winston steeled themselves, took a long deep breath and quickly cleaned and dressed the wound so that it wouldn’t bleed too much. Tightening the bandage that they had adjusted around Roland’s calf, Winston stepped back and pulled the disposable gloves they’d slipped on, off their hands. “Sorry Sarge but we can’t leave it not cleaned, if it get’s infected and you have to take time off we’re all going to suffer from it.” Roland really didn’t need to be a hero. “I just wanted to say thanks, for … you kept me safe and I really appreciate it.” 

Roland welcomed the familiar sting of the antibacterial wipe on his wound. As he’d never been one to shy away from a dangerous situation, he’d gotten his fair share of wounds in the line of duty. It was all a familiar process, but he was sure he needed a day or two anyway, The cut was deep and he was still going to check in with his doctor to be sure. Winston had done better with the sight of blood than he initially expected. The pang of guilt was hard to ignore though. He shouldn’t have gotten them in such a dangerous situation to begin with. His own responsibility felt somewhat shirked and it was a hard feeling to shake. “Thanks,” he said, voice gruff and eyes not quite meeting Winston’s, “Good job with the first aid. I’m sorry this ride along took such a turn. I may stick to desk duty for a few days anyway to give it time to heal, but don’t worry, you guys aren’t getting me out of the station that easily.” 

“I think you should definitely go see a doctor straight away, ideally we’d call you an ambulance but as I suspect you’ll tell me there is no need can you at least let me or one of the officers drive you to the hospital. I think this needs stitches.” Winston was no doctor but the cut looked deep and Winston hoped that they would be able to keep it from bleeding too much with the supplies that they had available to them. Winston swallowed back a wave of nausea and the sickening taste of bile, focussing on the task at hand they quickly if not a bit shakily dressed the wound and internally berated themselves for not learning healing magic. Not that the Sarge would’ve taken that well but still, if they could help then they should learn to. “I want to be a police officer or at least work in forensics and this is the reality of the work, sure it was scary but in the end it turned out alright. Although if we can take a pause on the ride alongs for like a week, that would be cool. I’m sure Dr. Kavanagh can keep me busy if she needs to.” 

“Don’t worry, I had every intention of going to see a doctor. I’m pretty sure this needs stitches,” Roland explained while gesturing toward his patched up leg. There was still that gnawing feeling that he was supposed to be the one looking out for Winston, not the other way around, but he handed the keys to them anyway. This whole ordeal had him feeling particularly low. He didn’t need to dump that on Winston, too. “If you could just drive me over to the hospital. You can take my car back to the station after, just leave the keys on my desk,” he instructed, a small grunt escaping him as he sat himself in the passenger seat of the cruiser. He’d left Officer Brooks in charge of the scene so he had to trust it was in good hands. There was a true rescue team here now though he doubted the people in the car were even alive at this point. It weighed heavily on him and he’d have to navigate through that feeling of dread later. “I’m sure Dr. Kavanagh has plenty to keep you busy with all the eyes that have been coming in. No need for ride alongs for a bit. I think you’ve gotten more field experience than most interns.” He pressed his head against the cool glass of the window, it kept him a little more focused on the present than letting the blood loss. Didn’t need to alarm Winston even more. 

[avengerofiron]

the people who built me || danny & tony

summary: tony has a choice to make when he encounters iron fist during an enforcer patrol. he chooses family. (solo incoming when lola gets time about The Consequences TM - sorry tony)

when: a few days before the siege

word count: 10,094 (we thought we were brief. we were not.)

trigger warnings: torture mention, abuse mention, death mentions

featuring: danny rand

TONY: Everyone made mistakes. It was a fundamental part of life — a fundamental part of science — to do something once, find out where you went wrong, and improve on it for the next situation that came your way. That innovation was what Tony lived for, what he breathed every single day in Stark Industries or as he acted as Iron Man. It was innovation that other people boasted about, too, until the point where mistakes became too much for them to simply brush off, when mistakes were too large to sweep under the rug, that’s when things got dicey.

Tony Stark had a habit of making things dicey.

The Sentinels weren’t his doing, though. For once, he wasn’t the guy in the room to create the targeting system, or the artificial intelligence, or even the giant, maniacal robots designed for one purpose and one purpose alone. These robots were created by men before Tony was even born, years before most kids would remember their first appearance on the scene just after the events went down in Cuba.

Their design needed a little work. Tony could say that with certainty. Their morality needed a complete overhaul, and if Tony could see that, if he could spot it a mile off with no hesitation, he didn’t see how they were going to spin it to make the public agree — but they did. They did, even if Ross stepped into every meeting with a face that looked like he’d been chewing on a wasp because his ass had been well and truly handed to him by the World Security Council. . Security. Sometimes it came at the cost of what really mattered in life. Sometimes, in the process of making a better world, you destroyed the old one that was perfect in its own unique way. Sometimes, people needed a little bad to make the good worth it.

Tony was still learning that. Of course, it was a little hard to learn with Ross breathing down his neck, the warning lingering on the horizon of every decision he made or didn’t make in the field.

He couldn’t afford to mess up. He couldn’t afford to make a dicey mistake, couldn’t afford to pull a Tony Stark.

Inevitably, that was exactly what would happen.

The Sentinels tracking system picked up an anomaly that wasn’t significant enough to investigate, but enough to suggest that something not entirely above board was going down in Hell’s Kitchen. Someone had latent powers they were aware not to use was one of the suggestions thrown around the meeting room. Others said it could be a fault with the system. Either way it needed checking out, and enforcement agents had been put on clean up duty while the robots handled the real, perceptible threats that they didn’t need to negotiate with. . Not just enforcement agents — Tony, specifically. Iron Man, glorified janitor, delegated to the bottom of the pile for the past month because he dared not to disclose some minorly crucial facts to his employers.

Bastards.

“You’ve reached the point of the fluctuation, boss,” FRIDAY informed him through the helmet’s sound system. “So far I’m picking up a single heat signature other than your own.”

“Tell me it isn’t burning up,” Tony replied. “I’ve had enough of fire people for one lifetime.”

“I wasn’t with you during that one, boss. Must’ve been the other computer.”

“Must’ve been.”

“The temperature signal appears human. They’re moving slowly — no adrenaline spike as of yet. I would suggest landing before things get nasty.”

“When have you ever known my missions to get nasty?” Tony asked. FRIDAY remained conspicuously silent, but her presence was noted. Tony could almost imagine her rolling her eyes. “Alright, darling. Let’s get this show on the road.” . He landed on the pavement in the alleyway, hand up and palm glowing. “Hi there,” he announced, voice robotic but not nearly as warped as he would like it to be. (Doing things you fundamentally disagreed with was easier when you were wearing a mask, he had found — Iron Man had always been more of his true self than Tony Stark, billionaire playboy.) “I’m Iron Man, you’re in breach of the Sokovia Accords, and we’re going to need to have a little chat. If you don’t mind, come easily and this’ll all be—”

The figure turned. The way he moved was as familiar as someone stepping around Tony’s kitchen counter, or pulling Tali over on the couch onto his knee, or messing around with Colleen in the gym, clearly holding back while Tony was watching because Tony didn’t know, couldn’t know, the truth.

The truth that was staring him in the face now.

He was wearing a mask, of course. Even Danny wasn’t trusting enough to know that running around with his own face in New York City in the current climate would result in anything but trouble. Tony still knew him, though. He knew him when he was a kid, chasing after him at galas. He knew him as a man, talking about a plane falling from the sky and snow surrounding him. He knew him as a cousin, broaching a subject, a word, Tony had always dodged, backing off the second Tony didn’t bite.

(Sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened if he did. If he gave Danny the truth in that moment, if he opened himself up, if he admitted something to both of them that he’d been carrying since he was fifteen years old. Sometimes he wondered, but not tonight. He was a little preoccupied.)

The man in the mask, the man on the Sentinels’ system, the man on FRIDAY’s tracker, the man he was sent to arrest …

It was Danny Rand.

DANNY: Over the last few years, Danny had had a few very close calls in his life of vigilantism. He’d been stabbed (multiple times now), shot (though only by Harold), kidnapped (also multiple times, which was worrying), maimed… The list went on and on. He had plenty of personal experiences to tell him just how dangerous this life was, plenty of scars and near-death moments to inform him just what he was risking every time he pulled that bandanna over his face.

He’d only recently come to consider the law to be one of those potential consequences.

Danny had never been arrested before. He’d certainly come close a few times in his early days back in the city, when his heart beat too quickly in his chest and he swung his fists at anyone who looked at him too closely, but he’d never seen the backseat of a patrol car. Thanks to Harold’s meddling, he’d even found himself on a federal watchlist for a moment or so, but Jeri took care of it before it could lead anywhere substantial. The closest Danny had come to prison was his forced stay in Birch, an experience he desperately wanted to avoid repeating.

If he were smart, he supposed, he might have scaled back the vigilantism to prevent an arrest. It was what Ward had advised him to do, on more than one occasion. Money can do a lot of things, Danny, he’d warned, but this isn’t one of them. If they catch you, they will send you to the Raft. Not some nice prison for tax evaders, the fucking Raft. And he was right. Danny knew he was right, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to hang up his worn hoodie and yellow bandana. Every time he tried, Ward’s voice was drowned out by a thousand others.

Protect my city. Matt, who hadn’t died for him but almost did, who’d trusted him to save a city he hadn’t even managed to stay in.

Danny Rand failed an entire city. The place he was sworn to protect. Sowande, who had been cruel and ruthless and right. . You should never have borne the Fist. Davos, angry and bitter and hitting the nail on the head every time. Danny had power, and he didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t earned it. Not really, not in the ways that counted. If he did nothing with it, if he failed New York the way he’d failed K’un Lun, what was the point of him? What did any of the sacrifices made to get him where he was mean?

So he didn’t stop. He kept fighting, kept roaming the streets with his Fist glowing as if there weren’t robots out to drag him in and enforcers less understanding than Colleen looking for a high profile collar. Because he needed to make amends. (Because he didn’t know how to stop.)

Tonight had been quiet. He hadn’t seen any sentinels, hadn’t run into any enforcers. He’d barely even seen any crime, only taking out one mugger by well into the morning hours. He probably should have been glad for it, but his skin itched and his chest was tight and he wanted to hit something. When he heard a quiet tang of something unmistakably metallic landing behind him, he was almost relieved. Finally, finally, a chance to let out some of that pent up rage on something he didn’t have to feel guilty for breaking.

But then he turned around, and the world tilted on its axis.

Everyone knew who wore the Iron Man suit, but even if he hadn’t there was no mistaking Tony’s voice beneath the modulated tones. Danny had been following Tony Stark around since he was a little kid, been clinging to his pant legs since he could walk. The fifteen-year gap in their relationship amounted to surprisingly little when he crashed on Tony’s couch as often as he did as an adult. Tony was there in good moments and bad, there on Christmas and in hospital rooms, at family dinners and in the moments when he couldn’t scrape himself off the floor. Tony had been there for all of that, and now, he was here for this.

And Danny froze. . Tony was frozen too, and though Danny couldn’t see his face, he had a feeling the wide-eyed expression beneath Iron Man’s mask was a pretty close match to the one he wore on his own face right now. Uncertainly, Danny shifted. Half of him wanted to walk towards Tony while the other half screamed at him to move away. He didn’t know which half was right. Maybe neither of them was.

“Hi,” he said experimentally, as if checking to see if his voice still worked. “I don’t… Uh, I can’t go to jail.” He bit his lip, barely stopped himself from adding, ’Please, Tony,’ because if Tony didn’t know who he was now, there would be no hiding it after something like that.

TONY: At least Batman roamed the rooftops of Gotham with a voice modulator. At least Daredevil pulled off that dark, mysterious, brooding, silent vigilante type. At least for the few weeks Tony himself managed to keep an alter ego on the down low, he wore a mask that covered the entirety of his face, his whole squishy human body, and his multitude of self worth issues all in one handy package. Danny was out here in a hoodie that wouldn’t have been out of place in Rhodey’s grungy backpack in MIT and a bandana that was riding up on his entirely too familiar nose, his voice breaking through in a weak attempt at a different pitch that Tony could see through in an instant, because he wasn’t a moron.

He was a genius, a fact that he often lamented over, and a genius who loved Danny Rand, at that.

Christ, it was looking at his own heart staring back at him, wide eyed and about to bolt, feet two seconds away from running down the alleyway and never looking back. Tony could catch him, of course. The suit could catch a rocket, if it wanted — but the question was whether he wanted to. The question was whether he wanted to see for himself, up close and personal, what Danny learned in the years he was gone, what knowledge he shared with Colleen that made the woman utterly terrifying. The question was whether Tony was willing to put someone else he loved in cuffs while the man he’d asked to marry him remained on the run, being fed intelligence from Stark systems, being told that if it came down to it, Tony would make the hard choice because it was the right one. . Making the right choice always seemed so difficult. Tony told himself that he needed compasses, like Steve or Sharon or Jarvis, Yinsen or Rhodes or Rumiko (not all of them were good compasses, but that was beside the fact), in order to make them. He told himself that he didn’t know the difference between wrong and right, because when he looked back at his extensive list of personal defects and lifelong tendency towards making mistakes, he figured that was proof of some void in his chest that other people had filled, something his parents failed to cultivate or he burned away with liquor.

But he knew, now. He knew it as much as he knew when Steve looked at him he’d burn down the world to put things right. He knew when he looked at Danny, he could never put cuffs around his wrist. he could never let anyone touch a hair on the kid’s goddamn head, and he wasn’t a kid anymore, Tony knew that, but he was. He always would be.

Tony lost him once before. He wasn’t losing him again, not by choice, not like this.

Of course, of all the words Tony could have chosen to put that sentiment into the universe, he went with something completely …

Well, completely Tony.

“Yeah,” he said, helmet retracting quickly. “No shit you can’t go to jail.”

“Boss,” FRIDAY interjected, “perhaps we should shut off the Panel communication servers-”

Tony clicked one of the panels on the suit’s arm, and FRIDAY faded into nothingness — along with Ross’ feed to this conversation. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Tony demanded, taking a step forward. “Do you just think you can go around the city in … in not even spandex. You’re in less than spandex. You look like you raided a Goodwill and then they kicked you out because you were making the babies cry. I … I do everything I can to try and stop you from getting into shit, Da— Iron Fist, and you and all the, uh … the other ones, you all keep doing this!”

DANNY: Surprisingly, this wasn’t actually a situation Danny had been in before. When he first returned from K’un Lun, he had seen no reason to lie to people about where he had been and what had been done to him. He told the Meachums everything, didn’t understand why they didn’t believe him immediately because it was real. He knew it was real, had the scars and the nightmares to prove it. He told Colleen who, while more receptive, still spent the first few hours of their acquaintanceship looking at him like a bomb about to go off. He told the doctors at Birch, positive that they would understand what he was saying and let him go, so sure that it would reinforce his sanity. He told anyone who would listen about the Fist, and everyone looked at him like something inside of him was broken. Like it was some wild story invented by a child’s mind in order to avoid accepting the truth.

Danny had never wanted Tony to look at him like that. He’d looked up to Ward as a kid, sure, but back then, Tony had been his hero. He’d wanted, so badly, to do everything Tony Stark did. He remembered saying as much to his mother one night as she was putting him to bed, remembered barely stopping for air as he launched into an elaborate retelling of what he’d done at the Starks’ that day, adding animated hand gestures to the conversation as he went on and on about Tony’s games that only he really knew all the rules to and the way he was never angry when Danny and Sharon made up their own rules on top of them, the way the three of them laughed and played and no one flipped the gameboard over when they were losing the way Ward always did and no one cried like Joy used to. The Meachums were family, but that had always been more because of Harold than the children. The Carters and the Starks were family because of Tony and Sharon. Because of Danny.

And now, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be the reason they stopped being family, too. . He didn’t think Tony would arrest him. Not if he knew it was him, not if he recognized the eyes staring back at him. On a logical level, Danny knew that Tony never put him in cuffs, never take him to the Raft. But old paranoia told him he was assuming too much, old anxiety clawed at his gut and demanded to be free. Ward had put him in a mental institution, had paid people to hurt him while he was there. Harold had traded him to the Hand, had pointed a gun at him and pulled the trigger. Joy had hired someone to kidnap him, knowing he might not survive the experience. Davos had cut into him, bled him out over a clay pot, shattered every fucking bone in his leg twice for good measure. Danny loved his family, he really did. But he had a lot of bad experiences with trust, a lot of scars he could have avoided if, for a moment, he had loved less.

Tony Stark was not Ward Meachum. Danny knew that. Tony never would have hired guards to chase him down the street with guns in hand because he was afraid of losing money, wouldn’t have hurt him over and over and over again to save his own reputation. Tony wasn’t Joy or Davos, either, and he certainly wasn’t Harold. Tony was a good man who loved Danny, who had always treated him like a person instead of a billionaire, who had let him be a kid when no one else seemed interested in doing so. The Carters and the Starks and the Rands, they were a different kind of family than he’d had with Harold and Joy and Ward. They were less cutthroat, less money-hungry. Sharon and Tony had never wanted anything from him except for him to be himself. Danny knew that. . But that old paranoia still hovered for a moment as he and Tony stared at each other, both still as they assessed the situation. Danny stood lightly on the balls of his feet, ready to bolt if he needed to, as if it would make a difference. He couldn’t outrun Tony when he was wearing the suit, and even the intimate knowledge he’d gained over the last few years of vigilantism wouldn’t help him much against Iron Man. He was pretty sure Tony had some kind of x-ray vision in that thing, so hiding in a dumpster would only end up embarrassing him.

Danny didn’t realize he’d been holding a breath until Tony spoke and he let it out, a quiet exhale as a wave of relief hit him so hard it threatened to knock him off his feet. Tony didn’t sound like Iron Man, enforcer of the Accords right now. He sounded like Tony Stark, exasperated older cousin getting ready to gear up for a pretty intense lecture. . Tony did something with his arm that Danny thought might mean the higher-ups couldn’t eavesdrop anymore, and Danny’s shoulders relaxed just a little. He still carried some tension in his shoulders as Tony launched into his lecture, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t getting arrested for the moment. It allowed him to relax enough to look mildly offended, if nothing else. “Hey,” he said, “Je --- uh, my friend said spandex is lame. And this is comfortable! I need to be comfortable.” Not that the outfit was the point, but it was the principle of the thing, wasn’t it? He had to defend his style choices. “Look, you’re mad. I know you’re mad. Can I just --- I can explain. Okay? It’s just, uh, it’s a really long story, and I ---” He broke off for a moment, searching for words momentarily before continuing, “I punched a dragon! And now I’ve got --- I’ve got control over my chi, and I --- A building fell on Daredevil! And he told me, he said, ’Protect my city,’” his voice got momentarily deeper in a poor imitation of Matt, “and I couldn’t say no, because he was gone! And then --- And then my brother did a sacred ritual on me and I broke my leg and went to China, which you knew that part because of course you would have noticed that I was in China, right? And now I’m back! And, um, yeah. That’s it.”

It was an utterly nonsensical explanation, a series of stories strung together that, from the outside, seemed completely unrelated. Danny had never been the best at setting the record straight, especially not under pressure. Tony knew that, of course.

TONY: He wasn’t his father. Tony had never been his father, and recently, he’d stopped feeling inferior about that fact and started feeling grateful. He rarely gave over to anger. His rage, when it was prompted, came relatively smoothly. It built in him, gathered in his chest, curled around in his mind until he found the way most appropriate to put it to good use. There were rare occasions when Tony lost his cool, at least in that regard.

This was one of those rare occasions.

He was pissed. He was pissed off, and he was angry, and he was every word that he could think of to describe the rising heat on the back of his neck, the way his hands balled into fists. Any other man in a metal suit would use the mask to its fullest potential at this moment and hide his weakness. Tony had never been good at covering the emotions on his sleeve, not when it came to enemies, not when it came to strangers, or the press. Definitely not when it came to family.

He was angry, but he was terrified, too. His throat felt tight as he spoke, his voice raising but not nearly strong enough to have any kind of weight behind it.

“You know I’m mad?” Tony repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You know I’m mad? Are you fucking joking me?” Danny stopped talking, and Tony held up a hand. “Listen, this is the moment where you zip it, alright? This is the point where you stop talking, because I have a lot of things to say to you, and you just—”

Danny kept. On. Talking.

(Jesus, that ran in the family.) . The words that were coming out of Danny’s mouth were quick and panicked, and suddenly Tony was having flashbacks to when Danny was nine years old. Sharon assisted in the breaking of one of Tony’s vases, entirely accidentally, and Danny had a hundred and one excuses for Tony, not one of which included any form of a lie. At that stage, the kid had been utterly incapable of keeping a single detail from Tony. Secrets weren’t something that existed between the three of them.

Except they had. Except every time Sharon and Danny walked into his house in Malibu, Tony had to clean up weeks of evidence of his real life, the life he led on a daily basis. He had to hide the people he spent time with, the things he wasted time on, the things that kids didn’t want to see and he would die before he admitted to, because they, for God knows what reason, looked up to him. Cared for him. Loved him.

Danny was talking fast, and he’d never lied to Tony before except for when he had, but when he said dragon Tony couldn’t find even a piece of his heart that doubted the validity of what he was saying. “A building fell on Daredevil because he chases that,” Tony interjected, before Danny could go any further. “I don’t know the guy as anything other than a dot on my threat analysis, but come on. He goes out in a mask and he tries to make a difference, and that’s honourable and heroic and all of those things, but it’s also fucking stupid.” . What Iron Fist was doing was stupid. FRIDAY was in his ear reminding Tony that he was stupid, that there was a timer on this conversation and Ross would realise before long that Tony had tapped out, and that only spelled trouble when Tony was already on the shitlist …

“This life,” Tony said, taking another step forward, gesturing at Danny’s gear, “this life only ends one way. It ends with you in the ground. It ends with someone taking joy in putting you there. And that’s … I do this because I killed people. I killed innocent people for decades. I killed people, and I need to make up for that but Christ, you …”

Tony sucked in a breath, and all pretence went out the window.

“You had ten years.” He was yelling. No, yelling would be easier — he was trying to scream, but the words were barely coming out. “You were ten years old and you were dead. You were dead and that damn near killed all of us, you know that? You ever wonder why Sharon’s mom worries more than is even close to normal about her coming home in a box? You ever wonder why I … I was in a cave and I was seeing so much shit, and they were going to kill me and I saw you. I saw you and you weren’t even dead. You weren’t. You were alive the whole damn time.”

Tony stepped back, then, heart beat pounding loud in his ears. “You can’t do that to us again.” He said it the same way Pepper had, pushing herself out of bed, shooting him a glare on the way down to the couch. He said it like there was no other solution, like Danny would stop or he wouldn’t, and Tony would be able to walk away — but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t even be able to stop himself if Danny asked him to. “If it wasn’t me,” he continued, “if it wasn’t me here, tonight, things would be different. You know that, right?”

DANNY: There were days when Tony reminded him so much of Ward that Danny ached with it, moments when his cousin got a look on his face and it felt like Danny was looking at his brother instead. This moment, with Tony clearly and understandably angry and Danny standing in front of him with some dangerous stunt only faintly in the rearview mirror, was one of them. Danny couldn’t help but think back to the thousand and one times he’d had this conversation before. In Ward’s office, when he and Danny were slowly making their way back towards being brothers. On his couch, bloodied and beaten, with Ward quietly trying to pretend not to be terrified. On the runway of a private airport, Ward threatening to lay down in front of a plane to keep Danny from going off on his own.

He’d had the conversation with other people too, of course. Colleen, who waited up until he stumbled home at five in the morning with bruised knuckles and blood on his hands, who asked him quietly how many times he’d lit up the Fist, how many hours of sleep he was running on. Claire, who told him how terrified she was that his obsession with being something he wasn’t would take away everything good about what he was. Jessica, Matt, Luke, Misty… Danny had people who loved him, people who knew what he did and tried desperately to convince him to do it in a way that wouldn’t kill him in the end. And Danny wished he knew how to do it for them. He wished he knew how to be the sort of man who might get a happy ending, the sort of man who could die peacefully of old age someday instead of the sort destined to bleed out in a back alley gasping and wheezing and waiting for help that would never come. He wanted to be that person for them, but he couldn’t. Most days, he still wasn’t confident he knew how to be a person at all. . Tony was talking to him as if he was one. Tony was talking to him like he was a child, perhaps, but he was talking to him as if he was a person all the same, like he was more than a weapon, and Danny had to remind himself that that meant something. He opened his mouth to say more, to dig his grave a little deeper, but Tony told him to be quiet and Danny had always wanted to do pretty much anything Tony told him to do.

It was Tony’s turn to talk now, Tony’s turn to talk about how buildings didn’t typically fall on men who didn’t run into them when they were already shaking, and Danny winced just a little. “A building fell on Daredevil because I ---” He cut himself off, taking a deep, shuddering breath. How much should he reveal here? How much did he tell Tony about the things Iron Fist had been a part of, the things that happened because of him. As far as the police knew, Iron Fist had been nowhere near Midland Circle. Danny Rand’s involvement in the collapse had been swiftly covered up by Ward, who made a hefty donation and requested that his brother’s trauma not be capitalized on to a very receptive commissioner with a very big check. Danny could tell Tony, right in this moment, that it wasn’t Daredevil’s stupidity that dropped a building on his head --- it was Danny’s. He wondered if that would change Tony’s perspective or make him angrier. . “I know how this ends,” he said instead, quiet and apologetic and utterly unafraid. Danny had always known how this would end, had thought he’d seen the end of it more than once, with Bakuto’s blade slipping silently between his ribs or Harold’s gun aimed firmly at his head or Elektra’s face inches from his own or Davos carving him up or Rhyno’s gang watching him shiver and shake and vomit blood onto the warehouse floor and laughing. Danny knew how this story ended, and he’d made his peace with it. If he died tomorrow, he still would have lived far longer than he had expected. He’d accepted death at ten years old with a plane shaking around him, accepted it again a few months later with sweat beading on his brow and boys his age hitting him over and over and over again because there was no mercy in K’un Lun, not even a little. He’d accepted his death at the mouth of a cave, welcomed it when he stepped inside with nothing but his clenched fists and his aching muscles to face a beast he’d only heard of in storybooks. Death was nothing new, nothing scary. Danny had known it for years.

