#martin having to fight against the agent who was his dads friend

[daggerfool]

Who do you give the Numidium to and how do you feel about the Dragon break?

I usually give the totem to Mannimarco because gameplay wise his reward is the best. Like yes, I want to be famous and have every noble in the Iliac Bay as my bestie. They are like walking trust funds.

When I role-play I give it back to Gothryd just because my character is chaotic and unpredictable. It’s like stealing candy from a toddler, then being paid for giving it back. I have a few thoughts on the dragon break and I have an own interpretation of it as most of us do. I mean, it’s Elder Scrolls and the canon is that nothing’s canon. I will specifically talk about the dragon break in Daggerfall, my opinions don’t really extend to the dragon breaks in general (why are they a thing anyway).

All of this confusing stuff under the cut.

The definition of dragon break is that it’s a temporal phenomenon that involves a splitting of the natural timeline which results in branching parallel realities where the same events occur differently or not at all.

The thing about parallel realities is that there is no worth in wondering about them. Like in Morrowind, where once you kill a main quest related npc you get the message which contains the words ’live in the doomed world you created’. For you, it’s only a doomed world because the message imply the existence of a better path, otherwise it’s reality, and you have nothing to compare it to but what ifs in your head.

Not the case in Daggerfall though. The reality of one is antithetical of other’s, yet they still exist at the same time and space. No matter what side the Agent picks, every other path will be part of the real world, making all of them meaningful in some way. It raises two questions for me.

1. Does it mean the Agent’s choice is actually meaningless? 2. Does it really matter what the Agent chooses in this case?

In my opinion, the answer is yes to both questions. The effect of the dragon break only really matters to those who can comprehend it. For the folk of the Iliac Bay the results only seem like an effect of a war: changed borders, swifts in power between kingdoms. Supernatural phenomenons like dragon breaks are too confusing for a basic farmer, they have no meaning to a swordsman.

I believe the Agent was one of the few who really knew what happened and the moment they touched the Mantella they have seen a glimpse of every choice they have taken in parallel realities. I think the Agent stops being a person that moment. They are like patchwork, a being made from every skill they gained, every knowledge they got. They effectively stop being themselves and yet become more of themselves they have previously been. All the experiences they have had thus far, all the answers they have found, are engraved in them. For the Agent it does matter who they give the totem to. They will remember their feelings and opinions that lead them to that moment, nothing is going to take that away from them (except if they die when the realities merge, but that raises another question I am not prepared mentally to think through). 

Anyway, if Daggerfall has been a modern game, the Agent would have become something god-like, something beyond mortal in the end.

Funny enough I think Nulfaga also understood the dragon break or at least I came to this conclusion based on her dialogues. Homegirl just didn’t give no shits about a world that doesn’t have her son in it. Btw imagine being Nulfaga and having Lysandus as a son and when he reproduces, his kid is a lame ass emo boy.

In conclusion, the Agent basically played all the routes of a dating simulator separately then ended up having a harem. Once again, my theory that every TES game is an otome game is proven and dragon breaks are just the secret poly route.

[dwellordream]

Firekeeper’s Daughter by Angeline Boulley. YA mystery/thriller. Raised by both her white mother and her deceased father’s Ojibwe family, Daunis has always been caught between two different traditions and cultures. As she prepares for her first semester of college and struggles to come to grips with the shocking murder of her best friend, she is caught up in a federal investigation into an exceptionally lethal strain of meth, and a disturbing connection with an undercover agent.

Young Jane Young by Gabrielle Zevin. Realistic fiction/drama. An upper middle class Jewish family in Boca Raton, Florida, finds themselves torn apart by the media when their daughter is embroiled in a sex scandal involving a prominent local senator. Fourteen years later, a precocious middle schooler attempts to investigate her mother’s mysterious past- in the midst of her running for mayor. Who is Jane Young, and what is she really guilty of?

Prophet Song by Paul Lynch. Dystopian/thriller. Two years after an alt-right government is elected into power, an Irish family struggles to stay together in the face of rising unrest and government tyranny. Eilish Stack, a microbiologist recently returned from maternity leave, is left isolated and bereft when her trade unionist husband is arrested and imprisoned without trial, and her eldest son absconds from mandatory military service by joining a rebel group. Urged by some to flee the country, and by others to stay and defend the values she's always held true, Eilish finds herself willing to do anything and everything to defend her dwindling family.

The Guest by Emma Cline. Realistic drama/thriller. An escort struggling with drug addiction and alcoholism, Alex knows her livelihood depends on her latest client- a wealthy older man holed up on Long Island for the summer. But the summer is ending, and Alex has been kicked out after offending her customer. Unwilling to return to the city (and the drug dealer she owes money to), Alex decides to win her client back- she just has to house surf for a few nights. As Labor Day weekend unfolds, Alex flits through various personalities, wealthy households, and increasingly amoral decisions, determined to take things one tense day at a time.

Everything's Fine by Cecilia Rabess. Realistic drama/romance. Jess and Josh have loathed one another since college, when their opposing political beliefs made them sparring partners in every class. When they are reunited years later while working for Goldman Sachs, both have changed- Jess has relinquished many of her progressive ideals to take a high-paying job that will satisfy her ambitions, while Josh now sees himself as more of a liberal moderate than a conservative agitator. While Jess has no intention of forgiving Josh's shitty politics, he proves to be an unfailing, caring support against the tightknit white 'bro' culture at the hedge fund, and soon the two begin to fall for one another. But now it's 2016, and cultural ideas about race, politics, and class are drastically shifting. Can you love someone who might ask you to compromise your beliefs? And can someone whose values deny your rights to life and liberty actually love you?

My Absolute Darling by Gabriel Tallent. Realistic fiction/drama. Turtle Alveston is not a typical 14-year-old girl. Raised in virtual isolation by her charming, ruthless survivalist father, the two share an obsessive, violent, incestuous bond- Martin is Turtle's dad, god, and monster. Turtle has no need for anyone else- until she meets Jacob, an eccentric but kind boy who shares her passion for the wilderness of northern California. Suddenly Turtle is confronted with very real, normal teenage feelings and needs- for friends, school dances, and first dates. But Martin will not relinquish his 'absolute darling' without a fight.

Adelaide by Genevieve Wheeler. Romance/drama. Adelaide's personal life has always been emotionally intense- epic highs, epic lows. Yet everything changes when she meets Rory. Rory is handsome, witty, and romantic- and he is also unreliable, distant, and sometimes even cruel. He showers Adelaide with compliments, treats her to dinner, dances with her in the rain- and he ignores her texts, ghosts her after they make plans, and forces her to sleep on the floor or leave his apartment at 2 in the morning after sex. Adelaide was taught you have to fight for a happy ending- but the more time she spends with Rory, and the more she burns her own life down to keep him warm- she begins to wonder when the happy ending is supposed to begin.

Meant to Be Mine by Hannah Orenstein. Romance. Everyone in Edie Myer's family has a soulmate. Her beloved grandmother, Gloria, has accurately predicted the day each of her children and grandchildren will meet their true love. On June 24th, 2022, Edie prepares to meet her soulmate, and she does!- a handsome, confident guitarist named Theo, who is determined to take his band to the next level. Though Edie seems to have little in common with Theo, the chemistry is there, and isn't that enough? After all, he's her soulmate, her destined match. But as time goes by, Edie begins to wonder whether her obsession with 'fated' love is twisting her notion of what happiness looks like- and who she should find it with.

Books Recs of 2024

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett. Mystery/fantasy centered around Din, a young assistant investigator assigned to help an eccentric and infamous detective, Ana Dolabra, solve a series of murders. Din is an engraver, his brain altered so he has a photographic memory. However, no one is quite sure how he got his current position, since he failed every single one of his final exams except the combat portion. Ana is an exceedingly odd woman who refuses to go to any crime scene in person and often performs mad science experiments in her spare time. As Din struggles to keep up with the case, which revolves around a bioweapon being unleashed on a series of the empire's best engineers, he also worries what will happen when Ana finally uncovers his secrets.

Highfire by Eoin Colfer. Urban fantasy (very comedic fantasy) about a dragon called Vern (short for Wyvern), who teams up with a juvenile delinquent named Squib (real name Everett Moreau) to take down a corrupt sheriff who is plaguing the Lousiana bayou. Vern is a very small (seven feet long) dragon who is the last of his kind (as far as he knows). When he is spotted by a local troubled teen, his first instinct is to hunt Squib down and kill him, but he quickly realizes the two of them have a common enemy- the murderous sheriff who is running drugs through their territory.

The Last Tale of the Flower Bride by Roshani Chokshi. Magical realism about a romantic-minded art historian who is swept off his feet by a mysterious and charming heiress. After a whirlwind courtship, the happy couple return to her childhood home; a Gothic manor on a lonely island. The more time our narrator spends around his wife's past, the more questions are raised- increasingly sinister ones about who she is and what exactly she is capable of. Once upon a time, she was best friends with an equally odd and dreamy little girl named Indigo. But no one has seen Indigo for many years now- and the Flower Bride may be behind her disappearance.