Tony went on then, talked about why he put on a metal suit, and Danny took a shuddering breath, closed his eyes for a moment as the words rushed out before he could stop them. “So have I,” he blurted, sudden and thick and full of grief. “I’m --- I had a job. I had people to protect, and I failed them, and they’re --- I have things to make up for, too. I have scales to balance.” You are nothing. Danny Rand failed an entire city. The place he was sworn to protect. Sowande’s words echoed in his ear, and they were true. They were true, no matter how many people claimed they weren’t. . When Danny’s plane went down, he’d never considered how it affected other people. He’d been ten years old, had his father’s body and his mother’s screams burned into the forefront of his mind, and thoughts back to New York had never been to think of how the people he’d left behind were coping with his presumed death. He remembered Joy talking about it shortly after he came back, quiet and mournful. He remembered the way Jeri looked at him with more emotion in her expression than he’d ever seen her wear before or since. He remembered Sharon showing up to his office and threatening to kill him for disrespecting the memory of a person she’d loved. He’d heard all those stories, but he’d never really stopped to ponder them.

Not until now.

Tony’s words rung in his ears, and Danny flinched. “I wasn’t…” He started, trailing off because what could he say? I’m sorry my plane went down? I’m sorry you thought I was dead and it broke you? I’m sorry you had to lose me? Danny had been a ghost for a very long time, a child haunting the people who had loved him, sainted by his death. And he was alive now, he was back, but they were still haunted. The ghost of the boy they’d known still hung in the corners of their minds, still rattled chains in the basements and made the floorboards groan. You couldn’t undo fifteen years of grief. . “I’m not trying to,” he said quietly, and it didn’t feel true even if it was. Danny didn’t want to die. He’d realized it all at once in Rhyno’s hideout, when BB crouched beside him and they’d both understood with abject certainty that the gang would be disposing of a corpse by nightfall. Danny didn’t want to die, but he’d still gone after Davos mere hours after he was rescued from that warehouse. He’d still gone out, alone and unarmed, to fight a man who’d already beaten him once, still landed himself in the hospital with doctors who whispered in voices they thought he couldn’t hear about the probability that amputation would be required to save his life. Danny didn’t want to die, but he didn’t know how to stop chasing death, either. He didn’t know how to walk away. “I know.” He said quietly. If any enforcer but Tony had found him, things would be different. Things would be worse.

Danny ran a hand through his hair, eyes burning. “I can’t stop, Tony. I can’t --- The way I was raised, after that plane went down, they taught me… I wasn’t a person to them. I was --- I’m a weapon, Tony, a, a thing, and I don’t --- It was expected there. That I’d… They expected it.” They expected him to die. Some of the kids took bets on it, in the beginning. ’If he lives more than a month, I’ll do your chores for a week.’ ’You can have half my rations for three days if he makes it a year.’ They hadn’t even tried to hide it, had spoken about it clear and outright well within earshot. Danny had grown used to that, over the years. It was how things were. He wasn’t supposed to live. He wasn’t meant to.

TONY: He’d been pretending his entire life. He’d been wearing masks since he was a child, going to galas with his father’s hand digging into his shoulder, leaving bruises in the shapes of his fingertips that expensive material always managed to hide. He’d been pretending from the first second he put on the metal mask in that cave, pretending that he was capable of becoming something bigger than former warmonger, Tony Stark, the boy turned man who was so naive as to believe that the person who helped raise him was incapable of hurting him, incapable of ordering his death.

Obadiah loved him, Tony had reasoned. Obadiah loved him, and he couldn’t possibly have known about any of the deals under the table, couldn’t possibly be the mastermind Pepper said he was. Obadiah loved him, and that was exactly why he wanted Tony dead, because loving Tony Stark had never been easy, not for anyone.

Rhodey’s career almost ended just by associating with him. Pepper was dropped into a blazing fire. Rumiko’s family all but disowned her, Tiberius’ stocks dropped, Sharon was forced to pick him up off the floor and discharge him from hospital, driving home silent and pretending that there wasn’t this large, unspoken thing sitting in the space between the driver and passenger’s seat. Loving Tony meant Maria cried every damn night. Loving Tony was so damn difficult that it made Howard want to hurt him, and he had. . ‘You’ll understand when you’re a parent.’ He’d uttered that more than once. ‘When you’re looking at someone you watched grow up, someone who has disappointed you, lied to you, failed to become what they should be — when that happens, Anthony, you’ll understand that it isn’t as black and white as you seem to think it is.’

Tony was looking at Danny. He was looking at Danny, and he felt like his heart had jumped out of his chest and was spluttering on the pavement between them, sustained only by the muddy water in the puddles of the alleyway, but he didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want anything to hurt him.

All Tony wanted, in that desperate, aching moment, was to bring Danny to a place where they never needed to have a conversation like this again, a place where they didn’t need to dance around the truth for months and years, because the Starks might have lied, the Carters might have made their name out of mistruths, the Rands may have misdirected, but their kids were honest. The three of them, they’d always loved each other different.

They’d always loved each other right.

(Tony was capable of that, after all — of loving someone in the correct way, of not turning into his father. In other circumstances, he may have been relieved. He had other things on his mind at this point in time.) . “Is that how you want it to end?” Tony would understand that, too. He would understand it more than almost anything else, that desperate need to go out in a blaze of glory to prove himself, to tip the cosmic scales, to cleanse his hands, to make himself worthy of being called hero by kids and parents alike. He’d tasted a human death. He didn’t much care for it. He would understand.

Just like Danny understood him.

I have scales to balance. Tony shifted, feeling like the conversation was on a Dutch tilt, like he’d had a few too many and the world wasn’t that blissful blur anymore but something far more disconcerting.

“Okay,” Tony breathed. It took him three attempts to make the word audible. “Okay, you can’t stop. That’s … we can work with that. We can make that happen, but you— if you want to do this, you have a chance now to do it right. Legitimise yourself. Get the protection of the Panel. Think of the good you could do if you didn’t need to look over your shoulder every five minutes for the cops.” Tony sucked in a breath, taking another step forward. “Register that weapon. I know you. I know what you stand for. Other people might not. They wouldn’t get it. If you …”

(It was Maria at the bottom of the marble staircase, head in her hands, shaking it gently when Tony asked if they were leaving after all. It was Steve, looking up, meeting his eye, putting the pen back in its case and walking away, taking the air in the room with him. It was Natasha on that balcony, or Rhodes in a plane saying hanging out with you is bad for our friendship, or Pepper asking what the hell was wrong with him that he could think, even for a moment, she would be okay with…)

“Please,” Tony said, reaching out a hand. “Come with me. Let me fix this, for you. Let me fix all of it.” We don’t have much time.

DANNY: In the months after he was brought into K’un Lun, after the wounds from the plane crash had healed and he had learned to breathe around the biting cold of air far crisper than even the coldest winters in New York, Danny had developed a habit of running away. It happened often in the beginning, so much so that sometimes he’d find Chodok waiting for him at the edge of the city with a knowing expression on his face, sad and disappointed and utterly unsurprised. He never got far, of course --- there was nowhere to go. There was no way out of K’un Lun, wouldn’t be until the gate opened fifteen years later, but Danny hadn’t wanted to believe that back then. He’d struggled to understand the complexities, had a hard time wrapping his mind around the new rules that seemed so strange compared to what he’d grown up with. How could something be there and then not be there? How could there be a way out one day and nothing the next? How could he exist for the rest of his life in a place that had made it so abundantly clear to him just how little he belonged?

He remembered Chodok, on one of the occasions he found him waiting at the gate for the next grand escape, looking especially exhausted. ’Why do you do this?’ He’d asked, frustrated and at his wits end and sounding more like a father than anyone else in the city had ever bothered and Danny had felt a rush of anger and grief so unexpected it had nearly knocked him off his feet. He’d wanted to scream, wanted to pound his tiny fists against the ground as if he had the strength to bend it to his will, to make it into something familiar and safe and home. His throat had felt tight and Chodok’s hand’s gripping his shoulders had been the only thing keeping him upright. ’I was trying to go home,’ he’d said, quiet and mournful. ’I’ve been trying to go home, I just want to go home and no one will let me. Why won’t you let me?’ . The outburst was embarrassing in hindsight, so childish that Danny felt humiliated at the memory, but the sentiment remained. There were days, even now, when he looked out into the city’s skyline and the thought would cross his mind, strong and certain and utterly nonsensical. I want to go home. Why can’t I go home? It reminded him of sitting in a helicopter with Colleen, of coming back to New York after months away, of looking down at the lights and feeling nothing where he should have felt safety. ’That’s the beauty of it,’ she’d said, ’it can be whatever you need it to be.’ ’What do you need it to be?’ He’d asked, because maybe if he knew her answer he could puzzle out his own. And she’d said home, like that was all there was to it, like one word was a complete sentence, and Danny felt nothing. He’d fought like hell to get back to New York, had nearly died for the city a hundred times over, and he felt nothing.

It took him a long time to understand why. It took him years to realize that it wasn’t buildings or sidewalks that got him out of bed in the middle of the night to run barefoot through the snow, desperate for a way back. It wasn’t his family’s old brownstone or his father’s office that tightened his chest with grief and rage and confusion when Chodok asked him why he insisted on running away time and time again. It was never New York that Danny was trying to get back to. It was Ward. It was Joy, it was Sharon. It was Tony.

Tony, who was looking at him like he’d ripped his heart out of his chest. Tony, who had accepted him back into his life as if he’d never left it, who had never once questioned where he had been or why he was different or why sometimes it seemed to hurt him just to breathe. Tony, who must have known all along that Danny had a nighttime hobby but who had never quite let it come to the surface because knowing meant he’d have to act on it.

Tony, who looked just as frustrated and tired now as Chodok had back then. . It occurred to Danny, quite suddenly, that there had been more than one driving factor in his grief that day with Chodok’s hands on his shoulders. It occurred to him that he’d spoken of home, but that hadn’t been all he’d wanted to say. The words hit him now all at once, quiet thoughts soaked in a child’s anger. Why didn’t you let me stay with you? Why did you give me away to Lei Kung? He doesn’t even like me, but you do. You’re the only person here who’s ever been nice to me, and you gave me away. Chodok must have known, when he’d found a boy in the snow, what would happen to him in K’un Lun. He must have known what he’d go through. He must have known they’d warp Danny into a weapon, must have known they’d beat him and berate him and hurt him, and he’d still done it. Danny thought, back then, that Chodok was the only person who’d never hurt him, but he had. Maybe not directly, but he had.

And now here was Tony, with that same expression on his face, and one key difference Danny recognized with ease --- Tony would never hurt him. Tony loved him the way Chodok couldn’t, the way Lei Kung and Harold couldn’t, the way maybe even Wendell couldn’t. Without consequence. Without condition. Danny had gone against him in a way that would have been punishable by death in K’un Lun, in a way that would have made Tony well within his rights to put him in cuffs and take him to the Raft, and Tony didn’t. He wouldn’t. There weren’t many people who loved Danny like that, and he thought Tony might have been first. He thought Tony might have been the first person to look at him, before K’un Lun and the plane crash and everything else, and decide he was worth loving.

He hoped letting him down wouldn’t change that. . “No,” Danny said, too quickly for it to be true. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and swallowing before amending. “I don’t know.” He knew how it was supposed to end for him. He knew he’d been meant to die on that mountainside, when the Hand’s soldiers invaded the path he was supposed to guard. The Iron Fist was always supposed to die an honorable death in battle, and there was no K’un Lun left to die for but there were still battles to be fought. If he lost his life in one, maybe it would make up for the battle he’d missed. Maybe the only way you could find redemption was through death.

Tony went on then, offered options, and Danny felt like he was suffocating just a little. Register that weapon. Could he do that? It left a sour taste in his mouth, twisted a knot in his stomach that he didn’t understand. “Tony…” The name fell from his lips in a whisper, and it sounded like an apology, even to him. How could he explain it? How could he talk about K’un Lun, about the lasting damage done to him there? He’d belonged to someone once. He’d been a thing, and they had owned him. He existed for them, bled for them, would die for them, and they’d treated him with as much respect as they treated their swords. You kept a weapon sharp, you kept it clean. You gave it a sheath to rest in, you recognized its power when it was in your hands. You showed a weapon respect, you understood the danger it represented.

You didn’t love it. . You didn’t call a weapon by its preferred nickname. You didn’t ask it how it felt about the solution you used to clean it with. You didn’t value its opinion, you didn’t tuck it into bed at night, you didn’t hold it close when it woke up screaming, didn’t wipe away its tears when it cried. When a weapon had an owner, it couldn’t be loved. And Danny wanted, with the same childlike desperation that inspired his outburst in Chodok’s arms more than a decade ago, to be loved.

If he signed the Accords, it wouldn’t make people love him less. He knew that. On a logical level, he knew that. But the heart was not a logical organ, and his was beating so quickly in his chest that some paranoid part of him feared his ribs might break. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “Tony, I just can’t.”

TONY: He wasn’t talking half as much as he was ten minutes ago. Danny wasn’t arguing, wasn’t trying to plead his case. He wasn’t putting the pen back in the case like Steve, or reaching a hand out to him like Sam had on the grass that day. He wasn’t looking at Tony how Obadiah used to, like he was exhausted and frustrated and disappointed all in one, like he couldn’t understand how Tony could be so intelligent and still unable to grasp what he conceived to be simple facts of the universe, and he sure as hell wasn’t looking at Tony like Howard used to.

He was looking at Tony a little how Maria used to, though — a little like Tony was breaking his heart. Tony decided not to think too much into that.

Maybe this would be easier if Danny was arguing. Maybe it would be easier for Tony to say he was convinced to let Danny go, or that he was persuaded to break the code that he’d signed up to enforce, if his cousin was standing in front of him in a goddamn bandana making a case for his vigilante activities that Tony had been resolutely ignoring for the past six months (years, really. Not just months. Years, since he came back).

Tony could’ve been dead in Afghanistan. He could’ve been dead and he wouldn’t even have the chance to stand in front of Danny and make a decision that should be difficult.

It wasn’t difficult.

“Stop,” Tony said, raking his fingers through his hair. What he’d give to be a few shots down right now — and with that thought, memories came flooding back of Sharon, barely out of high school, coming to sign him out of the hospital because he didn’t want Obie to see him, because of the shame that came with it. Memories came flooding back of Pepper, and of Rhodes falling, and of Steve in Siberia, and … . He turned from Danny. A tactical misstep, undoubtedly, but Tony wasn’t thinking tactically. He knew Danny wasn’t going anywhere. He knew that, because he knew Danny.

He also knew something else. He ran his hands down over his face, eyes burning, and turned back to meet his cousin’s eye.

“Just because you love someone,” he started, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. “Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you’re good for them, right? Just because … I mean, I’m not good.” The suit whirred as his hand went to his chest. “This thing, it’s never— I’ve never worked right. I’ve always been hard, you know, difficult to …”

Tony sucked in a breath. FRIDAY was in his ear, despite the mute order. (He really needed to work on obedient artificial intelligence — but like his friends, Tony always preferred having bots around him that were willing to call him out. A moral compass of his own creation.) They didn’t have much longer.

They didn’t have any longer. A holograph appeared from the arm of Tony’s suit, detailing several targets (colleagues) a few metres from the alleyway.

He looked up once more. “I want to be good for someone. I need that.”

A long sigh, and the helmet formed over his head. “No wonder I’m in permanent heart failure,” he muttered. “Come on, idiot. My co-workers are coming, and if they get a shot in on us, I’ll die of embarrassment before I get to kill you.”

DANNY: When Danny was ten years old, his childhood ended in a heartbeat. He was a boy one moment, sitting on a plane and listening to music that was probably a little too old for him, staring out the window at mountaintops that looked so small. Then the world started to shake and the plane started to groan and all at once, life as he knew it was over. His mother was sucked into open air, his stomach bottomed out, his father’s voice grew more and more desperate until he couldn’t hear it at all. Danny hadn’t died in that crash, but the boy he’d been when he stepped on that plane? He was gone the moment the debris hit the snow.

There were no children in K’un Lun. It was Davos who told him that, Davos who sat beside him when he was terrified and desperate and trying to understand what was going on, why he was being beaten and pushed and hurt even when he hadn’t done anything wrong. We’re kids, he’d said, almost pleading as he gripped bruised ribs and tried not to cry. Why are they hurting us? We’re just kids. And Davos, if anything, had been confused. He hadn’t understood that, in other parts of the world, things were different. He hadn’t been familiar with cultures that saw children as precious things to protect. There are no children in K’un Lun, Danny, he’d said, in what Danny figured now was a tone as close to gentle as he’d known how to make it. We’re weapons. And so he had been. For fifteen years, he had been a weapon instead of a child, a thing instead of a person. . But he didn’t feel like that now. Standing in this alley, with Tony across from him, Danny felt like he was nine years old again. He felt like a child, being scolded by a parent. He felt like he had when he’d knocked his mother’s wine glass off the table and shattered it against the floor, when his father sat him down and lectured him on caution. It’s so easy to break things, Danny, he’d said, it’s so easy to do damage. It’s hard not to. It’s hard to be good. We have to try anyways.

Danny’d broken something much worse than a wine glass now. He’d broken a law, broken more than one law, actually. He’d broken Tony’s trust, too. (And he’d broken more than that. A quick flash of a memory popped into his mind --- the Reaper, blood on his lips, grinning up at Danny. This is my favorite part. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Danny’s throat felt tight.)

He’d opened his mouth again, to explain or to argue or to beg forgiveness, but he snapped it shut quickly when Tony told him to stop. Obedience was an easy habit to fall back on after K’un Lun, especially when he was on edge. Tony wasn’t Lei Kung or Priya, wasn’t Yu-Ti or Master Khan. He wouldn’t beat Danny into submission if he didn’t comply without question. But Danny’s mind was split between two places, and there was some comfort in doing what you were told when you were at a loss. There was some comfort in silence, too. . Tony turned away from him, and Danny squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath. He was disappointed, he knew. He’d disappointed Tony, and that was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do. “You’re one of the best people I know,” he offered quietly, because it was true. “I’m not…” he trailed off, chest aching. “I’m not what anyone wanted me to be. I don’t know how to be what anyone wants me to be. Not you, or Ward, or Sharon, or Colleen, or…” He trailed off, smiling tightly and giving his head a self-deprecating shake. If he listed all the people he’d let down, he knew, they’d spend all night in this alley.

Something was happening inside the suit, and Danny wasn’t a smart man but he could guess what. Tony had been here too long, and enforcers didn’t work alone. Someone else was going to come soon. Someone who wouldn’t want to talk things over, someone who didn’t love him enough to forgive his transgressions.

For a moment, the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Danny was pretty sure Tony wouldn’t arrest him, but he didn’t quite relax until Tony told him to come on. His shoulders slumped and he nodded his head slightly. He moved to follow Tony before hesitating, pausing with one foot still lifted in a half-step. “You’re going to get in trouble for this, aren’t you?” For helping him. For loving him.

TONY: Being a good man always came with too many terms and conditions for it to be something Tony genuinely strived for. Being a good man meant making choices that cost people their livelihoods. It meant dropping bombs in foreign countries and focusing purely on the statistics of such a move instead of the human impact. It meant saying no when you wanted to say yes, saying yes when you wanted to say no. It meant hurting the people you cared about and spending your entire life following those you didn’t, because they’d offer you a leg up the career ladder, or get you that coveted contract.

“No,” Tony said, holding his hand up. “We’re not doing that, okay? We’re not. I … I’m not the guy people put weight on, alright?” Tony was the fixer. He always had been for those he cared about, for those he didn’t, for his family and friends and strangers all in one. He was the guy people went to when they needed out of a bad situation, but the second people started loving him, the second they shifted into thinking of him as more than just a means to an end, the second they started looking at him like he knew Danny was behind that bandana, things changed. That was when people could really hurt you, when they could get inside you and twist you inside out, when they could let you down.

He’d already dragged Steve down with him, a truly good man, a man who deserved so much better than anything Tony could give. He wasn’t going to do the same thing to Danny, not without a warning. Not without a comprehensive list outlining all the reasons why Tony Stark wasn’t someone to consider a hero. . “You don’t need to know who you are,” Tony replied. “You don’t. You … I know you’re going to hate me for saying this, but you’re young, Danny. You’re so fucking young. You’re … I was still selling weapons when I was your age. I still believed Obie wasn’t trying to put a hit out on my head. I was still calling Ru every time I got drunk, and you, you didn’t even get your childhood. You didn’t get to be a teenager. You’re young. Your mistakes, they still count, but they’re not … you’re not irredeemable. You’re not.”

No one was. Not even Tony, not even when he found that hard to accept.

You’re going to get in trouble for this, aren’t you? Tony hesitated, just for a moment, then shrugged a shoulder. “I’m already in a shit load of trouble, Danny,” he said. “Helping you isn’t going to be the thing that drags me down.” As it had always been, Iron Man’s greatest foe was himself.

And then the Enforcers arrived, providing a rather convenient outlet for the anger that particular thought prompted. “Keep tight,” Tony called over, “but the second you see a gap, you get out.” With that, and trusting that for once Danny would listen to a word he said, Tony sent a blast towards one of the Enforcers, knocking them back before their weapon could fire.

This was going to be so much paperwork.

[strawbewwysamurai]

Soba is a Dish Best Served Cold [Sanji | Soba-Mask fic | Chapter 1]

Rating: Gen  Warnings: Canon typical violence  Characters: Sanji, The Straw Hat Pirates

The Straw Hats stop on an island to relax and refresh after their adventures in Wano, but after hearing about some dark happenings nearby, Sanji decides he'd rather skip resting, and don a certain caped costume once again, looking to help those who need him instead.

-----

Sanji took one careful step over towards the edge of the roof he was currently standing on, crouching down slowly to perch there, the very tips of his boots sticking out and over the side as he peered intently down over the cityscape below him. It was both noisy, and quiet. The sounds of the city still roared this late into the night, from people shouting gleefully or drunkenly at each other in the streets, to dogs barking as people passed the alleyways they hid in. Yet the night somehow made it feel so much more quiet than any shouts in the day, and Sanji couldn’t tell if it was just the still of the darkness, or if it actually was quieter, no matter how intently he listened.

He was looking, well- listening, for something, anything really. A suspicious figure making their way down the dark alleyways and backroads of the city as they spoke hushedly on a transponder snail, a commotion caused by a robbery or an attack of some kind, or even just a scream for help that echoed through the barren streets that night. Anything of the kind would be enough to move him from his perch and into action, looking to help whoever should need it.

The Straw Hats had stopped here on this booming and bustling island earlier that day, looking for some sort of refresher after everything they had been through in Wano Country just mere weeks prior. Goodness knew they needed it, after dealing with what they had there, and no one had had any qualms about taking a slight detour on their way to the next island.

Leaving Wano had been bittersweet, of course. It always was. Saying goodbye to those they had sailed with, who they had fought with, and had befriended through their journey was painful, as usual whenever they made new nakama on their many misadventures, but it was also tinged in the sweetness of accomplishment and how they had achieved their goals on their journey, and that they had befriended those along the way in the first place. It was all another step to making their captain the Pirate King, and every one of them were grateful to be a part of it.

Yes, they all loved the excitement and chaos of a good adventure on their journeys, but a good few days of relaxation and avoiding mishaps was always a good thing to have in between.

Well, it would be, if Sanji were to actually relax...

Yesterday, Nami had found this city-filled island on the maps along route to their next destination, and had adamantly decided they all needed a break after Wano at such a place that promised rest and relaxation, and boasted it’s seemingly endless restaurants, spas, and shopping. It was blindingly obvious that Nami’s intentions weren’t just to get everyone rested up for the next adventure, but rather to bargain and haggle her way into bankrupting half of the shops here. But none of them would dare to argue with her or call her out on it.

Besides, they all needed to stretch their legs up and away from each other for a bit, so this seemed like the perfect opportunity. And everyone had done just that as soon as they had docked earlier in the afternoon, with Nami heading for the spas and shops, Zoro looking for a tavern with Luffy, and Sanji himself separating from any of the little groups to head to the food market by himself.

He was in search of things they needed to stock up on before they set sail again next, or refillings of little treats that everyone enjoyed having on the ship. It was his job as the chef to ensure everyone could snack happily, and he was also looking forward to possibly finding local ingredients that couldn’t be found anywhere else. He loved figuring out new recipes to go with them whenever he found something new, and the new flavors were always so exciting.

He hadn’t been in the markets long though, before he caught onto a few whispers.

It started out with just a few whispers, and concerned looks in his direction. The faces of people trying to figure out who he was, who the brand new face was. Normally, Sanji was used to it, given how many little island towns they had stopped at over the years together, but here it just felt- out of place. It was a big city, not a small town. Why did it feel like everyone was trying to figure out if they had seen him before or not?

Admittedly, it wasn’t just him. He noticed the distrusting glances traded every now and then between other market goers, and it did nothing but worry him just slightly. He could sense something was going on in this city, and he wasn’t sure it would be anything good from what he was finding.

It was only a bit later on in his shopping did he hear any sort of firm information as to why everyone was looking so distrusting at one another.

“Here you go sir! That’ll be five hundred berries.”

“Thank you, mademoiselle. Please, keep the change~”

“Aww, why aren’t you sweet!” She blushed and waved a hand at him as he laughed and took the bag of fruits from the stall girl. She was adorable, and as per usual, Sanji was falling fast. Peppy and sweet, she had thrown in an extra apple for free if he’d promise her he’d try an apple tart recipe she had given him during his browsing of her stand. He wondered if he’d be able to have a drink with her later that night, and decided the question at the very least was worth a shot.

“One more thing, miss-”

She looked back up with him with a smile and a tilt of her head. “Ah, yes sir?”

She was adorable- A face covered in freckles was framed in fiery curls that were held back by a forest green bandana, both complementing the greens and reds of the apples and other fruits she was selling, with a slightly muddied dress to match. She would occasionally wipe her hands down on the apron she had tied around her waist, though Sanji wasn’t sure what she was wiping off, or if it would even help given all the flour that had taken up residence on her apron. He found it entirely endearing, nonetheless, and had found his latest crush in her. He took in a slight breath before he popped his question.

“I was wondering if you would be so kind as to join me for a drink sometime later tonight. You could pick your favorite place, and it would be my treat.”  

“Ah!” She exclaimed, her demeanor changing suddenly. Her smile fading, she was no longer peppy, she wrung her hands together once and let out a nervous laugh.

“Honestly, sir, I wouldn’t advise going out too much at night if you can help it. What with everything going on lately…”

He blinked at her once, barely processing the rejection over her slightly concerning choices of words before he shook his head slightly with a laugh. “My apologies miss, but I’m mostly just passing through here, so I’m not very aware of the local happenings. What would be so wrong in going out for a drink tonight?”

“Well… There’s been quite a few… attacks lately…”

“Attacks?”

"Yes sir, attacks." She let out a sigh with another wring of her hands. Sanji hated to see her so worried, but he had wanted an explanation as to why the whole city seemed to be so distrusting of each other, even more so than others they had stopped at in the past, and it was looking like this was his best bet at getting an answer.

“Have people been getting badly hurt?” He pressed gently, trying his best not to upset her, but actually get information at what was even going on. She shook her head.

“Um… I guess you could say that, but… it’s usually much worse…” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t think one person who’s gotten attacked has made it out alive, at least to my knowledge.”

Sanji gaped slightly, a chill running down his spine.

“Not one? Then how do you know what’s causing the disappearances? I mean-” He shook his head and waved a hand lightly. “Not to doubt your information, just to question the-”

“Because the local law enforcement always finds puddles of blood with some sort of belongings that belonged once to the now missing person, or people.”

Sanji went silent after that, unsure of how to respond or even if he should after hearing something like that come from such a frightened lady’s mouth. He had his explanation, though. And he knew he wouldn’t like it, not based on the looks people gave around the city and the way they had been carrying themselves, but this was a completely different level. Possible murders or brutal kidnappings? That was the work of disgusting people and pirates that riddled the streets of gambling and port towns that were meant for such leeches, not a city that boasted about it’s leisurely activities and shopping districts.

Something sinister was patrolling the shadows, it seemed.

He would admit, he didn’t see himself as one who got involved in situations like this by his own choice, not at all. The very life of a pirate was living side by side with danger, and ignoring the fall out from such. That involved not helping everyone he would come across on every single island they would stop at, no matter how docile or hostile the island was. His nakama would laugh though, claiming there wasn’t a person in the world he wouldn’t drop everything to help, and no matter how much he threatened to not let them have dinner that night or snacks that morning, it did nothing to deter them from cheering about how weak he was for those who needed help, and how kind his heart was because of it. Not even he could help but smile, throwing out more empty threats as they always carried on despite it all.

Besides, the stall girl seemed quite distressed anyway, and who was he if he chose to ignore a woman’s sufferings?

“And is there… a certain area of the city where most of these incidents are taking place?” He questioned, trying to seem casual but it was probably obvious right now what he was doing regardless. “Maybe a corner of the city that whoever has been doing these things has been hanging out in more than other areas? A home base, so to speak?”

It took her a moment, he’d give himself that. But her jaw slowly dropped open as she realized what he was questioning of her.

“You’re… you’re not seriously thinking about going out and finding out who’s doing all of this, are you?!”

He shrugged, nestling his paper bag of fruit into the crook of his elbow.

“I don’t know, I just thought it’d be nice to see the city during the few days I’m going to be here, and would rather avoid the less safe and tasteful corners of the neighborhood.”

“Has anyone told you how awful of a liar you are?”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face in the next second. Oh, if only she had seen him throughout his years as a pirate- how much he had lied to their enemies faces and gotten away with it so smoothly- To the point where he was right behind Nami and Usopp in terms of who could lie the best and get away with the most.

“No, never, mademoiselle~”

She only continued to stare back at him, almost disbelieving of what he had just asked her a moment ago. So slowly began to shake her head as she lifted a hand to the bridge of her nose.

“Right. Sure. A random man who claims to be new in town wants to take down a possible serial killer that no one, not even the local law enforcement, has any clues or leads on yet. Wonderful. Wow, Bea, you’re really about to tell him aren’t you?”

“Well Bea, I would first like to say you have a beautiful name befitting of such a wonderful young lady-” Sanji began, his smile only growing bigger as he gave her a little bow, careful not to spill the contents of the bag he held. “- And secondly, if I were to, say, take down a possible serial killer that no one, not even the local law enforcement, has any clues or leads on yet…”

He held his right hand out to her, and waited to continue until she had given him a confused look and put her own hand in his. He kissed the back of her hand lightly before looking back up at her, a smile still ever present as he spoke again.

“Would you be so kind as to join me for a drink sometime later this week?”

She let out a groan slowly, but a smile began to form across her face despite it as he let out a laugh before finishing his sentence.

“You could pick your favorite place, and it would be my treat.”

She just watched him for a moment, trying to read him in some shape or form, before she shook her head defeatedly, a few curls escaping her bandana as she did so with a smile.

“Look, if you’re so willing to recklessly chase someone who’s somehow managed to take so many lives, be my guest. But don’t you expect to play hero and then come waltzing back here to take me on a date without actually catching the guy and making it out alive.”

“Oh darling, trust me, I don’t ‘play’ hero.”

“Sure.”

“So.” He straightened up, letting go of her hand as she gently pulled it back away. “Where are most of the crimes happening? Is there a general area I could look?”

She gave a hesitant shrug. “Most of the cases I’ve heard have been happening on the south side of town, near the far port. There’s taverns there for any sailors or pirates to stop in and it makes for good business usually, except lately with everything going on.”

“And you’re sure it isn’t just some pirate activity going on? Bar fights with innocents getting wrapped up into it all?”

“There’s never any bodies, just blood and something belonging to the victims.”

He rubbed his goatee as he thought it over. It was the perfect place to do whatever the culprit was doing- choosing an area that was both usually busy and also a bit shady. A place where pirates and sailors frequented, coming and going so much that the local authorities would assume at first that the culprit of the crimes was a passing pirate, and that there wouldn’t be any need in locating them in the first place, given how quickly they would have left the island after doing something so horrible as what they had if they were even slightly smart.

He could only hope that everyone had caught on that this wasn’t just a passing pirate anymore, not after how often it was happening long after the criminal should have escaped after doing what they had. This was someone who was here for a long haul, or a resident of the island themself. And if it was the former, Sanji needed to catch them quickly, in case they were on the ending half of their stay here or risk losing them.

And the taverns… That just ensured drunken victims and witnesses to entangle themself with. Less likelihood of them getting caught should they slip up if no one was in the proper state of mine to identify them in the first place. At the very least, this person- or people- had been smart enough to think of a good location to do what they were doing. He would just need to be smarter in order to catch them.

Easy enough.

He gave Bea another smile before adjusting his paper bag once more and giving her a little wave goodbye.

“I think that’s all I need, thank you mademoiselle~”

She stared at him once more, before rolling her eyes with a smile.

“Sure, well, good luck with your little murder mystery, sir. Please don’t go dying as well, alright? You actually seem sweet, and I’d hate to see you in the paper tomorrow for any other reason besides being crowned a hero for taking down the perpetrator.”

“Sweet you say? Why, you flatter me, my dear!” He laughed, taking a step away as he began to leave. “The name is Sanji, and I hope to hear you exclaim it tomorrow when I come back here to take you out for drinks that evening, alright?”

She watched him walking away, nodding at him as he did so, so he could leave with an answer to his flirts at the very least. She could only hope he would cower away from what was going on by nightfall. He seemed like a nice man, and his eyes were nothing but kind.

Sani, however, was confident. He’d dealt with emperors of the sea, Marine admirals, and warlords of every shape and form. He’d faced greater threats than most, and even faced his abusers again for the sake of his true family. It would take more than a street criminal to make him cower from a fight, much less when a date with a lady was at stake, or the lives of whoever else this criminal planned on taking too in the future should Sanji not stop them here.

He wouldn’t be cowering anytime soon, no. That much was obvious. It was simply a matter of how he was going to go about tracking down the guy, and taking him down…

He had a bit of an idea as to how, though.

-----

His wait in silence on the city rooftops ended abruptly, the moment a piercing scream echoed through the alleyways and reached his ears.

He jumped into action, quite literally, off of the building. The scream was coming from the direction of the port and taverns, and he hadn’t seen anyone go by for a while now, which could mean very little witnesses to what was going on, much less credible and sober ones. He needed to be fast, or else whoever was causing the scream, and whoever was doing the screaming, would be gone before he could get there.

The cold air bit his cheeks where they weren’t covered in his mask as he jumped, and the wind whipped by him as he fell. It was a free fall- He hadn’t yet activated his boots, or made any attempt at sky walk, and there was no need to. Falling was faster, a more direct route to get to the source of the screaming, and yet somehow- it was as if time itself slowed.

He could never place it, not when he dropped from sky walking, and not when he first dropped from flight when he had first donned the raid suit when fighting against Page 1. It was a freefall, and time moved slowed for the mere seconds it would last, seeing as he never got high enough for it to last any longer. The world was unmoving for the time, and the stillness held a calm unlike any other he had experienced. His entire senses were somehow both screaming out all at once, and not there at all, his heart beat pounding once and then nothing, not until his descent was complete.

He wondered if any of the others felt this way whenever they jumped from high places, be it Luffy launching himself off of something headfirst into adventure or a fight, or Chopper jumping from a floor up to change forms before mowing down an enemy or join the others in whatever fun they were having. Maybe it was just him, just Sanji who felt this strange sense of calm wash over him in the moments before he caught himself midair and stuck a landing, or launched back into flight.

Whatever it was, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the feeling of the fall, and he enjoyed the moment that seemed to last forever, yet in reality only lasted a second or two before he would flip around and catch himself, dashing off in the direction of the screaming as fast as his suit would take him, to save someone. To solve what was going on. To help someone who needed him.

Who needed Soba Mask.

[purelikeviolence]

Better Left in the Dark | Julie & Remmy

Note: this took place during the everlasting darkness

@whatsin-yourhead

Remmy had gotten to Hambry exactly an hour after their last message to Julie. Maybe going out alone in the dark wasn’t exactly the best idea, but they’d found that there was a decrease in the amount of hunter run-ins they’d had since it all started. Maybe they were all too busy dealing with whatever evil things lurked in the darkness, or maybe they were just taking a break. Either way, Remmy didn’t mind it at all. In fact, it was refreshing. They’d left Moose at home this time and found a nice spot to stand and wait, under one of the lights so that Julie could spot them right away. It would be nice to finally be able to just do something for fun. To just sit and talk. Remmy would’ve been lying, too, if they had said they weren’t excited when Julie had messaged them. Sometimes they felt like they talked too much in their conversations, but Julie always talked back. Finally, they spotted someone in the distance, and waved her over. “Hey! I saved us a bench,” they said with a sarcastic quip, motioning to the almost completely empty park. “Best spot in the house.”

Julie genuinely wanted to hang out with Remmy. They hadn’t done anything since they tried to sleep together and for most people that would have been awkward enough but Julie was particularly shameless at times. Most times. Julie looked for Remmy and almost overlooked them because she didn’t spot the dog with them. Given that they were the only person there she decided a second look was necessary and in that moment she heard the familiar voice. Julie picked up her pace. “I didn’t realize it was you from a distance,” Julie admitted. “Is Moose off leash?” Not that Julie especially minded the dog but Remmy made it seem like it was kind of important to have the dog with them. Julie wasn’t aware they’d leave the house without him. She took a seat next to Remmy, giving them a smile. “I will admit I was surprised I even spotted you with the amount of people here.” No one really wanted to go to the park when it was dark. It did have an eerie feel to it, but Julie wasn’t one to really be uneasy in the dark.

“Oh, sorry!” Remmy said a little bashful suddenly, “I decided to leave him back this time. Cause like, it’s kinda dangerous out here for him. And like...I know he makes you a little uncomfortable. But I’ll be fine! I don’t need him,” they explained, giving a nod, “I feel safe with you. Or, um--” swallowed, looking down at their feet. “You know what I mean.” It was nice to just hang out, even if the sky was dark and the ominous sounds of night during the day were like a spooky ambient soundtrack. Remmy scooted a little to look over at Julie, able to see her just fine in the dark. They were almost surprised she’d come, but happy, nonetheless. Very happy. They chuckled. “Yeah, park’s very busy right now. Must be like...peak park visiting hour or something. I bet the sunsets are nice around now. You know...if the sun ever comes back. You’re like, staying safe in all this, right? Like, okay-- I know you can take care of yourself, but like, there’s some weird shit going on, you know?”

“It’s dangerous for him?” Julie questioned, wondering what was dangerous. He was a dog, not exactly the food source for most supernatural creatures. Then again Julie wasn’t aware of them all. “He doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” she was quick to defend. “I’m just not a dog person.” She shrugged, unable to explain that it was a nature thing. She was a fox, dogs and foxes just weren’t two things that got along. Dogs hunted foxes after all. Those subservient assholes. “And here I thought I was creeping you out,” Julie teased, giving a small laugh. Safe was pushing it though. “I mean, it’d be tough to find some asshole who’d be able to sneak up on us in the dark so yeah, I guess you’re safe.” Julie tried to think about sunsets as she looked at the night sky, but couldn’t really find anything nice about them. “I’ve never been here, around sunset or otherwise so I wouldn’t really know.” It’s not like Julie was one to just watch a sunset though. “Yeah a bunch of vampires are out and about because they don’t have to worry about the sun. I don’t have to worry about a thing. Slayers and hunters are being kept plenty busy by those idiots. What about you? Have you had any run-ins with them?”

“Well, like, if I get into trouble, it could be. You know?” Remmy shrugged. Better safe than sorry. They couldn’t afford to let anything happen to him, he was too important. “Oh, okay. Well...still. I promise it’s fine. I don’t like, always need him. He’s not a medical service dog.” They couldn’t help but grin at Julie’s tease, shaking their head. “Please. You couldn’t creep me out if you tried. I’ve seen you without your shirt on.” Smile turning into a smirk, they leaned back against the handle of the bench, putting their feet up. “Well, me either, so guess we’re both in the dark.” A pause. “Get it?” It was nice, just being here. Just sitting and talking. No motives or anything about it. Just...being with a friend. No secrets or crying or overwhelming guilt digging away at their chest. “Vampires? I haven’t run into any lately. Or like...ever. Kinda wanna keep it that way. But like, there was one thing with a hunter, but-- some cop lady stepped in. It was totally fine. I think it was more of like an...opportunistic thing, you know? Though, sometimes I wish there was a way to tell if someone was a hunter so I could avoid them. It’s hard to know. I hate just walking around, minding my own business, and suddenly someone is waving a sword or a gun at me.” The frowned, furrowing their brow. Maybe Ricky knew of something. Or maybe Morgan had a spell.

If Remmy thought it was dangerous, Julie wasn’t sure why they would be coming out here so late at night but it wasn’t like Julie to really try and understand someone’s methods. If Remmy wanted to be out here in a potentially dangerous situation, more power to them. “Seeing me without my shirt on should be enough to creep you out because how is it possible for me to be so good looking naked? It’s something I still can’t answer.” Julie tried to say all that with a serious face but it broke at the end and she snickered into the back of hand to try and hide it. “In the dark, that’s where I prefer to be.” Literally. “But yeah, I got it.” Remmy was a punny kind of person - Julie didn’t tend to go the cheesy routes when it came to joking but it was a pleasant change. “A cop saved you from a hunter?” Julie turned to look at Remmy, trying to figure it out. “I’m not following.” However as she listened to Remmy’s dream of a hunter radar, she had to scoff. “It’s kind of obvious - not in the split second you know they’re a hunter obvious, but all of them have a tell. Large majority of them like to be in control - the most popular being security, military - no offense - or law enforcement. You won’t catch a hunter having a teacher as their day job. I told you if they’re older than 40 you really shouldn’t give them the time of day, some supernatural creature is gonna rip them a new one very soon. They’re getting older, they’re not at their peak. If the hunter is in their late 20s early 30s, that’s their prime. You better be careful around them. Also, notice their personality. I’ve never met a hunter that could hold any sort of relationship because they’re just shitty people inside and out. There’s something that’s just off about them and that tends to ruin things.” She stopped talking and picked her head up. “Fuck that sounds like me.” She broke into a laugh unable to believe she just described herself.

Remmy let out a long, loud laugh. One like they hadn’t done in a long time. How was it that Julie always managed to make them feel good and lighthearted, if even for a moment? They shook their head. “Please. Of course you do. If you look good in clothes of course you look good naked.” A boisterous grin that faded the more she went on. “It wasn’t like...a big deal. They jumped me in an alley and she just came over and knocked him out, then took me somewhere safe.” I couldn’t fight back. But Julie didn’t need to know that part. She’d probably be disappointed Remmy didn’t fight back on their own. But with no one to protect, they couldn’t bring themself to harm someone. They listened carefully to what she was saying, about the tells. Those weren’t things Remmy was good at recognizing, and they furrowed their brow. “I don’t think that sounds like you,” they said quickly, sitting up and wrapping their arms around their knees. “You’re not a shitty person. At least, not to me.”

“She knocked him out?” Julie was impressed, she wanted to meet this cop lady that just creeps in the night knocking out hunters and saving zombies. “Did he hurt you though?” She was aware Remmy healed fast but she was curious to know if Remmy had gotten hurt. “I take it the cop knew what you were? Or at least about the supernatural? Or did she just think you were getting jumped by some thug?” Remmy was incredibly lucky that cop was there, not everyone gets to be saved by a cop at the right place and right time. Julie had to laugh at that, not a full on outburst but a gentle one, finding it amusing that Remmy didn’t think she was a shitty person. “I am though. If only a little.” She shrugged. “It’s all good though, I don’t care if you see me like that, it’s not a lie.” She’s always been a terrible person. Just born wrong.

“Yeah, like, with her gun,” Remmy replied, “it was pretty badass. He didn’t hurt me, no. She um, like-- knew he was a hunter but not about me? I dunno, it was hard to explain. I didn’t feel like really telling her, either.” They shrugged, rubbed the back of their head. “Hey, stop saying that!” They said, nudging Julie with their foot. “I won’t have you talking shit about my friend, alright?” A slight tease, sticking their tongue out at her. They didn’t know why Julie kept insisting she was a shitty or a bad person, but they’d never believe it. She’d helped them when she’d had no reason to, she’d done what Remmy couldn’t, and she’d stayed even after Remmy freaked out on her. Whatever she’d done in the past didn’t matter to Remmy. She wasn’t a bad person. “I don’t think you’re a shitty person. Just...so you know. I don’t.”

“Sounds badass, I wanna meet her.” Julie understood Remmy’s decision not to spill about her zombie nature, Julie herself didn’t enjoy telling people shit. Remmy included, unfortunately. “Okay, fine. You are entitled to your opinion.” Although Julie really didn’t understand why. That part of the friendship thing confused her. Julie never really hid that she didn’t really care and thought most people would see that and take it as it is. Not like Remmy who chose to believe Julie wasn’t shit. The idea of that being true was unfathomable to Julie. That was the basis of her whole… point of view. “I don’t think you’re a shitty person either, so hah.” Julie stated as if she somehow managed to one up Remmy in some way, although she didn’t know how.

“I haven’t seen her around since,” Remmy admitted, “I think she might’ve left town.” They tilted their head, giving a confident nod. “I am. And just for the record, it’s the right opinion. Everyone else is wrong, you included. I’m obviously the only smart one.” It was nice, being able to be teasing and sarcastic with Julie. There weren’t many people Remmy felt comfortable being that way around, aside from Deirdre and Nell. And sometimes Blanche. Remmy gave a short chuckle. “Well, good. I’m glad. If I have your approval, then I guess no one else matters, right?” They looked back up into the pitch darkness of the “night” sky. It was temporary, like all things. Well, like all things were supposed to be. But Remmy wasn’t. Not really. “Hey, did you find what you were looking for in town yet?” they asked suddenly, sitting up.

“She probably died.” Julie admitted, feeling just a tiny bit sad that she wasn’t able to meet this hot police woman that knocks people out with her gun. Oh well, she’s bound to be a police officer one way or the other. Julie playfull rolled her eyes, listening but not really believing. The last thing she needed was for Remmy to waste time trying to convince her otherwise. It was better to make her believe it. “Everyone else is wrong, huh? Wow, Remmy, I guess you gotta gain some cerebral power after all of those brains you eat.” Julie teased, finding her joke rather funny. Julie knew Remmy was only exaggerating that her opinion was the most valuable - but it was interesting to think about her approval having any value to someone. Generally it didn’t. In fact she couldn’t think of one situation where someone actually valued her opinion. She looked over at Remmy, taking a moment to think about the question. “I haven’t, no. I haven’t actually tried really hard to find it…” It really had been in the back of her mind so she prioritized other things. “I should really get on that though, thanks for reminding me.”

“Yup, that’s the big plus to being a zombie,” Remmy said with a grin, “I gain all the intelligence of the brains I eat.” Even though neither statement was true, Remmy still grinned widely at Julie. They could only wonder what Julie’s life had really been like, but from the small snippets she’d told Remmy, it seemed like she’d had a life that hadn’t exactly made her believe she was worth something. Remmy wished they could say something, do something, to make Julie believe them. That she was worth something, if only as a friend to them. “Oh, well-- what else have you been doing around town, then? I guess there’s been a lot going on lately, hasn’t there? I’d probably get distracted, too.”

“Imagine if it actually worked like that, though. I’d imagine eating animal brains wouldn’t be all that great.” Julie tilted her head. “Or maybe it would. Animal intelligence is different from human intelligence. Hm.” She let her mind follow that train of thought for a moment before looking back to Remmy. At the question she kind of ducked her head and averted her eyes. “Uh, you know, enjoying what this town has to offer.” She said, wincing. She wondered if Remmy would get the hint. Julie was distracted by all the different kinds of people the town had and she was busy sleeping with some of them but she had to admit that was getting… boring. Friendship though, that seemed interesting to explore, to figure out. Not like she’d admit it though, feeling it might be odd to know be that experienced in the area of friendship. “What about you? What keeps you busy?”

“Man, if it did work like that, it’d be a godsend,” Remmy said, giving a little chuckle at the thought. “Hey, animals are like, super smart. Maybe I’d know what it’s like to be you a little bit, then, yeah?” They teased, putting their hands on their head as if they were dog ears. “Or I’d be able to communicate with Moose. Oh, now that’d be cool. I could learn to speak dog.” They put their hands down and tilted their head, confused, but curious, by her answer. “Are you like, okay? You’re not in trouble or anything, are you? I know this place can get like, overwhelming and stuff.” They scooted a bit closer to her on the bench, legs folding up. “Me? Oh, you know. Work and keeping my friends outta trouble. I like, barely have any free time now, which is crazy considering all I had when I got here was free time. But since I work two jobs now and do the fighting stuff, it feels like I’m always out doing something.”

“Don’t eat a fox’s brain please. I’d actually be offended.” Julie’s tone was light but she was serious. She had a closer kinship to foxes than to people she felt sometimes and wouldn’t want anyone to hurt them mainly out of protectiveness. “Go for it on a dog’s, you might actually learn something, yeah.” She chuckled, wondering how funny it would be to have Remmy start to bark in an attempt to speak dog. Although she knew it wasn’t like that. It was all body language. Eh, not like it mattered anyway. “I’m not in any trouble, don’t worry. I’m not the kind to get in trouble.” Cause it maybe but get caught? Nah. “Keeping your friends out of trouble, huh?” That was kind of funny to think about, the kind of friends Remmy kept. “Well, I’m one less friend you have to worry about on that point.” Even if she was one, Julie wasn’t someone to be restricted like that. “So I take it that your work and your friends are keeping you busy? What other job do you have? I thought it was just security stuff.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I only eat cow and pig brain. That’s about all they have at the butcher’s shop, and I’m not really the...find my own brains kinda person,” Remmy assured, hoping their joke hadn’t offended Julie too much. “I would never. Don’t think I could actually eat a dog brain, either. It just seems...wrong.” Remmy felt a little bit like a hypocrite, being okay with eating a cow brain or a pig brain, but nothing else. They shrugged after a moment. “Oh, okay, good. I was gonna say I’d beat them up on your behalf, but like, I wouldn’t, and you definitely wouldn’t need me to. So...moot point,” they chuckled. “I mean, I know I don’t have to, but I still do. Kinda part of the whole...being friends thing. You worry even if you don’t have to.” Remmy was always worried, after all. They just wanted their friends to be happy, to be healthy. And it seemed harder in a town like this. Julie was different, though. They understood that much. “Yeah, that about sums it up. I don’t mind, though. I like being busy. Less time to sit around and think about stupid things. Oh, um-- I’m just helping a friend out around his firm. He owns his own architecture firm and needed some help around the office, so I told him I’d help out and stuff. Extra money never hurts, you know? And then the like, Ring stuff. That’s mostly at night, though.”

“It’s cool you have an agreement with the butcher. Does he know what you are?” Julie wondered how many other clients he had. She was curious as to how those brains tasted. She had only tried a bird brain here or a squirrel brain there. Not much to be said about them (they were small). “I mean food’s food but if you have a preference, that’s fine.” If Julie was starving she’d get whatever brain she could get her hands on. Thankfully, she’d never been that hungry. “You’re really protective aren’t you?” It was unusual for Julie to see it directed in her way and she couldn’t understand why Remmy was like that. Julie would happily beat someone up for another person but that was because she liked the fight not really just to be protective. Could it be the same for Remmy? They were doing fights in the Ring after all. “Do you secretly like beating people up? I’m not going to be the person to judge you for it.” Julie would actually be someone to encourage that. As Remmy told her that bit about friends worrying when they didn’t have to, Julie thought about it. Worrying about someone, about their safety and happiness? That seemed like an awful lot of energy spent on someone who was temporary. She liked Remmy. They were cool but to the point of spending time thinking about Remmy’s well-being? Julie couldn’t imagine doing something like that, worrying about something like that. Especially when Julie would eventually leave and then what was the point of worrying about someone who you would not be nearby to? “You’re straight up ballin then aren’t you? Don’t be asking me for money anytime soon.” Julie teased.

“I mean, I haven’t told him what I uh-- what I am, but he probably does know. He’s...really nice about it. He always gives Moose a treat when we go in. I get Moose’s food from him, too, so he probably takes pity on us,” Remmy said with a shrug. “I mean, I guess? I just...want people to be happy. And safe. And I like...have the ability to do that now, you know? I couldn’t save my friends before, but I can now.” The last part slipping out unintentionally. They shifted again, crinkling their nose. “I don’t think I like it, I just-- it makes me feel good sometimes? And not people! Just...weird monsters, like the lobsters on the beach. It’s just, easy to forget in the ring. It makes me feel free. I don’t have to worry about anything when I’m fighting.” The only other person they’d been able to talk to about the Ring was Nell, so it was a relief to be able to talk to Julie about it. They let out a sigh. “Not sure that makes sense, but...it’s how I feel, I guess. And hey! I would never ask to borrow money from you. You’re like, broke as shit,” they teased back, giving her a little nudge with their foot.