Chlorine by Jade Song. Horror/magical realism. Since childhood, Ren's entire identity has been wrapped up in swimming. If she can be strong enough, fast enough, special enough, success is sure to come her way. As the end of high school approaches, Ren's passion for swimming becomes less about her future, and more about past legends of mermaids and sirens dragging sailors into the deep. School, friends, and her parents' expectations all fall away- Ren will make her home in the water, no matter what she has to do.

We Are Not Like Them by Christine Pride & Jo Piazza. Realistic fiction. Jen and Riley have been best friends for as long as they can remember, despite their vastly different childhoods. Riley is from a middle class Black family; Jen was raised by an impoverished white single mother. After twenty years of doing almost everything together, their lives are at a crossroads- Riley is a news anchor about to take Philadelphia by storm, while Jen is expecting her first child with her police officer husband. When Jen's husband is involved in the murder of a Black teenage boy by a fellow officer, Riley finds herself expected to cover the story- and Jen finds herself expected to answer for her husband's actions- and her own beliefs about what racism looks like.

Queenpin by Megan Abbott. Crime thriller/noir. Our nameless heroine lives a mousy existence working as a bookkeeper for a rundown local night club, but her life is turned upside down when the infamous Gloria Denton, a gun moll and smuggler, takes her under her wing. Gloria transforms her young protege from a timid girl to a sophisticated, cunning woman capable of handling gangsters, conmen, thieves, and bookies, but when she falls for the wrong man, her relationship with Gloria is strained, and they must decide just how far they can trust one another.

Everyone Knows Your Mother is a Witch by Rivka Galchen. Historical fiction. Based on the real life trial of Katharina Kepler, mother of the famed Johannes Kepler, Imperial Mathematician to the Holy Roman Empire. Katharina is a busybody, a domineering and devilishly clever woman with a particular talent for healing. She is also a fiercely loyal mother to her adult children, but when an old neighborhood grudge flares into accusations of poison and witchcraft, Katharina is determined not to meekly confess and beg pardon. The more she lashes out at her neighbors and the authorities, the more charges begin to pile up against her- despite her son's desperate attempts to save her from torture and execution.

Bury Me Deep by Megan Abbott. Crime thriller/noir. Based on a real life murder case in 1931 Phoenix Arizona. Naive and sheltered Marion Seeley is deposited in Phoenix by her disgraced doctor husband, who is forced to take a job with a mining company in South America after his medical license is revoked. Marion befriends the vivacious Louise and Ginny, two fellow nurses, who introduce her to the underground party scene in Phoenix. Politicians and businessmen flock to the secret parties held by them, and it's a quick way to make money on the side. Drawn in by the luxury and thrills, Marion falls in love with Joe Lanigan, a powerful local politician, but as their affair intensifies, her friendship with the other women fractures, culminating in a gruesome crime.

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Seven - Fix You

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: Gun talk, mentions of murder, The usual SOA shit. 

An almost unsettling fog blanketed Charming tonight, amplifying the sinister aura that’d been drifting through the town since Stahl had made her mark.

Since June Stahl had made it her mission—her whole purpose—to destroy the Sons Of Anarchy, and anybody that laid in her path.

She was doing a damn good job of that, too.

Isla wasn’t sure what her hasty arrival would mean for the club, but she knew that it wasn’t going to end pretty. She was aware that the bitter agent was just as stiff-necked as Clay, and wasn’t going down without a fucking fight.

Which, a fight, the Sons could do. It was whether they’d all make it out alive that Isla couldn’t predict.

She wouldn’t want to put her money on it either, actually.

“Any word on Bobby?”

“No.” Gemma’s sigh was sad, exhausted. “Rosen swung by just after you left with the she-devil. Said there’s a witness in a safe house willing to testify against Bobby and Ope in court. And if he does stick to his word, they’re going down for murder.”

Choosing to ignore her comment about Tara, Isla continued to pace the room. She held her cell tightly between her pink fingertips, hoping it’d light up and vibrate with a call from Jax, or Tig, or even Happy.

“Shit.” She hissed, mindful of the fact that there was a sleeping baby in Wendy’s arms and any offensive sounds would rouse him in an instant. “Did Clay tell you what their next move was?”

“Yeah. But I don’t think you’re gonna like it, sweetheart.”

She didn’t have to be privy to the plan to know that their next move involved one witness, three men, and a handful of shrapnel bullets.

“Jax know about this?” Almost concerned, Wendy asked. Isla’s ears perked up at that, too, because she wanted to know.

The VP was brutal, he was domineering and harsh when he had to be, but he wanted minimal blood shed. He didn’t host that same massacre mentality as Tig or Clay, and he definitely didn’t desire the sick thrill of gunning down a witness being protected by the fucking ATF.

“I’m assuming that he doesn’t.” The blonde uttered for Gemma after noticing that she was taking a painfully long time to respond. “Clay sent Happy, Tig, and who else? Juice?”

“Not Juice.”

“Did Clay go?” A little bit condescending, like she already knew the answer, Wendy asked. She rocked Abel back and forth as she did so, penetratively glaring at her ex-mother-in-law.

Isla swallowed thickly, stuffing her cell into the back pocket of her jeans when she realized what Gemma was trying to say.

Clay never did his own dirty work—it was always the Sgt. At Arms and whoever else was willing to get the blood on their hands. And her father, the forward-thinking, strong-willed Scotsman, never shied away from a task of this nature.

“It’s okay.” She spoke aloud, elucidating her innermost thoughts. “It’s fine. They’ve got Hap—he’s never been caught before—he knows what he’s doing.”

“And Tig, too. Y’know what he’s like.”

“Yeah.” Reflectively, she spoke. “At least they’d go through with it if my dad couldn’t.”

“You saying that your old man is weak?”

“No.” Isla spat at Wendy, glaring at her. “I’m saying that he has a conscience. Hap and Tig are a little bit hasty with the trigger and don’t tend to think before they execute somebody.”

In agreement, Gemma nodded.

“But it’s gotta be done.” She concluded, sitting on the arm of the couch. “The witness has gotta be dealt with—even if Jax doesn’t know anything about this.”

She felt her heart constrict at the thought of nobody telling the Vice President about their plans to get rid of that man.

The man that had the power to take down Opie and Bobby, and leave a club without their brothers.

Two families without their fathers.

And though it was inherently wrong to commit murder, Isla had been brought up knowing that the Sons got rid of their problems by planting bullets in the skulls of their enemies.

It was bad and immoral, and she couldn’t think of a way to excuse it to anybody on the outside. But to SAMCRO, it was habitual. It was what they did because it worked. Every single time.

“Wait a second.”

“What’s the matter, baby?”

Isla pulled a hand through her hair. “How is Clay so sure that they’re not gonna get caught? Y’know, ‘cuz this witness is being protected by the ATF—“

She was cut short by a delicate, albeit firmer than usual, knock at the door. Isla piqued a brow when Gemma got up to answer.

“They’ve got it covered.” Was all she managed to muster out before she went to see who’d decided to turn up at that hour.

Isla’s brain was doing cartwheels. She was nervous, she was pissed, but, most of all, she was upset that Chibs hadn’t told her where he was going tonight.

She snapped herself out of it, though. When Gemma scoffed as she opened the door and trailed back to her spot on the adjacent couch, Isla’s interests had been roused.

“It’s kinda late for a house call.” Her eyes rolled.

Tara trailed in behind her, feeling uneasy at the mere sight of the SAMCRO Queen and Jax’s ex-wife—but Isla being the only friendly face eased her a little bit.

“I was on my way home from work. Just thought I’d stop by and check in.”

“That’s sweet.” Isla smiled at the brunette, offering her the space next to Wendy. “Here.”

“It’s okay, I’ll stand—“

“No, I insist.” She protested softly, getting up. “It’s been a long day for you, sweetie. I’ll sit by mama bear over there.”

Gemma snorted, trying to figure out just what had happened between the pair for Isla to suddenly be so kind and considerate toward the woman she loathed for the best part of a decade.

But she was drawing a blank, because she realized how stupid that would’ve been to wonder—she was just like that. Nothing had to happen for her to be that way.

Isla was the kind of woman that Gemma wanted to be, while simultaneously being her exact double. She was a cleaner, kinder, brighter version of the matriarch, though she hosted that flicker of something that’d tie her to the battle axe that raised her.

And maybe calling the woman a “battle axe” was a little bit harsh, but it was true—on almost every single count.

Gemma was strong-willed, stubborn, martinent, and she took no shit from anybody. Isla wasn’t like that. She wasn’t a doormat, and she didn’t let people walk all over her, but she never went out of her way to demand respect.