Julie figured the guy knew something was up. Who would just want to eat pig and cow brains? While it was a delicacy in some cultures, she doubted even they would require as much as Remmy does. “You couldn’t save your friends before?” Julie didn’t know what that meant and threw the question out of plain curiosity. It was interesting to learn why Remmy seemed really protective. In almost every conversation they’ve had Remmy was always offering their brawn in some way. Julie wondered if Remmy thought that was all they had to offer. It was best not to go down that route, Julie wasn’t the best for those kinds of talks. “Weird monsters are people too, Remmy.” Julie was intrigued by this Ring mention though. “I worry when I fight,” Julie teased. “I worry about getting my ass kicked!” She chuckled, knowing while she isn’t the best fighter out there and there was someone bound to put her on her back - she was quick and always knew there was the option to escape. A fixed setting of a victor and loser wasn’t for her. Julie didn’t fight to win, she fought for survival (mainly her own) and sometimes that meant escape. “Hell yeah, I’m broke as shit. As far as you know.” She gave a knowing smirk and turned away.

“Oh, yeah, I just mean...back in Afghanistan,” Remmy mumbled, giving a nonchalant shrug. They could feel their chest doing that twisty thing it did when they started talking about it and swallowed the big lump in their throat. Arms tingling, like how they got before a fight. “I guess I didn’t really live through it either, but,” they looked over at Julie, “I’m here. They’re not. All I mean.” They were glad for the topic change, though, tilting their head. “I just mean like, things that hurt other people! Ne-- Er, my friend collects them, the ones that attack people, and brings them back. There’s a bunch of different people that do the fights.” They let out a laugh. “Yeah, right! You could probably kick anyone’s ass! I don’t believe you worry about that at all,” they joked, shaking their head.

Afghanistan. Julie had her own memories of that. A smile threatened to come about which she hid by pursing her lips. Julie honestly didn’t know what to say other than inform Remmy that losing others and staying alive is a common thing in war and in life in general. Julie may not know how to comfort someone but she knew she shouldn’t say that. “It sucks when you can’t save people.” Julie tried but it felt awkward coming out of her mouth. “I mean, I assume so. Only person I try to save is me and I’m still here, so.” She joked, but maybe it wasn’t the most respectful joke to make but Julie was never good at this. Why was she even trying? Oh right, friendship. Have to be nice or something like that. “Just the things that hurt other people? Careful, sounding a little hunter-ish.” Beings attacked people for various reasons, some for pleasure, some for survival. The same could hardly be said for normal humans who just attacked others out of pure enjoyment. “I mean, you’re right. I could probably kick anyone’s ass.” She shrugged. “But I don’t make a habit of kicking ass unless I need to. Too much work.”

“Yeah,” Remmy murmured quietly, “I guess.” They let the rest of the conversation die in their mouth, it didn’t seem like something either of them wanted to talk about. They ruffled their brow, folding their arms across their chest. “No, it’s nothing like that. I don’t hurt people,” they said a bit defensively, shifting. It wasn’t like that at all. Remmy was helping. Nell said so. Nell said it was a good thing and they’d be good at it, so how could it be bad? It wasn’t. “You sure do say it a lot online, though. Guess you’ve got more bark than bite, huh?” they teased back, shrugging.

Remmy seemed to feel strongly about the fact that they weren’t hurting other people and Julie had to lean back a bit, knowing she might have hit a sore spot with the saving people and added to the wound. Julie would have argued it was, but something was keeping her mouth shut this time. “Right.” She said, eyes turning down, shutting the conversation. “I say a lot of things online.” Most of the shit she doesn’t even remember saying just because she hardly cares about the conversation. Half of it is just bullshit that comes up at the time and leaves once something else catches her attention. “Now I know I gotta be careful or else your friend will round me up and put me in that ring.” Julie’s clients were mainly human so technically if they only rounded up those who attack humans, well, she’d be included in that. It was just another reminder she needed to keep some things close to her chest.

“What? No, she-- she wouldn’t do that. To you. She doesn’t-- they don’t round up people. Or um-- fox people. Only, like, monsters. And you’re not, a monster,” Remmy stuttered through, rubbing the back of their head. Maybe this had been a bad topic of conversation. “I-- sorry. Um. Let’s just-- drop it.” They sat up, looking around. Sighing, they shook their head. “It’s um-- getting late. Blanche is gonna get worried if I don’t check in soon.” They felt a little bad, but even they had to be careful out here, and they got the feeling they might’ve said something wrong to Julie. Something they didn’t quite know how to fix. “But um, thanks for hanging out. It was fun. We should-- we should hang out again, if you want. We could go to Al’s, they’ve got great milkshakes.”

Clearly they had both gotten themselves into a conversation that was better left unspoken. Julie was fine with that, it’s not like she wanted to talk about it anyway. “I get it,” Julie affirmed with a nod. She was perfectly fine to just stay out here but Remmy had other concerns and they had people who worried about them. What must that be like? “Milkshakes sound cool, though, we should definitely do that.” Julie was genuinely interested in going to Al’s and having some milkshakes with Remmy. She made no move to leave, perfectly fine staying by herself in the park. She just shifted in her seat to give Remmy a small wave so they could head back.

[sultrysirens]

Blue Blood [Part 15]

Universe: Detroit: Become Human

Rating: PG-13 (swearing)

Characters: Connor, Evelyn (OC)

Tags: interspecies, romance, fluff, detective, law enforcement, original character, continuation, sex

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“Well, that was...an adventure,” Evelyn noted as they departed. 

“And informative,” Connor added, thoughtful. 

“Yeah? Anything in particular come to light?” she prompted. They pulled out of the estate’s grounds and were back on the main road quickly, the destination: her apartment. They’d done more than enough investigating for one day, a simple arrest leading to looking for a missing person leading to a chat with the matron of a powerful crime family. 

Forbes obviously needed her weekend break by now, he assumed, so he was fine with letting the trail be for now. They could pick it up again tomorrow. 

Glancing at her, he said, “I think Elias and Émelie were lovers.” 

She nodded. “I was getting that impression, too.” 

“Unless Elias crossed her somehow, I don’t see a motive for her being involved in his death,” he went on. 

“Hugo might have,” she suggested. “If they were lovers and he found out...” 

“It’s possible,” he agreed. “But I don’t think Hugo would’ve cared. It seems their marriage is more one of business than romance.” 

She inclined her head. “It’s very common. Especially with that comment Émelie made -- about Hugo being ‘overjoyed’ that a woman is interested in him.” 

“Extra-marital affairs,” he said. 

“Or an open marriage,” Evelyn offered. “Those are pretty common these days, too.” They were both quiet for a moment, then, before she checked, “Find anything of note while you were looking around?” 

He shook his head. “Nothing possibly crime-related. No recent blood stains, footprints out of place, nothing in the air...the house, at least, is crime-free.” 

“Unless everything is digital,” she noted. 

“Likely. I found it odd there wasn’t a computer in the study -- just a TV set.” 

“And how close the desk was to it -- I’m betting there was something behind there, the TV was just a better mask than a painting would be.” 

“Heavier, harder to move, more innocent -- I can see it,” he agreed. 

“I’ll just file that one away for later,” she said, “in case we ever raid the place.” 

Smart. He’d already done so by the time she verbally declared it. There was something intriguing, even comforting, about the knowledge that they followed the same train of thought, he noted. 

Like they really weren’t all that different, androids and humans.

He asked then, “So...you know French?” He was impressed.

She laughed. “Actually, no -- that was a bluff. I know two sentences in French. That was one.”

Amused, he asked, “And what’s the other?”

She grinned and, between chuckles, forced out, “Où sont les toilettes?”

Where is the bathroom?

He laughed. Of course she’d know one profound statement -- and a ridiculous query. “Well, your pronunciation is fairly accurate,” he noted.

She shook her head. “Yeah, I practiced that.”

“Why?” he prompted. “What drove you to learn exactly two phrases, and those two in particular?”

Chuckling again, she answered, “I-I didn’t, really. I picked them up from TV. Films, I think. I do this thing sometimes where I’ll repeat foreign languages, try to work out the pronunciation. And sometimes they stick.”

“And those two stuck?” he checked, doubtful.

“Yeah. The former cause it was difficult so it took a lot of work, the latter cause it was so simple,” she explained.

“Your mind is a curious thing,” he noted.

“From my perspective, my mind is fine. Yours is the curious one,” she countered.

A fair point, he agreed. He doubted humans and androids would ever fully understand each other; as he understood it, the way they thought was entirely different despite the many similarities. His thoughts could be broken down into Binary if he dug deep enough, he was sure, and he was actively recording everything he saw and heard as video and audio files.

Humans often thought either in pictures and sounds or words, some of them hearing their thoughts as verbal communication and others only as abstract intention. Neither aligned very well with how androids thought.

They were so different in their cores, humans and androids, despite how visually similar they were.

That thought managed to loop back around to another from earlier that day, and he asked, “May I ask you a personal question?” 

She smirked, amused. “Let me just answer that indefinitely: yes, you can ask. Whether or not I answer is another matter, but you can always ask.” 

That was good to know. “Your leg,” he began, “you said there were metal pins in the bones?” 

She hesitated, that simple inaction telling him a great deal -- namely that this was a very sensitive subject. He could understand that, he thought; she must’ve faced a great deal of trauma to have received such a wound. Psychological after-effects were common to the point of being expected.

At length, she offered, “Uh...yeah. Old wound, permanent damage,” she hinted. 

He absorbed that, thoughtful, then ventured, “May I ask what happened?” 

She gave a smile, but it was strained -- tense. “Accident involving a tower of weights. They fell over on top of me. My leg got the worst of it. Woke up three days later in a hospital bed.” 

That...definitely sounded traumatic, he admitted. “Where did this happen, Brass Balls?” he asked, concerned. If this happened at that shop...well, he already knew it was barely up to code. This would be the kind of thing to shut it down, and...thinking of Quincy...he really didn’t want to do that.

Nowadays his gym is his family, Evelyn had said.

Connor didn’t want to be the one to take that away.

Shaking her head, she hedged, “No, this was...before I graduated. Had this...injury...my whole adult life.” 

Her pauses, hesitating over certain words, got his attention more than what she was saying. She was implying much deeper psychological damage than she realized, he thought -- possibly more than she was aware of, herself. 

And he found himself both impressed and confused as to how she would’ve ended up an officer with such issues. Officers had to have pristine physical health to get accepted; Evelyn had a bad leg, it seemed. Yet, he’d never seen her limping or displaying such an injury. The only time she favored her leg was when she was sparring, and even then she was just keeping it out of danger. 

He noted, “You don’t seem to be bothered by it.” 

“It doesn’t slow me down, if that’s what you mean,” she returned. “I just try to stay conscious of it.” 

Hesitating, he asked, “Does it hurt?” 

At once, he could feel her tension skyrocket. It was such a bizarre thing -- she barely changed in a physical sense, only her throat giving a strain before relaxing again, yet he was aware of just how much that question had distressed her. 

She answered, subdued, “Sometimes.” 

Sometimes, he repeated. The way she said that made him think that it didn’t hurt often -- but when it did, it was very painful. 

In his mind, he tried to construct how her leg might be functioning based on the information he’d been given, and ultimately he determined that either the pins could fall out of alignment -- or she’d suffered nerve damage and sometimes it acted up. 

Either would account for sudden, unpredictable spikes of pain, he thought. And he made a decision then to keep an eye on her, just in case she fell prey to those surges when he was around. He wasn’t exactly built with physical therapy in mind, so he couldn’t offer a great deal of help, but he’d do whatever she needed.

Then she said, more sharply, “About this...I need you to not talk about it. Don’t bring it up with anyone.”

Surprised, he checked, “At the precinct?”

“In general,” she corrected. “No one knows -- I don’t want anyone to know. Outside of my family, it’s -- it doesn’t exist.”

He could see that, he thought. If it came to light that her leg was permanently damaged, she might lose her job. She’d told him that it was her career that kept her going, kept her from falling into depression. It was clearly vital to her, and more so, she was a fantastic officer.

Her case history was more than enough to prove that, but over the last few days he’d seen some of it in action. Even visibly exhausted and overworked, she’d still managed two-hour drives and active chases and hours of research. Her work ethic was admirable.

She was valuable in this profession.

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “I won’t bring it up. For context, though, may I ask who does know?”

“My parents and my sisters -- sister,” she corrected.

He sidestepped that particular landmine, checking, “Then, your husband...?”

“Doesn’t know,” she confirmed with a nod. “I never told him.”

Curious, he asked, “Why not?”

She hesitated over that question, hedging, and after a few moments of struggling for a response, she said, “Plead the fifth.”

...Noted.

That was highly suspicious, but he supposed everyone had their secrets. It wasn’t his place to pick apart her brain and try to figure out why she chose to keep some things quiet over others. She had her reasons, he was sure -- and those reasons were probably traumatic. Best not to prod at them.

Nodding, he relented, replying, “Then I take it you never wanted me to know, either.”

She inclined her head. “Not really. But there wasn’t anything to be done about it. Metal detectors are my bane.”

His, too. “I wasn’t certain I’d set it off,” he said, thoughtful. “I would’ve thought CyberLife would’ve found a way to prevent that by now -- they already succeeded in protecting us from electricity, so it seemed logical.”

“Well, are you magnetic?” she asked.

“No.”

“That’s probably about as much protection as they felt you needed,” she said. “Unaffected by electricity and magnets -- boom, you’re safe from all the big things. Keeping you from setting off metal detectors was probably determined as being a luxury, and lord knows big companies aren’t keen on providing luxuries.”

He could definitely see that.

“I’m surprised you set off the metal detector, too,” she began. “I thought you were plastic?”

“Externally, yes,” he agreed, “but internally there’s still metal casing and things similar to bones.” Patting his chest, he explained, “Keeps everything sturdy and in place.”

“Makes sense,” she noted, nodding. “So you have, like, a rib cage?”

“Not so much. More of just a spine, shoulders, arms, legs...the frame is simplistic. Its design is more to keep all our biocomponents and parts in place while keeping us light in weight.” 

“Cool.”

He smirked, amused.

They fell into small talk then, mostly Evelyn sharing information about L.A., which he appreciated. He could look up the history of the city from its founding in 1835 or even earlier, but none of that would account for a citizen’s perspective. Her insight was invaluable.

The most important things were obviously how the city functioned currently, but he was curious about everything. Like Detroit, it had a storied past, entire books written about this one city. So old and intrinsic to the U.S. as they both were, they were living monuments of human achievement and persistence.

Evelyn didn’t know much beyond when she’d begun working at the precinct a decade earlier, but it was more than enough to get him up to speed. Combined with his foot tour the day prior and he was compiling a great deal of information about the city as a whole.

It was a contradiction, this city -- simultaneously one of the richest and poorest of U.S. cities. The SubTube had seen to that, he thought, at once both despondent and impressed with the transportation achievement. Its speed and capability were incredible and priceless, but the effects L.A.’s populace were suffering for its release was...painful.

He was worried Evelyn would end up one of those displaced by its appearance. It would be a disaster, both for her and all those she helped on a daily basis. He could only hope that, if it came to that, her husband would be able to keep her off the streets.

Following that thought, he asked, “Detective? What does your husband do? He’s employed, correct?”

She seemed surprised by the question but answered, “Yeah. He’s a manager at a hotel. La Esencia,” she explained.

He ran a quick search on it, concluding it’d been built in 2027. Reviews stated it was smaller but comfortable, four stories tall with ten-to-fourteen rooms on each floor. It was ranked as four-star and just recently began plans to expand out of L.A.

What had begun as one hotel became three in 2033, then six in 2038, and now it’d been announced that they were going to start opening hotels across the country. Construction had yet to begin.

And Richard Sinclair was the manager at one location, it seemed.

“That’s likely lucrative,” he noted.

“It certainly was,” she agreed.

Curious, he checked, “What changed?”

“The revolution,” she answered. “Most of the employees had been androids. Richard said only two came back after everything settled -- cut down from thirty-two,” she hinted. “The workload on all of them has skyrocketed.”

A little shocked, he checked, “Did he not have any human employees?”

“Six, yeah, and they’re still on,” she agreed, “but they’ve all had to take on heavier loads. Granted, tourism plummeted in the last month, too, so they’re not having to wrangle the raw numbers they once had, but still. It’s hard on them.”

And Connor heard the sympathy in her voice as she spoke, the almost reluctant affection. She was concerned, he realized.

“You’re worried about him,” he concluded.

Her shoulders dipped a fraction. “Yeah. I worry. He used to run the front desk, then worked his way up to manager. He knows the ins and outs of every part of the job. But that just means he can -- and will -- do everything.”

Drawing a picture, he suggested, “And you’re concerned he’ll hurt himself doing so.” 

“He’s hurt himself before, doing so,” she answered quietly. Shaking her head, she said, “He works too hard sometimes. He messed up his knee just from how much walking he does around the hotel.”

And now Connor was seeing a parallel between husband and wife. Both of them seemed to be very hard workers, willing to put themselves through Hell for their careers.

With a sigh, she went on, “From a personal standpoint, the revolution happened at a terrible time. It’s bad enough just being separated like this -- and now we’re both bogged down with extra work on top of it. It’s chaos, everywhere, and we can’t even be there for each other...”

Sympathetic but not apologetic, he replied, “I won’t apologize. We needed our freedom. But I feel for your individual situation.”

She gave the barest smile, reaching over to give his shoulder a rub. “I don’t expect apologies. And I agree with you, Connor. None of this is your fault,” she told him, “except all the good parts.”

It was surprising, how much relief he felt from that simple statement. “Thank you,” he said, sincere.

Her smile warmed, then, and she replied, “Thank you, too.”

Touched, he could only respond, “You’re welcome.”

--

The rest of the day passed quietly -- which, after the last few days, was preferred. It was barely four in the afternoon when they made it back to the apartment, and Evelyn was more than ready to get in some relaxation. Connor, on the other hand, never quite stopped thinking about the case. 

She made herself a late lunch, then sat down to catch up on the news. He watched absently, his mind elsewhere, ultimately concluding that nothing worthy of national news had occurred since yesterday evening. He did, however, catch a brief news report about “the first android assault case” in L.A. 

Evelyn glanced over at him with a smirk. “See? Told you there’d be a statement.” 

He couldn’t withhold a grin, pleased. She’d been right. Then, settling on a different thought, he said, “I’m curious about something.”

“Wassat?” she prompted.

“Have you ever...had an android?” he asked her, though he had difficulty with the phrasing. He found he couldn’t ask if she’d owned an android, the very idea scraping at him.

She shook her head. “No, actually, funny though that might sound.”

“Why would that sound funny?” he wondered.

“Cause these days, pretty much every human bought at least one android,” she pointed out.

“Yet there were only 120 million across the planet,” he countered. Now closer to 100 million, he knew, but he opted not to think about that.

“Fair point. The answer is no,” she told him.

“So you’ve never had an android?” he pressed. It wasn’t that he doubted her, he just wanted to be sure. He told himself as much.

“Nope. Never.” Then, waving her hand, she corrected, “Well, Richard did, when I first met him. A secretary,” she explained. “Named her Joanne.” 

“But he didn’t keep her?” Connor checked. 

Shaking her head, Evelyn explained, “I told him I wasn’t comfortable, having an android in the house. So he sold her. No idea what happened to her since,” she said, a note of melancholy to her voice. 

He felt a bit the same, a part of him wondering what happened to Joanne and if she was even still alive after all this time. Generally androids didn’t last that long, either due to being replaced or mistreated until killed. 

A memory rose to the fore: Eden Club, the back room, androids of numerous appearances standing in lines to be diagnosed after sustaining damage. At the time he’d had other focus, had felt indifferent to the sight, but Hank’s horror and the perspective of hindsight painted a different picture. Now he felt...sorrow, a yearning to go back and help those he couldn’t at the time. 

He hoped Joanne had found a better life. 

But, for now, he tried to stay in the present. “You weren’t comfortable?” he echoed, confused to hear Evelyn having that reaction to androids. He pointed out, “You’re fine with me.” 

“You’re my partner,” she told him. “Joanne was a...servant. I don’t like that -- never did. Don’t like being served, like I’m incapable of handling my own affairs. I got why he bought Joanne in the first place, though -- running a hotel isn’t easy. Secretaries help. I told him I’d feel better if he hired a human rather than use an android, he said androids are better with computing -- we argued,” she hinted. “Ultimately I got my way...and I’ve regretted it ever since.” 

Concerned, Connor asked, “Why?” 

Shaking her head, she explained, “I put my comfort over her safety. Richard’s a gentle one,” she told him. “He never mistreated her and I wouldn’t have allowed it anyway. If I hadn’t been so pushy...I could’ve at least watched out for her. But, then,” she added wearily, “I couldn’t have predicted this: the revolution. How would I have known that she might’ve needed me?” 

“Evie…” he murmured, a feeling of sorrow welling up. Her heart was too soft, too kind; she was clearly suffering in guilt for things that might’ve happened, and years after the fact. 

She glanced over, pulled from wherever her mind had traveled, then said, “I guess there’s no point in worrying over it now. Can’t change the past, can’t predict the future...the only thing any of us can really do is try to be better than we were yesterday.” 

Excellent point. “That’s a good philosophy,” he noted. “One everyone -- human and android alike -- would be wise to adopt.” 

She gave a half-smile. “Evelyn Forbes, zen guru, full of pearls of wisdom,” she joked. 

He chuckled. “Well, you are fifty-seven times older than I am,” he hinted. 

“Oh -- oh, ow,” she complained, patting her chest. “Ugh, straight knives, right to the heart! How dare you,” she pouted. 

He shrugged. “It’s the truth,” he tried. Then, as another thought came to him, he asked, “Had you ever thought about...buying an android?” That was difficult to ask, he found. The very implication that Evelyn might have bought an android went against the grain, given what he knew of her. But he admitted that people change, and the way she was now didn’t mean she wasn’t different before his arrival. 

That took her by surprise. She answered, “Well...yeah, the idea crossed my mind. Plenty of times. Case in point, back in ‘35, for a while L.A. was obsessed with personal trainer androids, and I train on weekends, Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was a sensible idea,” she explained. 

“But you decided against it,” he concluded. 

She shrugged. “I didn’t really need it. Besides which, my routine is a source of pride for me. If I got help, started depending on an android to keep track of my progress -- well, there goes the whole point.” 

“You have a lot of pride,” he commented. 

“Noticed that, did you?” 

“Day one,” he hinted. 

She laughed. “Well, it’s not like I was keeping it secret.” 

“Out of curiosity,” he said then, “what was it about androids that caused you so much irritation? Most humans seemed perfectly fine with, and even excited by, the prospect of android slaves.” 

She paused, thoughtful, then replied, “The unofficial tagline -- do you know what it was?” He didn’t; he gestured to her to continue, and she answered, “‘You don’t wanna do it, have an android do it.’ At first I’m sure it seemed like a great idea. Hate doing dishes? Have an android do it. Hate washing clothes? Have an android do it. It went on. Hate cooking? Hate cleaning? I certainly do,” she added to herself. “And it spiraled from there.” 

God, if it hadn’t, he agreed. 

“Boring jobs turned into dangerous jobs turned into greed and from there into true, infinite laziness.” She shook her head. “Humans very quickly started using androids for absolutely everything. Housework, heavy labor, secretary work, policework,” she hinted, “and finally to sex. ‘What you don’t want to do’ turned into ‘literally every possible task’.” 

“NASA had planned on sending androids to Jupiter with no return plan,” Connor noted. “They were designed to die, alone and stranded in space.” 

“Were going to be,” she corrected. “Hopefully that plan was shelved.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “Do you know what really got me? Child-rearing androids,” she told him. “How...fucked up is that, that we consider raising our own kids something we don’t want to do?” 

She was tense, he could see. This clearly scratched her deep. He tried, “Humans have had nannies for millennia. Is it really so strange, having someone else raise your children?” 

“Not in that context, I guess,” she allowed, “but there’s still a key difference, Connor: choice. Any human can hire a nanny, pay them for their work -- instead they chose to buy an android and leave it at that.” 

“I don’t expect as many people had that choice available to them as you think,” he argued. “If your choices are to buy an android for $900 or pay a human for the foreseeable future at a fixed rate, and you’re already struggling to hold a job, what choice is there?” 

Shaking her head, she shot back, “You’re assuming anyone struggling to keep a job will just have $900 on hand at any point, and they don’t. The poor couldn’t afford to buy androids -- only the rich. And chances are, they have the time they need to raise their kids, they just find it unpalatable.” 

“Maybe,” he allowed, “or maybe the poor had greater need, so they found a way to afford the costs.” 

She inclined her head. “Cut corners, clipped coupons -- I can see that. But choice goes both ways. Humans can choose to be nannies, to raise children, because they enjoy it. We never gave androids the chance to enjoy anything -- just forced them into the roles we wanted.”

He considered that for a moment, then offered, “I suppose, on the scale of undesirable tasks, child-rearing is easily one of the best. I imagine if you gave every deviant the option to go back to their former lives, the ones most likely to do so would be nannies. There’s an inherent joy to it.”

That seemed to give her pause, and at length, she nodded. “I can see that. Raising children can be incredibly rewarding and even euphoric, depending on the person. Who’s to say androids wouldn’t enjoy it, too? For that matter, who’s to say how many androids had been perfectly happy with their lives before the revolution and would go back if given the chance?”

He couldn’t speak for all androids, but he’d quite enjoyed being a detective -- hence why he’d returned to this profession.

“But you’re still missing the biggest -- and arguably the worst -- android luxury there was,” she went on.

That had him curious. “Which was?” 

Catching his gaze, she answered, “The YK500. Literally children you can program to behave exactly how you want them to. No worrying over hunger or struggling to get them into bed at night. All the love, none of the nasty surprises -- like waking up to hear your kid screaming in pain and finding they fell out of bed and broke their arm, or sudden illnesses cause they ate something they shouldn’t have, or puberty as a whole. No temper tantrums,” she hinted. “All the things that make raising kids actually worth it -- poof, gone.” 

He couldn’t argue that one -- both because he had no idea what raising children entailed or what its rewards were, and because she’d made her point very concisely. 

“That’s when I knew the decline of humanity was imminent,” she said. “It was always inevitable, but now it’s right on the horizon. We’ve reached the point where it was considered okay to have robots raising our kids while we raised robotic kids instead. Taking the easier path in every sense of the term.” 

Something heavy and uncomfortable hit him then, right in the chest. Empathy, he wondered? Was he picking up on Evelyn’s obvious turmoil -- or was this his own? 

“There’s no point, you know,” she told him. “No point to android kids except the phrase ‘I want’. Greed coupled with apathy -- I want kids, but I don’t want real kids with flaws and unpredictability. I want kids I can tell how to behave and they’ll do it. Just sheer obedience. Slave children,” she said, voice hard. 

And he didn’t know how to respond to that. She was right -- at least about there being no point to android children. If the purpose behind androids was usefulness, then the YK500 had none. It certainly lent credence to the theory that there was more to android creation and marketing than what CyberLife claimed.

Most androids had a hypothesis about the truth by now. Among them: androids were meant to replace humanity; androids were meant to be immortal bodies for rich humans, they just needed to be good enough first; androids were meant to lead humans to a utopia of unrivaled bliss; androids were meant to supplant and destroy humans...the list went on.

Then again, maybe it really was all about money. That’s what Amanda had told him: that CyberLife’s goal was just to keep selling androids and making money. But then what? What happens after, when androids outnumber humans? What was the end goal? There was no way CyberLife didn’t have a plan for what comes next -- the question was what that plan was.

They were both quiet for a time, lost in their own thoughts, before Evelyn concluded, “Anyway, that’s why androids make me so uncomfortable. Not for what they are -- for what you are,” she told him, “but for what it represents for humans. The end,” she said, melancholy. 

The end...of humanity? That’s what androids equated for her? 

“Evie,” he murmured, hesitant. The decline of humanity is imminent, she’d said -- and this is what she meant? Not androids destroying humans, but humans allowing their own destruction through androids’ existence? 

The future is going to go one of two ways, she’d said when they met. Either androids are going to grab us by the ears and pull us out of this hole, or they’re going to grab shovels and bury us. 

“What is it you expect to happen?” he asked, cautious. Her signs of depression were stronger than ever before, and he knew how easily it could tip into suicidal thoughts. He needed to proceed carefully, get a feel for her mental state, and hopefully get her on steadier ground. 

She shook her head. “I honestly couldn’t guess. Aside from the total decline of humanity,” she added, “but I expect that’ll occur regardless of android intervention rather than because of it. But for all I know that’ll take millennia yet.” 

Still hesitant, he ventured, “You know most androids don’t want a war, right? Markus, especially -- after everything that’s happened, he truly believes that humans are good, as a whole. The bad ones just stand out more.” 

“Negative affinity,” she mused. “Funny -- it’s one of humanity’s worst traits, and somehow we managed to give it to you, too.” 

Negative affinity, he repeated: the condition of seeing bad things as worse than they are, largely because bad things are more rare than good ones and, thus, are less expected. Getting into a car accident or falling ill were noted because it happened comparatively rarely to successfully driving to your destination or having another perfectly healthy day. 

“Or we developed it on our own,” he pointed out. “It’s useful for reminding ourselves how fragile the good days are -- and how much we should appreciate them.” 

She glanced at him sideways. “Look who’s the zen guru now,” she teased. 

He smiled.

--

[>>>NEXT>>>]

[thehoneyxbadger]

the right to an attorney

Gabby Kinney meets her attorney. Matt Murdock loses his client.

DATE: starts 23/3/2020  FEATURING: @wcrldonfire​ MENTIONED: Laura Kinney, @aethercal​, @onemancastle​, @echoingloneliness​ WARNINGS: guns, kidnapping, prison, drugging

GABBY: Gabby sat in the interrogation room, tugging at the cuffs, plotting exactly how to get out of here. Despite the power inhibiting collar around her neck, she had more than a few tricks up her sleeve. The trainers at Alchemax had always assumed she, like her sisters, had no special powers, and trained her as such. She could dislocate her thumb to get out of these cuffs and not even feel the pain. Fighting her way out without her weapons would probably not be easy, but it was certainly doable. She'd broken out of worse places. 

She wondered if Laura knew where she was. When would they give her that phonecall she was entitled to? She had to tell Laura what had happened. Warn her somehow. "Hello!?" she shouted, looking to the one way mirror and the door. "I want my phone call! I want to call my--" She stopped when the door opened and two police detectives walked in. Gabby scowled. "I want my phone call. And--"

"You're not in a position to be making demands, Miss Kinney. An unregistered mutant vigilante? Not a good look."

Gabby opened her mouth to respond when the door opened again.

MATT: Since passing his number on to Warren, Matt found himself almost inundated with new clients. It wasn’t something that he could ever complain about, even if the grand majority of the cases were pro bono (Warren tried, after all, to push money into his account, to pay in gifts if Matt wouldn’t take the checks, but it felt wrong to accept cash for something so close to Matt’s heart, a battle he was fighting for his own benefit as much as his clients). Keeping an ear out through the city was necessary, and for what wasn’t the first time, his abilities allowed him to pick up a person in need long before they picked up the phone and called the small room that he masqueraded as his office.

Matt made his way through the precinct, having to jump through numerous hoops to find out where the girl was being held, but finally he found himself on the other side of the interrogation room doors. They slid open, and he was guided in, only to hear a detective’s voice break through the uneasy tension.

“Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Matthew Murdock,” he said, moving to feel for the table in the centre of the room. “I am Ms. Kinney’s attorney. Please, don’t say anything further.” He assumed Gabby would know he was speaking to her, as he couldn’t exactly meet her eye to check understanding. “I noted on my way in that there were a number of allegations made regarding my client. You know as well as I do, officer, that we can’t treat people as guilty until proven innocent. Do you have evidence to substantiate these claims?”

GABBY: Gabby stared in surprise at the man who walked in. The man she recognised from the alley behind the animal shelter. Her attorney? As far as Gabby was aware she didn't have an attorney and certainly didn't know how she was going to pay for one. But still, she kept her mouth shut as he instructed. They couldn't use what she said if she never said it.

Unfortunately for her, the police weren't looking for her to admit much. And they were familiar with Matt's work. "Murdock. As it happens, we do. Two enforcers saw Ms. Kinney using her mutant powers in an unlawful way." Gabby's frown turned into a scowl as she bit back protest that she had only fought when given no choice. "And she is unregistered."

MATT: There were certain things that Matt couldn’t show he had seen, even if he could sense the shift in the room, could pick up on atmospheres better than any sighted person could hope to. He inclined his head slightly towards Gabby’s familiar scent, picked up that night in the alleyway behind the animal shelter. If he continued to show up in strange situations, it was inevitable that the girl would figure out he was someone worth looking more closely into, but that didn’t mean Matt could turn away when someone was in need.

“So this is an issue under the Accords, then?” Matt asked, and the detectives hummed in agreement. He heard Gabby start and then stop herself from speaking. Mutants, even those who never had a run in with the law, knew that their voices didn’t matter. Matt wanted to change that. “I have the right to confer privately with my client,” Matt said. “I would appreciate if you gave us some time now, before this interrogation continues — because this is an interrogation, detectives, isn’t it?” Matt rose an eyebrow, shifting his weight between his feet. “Because if you’re planning on charging my client based simply on eyewitness testimony or hearsay, then-”

“Yeah yeah,” the detective said, and Matt picked up on the whoosh of air that came from him waving his partner out the door. “I see where you’re going. Talk to your client, Murdock.”

“Pleasure working with you,” Matt replied, even though his words were cut off by the door slamming. He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and then sat down on the chair across from Gabby, setting his briefcase on the table. “How about we start,” he said, “with you telling me what happened, in your own words?” He paused, just for a beat, and sent her a small smile. “Or if you have any questions for me first, by all means. I’m an open book.”

GABBY:  Gabby pressed her lips together, trying not to get snarky with the police officers as they explained that it was an issue under the Accords. There was so many things she wanted to say, so many biting remarks she could make, and yet for once she exercised restraint and control. Not something she did often. She couldn't quite hold back the scoff when Matt asked if this was an interrogation. He might not be able to see it, but Gabby could see how the detectives' body language prepared for it. She didn't need her enhanced senses for that.

When the door slammed, she pulled a face after the no longer present figures of the police officers before turning her attention to her 'attorney'. "I didn't know I had a lawyer," she said quickly, almost cutting him off in her rush. "How did you even know I was here? Is this going to cost me a lot of money?" Maybe Warren would lend her and Laura the money for this lawyer.

What happened. "Well. There was this teenager, probably like thirteen or fourteen--a mutant--who just got his powers. Pyrokinesis--which is really cool, by the way, even if it is super dangerous--and he lost his temper and lost control. He caused a bunch of damage and he couldn't calm down enough to stop it. He was scared as much as angry. But I have accelerated healing and I can't feel pain so I managed to get close enough to him to help him calm down. He didn't trust me, so I showed him my claw to show him I was a mutant too and then two Enforcers showed up. And now we're here."

MATT: One of the things Matt always found most fascinating about the law was how it ebbed and flowed in relation to public opinion. Rarely was something so enshrined in judicial opinion that it didn’t change for centuries — even murder was refined to a greater extent, allowing for crimes of passion, accidents, manslaughter, giving people who had no other choice a way to walk without a prison sentence on their record. That being said, there was something uniquely frustrating about being right in the middle of a changing political climate. He gave his number to Warren, he said that they could call anytime, he pledged his services to Scott and Logan, and now he was coming through on that.

He didn’t expect his first case to be regarding the girl sitting in front of him. She was young, her heart beat strong and steady in her chest. She wanted to do good, Matt could read that much off her in an instant. “Everyone should have a lawyer. Legal aid do what they can, but they don’t have the resources to fight a charge like this.” They didn’t have the expertise either. No one did, not really — but Matt liked to think he had a rather unique perspective on vigilante justice, courtesy of his own night time activities. “I hear things.” He was tempted to add through the grapevine, but held himself back. “It won’t cost you anything. I work with Warren, but I’m not here on his behalf. I’m here for you, and it’s pro bono.”

Matt didn’t agree with any section of the Accords. Not the standardised training, not the military formations, not the health screening, not the threat analysis. This part, though, was the one that made him the angriest, that made him need to take a breath before continuing. Being persecuted just for being alive, for trying to help … “They’re charging you. Chances are you’ll be placed into a facility before I can put in an appeal. You might be there for a few days, maybe longer. I’ll try to push it through.” Foggy, perhaps, could put in a good word for him — if Matt played nice with his best friend. “I have a private investigator,” he said. “She’s good. Trustworthy. Do you mind if she tries to get some character witnesses, people who have seen you just trying to help? They might be useful on the stand, if we get there — although I’m hoping to get this thrown out before we need to worry about that.”

GABBY: Maybe everyone should have a lawyer, especially powered people, but Gabby couldn't afford one normally. It didn't surprise her much to hear that Warren apparently had one, even if it did surprise her that he was sitting in front of her. But the pro bono bit made her mouth drop open in surprise. "It won't cost anything? Are you sure?" Maybe it was fate she'd run into him that day in the alleyway, so they would know each other. If so, she was eternally grateful she'd taken the bins out at that time. Almost as grateful as she was that Matt was here for her.

She nodded when he said they were charging her, sighing. Of course they were. Vigilantism, being an unregistered mutant... She wouldn't be surprised if they tried to pin the damages on her too. Her shoulders sagged. But when Matt mentioned a facility, she shrugged. "It can't be the worst place I've been. Trust me. Thank you." She'd survive while Matt worked on her case. "I'm okay with that," she agreed quickly. Anyone who could help her, who was trustworthy, was alright with her. "But can you do me a favour too? Well... another one? Not so related to the actual case? Can you tell my sister where I am? Her name's Laura. Warren should be able to help you find her. Or I can give you her number. I don't want her to worry I've gone missing." She probably would worry considering Gabby had been arrested, but it could be so much worse and Gabby didn't want Laura to think that.

MATT: “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the Good Samaritan in this story, Gabby,” Matt said, shifting slightly on his seat on the other side of the interrogation table so he could lean in, fingers linked on the table. He needed her to understand that he wasn’t here as an ambulance chaser, as so many people would believe. He needed her to see the sincerity laced through his words, something that wasn’t common for him to display. In most of the aspects of his life, Matt preferred to hide behind smoke and mirrors, keeping himself from public judgement. In his day job, though, he acted as an advocate for those who couldn’t fight for themselves because the system didn’t take them seriously. “If the court was to do the right thing, they’d give you a commendation for what you did. You prevented further harm. You saved the day. If you didn’t do that, a lot of people would’ve been hurt.”

Matt knew it was against the law, but so were a lot of things. The law was not black and white, that’s what he loved so much about it. It could shift and change, could alter itself according to the changing tides of public opinion. It was down to him and others like him to make sure that tide went the way of justice. “If you help people, you deserve a lot better than the Raft,” he said. Matt listened to her request, then nodded. “Of course,” he replied, “but it is related to the case. You’re my client. I’m here for you, and that includes talking to whoever you need me to. This isn’t just me protecting your rights in relation to this arrest. This is me saying I’m on side, for anything you need.”

GABBY: She smiled at that. It was her intentions to do good, to help that kid. It felt wrong to be arrested for that--though she was almost certainly in more trouble for resisting that arrest than if she'd just gone quietly. But looking at Matt now, listening to him, she could see that he sincerely believed what he was telling her. That he cared. "Thanks," she replied. "He was scared and upset. I could help."

The idea of going to the Raft did make Gabby uneasy. She'd thought hopefully they'd hold her here for a while, until Matt could get her out. But being locked up long term was not something she wanted. Gabby was remarkably optimistic and upbeat in the face of almost anything, but she didn't want to be locked up again. She'd escaped from that before. Hearing that Matt would tell Laura where she was and that she was (relatively) okay, Gabby could relax a bit. "Thank you." She gave a bit more of a cheeky smile. "I don't suppose you could convince them to take this collar off? My senses are so dull with it." Almost certainly not, she knew, but it was worth asking. Except right as she did, the door opened again to reveal an officer. 

"Time's up."

MATT: The professors at Columbia said Matt was a bleeding heart, often with a hint of derision that more than demonstrated how they believed that to be a weakness in the world of legality and proceedings of justice. Matt, following former patterns, fundamentally disagreed with that principle. Caring about people, empathising with them, was what made the difference between a shark and a good lawyer — a shark and a good man. His father wanted him to make a difference, and maybe he wouldn’t have been impressed with what Matt did in the dark, but he liked to think he was living up to Jack’s wishes in his day job.

“I can’t promise anything,” Matt said. Any argument he could construct at this early stage of proceedings against the collar was unlikely to succeed, but that wouldn’t mean he didn’t try. The officer appeared before Matt could say anything else, and he stood up from his chair after a moment of hesitation. “I’ll stay in touch, Ms. Kinney. Please, stay safe. I would hate for us to find a thread to pull on in this lovely establishment.” If Karen was here, she would be smirking at Matt’s compulsion to make a comment, at the way it crawled under the guard’s skin as he was led out.

Over the next few weeks, Matt met with Gabby on a number of occasions. Her case was progressing nicely. It wasn’t easy, not by any stretch, but she was a far more appealing client to defend than Frank Castle, and he’d argued the Punisher out of prison time before Castle yelled himself to multiple life sentences. One day, though, Matt arrived at the prison only to be told Gabby was transferred to another facility.

.

“Without contacting myself?” Matt asked, raising an eyebrow. He could hear the guard shrugging, even if he didn’t see it. “That’s a legal requirement, you know. You’re withholding access to my client, and her right to due process and representation.”

“I can give you the address of the facility,” the man said. “I’m not withholding anything.”

Unfortunately, neither was anyone else that day. Matt found himself in four, five, nine facilities, constantly being passed from person to person. A call to Kirsten McDuffie provided him with some insight — Gabby’s file was jumping between databases, never anchoring itself to one prison in particular.

Gabby would’ve told him if she was on the run. Something had gone wrong, something just like that night Karen was targeted in her cell. Matt wouldn’t rest until he found out exactly where the young girl was, and exposed what had happened here.

GABBY: Gabby wasn't sure what it was about Matt Murdock that made her trust him so easily, but she did. He seemed sincere, and she believed him when he said that he was going to fight for her on this case. He seemed to actually care. When he said he couldn't promise anything about the collar, Gabby just nodded. It had been a long shot.

She smiled at him as he made his comment about the jail. "I'll do my best," she told him, noticing the way it made the guard uncomfortable.

Being in jail was... frustrating to say the least. Gabby was kept mostly alone, and she felt stir crazy, like she was getting cabin fever from being stuck in one place. But mostly, she just really didn't like being imprisoned again. Meetings with Matt over the next few weeks quickly became something to look forward to. Contact to outside, and progress on her situation here.

.

Gabby was able to sleep pretty much anywhere. There had been a time for her when that had been an invaluable skill, to be able to rest wherever she could grab a chance. Now it just meant that the uncomfortable bed of her cell didn't bother her too much. But she wasn't sleeping heavily. So when her cell door opened unexpectedly, she was awake in an instant.

It was too dark for it to be morning, and only one of the usual armed guards was there opening the door. Gabby had noticed how close they kept their hands to their weapons when dealing with her, and realised on her first day that with the collar on, she would die if they shot her. It wasn't the first time that Gabby had felt vulnerable to death, but she'd grown accustomed to her healing factor. It was an uncomfortable reminder.

With the regular guard was three armoured guards. Gabby frowned, scrambling to her feet. "What's going on?" she asked, but it was like she didn't speak for all the reaction she got. Two of the armoured guards took her roughly by the arms, putting cuffs on her and pushed her out the door. Gabby tried to protest, but she felt a weapon on her back. No body armour, no healing factor. She walked as instructed, escorted by the strange guards, leaving the regular one behind.

She was taken outside and placed in the back of a prisoner transport vehicle--a van with blackened windows and heavy doors--with the guards. As the van rumbled to life and began to drive, Gabby felt a sharp pinch in her arm and everything went black.

[suddenrundown]

                          All the Time in the World: Chapter 12

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There was something…unfriendly in the looks from random passersby.

Unfriendly was probably too mild; Barry could deal with unfriendly. These looks carried something else, something that triggered danger signals, but they never lingered too long before flitting away as the owner scurried off without a glance back. It was unnerving, and he tried not to make too much eye contact with anyone in particular as he perused the aisles of the small apothecary shop. Instead, he focused on the paper that Merle had handed him before he left the ship and headed into town, a list of medicines that the crew needed to restock on complete with brief descriptions of each one hastily scribbled down as an afterthought, because what if they have different names for their medicines, Merle?

“Good point,” the dwarf had replied as if that thought had never once occurred to him, taking the paper back.

The task proved to be difficult anyway as Barry squinted at Merle’s chicken scratch handwriting in an attempt to decipher it and scanned the shelf in front of him. He sighed heavily and stood from his squatting position, stretching his back a little.

“Merle, for the love of…” he muttered to himself. This would have been much easier if the guy had come along. Barry stood on his toes to see over the shelf. “Any luck, Lup?”

Continued under the cut, or you can read it on ao3

“Uh…no?” came the response from down below on the other side of the aisle. Lup popped up then, slightly to the left on her side of the aisle. “At least, not with the amoxi- what’cha call it.”

“Amoxilitinia,” Barry supplied, peering back down at the list. “It’s the last thing on the list, so what did you find?”

“Hand lotion,” Lup answered as she showed him the bottle she was holding, which claimed to smell of some type of berry he hadn’t heard of before. “And if Merle knew how good it smelled, he would have put it on the list.”

He grinned. “Is that so?”

“Oh, for sure,” she told him, disappearing from view and then reappearing as she rounded the corner to his side of the aisle. “Here,” she continued, holding the bottle out to him, “smell.”

Barry did as she said. He definitely couldn’t identify the scent, but clearly he needed to find whatever berry the stuff was meant to imitate. “It smells amazing,” he told her, because it really did.

“Right?” She took another whiff herself and then capped the bottle. “Obviously I’m getting it.”

“Obviously.”

“Alright, so let’s find this Amoxi-shit and head back. What’s it for?” she asked as grabbed for the paper in his hand.

“Rashes,” he replied as he scanned the shelf again.

Lup chuckled. “He knows there’s different kinds, right?”

“One would hope.”

After a few more minutes of searching, Lup found some not-Amoxilitinia that seemed to be for some sort of rash-curing purpose and decided that it was good enough.

“If he wants something else, he can come back and do it himself,” she said. Then she looked at him, concern lining her features. “You ok?”

He stopped rubbing the back of his neck, but couldn’t stop the nervous pounding of his heart. “I just want to be back. Feel like I’m being watched.” He peaked over her shoulder and saw the worker at the counter glance quickly away as soon as he looked over. “The guy up front has done nothing but give us dirty looks ever since we walked in,” he added, quieter.

Lup glanced behind her as well, and then turned to give him a reassuring smile. “They’re just stuffy dickheads. But don’t worry, I got this.”

Barry hung back while she went to pay. The man at the counter did not show her any sort of friendliness as he rang her up, but that was fine as long as he didn’t…do something else. Barry wasn’t actually sure what he was prepared for, but he felt on edge enough that he should be.

Lup picked up her purchases off the counter and stowed them in her backpack. “Thank you so much,” she said politely and with incredible enthusiasm. The man did not reply and barely spared her a glance.

She stepped out of the door that Barry held open for her. “See? Nothing to worry about,” she told him.

                                                        ~

There wasn’t exactly nothing to worry about, and Lup knew that. She also knew that the super welcoming people of the town of Dalry weren’t just “stuffy dickheads”, either. She’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t noticed the angry stares or that they didn’t give her the creeps, too. Good thing Barry hadn’t asked. A woman stopped to glare at them as they passed, and Lup glared right back before realizing that that could only escalate the situation.

The situation, as it stood, was that they were in trouble for having magic. When they’d landed the Starblaster outside of town three days ago, they’d been met by two very official and very distrustful looking men who had not bothered introducing themselves. Instead, they’d immediately started grilling Davenport about the “highly suspicious aircraft” he’d walked out of in the most aggressive way possible.

The captain had attempted to give his usual spiel that vaguely explained why they just appeared out of nowhere, but the men continuously interrupted him, seemingly getting more demandingly hostile by the minute. Davenport decided to switch tactics.

“I really do apologize for the shock. Believe me, our being here is completely out of our control for the time being. I’m Davenport, the captain of this admittedly odd-looking ship, and they,” he gestured behind himself to the six of them “are my team.”

Neither of the men said anything to this, so Davenport continued, pointing as he introduced them one by one. “That’s Barry, resident scientist, and that would be Lucretia, our records keeper. Taako and Lup, fantastic wizards and even better-”

“Wizards!” thundered one of the strangers in what sounded like an accusation.

The other man stepped forward. When he spoke, it was much quieter but no less threatening. “There is no magic here.”

More accurately, as it was later found, magic was not allowed. It was immoral, illegal, and punishable by imprisonment and, in all likelihood, death. Sensing the gravity of the situation, Davenport had assured them that they would abide by the law and if they needed that in writing he would gladly give it to them, but reasoned that they could not possibly be held accountable for something they weren’t aware of.

Though this did not seem to sit well with either of them, the quieter man suggested that he could at least come plead his case to the law makers, as the two of them were merely enforcers. Davenport had gratefully and humbly accepted, and then turned to face the rest of them.

“If I’m not back in three hours, you know what to do.”

They’d solemnly nodded and he’d left, but thankfully reappeared before time was up.

“I thought it best to be completely honest about how many of us actually have magic,” he’d told them. “They weren’t at all happy about it, but I didn’t want them to somehow figure it out through other means. That being said, obviously no one will use any sort of magic while we’re here, and tread lightly so as not to draw too much attention to ourselves.”

“Would it be wiser to relocate elsewhere?” Lucretia asked.

“Possibly,” Davenport replied, “although we don’t know how big this world is or if every other place we come to will be the same. Since they let me come back, I have to assume that we are out of the woods for the time being. We might not be as lucky elsewhere. For now, we will hurry through the usual inspections of the ship and be on our guards.”

They’d all agreed then, but as she walked across the dirt roads of the town back home, the weight of the stares and the bag full of meds on her back, Lup wasn’t so sure. And it didn’t seem like Barry was either. He looked panicky as hell, and that wasn’t helping with the whole “don’t draw attention to yourself” thing. Home was just ten minutes away past the outskirts of town; they just had to get there.

Barry startled when she bumped his shoulder playfully. “Hey,” she said, “what do you think the rash cream is for?”

“Huh?” he replied, barely above a whisper. His gaze darted away and back.

“The not Amoxi-shit. Who needs it and why, go.”

“Why?” he repeated incredulously.

“Yeah!”

“This is a very bad game, Lup,” he told her.

But you’re in. She noted the small smile that had replaced the jittery look he’d had before, and she looked at him expectantly and raised an eyebrow. Eight minutes.

“Magnus, athlete’s foot,” he finally guessed.

“He should wash his socks more often.”

“Gross.” Barry wrinkled his nose. “You’re turn.”

“Lucretia, her hands are always super dry.”

“I don’t know if that counts as a rash.”

She shrugged. “Well, I don’t think you want to hear what I was gonna say.”

“And what was that?” he asked hesitantly.

“It’s for Merle for-”

“Oh gods, please don’t!” Barry spluttered, gesticulating as if to wave the idea away.

“You don’t know what it was,” Lup replied innocently.

“I can fill in the blanks on that one, thanks,” he laughed, cheeks faintly pink.

“Probably,” she giggled. “You were right, bad game.”

They were passed the busiest part of town now, paths on all sides leading to smaller neighborhoods. Lup smiled to herself. Five minutes. She glanced in the direction of where the Starblaster would be once they left the town and frowned. Smoke was rising over the tops of the buildings.

“I think I’m good without knowing the details of everyone’s various ailments,” Barry commented, still amused and unaware. “Unless it’s absolutely necessary-”

“Barry,” Lup gasped, eyes wide as she grabbed his arm to stop him. She pointed upwards, heart stopping in her chest.

“What?” he asked, following her line of site. “Oh, shit!”

The Starblaster was taking off, one of the wings on fire. Someone, Taako probably, leaned out the window and cast a spell that put it out as the ship pulled away. Smoke still billowed out over in the direction where they’d set up camp.

“Shit, Lup,” Barry whispered, panicked. “Shit, shit, shit-”

“Shut up, come on.”

She dragged him by the arm the opposite way towards a path with a few run-down buildings, refusing to look in the direction the ship had gone. It’s fine. Whoever went after them didn’t take them down. They’re fine. Taako’s fine.

They turned a corner and found an alley, deserted and dim. Lup let go of Barry’s arm and crouched down, as Barry slid against the wall to the ground. He leaned his head back against the wall and shut his eyes.

“I knew something wasn’t right,” he moaned. “Did you see how everyone was looking at us today?”

She peered back around the way they’d come. “I saw.”

“We should have left yesterday when we finished the inspection. I almost said something to Davenport, but then I figured I was just being overly worried, and I didn’t. And now we’re here, and probably being hunted down. And everyone else, they’re-”

“They are fine, Barry,” she interrupted as she put a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to look up at her. “As are we, as long as we keep it together. Now take a deep breath for a sec.”

He did as she said, exhaling shakily. “How do you know?”

“That they’re fine? I’d feel it if they weren’t,” she replied, almost convincing herself.

Barry nodded and took another deep breath, this one a little less shaky. Lup stood and peered around the side again. Still no one around; they hadn’t been followed.