Even though she’d been brought up to know she was better than the other women that lived among the Sons Of Anarchy.

“Is he here?”

“Does it look like he’s here?” Gemma’s lips twitched.

“No, I just…I guess I miss him, you know?”

Wendy nodded, tending to a fidgeting Abel. “Yeah, I do.”

Isla looked between the pair—sadly. She watched two of the most important people in Jax’s life sit side-by-side, meditative and wondering about the positions they had both been thrust into.

He had lived two completely different lives with each woman, and she was grateful to say that she had been present in both.

But to see Jax struggle—to see his heart break twice—was too much for Isla to think about, really.

She had watched Tara walk away, right out of his life without a second glance or even a second thought. And it was painful to discern. Painful to know that her best friend had lost the love of his life because she felt that she was too good to stick around for him.

Isla knew that wasn’t the entire truth, and that Tara was just doing a good thing for herself. But, at the time, she was young and stupid and extremely closed-minded when it came to the people that wronged the ones she loved, and all she wanted to do was hate that woman.

She’d grown up a lot since then, though. Isla was a different person entirely—a better version of herself—and she understood each reason behind every last thing Tara did when she did it.

Even if Jax’s mother couldn’t get to grips with it—couldn’t think about trusting her—Isla could.

It was a little bit difficult now, however. To see Tara and Wendy in the same room—trying to coexist peacefully in Jax’s life—was hard.

The lull was boisterous. The sheepish silence was deafening, and the thwacking of Isla’s heart against her chest was vociferous enough to be heard by Gemma across the way.

It was a position she didn’t want to be thrust into, but she wasn’t willing to get up and leave had anything been said.

She sat beside the older woman, watching her watch them like a fucking hawk, until her phone vibrated in her back pocket.

Isla shifted, pulling the cell from the denim and flipping it open.

Janet: Can u make it in for 9 tomorrow morning?

Her eyebrows pinched together, looking up a little confused. Isla swore that she sent Janet a text message that told her she wouldn’t be able to work in the morning.

She couldn’t miss Donna’s funeral. She didn’t want to, either.

“Who is it?” Gemma spoke inquisitively, peeling her eyes away from the conversion between Wendy and Tara.

“My boss.”

“Janet?” She nodded. “What’d that bitch want?”

“For me to work tomorrow morning—”

Gemma turned to her, grimacing. “But it’s the funeral. You told her that, right?”

Once again, Isla bobbed her head while fiddling with the buttons on her cellphone.

“She’s not gonna let me take another day off.” Her throat hitched at the realization. “I’m just gonna have to go with you, ignore her calls, and tell her that I didn’t see the text she sent to me tonight.”

Lying to and ignoring the woman that paid her at the end of every month, the woman that had helped her financially for the last five years, wasn’t what Isla wanted to do today.

But it was the only way she could pay her respects to Donna, she thought.

“You’re not gonna go in, right?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m just gonna call her after the funeral and apologize—“

“Don’t apologize.” Gemma chastised, knitting her eyebrows together. “If she can’t understand that you’ve got a funeral in the morning that you can’t miss, then she can go to hell—“

“Alright, Gem.” Her chuckle was hearty as she put her hand against her purse, pulling it to sit against her shoulder.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m gonna head home.” She rose to her feet smiling over at Tara and Wendy. “It’s getting late and we’ve gotta be out early tomorrow.”

“Alright, baby.” The older woman stood with her, pushing her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Call me when you get there?”

Isla smiled, pecking her cheek. “Of course.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She directed toward Tara—not particularly giving a damn if Wendy would be there or not.

The doctor simply smiled and nodded, giving her the answer that she not only wanted, but needed. She needed her there by her side in the morning. Isla feared she wouldn’t be able to get through it without her, actually.

But she was dreading the day. To see those men hold themselves together—to see Opie strive not to crumble—was something that she didn’t want to have to witness tomorrow.

So many funerals had she attended, so many friends and family members had been seized from her reach throughout the course of her life, but she hadn’t seen anything like this before.

She hadn’t ever seen a friend lose his one true love, the woman that brought him unintelligible happiness and two beautiful children to cherish with his entire being.

She hadn’t seen Opie suffer so much before. The man that was strong and willing and would hastily blow shit up with little to no regard for consequences, was disintegrating before her very eyes.

And Isla didn’t fucking know how to help him cope with that. She didn’t even know if she could help him to cope with that.

Her anxiety was still present on the drive home, too.

Even after getting into bed and recounting the events of the afternoon, Isla was still nervous as to what’d happen next. Because Clay’s reaction to Bobby getting arrested didn’t inspire much confidence, either.

And the way that Piney had disappeared earlier to seek vengeance, to hold a fucking pistol to the head of Laroy Wayne—the man that allegedly played a role in the murder of Donna Winston—was also prickling away at her thoughts.

Something was going to go wrong, wasn’t it?

No matter how well thought out their plans might’ve been, or how seamlessly they carried out the crime, something always went wrong. Somebody was always caught out, or hurt, or just felt bad about what they were doing.

Isla could’ve written that shit, now. After so many failed hits, failed attempts, and unfortunate events, Isla was almost a pro at predicting what the future would entail.

Almost as if she’d manifested it by merely thinking, her attention was piqued by the hastening roar of a motorcycle engine—clearly pulling up to her place.

It was wonderful to know that Gemma hadn’t decided to follow her home tonight, but the rough din could’ve led to any of the others.

She hoped it wasn’t Jax, and she really hoped it wasn’t her father or Happy.

As she slid out of bed, Isla reached for the pink robe with the daisies on it that rested against the back of her bedroom door, and shrugged it on over her silky pajamas.

It was great that she lived in such a small house, really, because she was able to get from point A (her bedroom) to point B (the front door), in a matter of seconds, or before the person outside got angry that she was taking too long.

He hadn’t knocked the door yet, but she knew that he was about to.

Isla rummaged around the little bowl beside the entrance for her front door key, suddenly realizing that she had way too many of them—her house key, a key to her mailbox, keys to T M, keys to her dad’s place, her car keys, she had somebody’s bike keys, too.

The little chain that hosted a few pieces of metal, a cherry keychain, a tiny motorcycle, and an old beaded bracelet that Chibs had given to her for safe travels, was hastily being shoved into the lock and twisted counterclockwise.

“How’d you know I was out here?” Tig asked from about a foot away, barely visible to her as the streetlights were out, for some reason.

“Literally couldn’t hear myself think over the sound of your bike.” She chuckled, leaning against her door frame. She squinted, trying to focus on him—but it was no use. “What’re you going here, Tigger?”

He stepped further toward her—reluctantly. The dim glow of her living room light suddenly illuminated the space a hell of a lot more, hitting Tig square in the face as Isla shifted a little to her left.

Her heart clenched.

“I need you to play nurse again.” Bashfully, he smiled.

There were tears of pain trickling from those crystalline hues, his left hand firmly planted against his ribcage, and she suddenly heeded the dried blood underneath his nose, his lips, and a bruise forming against his cheek.

“Tig…” Her words broke away from her tongue, the lump in her throat constricting her airways because seeing him so beaten and exhausted hurt her.

“You should see the other guy.” He tried to joke, but the humor was lost on her.

Lost on him, too. He didn’t think it was funny, but he hated the way she was looking at him.

“Sorry to bring this here.” Tig sniffed harshly, squinting as the pain suddenly started to hit him. “I’ll—uh—I’ll go—“

“No. No, you’re not going anywhere.” She stated firmly, stepping out of the house and down the path. “You’re gonna come in, I’m gonna fix you up, and you’re gonna tell me what happened.”

“Isla…”

“Please, Alex.”

Tig couldn’t help that little smile pulling at the corners of his lips, always liking that she’d say his name so softly. Anybody else referring to him that way would’ve gotten a swift kick in the fucking gut—but she was different.

Isla was a comfort. Always had been.

He stepped inside, following closely behind her as she made a beeline for her bathroom. But she instructed him to sit at the dinner table, stifling a laugh at the way she tried her hand at being the authoritative figure.

She’d even told him to help himself to the Jack Daniels she kept for when Chibs called ‘round.

“You’re so lucky dad taught me how to treat wounds.” She called from the end of the hallway, shuffling across the carpet in a pair of sparkly pink slippers.

“I know.” He agreed, thankful. “He did a good job, too.”

“I’ll tell him you said that.” Isla smiled, putting her first aid necessities atop the table. “But don’t tell him that I’m about to ask you to take your shirt off, or else he’ll beat the shit outta you.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off.” She smiled again, gesturing to the part of his body that his hand had subconsciously taken purchase against. “I’m not tryna make you do a strip tease for me, Tig, I just need to see if you’ve got any cuts there or if it’s just a bruise.”

“I think it’s just a bruise,” he mused, shrugging off his black zip-up, and starting to unbutton the cotton shirt adorning his torso.

Isla bit her bottom lip as she fiddled with the tube of antiseptic cream, wondering how she would broach the topic. She wanted to know what had happened—because whatever it was clearly did not go to plan—but she didn’t want him to think that she was trying to force it out of him.

“See.” Tig ran his hand over the red marks, lines, and the small flecks of yellow surrounding his rib cage and lower abdomen. “All good.”

“Not all good.” She halted him as he tried to reason with her, furrowing her eyebrows. “Where did they come from?”

Nobody could lie to her. Ever.

Nobody had to lie to her, really, because Isla Telford tried not to ask any questions—but she was worried tonight.

Worried about Tig and the various messes that he’d found himself entwined in over the last day and a half. Worried that he was in trouble, that he was tormenting himself over something out of his reach—his control.

She was just worried about him, really.

His sigh was throaty, hurt palpable. “You want the whole truth, or the dumbed-down version?”

“The whole truth.” She retorted instantaneously, letting him button his shirt before she started to clean the blood from his face. “And don’t try to lie to me, because I know you too well for that.”

Like last night, he felt pathetic. He felt that twinge of vulnerability poke through again, and he hated it.

He hated the thought of Isla seeing him this way—in pain, downtrodden and exhausted—and he hated the thought of her knowing that whatever it was he did today had gotten to him so much.

“The witness that was gonna testify against Ope. Me, Hap, and your old man went to go ‘n handle him,” Tig sucked in a deep breath when the alcohol pad nicked at a cut he was unaware of.

“I know about that part.” Easily, she followed on. “So what happened? Was he too fast?”

His head shook, an airy chuckle escaping his lips. “He was a she. A teenage girl—“

“Jesus, Tig.” Almost disgusted, she took a step back. “You didn’t…”

“No.” He reassured her, letting her soften a little bit before coming out with; “but me and Hap were gonna.”

“You’re kidding?”

If there was one thing that Isla knew SAMCRO did not do, it was kill women. Ever.

There had been accidents that saw innocent girls caught in the crossfire—last night, for one—which was inevitable. But the club never went out of their way to end their lives.

“Wish I was, Isla.” Tig’s eyes watered, but she didn’t do anything. She didn’t say anything, either. “I dunno what's happening to me.”

I don’t either, Tiggy.

“I was gonna put that bullet in her and if it wasn’t for Jax—“

“Jax was there?”

“He stormed in after someone must’ve told him we were gonna off the “man” that saw Ope and Bobby kill Hefner at that complex.”

“Oh.” She nodded along, cleaning out the wound she had literally only just fixed yesterday.

But the cogs inside of her brain were slowly turning.

“Oh…” Isla quickly looked down at him, piecing the puzzle together. “Tell me he didn’t do this to you.”

He winced as the whiskey left a searing trail down the back of his throat, barely making eye contact with her before she snapped.

“Tig! Talk to me—“

“Alright, fine! Yeah, he did this!” He raised his voice at her, watching anger flit across her delicate features. “He held his glock to my goddamn head and I was ready for him to pull the trigger, but he didn’t.”

She blinked at him, uneasy at the thought of what Jax had started to morph into. Who he had started to morph into.

“We ended up fighting and I got a few hits in, but the asshole punched me in the fucking face and threw me onto a table—that’s probably where the bruises came from.”

“And this was because of the girl, right?”

“Right.”

“But Happy and my dad were there, too…Why did Jax beat the shit outta you?”

“You know why.”

“No, I don’t,” she grabbed the tumbler from his right hand so he couldn’t silence himself with anymore alcohol, and put it atop the table.

“Because he stormed in when I had the gun to that kid’s head, and I was gonna pull the fucking trigger.” He recounted, sobbing as he spoke.

She was seething. Oh, Isla was fucking furious—but she didn’t want to spook him after this, because he was unpredictable and really unstable. She didn’t want him to do anything stupid.

“It’s alright.” The damp pad was discarded, tossed to the middle of the table when she grabbed gently at his chin and forced him to look upward. “You didn’t kill her, I’m assuming Jax handled it some other way, and you’re outta the blue, okay? It’s fine.”

Maybe Isla was so quick to forgive him for something that he didn’t do because she was also toiling with the idea of coming to terms with an act just as—if not more—treacherous than Tig’s.

She seeked that reassurance, that “it’s okay” talk from somebody after what she had done with her best friend, but she knew that the only person that’d give it to her was Jax. Because he was also trying to accept it.

The guilt was hefty and Tig knew all too fucking well what that’d entail, but he had no idea that Isla was suffering that same thing, too.

“You didn’t know the witness was a kid. None of you were to know that if Rosen didn’t specify.”

“But I was still gonna do it.” He added. “After I found out she was a kid, I was still gonna kill her.”

“But you didn’t.”

He was making it difficult for her to get through to him.

“It was horrible and I know that what you were going to do was bad, but you weren’t the only one there, about to do what you had to for your brother.” Isla’s thumb ran softly underneath his lower lip, hoping the tears welling in her eyes weren’t about to fall to the apples of her cheeks.

Because that’s all that Tig was doing. He was doing this for his brother. For the man that had already sacrificed so fucking much for his club, he deserved every last sliver of prosperity and protection that SAMCRO could offer.

And, perhaps, Tig wanting so desperately to pull that trigger was a way for him to solidify the fact that Opie wasn’t going to be sent away—wasn’t going to suffer more after his wife had been “mysteriously” killed. But Isla simply saw that as him wanting to do an inherently evil thing that’d see the greater good ensue.

Looking past the fact it was a teenage girl, however, was something she had to work on for the sake of her own fucking sanity.

“Thank you.” Tig broke the silence, getting to his feet. He towered over her a little bit as he did so. “See you tomorrow—“

Isla didn’t have enough time to think about what she was doing, but that phrase triggered something inside of her. She grabbed at his hand as he went to slip away, looking up at him with that almost heart-wrenching innocence of hers.

“I did something bad, too.” She blurted, letting her tears fall freely. “I can't say what I did, but it was bad and I regret it every fucking day because I can’t sleep properly, and it’s the only thing on my mind, and I just—“

He silenced her when he wrapped both arms around her trembling frame, holding her impossibly close to his chest as she weepeed into the navy cotton, and he gradually moved a hand upward to twist into her hair.

“It’s alright, baby, let it out.”

Mentally, he commended himself for being the one person that Isla trusted enough to confide in—to crumble before. But it was also sickening because the woman was so fucking stubborn and rarely ever shed a tear in front of a Son.

Chibs was the only one that saw her like this, really.

He felt horrible. Not because she was so upset but because she had so obviously been harboring that emotion, that pain and anguish and she didn’t know how to express it without crying.

“I’m scared, Tig.” Isla mumbled sadly into his chest, trying to sniff back the horrid emotion but failing miserably.

“Of what?”

“Myself. And these stupid things that I can’t stop thinking.”

“Thoughts are normal.” He reassured her, running a hand up and down her back. “Intrusive thoughts are normal. Don’t you worry—“

“You can’t tell me not to worry, because that’s gonna make me worry.” Her words were plied in a weak laugh. “And when I worry, I cry—obviously.”

“Don’t cry.” He chuckled, too, using the pad of his thumb to brush across her cheek. “You’re too pretty to cry this much.”

“And you’re too much of a mean old man to be this comforting.” Tig feigned offense, gasping dramatically at her words. “So, what was it? What pulled at your heartstrings so much that made you think you had to try and make me feel better?”

“It’s my good deed for the day.” Her lips curled upward into a grin when his expression softened.

“Do you think you can extend that good deed?”

He grunted, nodding. “Suppose so. What’d ‘ya want me to do?”

“I was just gonna ask if you’d stay with me again tonight.” All irreverence in her tone had melted away, promptly replaced by a borderline debilitating sincerity. “You don’t have to because we’ve gotta be out early for the funeral tomorrow, and that’d mean you’d have to leave earlier to get yourself fixed up, but—“

“I can leave a little earlier.” He cut her short, still swiping at the tears that wouldn’t quit flowing from her eyes. “If you get your ass up and ready before eight, you can leave with me too.”

“Yeah?” Hopefully, she asked. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Tig confirmed, slinging his arm over her shoulder when she pulled away and pointed toward the end of the hall. “And I guessed that you didn’t wanna head to the garage alone—and Gemma would probably beat the shit outta you if you were late—so if you come with me, you’ll be on time.”

Isla just hummed, thankful for the genuine intentions behind Tig’s actions. He was sweet when he wanted to be.

“Where am I sleepin’?” He asked with a little grunt, a twinge of pain prickling against his ribcage. “I’ll take the couch—“

“Oh, shut up. You’re not sleeping on my couch after getting your shit rocked.”

Tig glared at her, but she simply raised an eyebrow. She gestured to her bedroom.