“Alright, hold still,” she told him after a moment.

“For what?”

“I’m casting Disguise on the both of us so that we at least look like we belong here. We’ll still have to lay low, because anyone who pays attention will know that we don’t, but it’ll at least get us out of this alley. We’ll get a plan after that. Deal?”

Barry agreed, and she got to work.

                                                            ~

The plan, as always, involved a little research. Covers intact, Lup and Barry made their way back through the city to the library, found what resources containing maps they could, and planted themselves in a far corner of the building. No one had paid them any sort of mind, thanks to Lup, and for that, Barry was grateful and could work without looking over his shoulder.

“If circumstances were different,” he said, head bowed over a world map, “I’d be interested in exploring this whole world. It’s not the biggest we’ve been to, but it’s fairly sizable.”

“Well, chalk that up as motivation to get our asses home,” responded Lup’s voice in a body that wasn’t hers at all. Her elf features were replaced with human ones that resembled those of the population here, and she’d gone so far as to Disguise her clothes to match theirs as well. She looked up from her own map and smiled eagerly, which was so very Lup-like that his heart missed a beat anyway. “Then we can explore all we want.”

“Right,” he replied, clearing his throat. He leaned across the table to look at the map she had in front of her. “So, I think it’s safe to assume that when they left Dalry they didn’t go to a different country altogether. So they should be in one of the other six towns in Hen…how do you say that?” he asked, tilting his head to try and make out the name at the top of the map from his position.

“Henorion,” Lup read, sounding it out. “And yeah, I don’t think they’d go that far.”

“Not far if you’re going by air, at least.”

“Put on your best walking shoes, Barold,” Lup joked, singsong.

“Damn it,” he snapped his fingers, “left them in my room.”

“I can add it to your Disguise so that it at least looks like you’re wearing them.”

“Wouldn’t be the same,” he replied with feigned grief, which Lup giggled at. Barry chuckled as well, sitting back in his chair, and looked down at himself. His Disguised self wore shoes that hardly looked comfortable, like they’d pinch his feet if he were actually wearing them. He also knew from seeing his reflection in shop windows on the way here that his hair, normally light brown and shaggy, now appeared cut short and dark. In general, he looked like any guy you’d see on this town’s streets, unrecognizable to himself. Except she’d still made him chubby.

“Didn’t think to slim me down, huh?” he’d asked her.

She’d just stopped and looked him up and down for a moment. “Nope,” she’d finally answered, and then turned on her heel towards the library.

Fair enough. Why bother with the effort for something that wasn’t real?

“Anyway,” he continued, folding up the map he had been looking at, “I think our next stop should be for food supplies we can carry in our bags, and then we’ll hide out until it starts getting dark and make our way out of town.”

“Sounds good.” Lup looked around and then ripped the map out of the book quickly. “Don’t really wanna stay here any longer than that,” she said as she rolled it up and stuffed it in her bag.

Barry looked out the window next to him, movement catching his eye. Three men in brown uniforms ran by the building, long cylindrical instruments he assumed to be some kind of weapon over their shoulders. He turned away and shoved down the fear that was creeping through him. There was no reason to believe those men had anything to do with him and Lup.

“No arguments here,” he said as he slung his backpack on and stood up. “Let’s go.”

                                                              ~

When dusk had fallen and the streets were empty save for stragglers, Lup and Barry made their way back to the end of town limits. Lup wasn’t sure exactly how long it would take them to get to Bellanau, the next town closest to them on the map, or what they’d run into on the way there, but she was confident that they could deal with whatever it might be. And whatever it might be better be interesting so that she could have something to brag to Taako about when she finally found him.

Not far from where they’d been when they saw the Starblaster leave, Lup could see a group of people standing at the edge of town. She focused to peer through the dark and saw that there were probably at least twenty or so men, all dressed in brown. A few had weapons drawn. She knew they weren’t close enough for Barry to see them yet.

“So, don’t panic…”

“What?” Barry asked, panicking immediately.

“People ahead, might be trouble. When you see them, don’t hesitate, just keep walking.”

“O-okay.”

She knew when he saw them by his sharp intake of breath.

“Lup-”

“Keep walking, Barry, they think we’re from here.”

He did as she said, and Lup kept her gaze ahead as they approached. The men silently watched them the entire way, and when they were within earshot, Lup smiled.

“Evening sirs,” she called.

“Evening,” a man who stood in front of the others said, clearly the head of whatever operation was happening.

“What’s all this for?” she asked, stopping in front of him, Barry silent at her side.

“Well ma’am, as you should be aware, we do have reason to believe that two individuals we suspect of having magic might be lurking around town. According to witnesses, the pair were seen in this area when their accomplices took off in that hideous craft of theirs. Too bad we didn’t manage to take them down.”

Beside her, she felt Barry tense at the man’s use of “hideous craft”. Offensive, sure, but her heart soared at the mention that Taako and the rest of them were, as far as these clowns knew, safe.

“Right, well I do hope you find them,” she said cordially. She looped her arm through Barry’s and made to step around the captain, but he held a hand up to stop her.

“Where are you headed this time of night?”

Lup did her best to look put out. “Is this really necessary?”

“No offense ma’am, we’re just being cautious.” He smiled at her. “You understand.”

“Well if you must know, we’re going to Bellanau to visit my sister,” she lied.

“Bell-a-naw, you mean?” the man replied slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“I’ve told her a million times, sir,” Barry piped up. “Bell-a-naw, not Bell-a-now.”

Nice, Barry. She squeezed his arm a little tighter. “Yes, well, I say tomahto…”

She pulled Barry past the guard and then felt him tense when the man put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

���I need to see your ID.”

“What-” Barry’s voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat quickly. “What for?”

“Checking everyone who comes through, sir.”

“Right, well…I didn’t think I’d need it. Left it at home.”

“And you, ma’am?” the captain said, turning to her.

She shrugged. “Don’t have it either.”

“I’ll have to ask you to come with me to headquarters then for a few more questions,” he said, hand still on Barry’s shoulder.

“This is all very unnecessary,” Lup huffed. Disguise wouldn’t last another hour and she had no idea what an ID looked like here, so she had no way to magic one up even if she could. She stepped back and moved to stand in front of the man again, if only to get him to release his hold on Barry. “We really don’t have time for this,” she told him, and looked around as some of the other men moved from their positions to make a circle around them, clearly taking her actions as a threat. She looked up at the man again. “Can’t we just save all of us from this hassle and you get back to worrying about the two people you’re actually looking for and we’ll be on our way?”

“Afraid not, ma’am,” the captain said, straightening up. “I really think you should come with me.”

“I just-”

“I’m really past the point of talking about this, ma’am,” he interjected with frustration. “Let’s go.”

He reached out to grab her arm and she took a step back, swinging Barry around so that his back was to her, trusting him to know what he needed to do. She had the guys up front; he could take care of the ones behind her. Or they’d go down trying.

The guards she could see all raised black cylindrical weapons out towards them, the ends sparking with some sort of energy. They almost looked like wands.

Not that she needed those. Lup raised her palms up and a small flame appeared in each hand, more of a warning than anything else. A few of the men gasped but none of them faltered, the ends of their weapons continuing to crackle.

“We don’t really have to do this,” she warned coolly, making eye contact with one of the ones who’d made a sound.

He simply scowled at her.

The flames in her hand flickered and then ignited hotter and bigger. “Fine,” she smirked and shot the fire out towards them.

The men quickly scattered away and she lined the ground at their feet with flame. She could hear the sounds of Barry’s magic from behind her and spun around to cast flames on his side as well, preventing their forward movement. Men dived to the ground as Barry’s spells flew towards them.

Flame growing in her hands again, Lup turned back around to pick a target and came face to face with a sneering man and felt something touch her chest. Her eyes grew wide and the man pulled a trigger on the end of his weapon.

Her flame extinguished, and Lup cried out. She felt like it had been pulled, like water down a drain, and felt that same sensation all throughout her body. She couldn’t move, and the pulling feeling continued until there was nothing left to feel at all. Her vision grew hazy and she fell to her knees as the guard stepped back.

“Lup!” she could hear Barry yell, though it sounded far away. She couldn’t answer him.

Then her vision dimmed around the edges, but she swore the fog was still there and had manifested all around her. She managed to pick her head up and look at the guard who got to her, and she barely had time to register that he and the others around him now stood still, expressions blank, before a new face, a woman’s face, entered what little field of vision she had left.

The woman grinned, and that was the last thing Lup saw before everything went black.

                                                              ~

All he could do was pace.

Back and forth, from one end of the room to the other. It was either that or sit, and either way, Barry was accomplishing nothing. Pacing, at least, felt productive in some way, and helped him think. But all of his thoughts had been anxious ones and he was starting to feel worn out.

He stopped and leaned against the wall, his gaze drifting over to the bed on the other side of the room where Lup had been lying, unmoving, since they got here. She didn’t look hurt or sick, thank Whatever, just asleep. But four days was a long time to be out.

“Wake up, Lup,” he pleaded, voice nearly a whisper.

“Are you done pacing a hole in my floor?” a woman’s voice asked from behind him.

Barry turned to the doorway as in came Sadine, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs. She placed the tray on the small table near the door and brushed her wispy red hair out of her face.

“Sorry,” Barry replied.

She smiled at him cheerily. “Don’t be, just come sit.”

He pushed off the wall and did as she asked, sighing heavily as he sat down. Sadine gestured for him to take a mug and he did so.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a small sip. “Uh, you don’t happen to have any cream, do you?”

“Downstairs,” she replied.

“O-oh, I’ll go get it-”

“No need,” she assured him, just as cheerily as before. She snapped her fingers and a small pitcher appeared on the table in front of him. “Help yourself!”

Barry blinked. “Appreciate it,” he said lamely. Sadine’s use of magic seemed very different from his own or that of his friends.

Although, she had saved him and Lup with that confusion spell. She was responsible for the mist that suddenly appeared right as Lup had been hit. As it got thicker, Barry had felt his thoughts go fuzzy, and couldn’t think of how to use another spell, or save Lup, or do much of anything but stand in place. That is, until Sadine had spoken to him.

“You can pick up your friend there,” she’d spoken from behind, and he was then able to turn around and see her standing in front of Lup, who’d passed out on the ground. “No need to worry,” she’d continued unnecessarily, because he didn’t know how to do that. “And you lads all just stand there and look pretty until we leave and forget this little incident even happened,” she finished, spinning around to face each of the men as she spoke.

Sadine helped him put Lup on his back. “Lovely,” she said, and then grabbed him gently by the arm. “You can walk with me now, we’re going to my house. You’ll be fine there. I’ve got a nice little protection spell over it. It’s kept me safe for a good long time,” she babbled. “Suspicion just slides right off it, you know.” And he did.

She let go of his arm when they reached her home and ushered him in. “We’re far enough away now that the confusion should wear off soon, my friend. Oh, dear me,” she fussed, “where are my manners? I’m Sadine. You can tell me your name.”

“Barry,” he’d answered simply.

“That is precious,” she chirped. “I’ll save the rest of the pleasantries for when you’ve got your wits about you. In the meantime, you can walk right up those stairs and find the room with the bed in it. Just put your friend there.”

He did as she said, tucking Lup in with as much care as he knew how to take. Then he’d just stood there, until Sadine had called up to him. “Now, it is late, Barry and I’m sure this whole thing has tired you out. Perhaps it will be better to save the talking for the morning? The confusion will definitely have worn off by then. I only have that one extra bed, which you can get into if you like.”

He moved to do that, pulling back the covers to slide in beside Lup.

“On second thought, not sure how it is between you and your friend,” she called up again with a giggle. “I have a couch down here you can also sleep on.”

Though at that moment he didn’t know much, he somehow knew to choose the couch.

He’d spent the next day fretfully watching over Lup. Sadine was gone most of the day and came back with groceries and an extra shirt for him to change into. She left him alone except to offer food or anything else he might want, but he was too anxious to eat much of anything and declined. On the second day he remembered his manners and thanked Sadine profusely for saving them and offered to help her out around the house in exchange for lodging. She waved the idea away.

“Oh no, dear, that isn’t necessary at all! I’m just happy to have some fellow magic users for company. Haven’t had any of those in quite a long time, you know.”

Before he could ask, she launched into quite a long tale explaining the long history of persecution of magic users in the country. How magic, “for no good reason other than plain old fear of what-if, mind you,” came to be seen as dangerous and evil by those in power without magic, which was, well, all of them. She spared no detail of the very public hunting down and execution of those found with magic, so much so that Barry felt a bit sick afterward, though she told it all as if she were talking about running into an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. He wasn’t sure if anything altered her sunny disposition.

“Are you the last person with magic, then?” he had asked when she finally paused a moment.

“In this area, yes,” she answered him. “But there are quite a number scattered around the country, you know. And most of them have started congregating to one area, so I’ve heard from a few of my friends on the occasions we speak.” She winked at him. “But that’s hush hush.”

Barry cocked his head. “Why haven’t you gone to join them?”

“Well, dear Barry, I’ve lived here the last fifty-seven years,” she replied, as if that was answer enough. “Now, go tend to poor Lup. I’ve kept you long enough, and you haven’t stopped glancing towards the stairs for the last hour anyway.”

On the third day, she pulled up a chair next to him as he sat by Lup’s bed. “You haven’t told me much about yourself yet. How did you get here? You obviously aren’t from here, and I’m going to go out on a very long limb and say that by ‘here’ I mean this world.”

“You believe in other worlds?” Barry asked, surprised.

“Well if I didn’t before, I do now.” She gestured toward Lup. “Haven’t heard tell of anyone who looks like Lup, so stands to reason.”

Barry rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s uh, sort of a long story and…kind of hard to believe.”

“Oh, ‘hard to believe’ is a statement for people who don’t have magic. I’ll believe in almost anything, dear. As for the long part,” she leaned back in her chair, “I have time!”

And so Barry found himself telling her all of it: about the IPRE, where they were from, why they left, and what happened after. She listened with rapt attention and with an odd look of sympathetic cheeriness, two emotions that he didn’t know were possible to display at the same time.

“You were right,” she commented when he finally finished, “that does sound hard to believe!”

“No kidding,” he chuckled wryly.

“And the Hunger will really consume this entire world if you don’t find your Light?” she asked.

Barry hung his head, guilty for having burdened her with that knowledge. “Yeah,” he replied quietly after a moment.

“You poor things.”

He whipped his head back up again. That wasn’t at all the reaction he expected. “Us?”

“Almost twenty-three years of running from that horrid thing and being unable to stop it. Watching it destroy everything. I can’t imagine! You must be so tired.”

He opened his mouth to respond and then closed it again; he couldn’t answer. Didn’t want to. He hardly let himself think it. What would be the point? It didn’t change anything; he’d still have to wake up every day and face the music. It was much better to never acknowledge the exhaustion.

“I suppose the next thing you should do is to get to the whole finding the Light business, then,” she continued when he didn’t say anything.

“Of course,” he responded, and then glanced at the bed. “But I can’t leave without Lup.”

“Well then, she better be getting herself up soon!”

A day later and still no luck on that front. Barry blew on his tea and took another sip. “What do you think is wrong with her?” he asked anxiously.

“You remember those weapons the guards had, right? What they looked like?”

“Yeah, they sort of looked like wands.”

“That’s on purpose, dear. I’m not sure how it works or how exactly they ever got made in the first place, but the weapon is meant to more or less shut off a person’s powers. Like flipping a light switch, I suppose. A body’s system gets used to magic flowing through it, you know, and when it no longer is, the system just assumes you’ve died, so it shuts down. Obviously, it was never meant to actually kill anyone, but it takes a bit for the effect to wear off. Eventually the body realizes ‘oh happy day, I’m not dead!’ although, that never really is the case for too long after that.”

“And the wand part?”

“Most here use wands for magic. They’re using your own instrument against you.”

Barry shivered. “How long does it take for someone to wake up?”

“A couple of days, give or take. It depends on how strong their magic is. The stronger the magic the longer it takes.”

“Lup’s magic is pretty strong,” he told her fondly over his cup.

“Oh, that I have no doubt, Barry,” she replied, eyes twinkling, “I have no doubt.”

                                                          ~

Unsurprisingly, her magic was incredibly strong.

In the middle of the afternoon on the eighth day, Barry heard a thump upstairs.

“Some asshole better tell me where I am in like ten seconds or I’m gonna start torching this whole place!”

He was up the steps and in the doorway in six. “Lup!”

“Barry!” Lup cried, dropping her fighting stance immediately. “Thank god it’s you, because I was definitely bluffing.” She held her arms out, palms up. “I don’t think I can do magic right now.”

[daresplaining]

Daredevil Countdown: 5 Days

“I’m Daredevil”: A Brief Discussion of Identity

    This post is probably going to be somewhat disorganized, and may not actually be brief, because I’m going to be covering a major Daredevil-- and superhero in general-- theme: identity. We know that Matt will be having various identity issues this season, both in how he sees himself, and in the dangerous nature of having two identities. Is Matt’s civilian life at risk from Wilson Fisk if he has already rejected it? What does it mean to just be Daredevil? How will he react to Bullseye also being Daredevil? Will he finally get a costume with the dang double-Ds on it? How brief will this post actually be? 

    Let’s discuss...

    In the comics, Matt has had one or two identity issues over the years...

Matt: “I’ve had it! It’s over! I’m giving up the role of Daredevil-- forever!”

Matt: “My problem isn’t Daredevil-- never was! It was always Matt-- the blind lawyer-- the hapless, helpless invalid! He’s been my plague... since the day I first donned a costume! Then, let Matt Murdock no longer exist!!”

Matt: “From this moment on-- Daredevil’s fighting days are over! And that means-- forever!”

Matt: “This is a funeral. [...] I’m cremating my remains.”

Matt: “Ol’ Matt’s the one with the brains-- but I’m the family pussycat! The name’s Mike, gang-- and try not to applaud-- I’m almost as shy as I am glamorous!”

Matt: “Jack Murdock. Jack Murdock. Jack Murdock. Sounds right. Yeah, that’s my name. My name is Jack Murdock.”

Matt: “Daredevil for the defense!”

    ...and while he hasn’t had it quite this bad in the show (yet?) it has remained a major part of his story-- as it is for many superheroes. Early in the comics, Matt was made to question multiple times the life he was leading and the reasons he was leading it. On some level, he was aware that swinging from high buildings and punching supervillains filled a personal need for freedom and adventure, rather than being a purely a selfless choice. And initially, becoming Daredevil was a coping mechanism-- a necessary fracturing of his identity to let himself feel comfortable breaking the promise of non-violence he made to his father. 

Matt: “I can’t break that promise I made! And yet, with my agility, my extra-sharp senses, there is so much I could do! I can’t let all my powers go to waste! Wait! I have it! I’ll see to it that Matt Murdock never does resort to force... but somebody else will...! Somebody totally different from Matt Murdock...”

Daredevil vol. 1 #1 by Stan Lee and Bill Everett

    Generally, Matt is confident in his superhero career. He sees how much good he is able to do as Daredevil, and feels strongly about continuing to keep that opportunity open for himself. But he considered quitting being Daredevil a number of times during his early career (see above). He also considered quitting being Matt Murdock (an identity that, at that early point, outwardly, was even more of a facade than DD). He has had a number of civilian identities over the years, most notably his “twin brother” Mike Murdock and confidence trickster Jack Batlin. He has retooled his Daredevil identity several times based on changes in his attitude toward crime-fighting, convincing the world at large of the existence of a Daredevil legacy. He had a public identity for a little while. And he has, on occasion, tried being exclusively one-or-the-other-- just Matt Murdock or just Daredevil. 

    As Matt, he is able to make a difference as a lawyer, without any ethics violations, within the confines of the law. But Daredevil is a source of freedom for him. It gives him agency and power-- both as someone who sees where the law fails and longs to pick up the slack, and also as someone confined in his civilian life by society’s expectations of him as a blind person. His few experiments with a single identity have generally been stifling experiences for him, and have not lasted long. He is passionate about being a lawyer. He is passionate about being a superhero. And his career has been a quest of personal discovery through which he must constantly reevaluate these two parts of himself and how to simultaneously be the best Matt Murdock and best Daredevil that he can. Of course, there’s no definitive formula for this, so the process will be a never-ending evolution, a continuous shuffling of identities in response to changes in his life and the world around him. 

    In the MCU, the situation has one important extra element: it’s really freaking bloody. This gritty approach to the character results in an extremely violent image of Daredevil, darker motivations, and thus extra ethics issues. In the comics, mostly the art downplays the violence, since that is the nature of the medium. His actions are only shown as a brutal when it’s a plot point, generally when he is in a really dark mental space and his life is falling apart. But the Netflix show gleefully leans into the violence, and it is depicted as Matt’s normal modus operandi. Thus, he has to explain to himself and others (and thus the viewer) his motivations behind that brutality. And he can’t always do it. The horror he and others experience at his behavior leads him to question himself again and again. He goes out and fights crime because he can’t help hearing it. It isn’t a reclaiming of power and act of standing up to metaphorical bullies like it is in the comics-- he doesn’t even choose his own superhero name in this universe (which I hate, see this post). It’s not even a response to his father’s death-- at least, not directly. He becomes Daredevil out of a sense of responsibility, a feeling of ownership of his neighborhood, and a compulsion he struggles to understand that sends him out night after night to stop injustice. He battles with the temptation to commit murder. He wonders if there is something wrong with him. But his quest and behavior are finally legitimized at the end of Season 1 when he combines his two identities-- Matt Murdock’s (and Foggy and Karen’s) legal work, and Daredevil’s butt-kicking-- to take down Wilson Fisk. He puts on a real costume. He achieves a sense of comfort in his superhero career, now that he has proof that it can have positive results. 

    In Season 2, these questions return, but in a different form. Matt feels good-- or, at least, not entirely bad-- about being Daredevil. And then Elektra and Stick arrive to enforce his belief in the important of that side of his life, as well as-- and this is important-- his enjoyment of it. When his actions as Daredevil impact his legal career and threaten his relationship with Foggy, and when his secret-keeping sabotages his romance with Karen, he is forced to choose between his two identities. He learns throughout the season that he does not know how to be effective in both areas of his life at the same time. And ultimately, he chooses Daredevil, turning away from his civilian life to devote more focus to his superheroing. After all of the moral back-and-forth in Season 1, he finally sees that he cannot live without being Daredevil. That his crime-fighting alter ego is an integral part of his identity, something he can’t give up.

    And then he experiences his first major Daredevil-related tragedy: Elektra is killed. Any confidence in the positive influence of his superheroing is shattered. Matt blames himself, he blames his actions as Daredevil, and in his grief, he rejects that identity entirely. But we see throughout The Defenders that-- just as Matt realized in the previous season-- this is easier said than done. As much as he claims to be finished with DD for good, as much as he buries himself in his work and enlists Foggy and Karen’s help to distract him, he cannot resist the call. He can’t stand by when people are suffering and he has the chance to stop it. And so The Defenders enforces his discoveries from Season 2, proving that even when he chooses to not be Daredevil, even when he stops prioritizing that side of his life, he cannot give it up for good. 

    And then he gets hit in the head with a skyscraper, which leaves him seriously injured, believing (hopefully incorrectly!) that Elektra is dead again, and seemingly with a conviction to just be Daredevil and reject his civilian identity entirely. The source of his motivations for this decision remain to be seen, but part of this may be tied into this new version of Daredevil. Matt seems to be reinventing that identity, returning to the extra brutal version of Daredevil first seen in Season 1, because he believes that is the only way to get things done. His rejection of his Matt Murdock identity may be tied up in his original feelings of guilt and conflict regarding this level of violence. By distancing himself from that side of himself, he may be attempting to cut off that avenue of self-reflection to avoid actually analyzing the moral iffiness of his behavior. If we look back at that panel from DD #1 earlier in the post, this may be something similar: Matt becoming “someone totally different from Matt Murdock” to escape an ethical dilemma. Having redefined his image in this way, it will be fascinating to see how he responds to Bullseye’s even more brutal version of Daredevil...

    Which brings us to Matt’s other big identity issue: the dangers of having a secret identity. He has also struggled with this a few times in the comics...

Karen: “It’s from Spider-Man-- he says he knows that Matt is-- Daredevil!”

Saxon: “And now, I’d better say it out loud-- before the proverbial house falls on me! Matthew Murdock is Daredevil!”

Ben: “It’s the story of a lonely little boy blinded by a freak accident. And it’s the story of how he overcame his handicap to become a successful lawyer and a Man Without Fear. It’s your story, Matthew Murdock, and I can prove it!”

Brown: “Heather... let me be certain I understand you. You’re saying that Matthew Murdock is Daredevil?”

Fisk: “Daredevil is Matthew Murdock-- and more--”

Matt: “Under oath and with God and the media as my witness, I’m telling you that I am Daredevil. Always have been, always will be.”

    This age-old superhero concern always brings out the best/worst in Matt, and he has gone to extreme lengths-- creating new identities, faking his death, lying under oath, literally agreeing to sue himself-- to protect his delicate balance of identities. He does it to protect his loved ones, who are put in danger every time someone new finds out who he really is. He does it to protect his legal career-- and he has, in fact, been disbarred several times. And he does it to allow himself to continue living his double life, as unruly as it is, because he needs that option. 

    There hasn’t been actual confirmation that this part of Matt’s life will be explored in Season 3, but it should be-- not just because it’s within the DD tradition, but because Matt has been really sloppy with his secrets and needs a wake-up call. Foggy found out on his own. Approximately half the planet found out in The Defenders. And Wilson Fisk has been digging into both Matt and Daredevil, and is smart enough to put it all together if the right clues become available. To Matt’s credit, he may also be scrapping his civilian identity as a precaution. It will be a little harder for people to connect Matt Murdock with Daredevil if Daredevil is active and Matt Murdock is missing. It’s not a great defense, but he’s still new at this. And hey-- Fisk can’t tear down his civilian life like he did in the comics if Matt tears it down first! Good plan, Matt.  

[lilacmoon83]

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 90: Prelude to the Storm

"Mmm...wow, you have to try that," Neal said, as he took another bite of his meal. Emma speared a shrimp and ate it, finding it to be as delicious as he said.

"Wow...that's really good," she agreed.

"And how is everything?" Tiana asked, as she and Naveen visited the table.

"Really good," Neal complimented.

"Culinary genius," Emma added, making the couple almost giddy at the praise.

"I'm totally making my parents come here on their next date night," she praised.

"Thank you...we're glad you enjoyed it and we will not turn down the buzz that semi-famous customers like you two and your parents will create," Naveen replied.

"I think famous is a little strong, but hey if us coming here gets you more business, then that's a good thing," she agreed.

"Well, thank you. How are they doing anyway? We heard about what those people did," Tiana said gently. Emma smiled at their concern.

"They're okay...I worry about them, but love always seems like it's enough to get them through anything," she replied. The other couple smiled.

"Your parent's true love is an inspiration and I hope these outsiders find their way out of town for good," Tiana mentioned.

"You and me both," Emma agreed, as they settled the check and then started walking through town.

"So...not bad for a first date that's not a first date," he joked, as he nudged her playfully. She smiled at him.

"Yeah...it beats the old days when we were knocking off convenience stores and holing up in other people's motel rooms," she agreed. He chuckled.

"Yeah...I miss the kid though," he said. She smiled.

"Me too...guess that's the sign we've made it, huh?" she asked. He nodded.

"So...does that mean I can ask you out again?" he inquired.

"You know...I thought tonight was going to be awkward and weird, but it wasn't. It was new, but it was also familiar and comfortable...I'm not sure I expected that," she mentioned.

"So...is that good?" he asked. She smiled and answered him by pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Does that spell it out for you?" she asked coyly.

"I don't know...maybe you could spell it out some more?" he asked. She chuckled and shoved him playfully, before they kissed again, this time with a lot more heat.

"Yeah...that spelled it pretty good," he agreed, as they shared another smile, just as they saw his father's car pull up, with Belle in the passenger seat and Eli in the backseat. Which was weird. But even stranger was the truck and trailer following them. In the cab was her parents and Persephone.

"Hey guys...what's going on?" Emma asked, as they all got out.

"We found it...the magic," David said, as he hugged her.

"Uh...that's great. Where though? I thought they would have left Storybrooke with it," Emma replied.

"They did," Belle confirmed and her eyes widened.

"You two left Storybrooke without me?" she questioned in concerned.

"Yes...and that's not all that happened. But first, we need to hide the cube for now," Persephone interjected.

"Okay...let's do that first and you two can talk while we do," Emma said.

"You're not going to like any of it," Snow warned.

"Clearly," Emma responded.

"Wait...you and Belle went to?" Neal asked his father, who looked guilty.

"Bae…" he started to say, but Neal put his hand up.

"Save it...let's just hide the magic for now. I actually like the fact that Cronus and everyone else have no magic right now and I think we should keep it that way," he

agreed, as he and Emma got in the car and they proceeded to the library.

~*~

Circe angrily slammed the car door, as she arrived at the cabin. She had been called by one of her top operatives, the former soldier, and saw him wince as she stormed up to him. He was an imposing figure and his background in the marines had led her to choose him to lead her followers. But in reality, he was just the head sheep, leading her other sheep. He had once been Captain Dylan Channing in the United States Marines. He had served two tours in Afghanistan, but his experiences there had only amplified character flaws he had suffered with all his life. His anger had led him to outbursts and the determination by his superiors that he was a danger to the innocent locals that they were there to try and protect.

After several infractions, Channing was dishonorably discharged and became homeless when he returned to the states. He had undiagnosed post traumatic stress syndrome, was chronically paranoid, and had been ripe for Circe's picking. His experience as a marine made him an excellent enforcer in her operation and his weak mind allowed Circe to control him completely.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded to know.

"I got a text earlier from Kevin, requesting that I come here to help bury bodies. I'm not sure who he planned to have me help bury, but the bodies we have found are Kevin and Jessica instead," he reported, as he swallowed thickly.

"And the cube?" she asked in a measured tone.

"It's gone," he answered.

"Dammit...I ordered them to take this to the base in New York!" she screamed.

"We can use this with the other followers though. If it was Snow White and her husband that killed Jessica and Kevin, it can further our narrative that they are evil. We can get our people to riot against them," he projected.

"They have the magic! It will not matter what we do without that magic!" she ranted, as she examined the bodies that he and the others had gathered.

Kevin had clearly been stabbed through the heart, probably by the Prince if she had to guess and that would make sense if he was threatening Charming's precious Snow White. But Jessica was horribly and badly burned, almost beyond recognition. And that was a curious thing to her. Obviously there hadn't been a fire of any sort. There was no evidence or damage to indicate that. And there was only one other way she knew of that would cause burning like this. Lightning. And as far as she was aware, there had been no thunderstorms in the area, though the wet soil was indicative that there had been a weather event here. An unnatural one. One that had been created by a God...or Goddess. Whether or not it was deliberate or inadvertent, she didn't know. But it was definitely cause for concern. Even with all her advanced tech that she had created to combat magic, going against a God head on was very risky.

"Take care of the bodies and then join me back in Storybrooke. We have a ball to attend tomorrow night," she announced, as she went back to her car. If the heroes wanted to play that way, then she'd continue to be a thorn in their side.

~*~

"What?!" Emma exclaimed, as Snow and David winced in response.

"Princess…" David started to say.

"Oh no...don't Princess me, Dad. I can't believe you guys were so reckless!" she cried.

"We're really sorry honey. We had no idea it was going to escalate like that," Snow pleaded.

"She's right. You know that if I had an inkling that it would that I would have never let your mother near it, especially in her condition," David added. Emma sighed.

"I know you two don't mean to get into trouble like this, but you always do. I can't lose you guys!" she exclaimed.

"I just got you," she added and with that, they melted and hugged her between them, with David cradling her head.

"We're sorry...scaring you was the last thing we wanted to do," Snow said.

"Just promise me that you won't leave Storybrooke again without me, even if it's only a few miles away," she pleaded.

"We promise," David agreed. Neal sighed and looked at his father.

"Bae…" he started to say.

"You know I should yell at you for being so reckless, right?" he asked.

"And you would have every right," Rumple started to say, but was surprised when Neal simply hugged him fiercely, making Belle smile.

"You do something idiotic like that again and I'm going to go off on you like a bomb," he warned. Rumple eventually got over his shock and hugged him back.

"Fair enough," he choked out. With that, they opened the trailer, while Neal and David did the heavy lifting, carrying the containment cube into the library. They waited for the elevator and Emma operated it, as they took the cube down below to hide it. Once they did, she brought them back up and Snow was ready to help her mother search for Hades.

"Let's go…" Snow suggested, but Persephone did not move.

"It's too dark and we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow. We can search in the morning, but we should all be well rested for the ball," she suggested instead.

"I can have the dwarves do a night patrol," David offered.

"If you think it might help," Persephone replied.

"Can't hurt," David said, as he made the call.

"Are you sure, mother?" Snow asked. She nodded.

"Daylight is going to yield more results. All of you...go on home," she urged.

"Aren't you coming?" Snow asked.

"No...I need to tell Mother what happened out there today," Persephone replied.

"You mean with the lightning?" Snow asked. She nodded.

"I'll be fine, snowdrop and with the assistance of the other Gods, we'll find Hades in the morning," she assured, as David returned and put his arm around Snow.

"Leroy and Happy are going to run patrol and look tonight," he said. She smiled at her son-in-law.

"Thank you David," she said, as they all left the library for the night. In addition to locking the library doors, they had padlocked the elevator. James was also going to be getting there soon to guard the elevator on the night shift, while Robert would be taking the day shift. And for now, they had to hope it would be enough to hide the magic until they figured out if returning it to the town would be for the best.

When they arrived home, they bid their daughter goodnight and it was less than two seconds after Emma's door shut that they were peeling clothing away with desperate need. But they also both needed a shower after all the mud and rain, so that's where they ended up.

~*~

Steam billowed around them and hot water beaded on their naked bodies, as they quite literally fucked each other. Slow, languid lovemaking would likely come later in bed, but what they were doing now could only be described as fucking, as he pounded his hard cock into her trembling body, which he had pinned against the shower wall. And to accompany that were Snow's wanton screams and his husky growls.

"Charming…" she cried desperately, as her legs remained folded around him and she grazed her teeth along his neck, until she felt herself being pushed closer and closer.

"Baby…" she whimpered, as her back arched in an erotic bow and her head lolled back. She shuddered and writhed around him, before crying out loudly as she orgasmed like a storm. Her coming was as powerful as ever and he plunged deeply inside her, searching for his own until he could hold back no longer and found completion. They managed to finish their sensual shower, as they enjoyed washing each other, and took great pleasure in making out the rest of the time, until the water went cold.

They toweled off and made their way to the bed behind the curtain. Then it came as no surprise, as their towels were discarded and an entirely new bout of sexual euphoria began. She backed herself onto the bed, allowing him a full view of her naked body and her a view of his. Her eyes locked on the considerable length between his legs that was quickly getting hard again, as he stared at her with a mix of love and lust in his eyes. He climbed onto the bed with her, hovering above her and love and lust was mirrored in her eyes. She climbed into his lap and locked her arms around his neck, as he slid her onto his hard cock. She mewled pleasurably at him finally being inside her again and they began to rock together. He gripped her hips and helped her to ride him in an undulating rhythm. Their lips met in short pecks in between impassioned gasps, as they made love again, desperately needing each other. Climaxes raged between them again, as they fell to the bed after, boneless and sated, entwined thoroughly in each other's arms, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, and eternally in love.

~*~

Circe arrived back at camp with Captain Channing, who with the assistance of his operatives, were bringing Kevin and Jessica's bodies back.

"Followers!" she called their attention.

"A great blow has been dealt to us today!" she announced, as they revealed Jessica and Kevin's bodies to them. There were gasps of horror and shouts of outrage.

"Snow White and her Prince have killed them!" she told them. There were more cries of outrage.

"As if we needed more evidence that the Princess of the Underworld is an abomination and her husband is as evil as she is. They killed our people, while they seek to bring another demon child into this world!" Captain Channing added, further riling them up.

"Tonight we mourn our fallen and cremate them in a ceremony of honor," she announced.

"Then tomorrow, we rally and show them our wrath!" she added, as they rallied around with cries of righteous indignation.

~*~

Yesterday had started out normal, devolved into another harrowing experience for them, and ended thankfully with their incredible love winning out again. So it came as no surprise to Snow that her morning sickness was plaguing her with a vengeance that morning. She finished and flushed the contents away, as she started brushing her teeth.

"Will you please let me have your mother call Artemis?" David asked from the door.

"Charming...I'm fine," she mumbled through the toothpaste in her mouth, before spitting and rinsing.

"It's just morning sickness...completely normal," she insisted, as she padded back to their makeshift bedroom. He sighed.

"Yes, but we went through hell yesterday and stress that was really bad for you and the baby," he reminded. She sighed.

"Please…" he pleaded and she rolled her eyes.

"Fine...we can go see Artemis, but only because it's on the way to the warehouse where we need to pick out our attire for tonight," she agreed. He smiled and kissed her cheek.

"Good...let me make you breakfast," he suggested.

"Baby, I just puked my guts out," she reminded.

"So pancakes?" he asked, as she felt her stomach growl. Damn pregnancy. And his innate ability to know everything she needed or wanted, even before she did.

"With strawberries, chocolate whipped cream, and bacon," she agreed, causing him to laugh all the way to the kitchen. If there was ever a definition of domestic bliss, it was definitely them.

~*~

"What do you think?" Zelena asked, as she modeled the black gown with green embroidery in the mirror.

"The green accents suit you. Since there's always green bleeding just beneath your skin," Hades quipped, as he stared at the ceiling in the cage. She smirked.

"Good to know that captivity hasn't stolen your wit," she responded.

"Envy will be your undoing, my dear," he warned and she scoffed.

"And you going soft has already been yours," she retorted, as Hermes descended into the cellar.

"Oh look...your scum sucking worm has returned," Hades deadpanned.

"Your betrayal of me won't go unpunished when I sit upon Zeus' Throne," Hermes shot back.

"Funny you throw the word betrayal around," Hades quipped.

"I prefer to see myself as an opportunist," Hermes replied.

"Opportunist….diseased maggot...it's hard to tell from here," Hades retorted. Hermes snapped and reached for Hades through the bars, grabbing him by the collar. But the former God of the Underworld was un-bothered by Hermes' attempt at a show of intimidation.

"This is who you are choosing to help you succeed?" Hades questioned her.

"When I sit upon the Throne, I shall make you regret tossing me away like trash when I force Persephone to marry me," he threatened.

"You're not fit to shine her shoes, let alone be in her presence. She'll never marry you," he hissed. But Hermes smirked.

"If I dangle the life of her precious little Snow in front of her...she'll do anything," he taunted. Hades clenched his teeth.

"When we go back in time...there is no way for any of us to control what may happen once time is reset. But I assure you...I will remember you and I will squish you like the worm you are," he promised.

"Enough!" Zelena growled. Hermes released him and shoved him back.

"Well...why are you here? I assume you have news or else you'd be stupid to come," she demanded.

"Persephone and her precious Charmings have the containment cube. They hid it beneath the library. The elevator is padlocked and they have a round the clock patrol on that elevator," he reported.

"Tricky...but not impossible to get around," Zelena replied.

"Though it is quite curious that they did not release the magic inside the containment cube and return magic to the town," she added.

"Cronus' ball is tonight. I believe they fear his intentions and have decided that taking magic out of the equation is in everyone's best interest until they know more about his motives," Hermes reported.

"Yes...they fear Cronus. But it is me they shall soon fear," she said, as she opened up a jewelry box and took out her green pendant that had once been gifted to her by the other witches of Oz. It was all she needed to absorb all the magic in that cube.

"It's time to enact my spell...and Cronus' ball is the perfect stage for my rise to power and the fall of the heroes…" she said.

"Zelena...don't do this…" he pleaded, but she ignored him and hung up an outfit beside his cage. It was male formal wear, a black tunic, black leather pants, and boots. The black was accented with sky blue accents and embroidery.

"Time to get you dressed for the ball as well, my dear Hades. You'll be part of my...captive audience," she hissed, as he glowered at her with daggers in his eyes.

~*~

"Everything looks good," Artemis reported, as she finished Snow's exam.

"Told you," Snow said to her husband. He smiled and kissed her hair.

"Be that as it may, my darling...you know I'll never stop worrying about your safety and well-being," he replied. She smiled and kissed him.

"I know," she said affectionately.

"It's a little early, but I got a lot of the equipment working. We could do an ultrasound if you want," Artemis said. Snow and David looked at her and then at Persephone. The Goddess smiled.

"I think we'd all love that," Snow agreed. Artemis nodded and prepared everything for the test. Snow lay back, while David and Persephone each held one of her hands, as Artemis rubbed the solution on her belly.

The machine whirred to life, as Artemis operated it and an image appeared on the screen.

"It's a bit too early to tell sex...but there he or she is," she said, as she pointed out the fetus on the screen. Snow and David were stunned to speechlessness, as they stared at the screen.

"Oh Snow…" he uttered, as they stared at their tiny baby. Snow looked at him, as tears streamed down her cheeks and he pressed a kiss to her lips. As their lips parted, their faces were full of pure joy.

"I love you so much…" he said, as a few tears slipped down his cheeks.

"I love you…" she replied, as they kissed again. Artemis and Persephone smiled, as the former operated the equipment and printed copies of the sonogram.

"By the next one in a few weeks, we'll be able to tell the sex of the baby. But for now, these are for you," she said, handing them the photos. Persephone hugged them both.

"We'll give you a few minutes alone and to get dressed," she said, as the two women stepped out.

"Oh David…" Snow gushed, as she was unable to tear her eyes away from the photo in her hand. His face was a contagious grin and he pressed his forehead against hers.

"Is this real?" she asked wistfully.

"Yes...this is real, my darling. This is our baby…" he replied, as they kissed again.

"What if it happens again, Charming?" she feared.

"It won't...we won't let it. There is no way that me or your mother are going to let anyone rip this baby away from us this time," he promised.

"The Swans are dead...and Circe's followers won't succeed. I don't want to, but if I have to do to them what I did to Kevin Swan...I will," he confessed. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him tenderly.

"Now...let's get you dressed and get ready for this ball tonight, so I can make it clear to everyone in this town that they will not hurt this family," he said. She smiled and got dressed, as they left the makeshift hospital with Persephone in tow. There was still no sign of Hades and Persephone was now deeply worried. She would have resumed searching, but at this point she thought it was going to the ball might yield more clues to Hades' whereabouts. She didn't know if Cronus was involved, but she wasn't going to be surprised if he was.

In the past, she might have found his sudden disappearance suspicious and might even think he was doing something deceitful. But that definitely was not what this was. He had changed too much and as skeptical of those changes as she had been at first, she now knew the changes were sincere. She felt the changes in him in his presence and his aura. She had, for the very first time in their very long marriage, felt love in his kiss. Add to that, he had now saved Snow and David's lives numerous times and she was no longer convinced that he might have ulterior motives behind that. He was a changed man and she somehow wondered if that now had something to do with his disappearance. Despite having changed, the list of enemies her husband had was very long and some were right here in Storybrooke. She was, against all odds and past history, in love with him. She knew that now and was able to admit that now that he was missing, which made her even more anxious about everything. She felt that there was something big on the cusp, but for the life of her, she couldn't discern what exactly it was. All she could do for now was go to this ball tonight, in order to safeguard her family, and hopefully uncover clues as to what had happened to Hades.

~*~

Cronus stood on his balcony of his palace, overlooking the quaint, mystical town of Storybrooke. He had mostly kept to himself since his arrival and was more than a little perturbed when magic was stolen by Circe's interference. He fully expected her to show up tonight with her sheep and fully expected her to come to him to make some kind of deal with him. But he wanted no deals that involved her band of sheep that followed her. If he found that she could be of use to him, then he would use her.

But the real prize was keeping one little family in his sights and convincing them that he was not the enemy. In his past, he had feared magic and power. He had devoured his own children out of fear of their power. But he would not make that mistake this time.

With Zeus gone, he believed he could once again become the supreme God and ruler. But he needed the favor of the people to get that and that was the reason for all this, especially now with no magic was present.

Persephone had favor with the other Gods and the Charmings had favor with the people. Courting them was important to his ultimate plan and for once, he was playing the long game. His path to ultimate power would be a long one and when he finally did achieve what he wanted, they would have long ago labeled him a non-threat.

Without magic though the last few days, he had been at a serious disadvantage to all that had been going on and that is why he sent Phobos out to gather Intel.

"What do you have to report?" he asked, as his new loyal right hand returned.

"Much," Phobos stated.

"Snow White and her husband were nearly killed by Circe's idiotic followers, but thankfully, they survived, while two of the perpetrators did not," he reported.

"How were they killed?" he asked curiously.

"It appears the man was killed by being stabbed, most likely by a sword. I'd venture a guess that the Prince killed him in protecting his beloved. But the woman...is what concerns me," Phobos responded.

"How so?" Cronus asked.

"She died after being struck by lightning. There was a storm up on that mountain...and I do not believe it was natural," Phobos answered.

"What are you saying?" Cronus requested.

"I fear that Zeus' ultimate power has already chosen a new host," Phobos stated.

"That's...unfortunate. Do you believe you know who?" he asked.

"I believe it's Persephone," Phobos replied.

"Then that makes things far more complicated," Cronus said, obviously troubled by this.

"I think we can still use this to our advantage," Phobos responded.

"How so?" he asked.

"Let me endear myself the Persephone and the Charmings. I am the brother that was sacrificed to bring Deimos back. Whatever relationship Persephone has now with Hades cannot escape that fact, even if she has forgiven him and he has changed," Phobos replied.

"You think they will not be threatened by you?" he asked. Phobos smirked.

"I am the God of fear...which is different that terror. My brother is the embodiment of terror, but fear works very differently. I am almost positive that my idiotic, brute of a brother will approach Snow White this evening. He won't be able to help himself. Let me step in and defend the Charmings against him," he said.

"Are you going to actually goad your brother into attacking you?" Cronus asked. Phobos smirked.

"I am not thrilled about that prospect, but it would provide me an in with them and on your behalf," he offered.

"That is very loyal of you, Phobos, but I am no fool. Tell me what you get from this?" he questioned.

"Your rule means my prosperity, my Lord. And if that leads to me being my brother's ultimate demise, after I torment him for my own amusement, then that will be icing on the cake," Phobos responded.

"All right...I will allow this. But Persephone having the power that is rightfully mine is still a glaring problem," Cronus reminded.

"And when the time is right, we will force her to relinquish the power to you. There are ways. Trust in me, My Lord, and you will eventually be the supreme God," Phobos promised.

"Then we will both have our revenge," Cronus agreed, as they witnessed the people of Storybrooke begin to flock to his palace, dressed for that evening's Grand Ball...

[fangirlinglikeabus]

Strings

Summary: In a bar in the middle of nowhere, two women meet. Frenchman’s Creek/Jamaica Inn crossover. Vague space AU. F/F. Mentions of rape, war, torture.

ao3    fanfiction.net

Mary Yellan was born and grew up in the fields of Agros, learning from childhood all of the skills of farming. Then, when she was older, she stayed by the sea a while; she soon left there. But it wasn't in either of these places, although they shaped her in their own ways, that she met the woman - the laughing woman, full of life and happiness and sadness all at once. That happened years later, in a bar on the other side of the galaxy.

"Erna's a dangerous place for a lady to be, Miss. 'Specially round here."

Mary kept her eyes trained on the door; she was waiting, with some apprehension, for Jem's return. Any moment now she expected him to come waltzing through the door, a smug grin on his face, to take her rocketing off somewhere else before his customers had realised that the ships he had sold them were, underneath their new coats of paint, rather similar to ones recently reported missing.

"Is that so?" she said distractedly.

The man who had taken it upon himself to come and warn her nodded. "Oh yes," he said solemnly. "There are pirates operating in these parts."

This made Mary pay more attention. "Pirates?" she asked sharply. "What sort of pirates?"

"Why, they've been a terrible trouble to us here recently. Stealing the merchant-men's stock and everything. Causing havoc with the local women." He blushed at the thought.

A memory stirred in Mary's mind, of Joss Merlyn and his crew luring low-level ships to come crashing down onto the planet, killing the survivors. "Have they hurt anyone?" she asked.

"Oh, well, not as such, Miss, but we're awful fearful that they will. Foreigners, you know. From the outer reaches. There's even rumours that there's a woman on board."

Mary thought of her own adventures with Jem, and it occurred to her that this man would be horrified beyond belief if he heard of them. Perhaps if she were in a slightly different situation, she would've challenged him on it, but she needed to keep a low profile for Jem's sake. Instead of saying anything, she smiled and sipped at her drink. She noticed her hand was shaking slightly; places like this always made her skittish.

The man noticed. "Are you alright, Miss? I haven't scared you too much with my talk of pirates, have I?"

Mary smiled, but it felt insincere, even to her. "Oh, no," she said. "I'm not easily frightened."

"Quite right, too."

Mary turned around in her seat. It was a woman talking, one of the nobles in the place, by the looks of it. She smiled down, something of mischief in her eyes.

"You shouldn't talk so light of it, Lady St Columb," the man said gravely. "What with them taking advantage of our girls and all."

Lady St Columb leaned on the table so that she could better talk to the man; Mary watched her ringlets swing in front of her face, Jem momentarily forgotten. "Is that so?" she asked, in a tone of faux-politeness cultivated carefully over many years. "I rather thought they were enjoying being taken advantage of, myself, but I suppose it's always possible that I've misread the situation entirely."

The man stared at her in open mouthed shock, and she seized the moment to take Mary's arm. "Come on," she said in a low voice. "I'll take you somewhere quieter. You mustn't mind the tales of the men here, really. They're just frustrated because their wives prefer the pirates to them. I think if you spent enough time here you'd understand why."

Mary protested weakly - she'd really got to wait for someone, she wasn't planning to stay long, but Lady St Columb waved them away.

"Nonsense. And if your friend was the one trying to sell my husband a repainted stolen ship, he's already left. Not everyone is quite as gullible as Harry, and he was foolish enough to try and resell a man his own property."

Mary felt a familiar sense of frustration rise within her. The lady caught her expression.

"Done this before, has he?" she asked casually. At this point, they reached her table, and she pulled a seat aside for Mary, who dutifully sat down.

"Yes," said Mary. "But I can catch up with him, if I find someone that will take me soon."

"And deprive me of your company? How inconsiderate of you. There's no need to leave quickly, anyway; I have a friend with a fast ship that'll allow you to stay an hour more, at least."

In any other situation Mary might've coldly refused and left to find her own way back to Jem. But there was something about this woman - something in her smile. The same thing, perhaps, that had attracted her to Jem - a sort of wildness, although in her it was reserved, tied down by something else, an awareness of duty unfulfilled, perhaps, or merely less of a need to explore far and wide, to get a rush from law-defying activities. So she agreed, and stayed where she was.

"What did that man call you? Lady -"

"St Columb," the woman said smoothly. "But I really insist that you call me Dona. It makes everything so much more cosy, don't you think?" A smile tugged at her lips. "I don't think I ever caught your name."

"Mary. It's Mary." Even as she said it, Mary was aware of the danger in giving her name away to a complete stranger, but the smile drew her in, and she found herself ignoring every warning that Jem had ever given her.

"Well then, Mary -" the smile grew wider - "tell me about yourself."

Now she became distrustful. She remembered a man met on the moors, long ago, whose manner had encouraged her to pour her heart out; she remembered his snarling face as he dragged her away from safety. "I don't think I should," she said warily.

"No? Well, that's probably for the best. I doubt the line of business you're in is entirely legal. And my husband - bless him - likes to think that he's an important member of the local law enforcement. How do you know I won't just go running to him after I've seduced you for information?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Mary's mouth. "Seduce me?" she said.

"Well, of course. Didn't you realise that was what I was doing?"

"I think you're joking."

"Hm." Dona acknowledged the accusation with a shrug. "You might be right. Still…" She leaned forward in her chair, elbows on the table, head resting on her hands. "Don't you want to know what drew me to you?"

"Go on," Mary said cautiously. She couldn't let herself trust this woman, no matter how appealing she might seem.

"There's a sort of defiance in your eyes, in the way you hold your chin up. I think you could stare down a man holding a gun to your head and he'd apologise."

Mary shook her head. "You've read me wrong. I'd be scared." She thought of that night, the blood on the floor, being dragged across the moors.

Dona hummed again. She picked up the drink that had been resting on the table and sipped at it, never looking away from Mary. "Then why," she said, "did you choose to take up with a cheating ship thief? There's a lot of risk in a job like that. And I doubt the sex appeal alone would be enough to convince you."

That caused Mary to pause. "I don't know." She remembered Dona's flippancy at the talk of pirates, her friend with the fast ship, and made a wild guess. "Why did you choose to take up with a pirate?"

Dona didn't even flinch. But there was something more serious in her eyes as she said, "Perhaps I'm trying to run away from myself."

"Are you?"