“Y’know, if we keep spending the night together then people are gonna get a little suspicious.”

“Eh. Let ‘em.” Isla stated offhandedly shimmying her shoulders out of her robe, and throwing it onto her vanity stool as she got to her room. “I don’t care what Gemma thinks.”

“Not so much Gemma.” They shared a knowing look, but he followed her into the room and sat at the edge of her bed regardless.

Isla sighed, sitting beside him.

“If you’re worried about my dad because of how he was this morning, then you don’t need to be. I think he’s just a little bit spun out after last night, and feels bad for Ope—‘cuz, y’know, he’s been through this too.”

Tig’s heartbeat hastened to an almost debilitating tempo, wondering how Isla knew the similarities between Diane and Donna. But she blew those thoughts right out his brain when she built on her response.

“He lost his wife and was left with a kid,” she pointed to herself, “and didn’t know how to navigate this life without the woman he’d depended on for so long. It’s just heavy at the moment.”

“Yeah,” he shook his head a little, looking at his hands bunched together in his lap, “you’re probably right about that.”

“It’s all that it is. He’s just feelin’ it a little more than what we are.”

I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Isla.

“Anyway.” She perked up a bit more. “If you wanna freshen up, I’ve got some shampoo and lotions that don’t smell like roses in the bathroom—and I think there might be some razors in one of those cupboards, too.”

“You gonna join me?”

The tips of her ears began to blaze, stippling heat across her cheeks and down to her neck until she could almost feel how red she was getting.

Despite knowing that was a joke—the habitual banter shared between them—it still forced a feeling to swell in her stomach.

A feeling of something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Maybe tomorrow.” Isla chuckled at the playful pout tugging at his lips, urging him to step into the en suite before she physically fucking exploded.

He grabbed a towel from the pile, walked in, and shut the door behind him, and she threw herself against the top of the comforter with a groan.

At what point had Tig’s harmless flirting turned into something more for Isla, she wasn’t entirely sure. What she did know, however, was that she was definitely enjoying it a little bit too much now.

And that would complicate things, she was certain of it.

But she strived not to let it get to her, and slid underneath the unkempt covers for the second time tonight.

When Tig emerged from the bathroom, he was thankful to see that she’d covered herself up because the tiny crimson cami and shorts combo was killing him.

He wasn’t able to pinpoint just what it was that’d made him feel so differently about that this evening, but he knew that he wasn’t able to get the image out of his fucking head.

“Was that nice?” She asked from the left side of her bed, barely opening her eyes as he stepped onto the carpet.

“It was.” Tig answered softly, picking his jeans up from the ground.

“You can’t seriously be wearing those to sleep in?”

“I’ve slept in more uncomfortable outfits.”

Isla huffed out a breath, gripping the covers and pulling them back. “Wait here.” Begrudgingly, she left the bed again and traipsed toward the cabinet at the end of her hallway.

He watched her saunter away, heeding the crow tattoo on her lower back that he’d never noticed before. He wondered who she’d gotten that for, and he also wondered if anybody even knew about that—because he certainly did not.

“These are clean, you can wear them.” She threw a pair of pajama pants at him from the doorway, hoping he wouldn’t make a face.

Cautiously, he held them out in front of him. “Whose are these?”

“Nobodies. I just learned—from Gemma—to always keep spare shit at my house. Like the shower stuff and razors, and I’ve got things for whoever might need them.”

He smiled, forgetting that she was so thoughtful.

Tig unzipped his pants and slipped into the checkered cotton as Isla rummaged around the bottom drawer of her closet, pulling out a couple of pillows.

“You do this a lot?” He quizzed, getting into bed. “Take care of us guys, I mean.”

“Not really. Only when one of you needs it.”

He nodded, taking one of the two pillows from her.

“Aside from stitching you up two days in a row, the last time I took care of somebody was when Jax and Wendy split and he let her live at his place.”

“He never said.”

“‘Cuz Gemma would go nuts if she found out that he came to me and not his mommy.” She chuckled, settling beside him before flicking the lamp off. “And he only stayed with me for a couple weeks because he didn’t wanna sleep at the clubhouse.”

“So you were harboring Jax from her, huh?” He nudged her, prompting Isla to shift closer to him.

“I guess so.” She joked back through a yawn. “I felt bad for him because she’s such a hardass sometimes. He just wanted somewhere to stay, and somebody to keep him company that wouldn’t ask an abundance of overbearing questions.”

“And you were that somebody.”

“Yup. I was.” Tig turned onto his side to face her. “And I liked it because I hate being alone. It was nice to have somebody around.”

“You? Not wanting to be alone?” Sarcastically, he let out.

Had he not already been hurt, she would’ve slapped the smugness off of his face for that comment.

“What’s that all about, huh?”

“The being alone thing?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know, really.” She mused quietly, pursing her lips. “I think I just got used to being around my dad, and whenever I wasn’t with him I was with Gemma—and I didn’t move into my own place until I was twenty-three, so…”

“So you always had somebody.”

“Yup. I guess I have some attachment issues.” Isla chuckled, silently thanking him for not ridiculing her the way she thought that he might’ve.

But Tig was always so thoughtful when it came to her, and he probably wouldn’t have been able to find it in himself to make fun of that sentiment.

He had his own issues, too. He wouldn’t dream of mocking that she didn’t like to be alone.

“Is it Jax’s?” He asked out of nowhere in reference to the crow. “The tattoo you got.”

Isla froze. She didn’t know that he’d seen it tonight.

Only Tara knew about that. Only Tara knew about a lot of things, it seemed.

“No.” She rasped, hating the way her words became lodged at the back of her throat.

Tig raised a brow. “Whose is it? Is it Juice’s—“

She snorted at his words, and he smiled because he had finally gaged a more positive reaction. Her smile—though barely visible—was most certainly as beautiful as ever.

“It isn’t anybody’s. It’s just a SAMCRO crow.” The smile was weak, now. Faded and pained, but it was there.

She wasn’t lying, but it felt like there was more to the story than what she was letting on, and he was happy with the answer that he’d gotten. So he didn't push it.

“Would you ever get a crow for someone?” A question that he never thought he’d be asking Chibs’s daughter, but a question that he had to acquire an answer to.

After mulling it over for a few seconds, Isla nodded. She laid her hand atop Tig’s that was resting against his pillow, and flicked her eyes upward to meet his gaze as he yawned.

“Maybe one day. But, right now, I’m happy knowing that my little tattoo represents my dedication to the club as a whole—not just refined to one person.”

[coffeesuperhero]

fic: you can’t go home again

2900 words, somewhere on a continuum between Gen and pre-OT3, rating: Mature. Eliot-POV, set immediately after Low Low Price, but like, in the correct universe, where Low Low Price Job came before the Rundown Job instead of after. 

I wrote this because it bugs the heck out of me that afaik there’s no in-canon answer to why Eliot cut his hair, so I wrote 2900 words of post-Low Low Price blathering to explain it to myself...and actually addressed that in like one sentence, lol. I am who I am. 

It's an hour from the house that used to be Eliot's home back to Oklahoma City, or at least, it's an hour if you care about speed limits. On this particular occasion, Eliot makes it in a little more than half that. He spends the time he made up driving aimlessly around, looking at all the shit that's here now that wasn't here when he left. What his hometown lost, this place has found. He doesn't really know how to feel about that. Good? Bad? Vindicated? He left home behind the first time for a long list of reasons, but one at the top of the list was that he didn't see a future where he was, not for himself, not for anybody else, and what do you fucking know. He wasn't wrong.

Even so, maybe he could have called at least once in the last decade.  For all the good it would have done. At least he could say he tried. But he didn't, and now there's so much water under the bridge there's an ocean where there used to be a river.

There's a parking garage entrance on his right, one of the ones downtown connected to one of the big old hotels, and he pulls into it and just sits there for a bit. Looks at the empty space on the passenger seat where the six pack of beer was sitting. Looks at the signs on the wall of the garage directing him to the hotel's entrance. Thinks about staying the night. Thinks about how he's supposed to be back in Portland in a couple of days, because he asked that nice lady from the last job on a date, a real one, because he was suffering under some kind of delusion that he could be a normal guy instead of a miserable fucking bastard whose longest relationship to date is, ha, probably the one he doesn't actually have with Parker and Hardison.  

"Fuck," he says, staring at himself in the rearview mirror.

Whatever he decides to do tonight, he's pretty sure at this moment that all attempts at normalcy are a no-go, so he pulls out his phone, finds Tabitha's number, and cancels all of that bullshit with what he hopes is an appropriately apologetic note. He doesn't type You reminded me of home and that was nice but you know what, I tried and it turns out they're right, and you can't go home again, and trust me on this one, you're better off without me, because he may be miserable but he knows full well that misery doesn't actually love company, misery doesn't love anything, and he's not passing that on to a nice lady who's just trying to run her business and go about her day.

He hits send, and then he turns off his phone and leans against the headrest.

"Fuck," he says again. Now what?

He assesses the situation. Plays out his options. So, this fucking hurts, first of all. But that's fine. Eliot's no stranger to injuries. Getting them, fighting through them, healing up after. First rule of injuries: don't fucking lie to yourself about how bad it is. Well, the first rule is probably, get yourself the hell away from whoever did that shit to you, but the second one is definitely some variation on be honest about how much it sucks. And this shit may be an emotional fucking injury but that doesn't mean it doesn't fucking suck. Hell, it's his own goddamn dad, and that bridge isn't just burned, it's in little pieces floating downriver. It'll keep hurting tomorrow, regardless of what he does tonight. It'll probably hurt for a while.

How do you treat any of that? If this was just a broken bone or a concussion or some shit he'd know what to do, but he's kind of at a loss, right now. After all, the last time he went through this particular kind of injury the way he treated it was to fuck off and join the army, and none of that is an option anymore for any number of reasons.

He looks at the hotel sign again. What the fuck is he gonna do here tonight, anyway? He's close enough to Bricktown, which has really fucking taken off since he left here, so he could probably wander into some bar, pick somebody up, bring them back to a hotel room-- and then what? Fuck them and hope in the morning it doesn't sting as much?

Maybe it wouldn't be the worst way to spend an evening but it also just doesn't hit right, tonight. He's not good company right now. Doesn't want to fake being charming or happy or whatever for somebody for a night so he can feel just a little less miserable for a few hours before he leaves this place and never comes back. He came all the way out here for a real conversation that he's never really going to have, and now he has a very real ache in his chest from years and years of regret, and whatever he does after this he just wants it to be real, too, even if it's just wallowing in real misery for a while.

That does sound more like what Nate would do, though, and that isn't particularly interesting to him. He knows where that road goes and it's not anyplace he wants to be, because if it was Nate in this situation there's a good chance he'd crawl right into a bottle and never come out. And there's Sophie, who would paint on a convincing smile while she quietly bottled up all the pain and the hurt to use later for motivation, like it was some magic potion she could drink later to fuel a con, and who knows, maybe she could, but he doesn't think he can. And what would Hardison do? Eliot snorts. Like he even has to ask. Stay, definitely. Drive back down there right now and try again. And again, and again, patiently offering his heart to people whether they deserve it or not. That's Hardison all over. And Parker-- Parker would cut and run and you'd never know she'd been there.

Except no, that's not right. That's Eliot's play, or it used to be. Parker would never have come back in the first fucking place. Parker would have known better.

If he had known better, he'd still be in Portland, probably cooking the two of them dinner, because that's how he spends more evenings than he'd like to admit, lately. That, or re-planning the menu for the brewpub, because someone has to, and it looks like that someone has to be him, because if he leaves it up to Hardison the pizza will have anchovies and pineapple and the beer really will live up to Parker's promise of mouth crimes. They need him. And-- well-- okay, he needs them, too, probably. If he wants something real, they are definitely that. Sometimes they're just real weird, but even on their worst days hanging out with them is better than sitting here alone. They're his; he’s theirs. They're family. The only one he's got.

So he starts the truck and drives straight to the airport and asks the ticket agent if there's any way in hell he can get back to Portland tonight.

But there's nothing direct from here to Portland left going out today on any airline, and no matter how much he sweet talks the nice lady behind the counter, that ain't changing. She kinda reminds of his grandmother, which honestly is just not helping his emotional state, and is probably the reason why, when he opens his mouth to plead his case to this lady what comes out is, "I just really need to be with my family," instead of literally anything else.

"Bless your heart," she says, reaching across the counter to gently pat his hand, and fuck, isn't that just the worst thing she could've said. People from other places tend to assume that phrase only means one thing, but the actual truth is that it can mean anything from boy, are you a dumbass to I see your pain and I want you to know that you are not alone in this cold dark world and I don't rightly know how but trust me, it is going to be okay, and this is the latter one, for sure. And he has held up under torture, under hours and hours and days and days of physical pain, without cracking, but this sweet lady and her voice and her eyes that crinkle up like his grandma's and her bless your heart kindness are going to be the death of him, probably. He gives her a very watery smile in response, and she pats his hand again and says, "Let's find you a flight."

It takes four connections and an overnight flight to do it, but eventually, Eliot and his newfound best friend, Miss Roxanna, queen of the American check-in counter at the Will Rogers World Airport, work this shit out.

"Listen, honey," she says, as she hands him his tickets, "I don't know what you've got going on and I don't need to, but it's gonna be all right."

"Thank you, ma'am," he manages to say, and he's glad he has to run to make it through security and find his gate because he can't stand here and do this shit much longer without spilling his guts to a total stranger.

He doesn't sleep on the plane to L.A.. He does try, he just can't get there. Every time he closes his eyes he just sees his dad's stupid hardware store. So he stays awake. He even does the crossword, or most of it. He eats the plane snacks when the flight attendant comes around with the basket of slightly fancier shit that they serve in first-class. Maybe he flirts with her a little, but only out of habit. Mostly he just stares out the window and wonders what Parker and Hardison are doing right now and why he thought he needed to leave in the first place, and then he thinks about that last job and that old guy, Martin, and realizes that he was always going to try to go home again, so maybe he can at least stop beating himself up for that.

He cuts his hair in the bathroom of the American Airlines Admirals Club Lounge in terminal four of LAX at one in the goddamn morning, because he's tired and plane-sweaty and even though they have showers here his hair just won't stop sticking to his damn neck and he's got two more flights before he's back in Oregon and he's about over it. So he palms some scissors from the lady at the lounge desk when she's not looking, hits the bathroom, and hacks it all off. It ain't clean or neat and honestly he doesn't give a fuck. It suits his mood. And when he looks at his reflection and feels a little pang that it's gone, that's even better. What does it matter? It's just hair. He's not Samson; his hometown wasn't Delilah. He doesn't get his power from it or some bullshit like that.

Because airlines are bullshit, from L.A. he actually has to go all the way back to Dallas before he can get to Seattle and his last flight, but at least after all of that the flight from SeaTac to Portland is over almost before it starts, and he shuffles off the plane and out of the airport like a zombie coming back to life. Eliot never thought he could be so goddamn grateful for Portland, so different from the home he left behind and still carries around in his heart. Portland, with all its rain and tall cedars and the looming specter of Mount Hood in the distance, is nothing like the place he left, but god, he could almost fall to his knees at the sight of all of it now.

What he means to do, when he gets in his car, is go to his place and pass out for a few hours before he inevitably finds his way to the brewpub. The drive is so easy and there's so little traffic this early that he just sort of autopilots himself around, and he doesn't even register that he's not at his own place until he's putting in the alarm code on Parker and Hardison's apartment door, muscle memory piloting his fingers through the sequence when his tired brain can't be bothered with the recall. The code's keyed specifically to him, he knows, so if anyone up there is awake and cares to see it, they'll know he's here and probably go right back to sleep, because it is early the fuck o'clock and he knows it.

He's exhausted and he feels like he's been on twice as many planes as it took him to get here, but he walks in, closes the door quietly behind him, and tosses his keys on the table by the door where he always leaves them when he's here. And it's just right. This, right here, this specific place, is just where he needed to be. He sinks onto the couch in the living room, too tired to haul himself any further, to the spare room that stays spare, just in case. Just in case of Eliot. He knows that. They've never told him it's his space. They also never told him he couldn't leave his shit there. So he's got clothes in the closet and maybe a few other things besides, a little home away from home, for the nights when he's here too late or has an extra beer or just plain does not want to go home to an empty apartment when his heart is here.

He's trying to will himself to get up when he hears the door to their bedroom open, catches a few lines of whispered conversation, first Hardison, then Parker. There's noise in the kitchen-- the soft beeps of the coffee pot, the click-hiss of the gas stove, the sizzle of bacon-- and then there they both are, right beside him.

Nobody looks at him funny. Nobody even says a word. Hardison sets a steaming cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of him; Parker follows it up with a plate of toast and bacon and eggs. A few minutes later they curl up, one of them on either side of him, holding their own plates, and nobody tells him to eat or drink, they just leave him be. But that midnight meal in the American lounge was hours ago, now, and he should eat before he passes out, probably, so he reaches for his plate and digs in, grateful that someone around here who isn't him has apparently figured out that you can have something besides hot pockets or cereal for breakfast.

The silence is comforting for a while, until it isn't, with neither of them saying a damn word, and what are they waiting for, anyway? He's never here this early unless it's for a reason, even if the reason is just that there wasn't anyplace else he wanted to be.

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing here?" he asks finally, when it seems like they're just going to keep on waiting until he says something.