"I've yet to find out. But don't you, sometimes, find some inexplicable dissatisfaction with your life that dogs you, no matter how hard you try to escape it? Maybe, to avoid it, you do some foolish, shameful thing. You hope with all your heart that by acting out you'll get a glimpse of what it means to live. And yet, there it is, that same dissatisfaction."

"Maybe you should travel," Mary suggested. A year ago, she'd never have thought it. A year ago, all she wanted was to head back home to the fields, even if there wasn't a place for her in her old house.

Dona shook her head and smiled; this time there was a sadness to it that Mary hadn't noticed before. "I'm too tied down to this place."

"By what? Your husband?"

She nodded. "And children. I have two: a boy - oh, he'll be marvellous, as marvellous as any mother thinks her son is going to be, as marvellous as any of the men here - and a girl. She's a silly thing, but I suppose it's cruel to mock her when it's a miracle that she'd be anything else in a place like this."

"You don't seem foolish to me."

"Well, you've only known me for less than an hour, so maybe you're not the best judge. You don't think my acquaintance with the most wanted man on the planet is foolish?"

"Only as foolish as travelling with a ship thief," Mary shot back. "I don't think either of us is in the position to judge."

"That's true," Dona mused. "That's very true. Perhaps, though, it gives us something in common." She looked Mary dead in the eyes. "Don't you think?"

"There are very few people I have anything in common with any more," Mary said quietly.

"Oh, come now, don't be like that." "Like what?"

"You're brooding. What happened? Something wonderfully gothic, I hope?"

"Gothic, maybe. But there was nothing wonderful about it." When she'd woken up after days lying unconscious and bruised, she'd been angry. Furious, even. Ready, despite her aunt's protests and the risk of further injury, to go downstairs and face Joss Merlyn. He was a monster, a dictator in his own home. She held no sympathy for him, even now. That didn't mean that she couldn't remember him pathetic, drunk, confessing his sins for her in some misplaced search for forgiveness. Or him dead on the floor of his house.

He'd been a fool to think he could be absolved of his crimes, and he'd been a fool to think he could survive making a deal with a man such as Francis Davy had been.

"How can you associate with pirates?" she asked. She hoped the question would distract Dona from her.

"How can you associate with a thief?" Dona shot back.

"No, but I mean - pirates do have a reputation for violence." She was thinking of the wreckers, not quite pirates but near enough, who had once lured only sea-ships to their doom, but had extended their work to the sky when ports were installed on that part of the planet; it was more dangerous, the crashes more explosive unless you could manoeuvre everything to just the right place, but maybe that was why they liked it. The added risk gave a wilder tint to their eyes.

"That's true," Dona conceded, "but fortunately for me these particular pirates happen to be of the honourable sort. Stealing from the rich to - well, stealing from the rich, at any rate. I'm not sure they've worked around to the other part yet." She smiled fondly. "Their enigmatic leader does, however, make a lovely soup. You should try it."

"You're sure he'll take me?"

"If I bat my eyelashes at him for long enough then yes." Dona leant forward on the table. "And I'm hoping that if I bat my eyelashes at you for long enough then you'll yield to my superior charms."

"And do what?"

Dona reached across to take Mary's hand. There were still old scars on it - she couldn't remember from where, maybe struggling across the moors, or something from her happy days and years of farming - and Mary flinched slightly when Dona's fingers brushed it. It was only a momentary reaction; she soon relaxed, and let herself enjoy the sensation of another's fingers playing across her palm.

"Whatever you want, darling," said Dona with a wink and a smile. Despite herself, despite the suspicion she felt, forced herself to feel, on any new acquaintance, Mary's heart fluttered. Always finding herself attracted to the wrong sort of people: a thief; a married woman who consorted with criminals. People who would be sure to get her in trouble.

"No strings attached," said Dona when she saw the expression on Mary's face change, thinking of her husband and her children and her pirate, all but the last  inevitably tying her down to this place.

"No strings attached," Mary repeated back, only half-knowing what it meant but meaning it anyway; because of her dead parents, because of her dead aunt, because of a home lost for no reason except a change in herself.

"I know a place where we can have some more privacy," Dona told her.

Dona ended up batting her eyelashes at her pirate friend in a little under the hour promised. Mary could never remember his name, even after he'd introduced himself - in conversation with Dona he was always 'her friend', 'her pirate', like calling him anything else would create a gulf between two strangers, people who had never met before and really had nothing to tie them together, except for perhaps a dubiously similar taste in men and in each other.

Mary wasn't in love with Dona. She wasn't even sure if she was in love with Jem, and she'd known him for far longer. It wasn't like what they had could be called a relationship by any reasonable person.

Still, she could have been in love with Dona. Her wit, the way she spoke, was appealing, drawing Mary in; but she also felt something underneath, something that she couldn't quite put a name on. "Perhaps I'm trying to run away from myself." Dona's words stuck in her mind. Mary, on the other hand, wasn't trying to run away from herself; only her past. Seeing the ships crashing down, the murders of her aunt and uncle, being dragged across the moors by Francis Davy. The memories haunted her mind, waking and dreaming. After one of Joss' cronies had tried to rape her, it had been almost a year before the idea of being that close to Jem - or anyone else for that matter - stopped making her feel sick to her stomach. It was like a wound that would never quite heal - even the slightest of jolts would force the closed skin back open. Maybe she'd made the decision to go with Jem because she'd thought, subconsciously at least, that travel would help. It hadn't, but a large part of her now found the idea of returning to places of the past repulsive.

The pirate's ship was styled after the old sailing ships that Mary had sometimes seen rotting on the sea-shore near her uncle's inn, left there as technology advanced and more and more people stopped caring about the upkeep of such ancient things. It seemed Dona's friend had a taste for the old-fashioned. Of course, it couldn't be a perfect facsimile, given the added need for air in space, and the differing propulsion systems of a space-ship. He kept the sails, though. He claimed that it wouldn't look right without them.

True to Dona's word, the ship was surprisingly fast. Mary sat on the deck for the journey; after a while, Dona came to join her.

"I thought you'd be staying with your friend," Mary said.

Dona shrugged. "I can see my friend any time I want. You, however, I have only a limited amount of time left with." She sat down next to Mary and pulled herself closer, wrapping her arms around her companion.

"What did you mean earlier when you said 'no strings attached'?" Mary asked, her proximity to Dona focusing her mind onto their previous conversation.

"You mean you didn't know?" Dona asked, amused. "And yet you replied in kind. That's very trusting of you." She hesitated; Mary could hear her steady breaths, feel them as they fluttered the hair on the back of her head. "What I meant was - imagine, for a moment, that there are only two people in the world. You and me. We have no lovers, no reason to hesitate in whatever we choose to do. But once the moment is over, we return to being two strangers, free to move on with our lives and forget each other. It's very simple, really." She laughed. "And I think rather fanciful of me."

Mary didn't say anything. She watched the stars go by above them. Perhaps privately she agreed with Dona - it sounded like something out of the pages of a novel. But at the same time maybe she needed something fanciful, something to cheer her up.

Dona became quiet. She hummed slightly under her breath. Mary let herself melt into the sound, and they stayed like that for the rest of the journey.

In too short a time, they had caught up with Jem. He seemed relieved to see her, in his gruff way; there was no laughing, no embraces, with Jem Merlyn.

Dona said goodbye to her with a kiss. "It was nice meeting you, Mary," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

And soon after that the war began.

Really, they should have been prepared. There had been mumblings about danger in most places Mary and Jem had visited; minor conflicts, scraps over trade, moral arguments about the things being traded. But no-one had thought there would be a war. No-one ever did.

It was a mess that caught up nearly the whole system in alliances so convoluted that after it was all over there probably weren't many people who could figure out entirely what happened. At the end of the day, they made little difference: both sides had wanted land and control; both sides saw great destruction. And the people who won - the people who were now in charge of the entire system - had clamped down on government sanctioned slavery but turned a blind eye to the ships that scoured planets for people to kidnap, and which had seemingly doubled in number in the aftermath of the war.

Mary had - miraculously - managed to escape the whole thing relatively unscathed. She'd once more been separated from Jem, for much the same reason as before, but this time it hadn't been safe to catch a ride - movement between planets was, by law, extremely limited when the sky was peppered with the debris of people who had lost fights, and there wasn't anyone willing to risk legal action just to carry Mary somewhere. So she'd whiled away her time with a nervous young woman and her much older husband, immigrants to the particular outer reaches planet that she'd found herself on. Apparently some trouble at home had necessitated the move - she hadn't paid particular attention, mostly choosing to keep herself to herself, and they hadn't said much on the subject anyway. And when everything was over and an uneasy peace had settled, she said goodbye and set off in search of - something. She couldn't say quite what - Jem, maybe. She just knew she couldn't bear to sit still anymore.

Mary would never figure out what coincidence brought her to the exact same bar in Erna where she had met Dona three years earlier. Pirates were no longer plaguing the area - the war had played a part, as had the local authorities' eventual success in clamping down on their activities. Mysteriously, their arrested leader had managed to escape the prison on the day before his execution for the death of a man visiting from the city. No-one had managed to work out how he'd done it, but Mary gathered from a few resentful murmurings that Dona had been seen around the house where he was kept at the time.

"I always knew it was her," one man declared to Mary once he saw she was interested in the topic. He stared - very conspicuously - at her chest.

"No you didn't," his friend scoffed. "None of us did. It weren't till after she got caught for spying that any of us knew a bloody thing. Excuse my reaches speak, ma'am." He addressed this last remark to Mary.

Mary wanted to tell him that she'd heard much worse on her travels, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she asked, "Spying?"

"Yeah. It's the general feeling here, ma'am, that if it weren't for that damn - if it weren't for Lady St Columb, we would've done a bit better in the war."

"Might even've won!" His friend chimed in.

The man ignored him. "But it's alright, see, because she got her comeuppance for that. There's some here that think she could be punished more, but I'm a fair man. If you see what happened -"

He was cut off by the sound of the doors opening.

Mary could finish his sentence for him: "If you see what happened, you'll know what I mean." She got caught for spying. Mary sucked in a deep breath and tried to stop herself from trembling.

In the doorway stood Dona St Columb. A dark scar that barely missed her left eye crossed her face. It had never properly healed, and gave the impression that it could split apart the entire front of her head at any moment. One of her hands glinted in the sunlight; Mary guessed it was a replacement. There was a lot of demand for those nowadays. But her physical appearance wasn't the most shocking change. As Dona grew closer, Mary caught the look in her eyes. She could still remember the sadness in them before, and mingled with that the joy for life. Now they were just dead.

When Dona walked past her she stood up almost involuntarily. But what would she say to her? They'd met once, years ago. And once you'd gone through a horrible experience, whether it left scars on the outside or not, there was nothing anyone could say that wouldn't feel false. Mary knew that.

Dona slumped down at the bar and ordered a drink. Someone had left a newspaper there; she picked it up and began to flick through the pages. The front cover had an article about depowering the androids left after the war - 'androids', which implied artificial life rather than the near resurrection of the dead pioneered in the midst of fighting, was the accepted term now. Many people - including the writer - felt that it was unnatural to continue human life after death. These poor souls had died in the war, or not long before it, and they should be allowed to stay at rest. It occurred to Mary, as she read it from her position hovering at Dona's side, that no-one in this discussion had bothered to ask the 'poor souls' what they thought about being 'deactivated'.

Dona yanked down the newspaper, startling Mary out of her thoughts. "If you really want to read it," she said, "you could have asked me to give it to you, rather than standing so close by." There might have been a glimmer of recognition in her eyes; Mary couldn't tell.

"Hello," she tried. "Do you remember me?" She sat down next to Dona.

Silence.

Dona turned over a leaf of the paper. "It's funny," she said, "the disconnect between using such an impressive piece of technology -" here she waved her right hand - "to handle something so primitive." She flapped the paper. "But then again, this has always been a place that firmly believed in tradition, and everything that that implies. I had to call a man from off world to fix my hand up."

She finally turned to Mary. "Does it sound ridiculous that I missed you?" There was a flicker of a smile on her lips.

"What about your pirate?"

"He had other business during the war."

"Your husband?"

"He…" Dona paused. "When I was uncovered, he was really very sorry at what was happening - I could tell, he was, and shocked too, that his wife could do such a thing - but he didn't do anything to stop it. He told me that everything would be alright if I just confessed, he practically begged me to confess because he hated seeing me in pain. Unfortunately for him, I've always been stubborn. Then he died fighting. Brave enough to defend his homeland; not brave enough to defend his wife. I suppose it takes different types of strength to do either. I've been forgiven, you know, by the new government, but nobody trusts a spy, not even after an official pardon. My children were taken away after Harry died. So if you're thinking how extraordinarily ridiculous it is of me to miss a woman who I've only met once in my life, the truth is that I have nothing else left."

"I -" Mary hesitated, knowing she couldn't say 'I'm sorry', couldn't apologise for whatever horrible things had happened -"I wish I could do something to help."

"You're here. That's more than anyone else is. And please - don't tell me that your coming here was a coincidence. I'd much rather think that you sought me out on purpose." Dona's drink arrived, and she took a moment to taste it. She made a face. "This bar has always made terrible beer. I don't know why I bother anymore. What happened to your thief?"

"We got separated," Mary said, and left it at that. Dona let her.

"I need to get off this damn planet," she muttered to herself.

An idea occurred to Mary. "I have a ship," she said.

Dona looked up. "You do?" she asked. She seemed surprised, like she hadn't expected anyone to be listening to what she'd said.

"The Mary Anne. It's how I got here. There were people I stayed with, on the outer reaches, during the war. They gave me it. It's a bit patchy - a while ago there was some accident with it, don't ask me what because I don't know - but it could get us away."

"You're asking me to come with you?"

Mary hesitated. But she knew the necessity of leaving the places of the past behind you. "Yes."

"Well." Dona thought for a while. "You've lost your thief, I've lost my pirate. We could go looking for them." She glanced at Mary, and again there was that hint of a smile. "And have some fun along the way. I'm sure I can still remember how to enjoy myself, if I have you to help jog my memory." Hope was in her voice now. Cautious hope, but hope nevertheless.

"We can go straight away," said Mary. "After you've paid for your drink, that is." A memory came to her. "No strings attached?"

Dona dug around in her pocket for money, which she gave to the man behind the bar. "I don't have any strings left," she said. "Nothing to forget for the moment I'm with you." She tilted her head, sizing Mary up, admiring her. "So I think I can afford to make some new ties."

She stood up unsteadily and offered Mary her arm. Mary took it without hesitation and, together, they left the bar.

[blacklister214]

Second Son Update: Guardian Felon

Another chapter of Second Son ready to go! Enjoy!

Liz had chosen to face Wing Yee's primary entrance when she'd taken her seat. She may not have been an official law enforcement agent yet, but it was good to practice the appropriate habits. Even without Quantico training, she had her concealed carry permit, and thanks to Sam, the know-how to use her personal weapon. In the unlikely event of a violent incident, for example a rampage shooter, she was well positioned to see it first and respond.

Liz sipped her tea, remembering the other lessons her ex-grifter father had imparted. It was ironic that the skills she absorbed at the conman's knee were the same skills government agents were expected to hone. Sam had trained her to be constantly be aware of her surroundings, and to observe the habits of people in her vicinity. He'd used to take her to places like this and they'd play games where she's have to name the number of people in the restaurant or the color shirt of the person sitting behind her. Those games were the reason she'd chosen to eat in, rather than simply picking up her order and heading home. She needed the distraction after the day she'd had. Something to focus on besides the memory of the woman who'd died in her arms. The woman she'd failed to save. Liz slammed the breaks on that thought. She would not allow herself to get sucked down in that pool of self-recrimination.

A new customer emerged from behind the brick wall and Liz felt an immense wave of gratitude. He a perfectly timed diversion from her mind's darker musings. She cut a piece of her garlic chicken, using only her peripheral vision and her initial first glance to compile her list of attributes. Lean, athletic build. Around six foot. Grey wool overcoat. Black suit jacket, with a white collared shirt underneath. Black suit pants. Black leather dress shoes. Short dark hair. Stubble. Handsome...and familiar. There was a tickle in her mind, telling Liz she had seen this man before.

She resisted the urge to lift her gaze. The whole point of the exercise was to observe without drawing attention. The server seated the man directly across from Liz, albeit a few tables down. At least she'd have the time to place him. Liz decided a casual glance wouldn't be cheating, not if it appeared natural. She raised her teacup to her lips, and gazing over the top, found herself unexpectedly making eye contact with her subject. He offered her the small, polite smile of stranger, before looking down at his menu, but it was enough for Liz to trigger a spark of recognition.

"You!" The words were out of Liz's mouth before she had the sense to censor them. The man looked up, his eyebrow raised, and glanced briefly over his shoulder. After verifying there was no one there, he turned back to Liz.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Liz stood and slowly walked toward the man's table. Yes, it was him. She knew that voice. She knew that slightly cocky smile. Frank. Bacon. A flipped kitchen table. A waiting room in a government building. Singing Destiny's Child in a grey Mustang.

"You used to work as an investigator in Omaha. You broke into my apartment once and made me breakfast?" The man blinked, tilted his head slightly, and then smiled.

"Elizabeth Scott. My apologies. You look different from when I last saw you." She supposed she would, given that in her teen years she favored dark tees, leather jackets, and blue jeans. These days her go to was blazers and blouse. She noticed she wasn't the only one to clean up her look.

"As do you. Nice suit." His outfit suggested young urban professional. Successful. His clothing was tailored, not off the rack. Not exactly how she would expect a PI to dress...unless he was undercover, looking to blend with a corporate world.

"Thanks. Care to join me? Unless you're running home to your boyfriend?" Liz found herself unsure how to respond. The invitation was unexpected. They weren't exactly old friends who had bumped into each. Their brief relationship, if it could be termed that, had been largely antagonistic. Well...maybe not so such at the tail end. He'd been surprisingly kind to her after she'd learned the truth about her parents. In hindsight she had to admit getting her that information on her birth family and getting rid of Frank had helped her enormously. God knew where she would have ended up if this man hadn't brought their crime spree to an abrupt conclusion.

"What makes you think I have a boyfriend?" A stall, yes, but it might help her determine the intentions of her potential dining companion.

He gestured back to her table, where Nik's To-Go box was sitting. "Most people don't order a secondary meal for themselves." It seemed Liz wasn't the only one making observations.

"I could have a roommate." She wasn't sure why she was arguing the point. Maybe it was the absolute assuredness with which the PI had made his pronouncement.

The server arrived, forcing Liz to take a step back as a bowl of steaming soup was placed before him. After thanking the woman, he turned his attention back to her.

"True, but I went with boyfriend." Instead of elaborating he picked up his spoon, and dipped it into the dish. Raising it to his lips, he blew gently on the broth.

"Because?"

"You're an only child raised by a single Dad. Living with a man is probably easier for you than living with another woman." Liz wished she could tell him to stick his assumption up his ass, but the sad truth was, he wasn't wrong. If college had taught her nothing else, it was that cohabiting with other women was more drama than she'd care to take.

"I am living with my boyfriend, but he's at work right now." She'd stated very clearly she was in a relationship, therefore she was in no danger of him interpreting her choice to join him as flirtation.

"Well I insist, then. You owe me a meal, after all." Now it was Liz's turn to raise her eyebrows.

"I do?"

"Yes. I cooked a delicious breakfast, and you flipped it all onto the floor. I didn't even get to finish my famous gluten-free pancakes." Liz couldn't suppress a giggle at the PI's exaggeratedly woeful expression.

"Fine." Liz turned back toward her table, but the man gestured at the chair across from him and stood.

"Please, allow me." As he passed her to retrieve her dishes, Liz couldn't help but notice he'd left his overcoat behind. It bulging ever so slightly at the pocket, suggesting an untended wallet. That type of thing that used to send a thrill of excitement through her. An easy score. It would be so easy to pluck it right out before he came back. Finally learn the name of PI she'd been unable to track down after he'd sped away eight years ago. Suddenly the man was back at her elbow, the window of opportunity closed. He deposited her meal before her, and set Nik's off to the side.

He settled back into his seat and smiled at her, "So...what do you do for work these days? Still boosting cars?" He shot her such a knowing look she had the fleeting, but frightening worry that the man had somehow read her mind. Well two could play at that game.

"Retired. How about you? Are you still breaking and entering into people's homes?"

"Only on very special occasions." His tone was playful, and if under oath she honestly wouldn't be able to say if the man teasing her. Liz wondered if that was deliberate, to avoid incriminating himself.

"If that really is the case I should inform you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." She dug out her wallet and flashed him her ID. It would have been hard to miss the large 'FBI' printed on it, and yet the PI looked distinctly unphased.

"Employed by the FBI? Interesting line of work for someone like you." Liz's enjoyment of their banter fizzled out immediately.

"You mean someone with my background?" She felt her anger slowly rising. How dare he judge based on the private things he knew about her biological family? It was especially galling coming from him, who insisted blood relationships meant nothing by themselves. She wasn't her genes. She wasn't those people in that file.

"No, I mean someone who, as a teenager, pulled off a four month crime spree without getting caught." Liz had to admit that was...fairer than she thought he was being. Her actions were on her...but still she'd been a kid. Lots of people were less than perfect when they were young. She'd straightened herself out, moved past it.

"You caught me. On film, as I recall." Of course he'd mailed the negatives to Sam about a week after she'd returned home. They'd burned them together along with the copies.

"Well, I'm exceptional."

"Humble too." He wasn't wrong though. Exceptional was an apt term for this man. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than she was when he'd managed to track her down, and bring her to heel. He'd gotten rid of Frank, and in such a way that had made her never want to see him again. He'd convinced a government employ to break policy. He'd demonstrated intelligence, resourcefulness, and a disregard for the law. Had he changed course as she had, or was he the same, just with a few more years of experience under his belt?

"How's your brother?" If she recalled correctly that had been a topic he'd been eager, or at least willing to discuss with her. Liz's recollection earned her, yet another smile from her dinner companion. This one was slightly different, not mocking, but warm. Genuine.

"Good. He came back from Africa unscathed. We both work for our foster father now, so I get to see him pretty regularly. How's your Dad?" Liz snorted thinking back to her last conversation with Sam. He'd management to sprain his ankle hopping off the tractor.

"Good. Still living in the farm house. Flatly refuses to sell it and retire. Says it would make him insane and that he has no interest in spending his days golfing or taking pottery classes." She shook her head. The man was stubborn as a mule.

"It's funny isn't it?" The PI has cocked his head to the side as though an odd thought had just struck him.

"What's funny?"

"Most people spend their whole lives waiting for retirement. Waiting for a time when they have no obligations, when they spend their days doing exactly what they want. For your father, though, that sounds like torture. Pure utter torture. I think it's funny that the things that give some people pleasure, for example your boyfriend's Kung Po Chicken over there, can be unspeakably awful to someone else." His eyes were oddly intense, locked on hers as he made his point. Was he trying to tell her something? Her eyes drifted over to the take-out box. Was that what was bothering him?

"If your nose is that sensitive, I'll put it away." Liz moved to picked up the box, but the PI waved her off with a laugh.

"That not necessary. My point is that what's injurious or unbearable to people is not one size fits all. Wouldn't you agree?" Liz shrugged. Certain things most people had an aversion to, but what was the worst varied. Some people hated bugs, others snakes, others heights. What some found to be torture…...torture…...torture…..

Liz's thoughts slowed to trickle, that one word on a loop. Drop. Drop. Drop. Torture. Torture. Torture. Suddenly her mind sped up ten times faster than before, visions of the victims flashing through her mind. The medicals reports. Different, all different. No pattern, unless the lack of pattern WAS the pattern. Individual. Not the same.

"Would you excuse me a moment?" She stood up and head toward the bathroom. After checking the stalls for occupantants, she pulled out her phone and selected a number from her contacts. After about six rings a familiar voice was in her ear.

"It's late Scott. What do you want?" His lack of enthusiasm was unsurprising. The fact she'd been called up from New York to join a DC task force had rubbed some of her new coworkers the wrong way. Colin Worth was one such individual. Unfortunately she knew he was also the person most likely to still be at the office at 6 pm.

"Colin. Great! I was hoping someone was still there." She needed to keep it friendly. Liz was going ask a favor, so it would help if she was nice to the jackass. She could do it. Really, she could.

"I was just grabbing my coat. I got some place I need to be tonight." Somehow Liz doubted that, but there was no point in calling the man on it.

"I just had theory about the case. We've tried to find connections between the victims and there was nothing. What if we look for a link between the victim and their injuries?" While talking to that PI something had jarred loose in her mind and she couldn't shake the feeling it was the key to the entire case.

"What are you talking about?" This wasn't good. Colin didn't sound at all interested in what she was saying. Liz had an instinct she was about thirty seconds away from being hung up on.

"There has to be a reason the killer's methods are so varied. What if he's tailoring them to the victims? What if they were injuries the victims had gotten before or maybe someone else they knew had gotten them before?" One size doesn't fit all. Wasn't that what the PI had said?

"Why would the killer do that?" Liz felt like throwing into the bathroom's tile wall. As far as she was aware this was the only theory any of them had come up with in the past month.

"I don't know!" Whoops, that hadn't exactly been calm or friendly. Liz took a deep breath. "Look Colin, I know it's late. I know this could be nothing. I know you think I'm a bitch. Honestly, you're probably right. If I could, I would head over there now and look into this myself, but I can't. I've been ordered to take a 48 hour leave. That psychopath is still out there, maybe choosing his next victim, so please, please look into this for me." There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Liz had started to think Colin had hung up when he voice once again came through.

"I'll call you back if it comes to anything." Then he hung up. No "Good idea!", no "Goodbye!" but it was enough. More than enough.

Liz walked back to the table feeling better than she had in month. There was a chance she'd done something right tonight. It felt good.

The good feeling stopped when she reached the table. No grey overcoat. No PI. Just her plate where she left it, across from a nearly full bowl of Wantong soup. Seeing her standing there, the server hurried over.

"Your friend got a call right after you left. He said it was a work emergency and he had to go. He paid for his food and yours. He said to say 'It had been a pleasure to see you again' and to 'give his regards to your father.'" Liz felt inexplicably let down. He'd vanished again, and she still didn't have clue who he was. She'd hadn't even managed to learn his name.

"I don't suppose he paid with his credit card did he?"

"No, cash." Of course. Liz dropped into her chair, a foul mood replacing her lighter one. Full circle. She dug into her chicken with renewed vigor. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. So what if the phantom PI had once again dropped off the face of the earth. He'd been there just long enough to have been an enormous help to her, just like he had been eight years ago. He was like her own personal guardian angel...That is if guardian angels did things like commit blackmail and B and E. So maybe not an angel. A felon. She raised her teacup in silent salute. To her guardian felon, whoever or wherever the hell he was.