"Why would you need a reason to be here?" Parker asks, and Hardison just looks up from his phone and says, "Yeah man, you're home," and shrugs, like of course there's nowhere else he would be, and god, if he's home, then no, there really isn't anywhere else. It’s funny, because up until this moment, at least in his head, home has still been a tiny town two-thousand miles east of here, but that’s not right, not anymore, and now he knows it, for sure. Looks like the lady at the ticket counter was right after all. It was gonna be okay.  

"Yeah," he says, with a grateful smile. "Yeah, okay. I'm home."

He's so tired he can't even clock who moves first, maybe Hardison, maybe Parker, hell, maybe it was him or even all of them together, but the end result is, there are two sets of arms wrapped around him and two sleep-warm people pressed against his ribs on both sides. And it's been a long day and a long year and a long life, to be honest, and he may be tired but he's not alone and he's home, so he just lets them hold onto him for a while, and he holds on right back. Maybe you can't go home again, but you sure as hell can make a new one. This one, at least, he is going to do his goddamn best not to burn to the ground.

[orionares]

Drabble, Part 18

“You want to what?!”

Kensi fights against the growing smirk at Roberta’s expected outburst at Deeks’ timid blurting out of their impulsive wedding plans. The moments after Kensi’s suggestion to get married had been followed by Deeks’ grinning in pure excitement to a sudden wide eyed, mouth agape panic in the course of sixty seconds. Roberta and Julia had knocked on the door as if something had clicked in the back of their minds to check on the pair and barged in without waiting for a response. He couldn’t even make it thirty seconds, Kensi thinks unsurprised at her fiancée’s terrified blurt.

“We’regoingtogetmarriedtoday,” Deeks mumbles quickly. He nudges Kensi with an elbow to get her to join in or out of honesty, take over from the impending attack.

“What? Why would you- after all this, you want to,” Roberta snaps her fingers, “get married at City Hall out of the blue? I got married in City Hall to your father, Martin, and I’ll be damned if you’ll do that to-“

“Mamma-“

“Roberta, Roberta, Roberta,” Julia says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s hear what they have to say about this.”

Deeks scoots back and inch to leave Kensi in the line of Roberta’s glare but Kensi moves a lot faster. She stands and  takes Roberta’s hands into hers. “I’ve- I don’t want to spend the next few months with all the planning not being married to Deeks. I still want the beautiful ceremony but I just can’t wait anymore.”

Roberta settles and squeezes Kensi’s hands in warmth. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

Deeks mutters, “But when I say it,” which receives a scowl from his mother. Julia squeals in delight and takes the lead. “So we need a license, a minister and a dress for you, Kensi. I’m sure you have a suit already, Marty. Oh, Roberta- we need flowers and someone to take photos-“

“Should I just sit here and hang out?” Deeks jokes. Roberta, Julia and Kensi’s eyes quickly dart to him and he stiffens. “Or just shut up and hide? I could help, you know. I can take Monty and scope out that spot where I took Kensi for a midnight swimming date, which was the place where I realized that I wanted to marry her and-“

He’s spiraling. And doing it quite adorably. Kensi moves across the room and kisses Deeks.

“Was that to shut me up?”

“No. I did that because I think your idea is perfect. I can go to work and grab the others and go to city hall, you can start setting up on the beach and Mom-“

“We will cover everything else,” Julia finishes. She squeals again with Roberta’s hand in hers. “Let’s do this!”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“OH MY GOD!”

Kensi rubs her ringing ear as Nell jumps up in front of her. Nearly knocking over her tablet off of the computer table, the red head claps her hands together and exclaims, “Finally!”

“What do you mean finally?”

“As much as I love that you both wanted a traditional wedding, I…along with the rest of the team may have put things into place and held a bet on when you two would say screw it and go with a shotgun wedding,” Nell states.

“But-“

“We don’t have normal anything,” Nell continues. She takes her tablet and begins frantically pulling up files without noticing Kensi’s bewildered look. “We see the worse of everything and time….time isn’t guaranteed. Come with me.”

“What?” Kensi blinks as Nell drags her out of the operations room and down the stairs. She spots Callen, Sam and Eric walking out of the mission with their wedding jobs in mind-; Callen to get chairs and a minister, Sam to City Hall to meet with a friend working in marriage licenses and Eric to get cameras set up. Nell doesn’t acknowledge the boys and continues to drag Kensi until they stop at Hetty’s desk.

“Do you plan on sharing-“ Kensi stops suddenly when Nell disappears behind Hetty’s desk out of sight. “Or I can just keep talking to myself…”

Nell responds only with suddenly popping up, plopping a small metal case on Hetty’s desk and disappearing once again behind the desk.

“Nell?”

“Nell.”

“Nell.”

A whoosh and beep suddenly sound off and Nell springs back up to her feet with a small Moroccan style pouch. She holds it out to Kensi and explains, “ I’ve been waiting forever to give this to you. It’s from Hetty.”

“Do you know what this is?”

Nell snorts. “I’m just the messenger. Hetty gives me things and tells me when and what to do with it. I know where everything in this building is. And for that- she told me to give it to you when the big day finally comes. I don’t know what’s in it.”

“Kind of like my box?”

“Yes, and I will make sure the box makes his way to our dear detective before the ceremony.  All you need to worry about is your big day.” Nell claps just as the Moms had earlier and bolts before Kensi can protest or ask any questions. Her eyes fall to the pouch in hand and feels her heart drop at the thought- How can you leave me something special when you aren’t even here? Is this something to say goodbye?

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She doesn’t open the pouch until she makes it to the beach.

Climbing out of the Audi, Kensi finds Callen and two NCIS agents setting up a small aisle in the sand leading to an white arch. Her mother and Roberta are decorating flowers on the arch and the row of plastic chairs and Deeks being Deeks stands in the water staring off into the clear blue ocean. She hadn’t driven straight to the beach but to the cemetery to see her dad.

“Dad, I’m going to get married today. It’s impulsive and not when I had set the date but I couldn’t wait anymore. I wish you were here.”

Kensi leans against a rail that runs along a jogger’s path. She holds the pouch between her fingers and slowly pulls the strings. She shakes the bag and lets a small black cellphone slide into her hand. As she powers the cellphone on, a flashback of talking to Deeks while in Afghanistan comes to mind and she wonders, Is this what I think this is?

The tiny black cellphone suddenly vibrates, jolting her out of her daze. The screen gives no identifier on who is calling but ten years working with a woman feared by numerous agencies is enough for the agent to already know who's on the other end.

"You aren't here," Kensi answers softly. A soft sigh answers her statement and Kensi can almost picture Henrietta Lange mirroring her actions, standing on a walkway in front of clear still waters.

"No, my dear, I am not. I've had to clean up the aftermath of Mexico. Mosley's damage spans more than just her son and the compound."

And us. Kensi squeezes her eyes shut to readjust her focus and repeats, "You aren't here."

The silence that follows triggers the same blinding anger she had felt towards the woman while waiting for Deeks to wake. “I don’t care about Mosley and the damage she did! I don’t care anymore, Hetty. We needed you here! Deeks - he almost died , Hetty. They had to resuscitate him- My God- Hetty, we needed you!"

"You didn’t need me,” Hetty counters.

"Don’t you dare throw that at me!" Kensi hisses. She steps onto the sand and somehow manages to keep her voice low.  "I was alone in that hospital waiting for him to wake up and even had to watch him code! I-"

"And yet,” the older woman reminds her warmly, “I’m assuming Mr. Deeks is here, recovering and safe.”

Kensi lets her gaze fall on the Pacific Ocean and watches Deeks now slowly walking Monty back and forth against the water. “I’m watching him with Monty. We’re getting married today and it’s more of a shotgun wedding than anything else.”

“I figured, Miss Blye, as Miss Jones was instructed to give you this cellphone when you and Mr. Deeks were ready to make the next step earlier than expected.” Hetty’s steady breathing hitches momentarily but her tone remains steady, “Time isn’t guaranteed in our profession, Miss Blye, and I had an inkling that you both may have wanted to seize the opportunity if available.”

The sight of Deeks laughing as Monty jumps into the ocean has Kensi chuckle sadly. Tears begin to brim in her eyes. “ Are we going to see you again, Hetty?”

Kensi hears her cellphone buzz as Hetty continues, “Miss Blye, I wish nothing but the absolute best for you and your soon to be husband. I adore your strength and beauty in this time and know that you both are perfect for each other in building a life together-“

The tears begin to fall. “Don’t say goodbye,” Kensi pleads, “Don’t you dare say goodbye to me, Hetty.”

“I don’t take this is as goodbye, Miss Blye. There are factors beyond my control that prevent me from giving you a return date. I put things such as this into place when I had to return date. Whether in this life or the next, we will meet again.”

She begins running towards her team- her family praying, Don’t hang up. Don’t hang up.

“Miss Blye, I am so proud of you and this team. Always. Goodbye, my dear.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Finally have a title for this story- Semper Fidelis (Always Faithful)

A/N 2: The final chapter will hopefully be up in the next two weeks.

[agentmarymargaretskitz]

Might fool around and make me mad (don’t make me mad) Chap. 1

The fourth installation into the Possession of Gary Green saga

AO3

              Nora wasn’t quite sure where she was when she came to. It appeared to be someone’s living room by the looks of it. How she’d gotten there didn’t make much sense given she’d been outside a night club when she blacked out. All she had been trying to do was get away from the cloying energy of demons only to encounter the worst of them. Just remembering the face of that man, his true face, made her shudder all over. It was the face of pure evil.

“Nora?” Des appeared around the corner. “You’re awake.”

She nodded, sliding upright on the couch she was on. “Yup. That sucked.”

“I can’t blame you. All that demonic energy was suffocating in that club. But it turns out that Neron isn’t the only demon in LA.”

“After what Desmond told me about him, I hope he doesn’t become a full-time resident here,” the woman who’d gotten Nora out of the club said as she came into the room. “We’ve had plenty to deal with when he wasn’t here.”

“What?” Nora frowned. “What do you mean? Who are you?”

“My name’s Linda Martin,” the woman introduced herself. “You’re both at my house. I would have brought your friends too, except they’ve been arrested. Des agreed to let me bring you back her so you wouldn’t wake up on the street.”

“Nora Darhk,” she murmured in reply. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I just did what any compassionate person would have done. It’s not a problem.”

“I told her what happened to you,” Des explained. “Apparently, Dr. Martin knows the club owner because she’s his therapist. He’s also the devil.”

“That explains it,” Nora rubbed at her temples. “That face…”

“It’s a lot,” Linda nodded. “I’ve seen it myself. That’s how I found out that angels and demons were among us.”

“So I guess that telling you Des and I have both been demon vessels wouldn’t break your brain?”

“Desmond already told me about that,” Linda told her. “He also told me who you were trying to find here in LA. I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your friend.”

“So are we,” Nora murmured, wondering if Gary was still hanging on inside. “You said our friends have been arrested?”

Des nodded. “Johnny, Ray, and Mick all got taken away. Problem is we’re going to have to find the Waverider and get the others for help. And bail money.”

“You’re both welcome to stay for the rest of the night,” Linda said. “You two have been through a lot. Just rest and regroup.”

~~~

“Gideon?” Sara called out as she slipped out of bed. “Did John or any of the others come back yet?”

“I’m afraid not, Captain. Mr. Constantine, Dr. Palmer, Mr. Rory, Mr. Laveau, and Ms. Darhk have still not returned since last night.”

Ava stuck her head out from the pillow she’d burrowed under. “That’s not good news.”

“No kidding,” Sara sighed, her worst fears having been confirmed. “Is there any sign of them in the LA area?”

“I’ll run a scan right now.”

“Hopefully, they’re still alive,” Ava yawned as she too left the bed. “I can’t handle finding one of them in same state as McNeil. “

“I know. But we’re going to find Gary and send Neron back to Hell.”

              A half smile came to Ava’s face at the reassurance. The couple soon left the room for the kitchen, where Charlie already was sitting with a cup of coffee and stack of pancakes. As they started getting their own meals, Ava called up on the Bureau on the monitor for updates. She’d placed Nate and Mona in charge, which Hank didn’t seem to be pleased by. He had a problem with the director of the Time Bureau dropping everything because one agent had gone rogue.

Ava ground her teeth. “Gary is not just some rogue agent and you can tell Hank that.”

Nate nodded. “Is there anything new?”

“John took half the team out with him last night,” Sara explained. “I think they were planning to ambush Neron. John’s been so pissed about this that he’s not exactly been communicating healthily with the rest of us.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” Mona said. “I mean, Gary did trade himself to Neron to spare Constantine, right?”

“Yep,” Charlie shouted from her seat as Zari stumbled into the kitchen. The shapeshifter slid the pancakes over to her. “Johnny boy’s been wallowing in guilt over it ever since then.”

“Fortunately, I now have his whereabouts, along with those of Dr. Palmer and Mr. Rory,” Gideon interrupted. “Arrests have been filed for them with the Los Angles Police Department. While the charges vary, all three of them were arrested outside the Lux nightclub last night. I have also located CCTV footage of Mr. Laveau and an unidentified woman helping Ms. Darhk into a car by the club.”

“Pull up the footage,” Sara ordered. “Send it to Nate at the Bureau.”

“We’re going to take a look and then get back to you,” Ava told Mona and Nate. “Just keep things together on your end.”

“Will do, and good timing. I have to deal with another call from Gary’s dad right now. See you soon.”

              Nate and Mona disappeared and were replaced with the footage Gideon had found. John, Nora, and Mick were seen going in. They watched John get thrown out by the bouncers, Nora running out and fainting after encountering a tall, handsome man, and Des taking her from him before leaving on his own volition with a woman who’d come out with Nora. Ray, John, and Mick were arrested by a blonde cop, who engaged in a heated conversation with the man who’d been with Nora when she fainted. There was no sign of Neron in any of it.

“How did they know to go to that club?” Zari asked as they watched their teammates get marched into police cars. “There’s tons of nightclubs in Los Angles right now, aren’t there? Why would they go to this one?”

Sara hummed in agreement. “She’s right. Gideon, what can you tell us about Lux?”

“It’s owned by Lucifer Morningstar and is notable for being one of the top clubs in LA nightlife,” Gideon reported. “With the events of last night, I have also found that Mr. Morningstar is a civilian consultant to the LAPD.”

“Lucifer Morningstar?” Sara frowned. “With a name like that and John ending up at his club, something tells me he might not be human. Unless he changed his name, there’s no way someone could name their kid that.”

Ava nodded. “It’s like naming your kid Adolf.”

“Or Donald,” Zari chimed in.

“Records for Mr. Morningstar date back only until 2012,” Gideon said as pictures flooded the monitor. “But there are images from the 1970’s that are a photographic match for images of Mr. Morningstar today.”

“Okay, so it’s another Vandal Savage or I think he’s actually the Devil,” Sara murmured, studying the face onscreen.

“The Devil…” Ava shuddered. “Of course. Neron said he was going to visit old friends. I figured her meant some magical creatures or another demon, but not the Devil.”

“Because one demon wasn’t bad enough,” Zari mumbled. “Okay, so what do we do? Des and Nora are still missing. The guys are in jail. Neron’s on the loose and we have no idea where he could have gone.”

“Gideon, run a scan on all cameras in LA for Gary’s body,” Sara ordered. “We can’t face him on reduced numbers, but we can narrow down locations where he’s been and find out where he’s going. Right now, we need to get everyone back together. At least we know where three of them are.”

“LAPD,” Charlie grinned. “That’ll be fun.”

Ava pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’re going to need bail money. A lot of bail money.”

~~~

“Well, at least it’s better in here than in the gulag,” Ray told Mick as cheerily as he could muster in the holding cell.

“We had separate bunks then,” Mick muttered, still grumpy from waking up to find himself sleeping on Ray’s shoulder. “And Snart got me out eventually.”

“Someone will come for us. There’s no way that they could leave all three of us in here.”

              Mick gave a small shrug and leaned back against the wall again. On the other bench, John was lying on his chest, still dead to the world. A dark bruise was visible on part of his face that must have come from the club fight. He’d been semi-coherent when they’d been tossed in here and then passed out on the first bench he’d slumped onto.

“Nora and Des are still out there,” Ray murmured, wondering about the former’s adverse reaction to the club. “Maybe they got back to the Waverider?”

“Maybe, yeah. That’s the nice way of thinking about it.”

“Nothing wrong with having a little faith.”

              Another ten, twenty minutes passed by before a door opened down the hallway. Voices could be heard conversing, although someone was clearly ribbing their companion before two men came to a stop in front of the holding cell. One of them had a badge at his hip and was unfamiliar. The other, taller one was the man from the club, the one who knew John and had been shouting at him.

“Ah, there they are,” the taller one smiled. “The terrible trio.”

Ray stared at the man with a frown. “What’s happening?”

“Your bail’s been posted,” the one with the badge told him. “Free to go, all three of you. Wake your buddy up and I’ll get your belongings.”

“Thanks,” Ray grinned at him as their cell was unlocked, then looked over at the third member in their party. “Hey, John!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle that,” the taller of the two assured him as he strolled into the cell and leaned down in front of John. “Wakey wakey, then.”

John cracked his eyes open and let out a moan. “Is it-”

“No, it’s not your time yet. Up and at ‘em, Constantine. We have a lot to discuss.”

“I ain’t going anywhere with you until I know who the suit is,” Mick growled.

“Smart idea,” John muttered as he sat up. “Meet Lucifer Morningstar, the owner of that lovely little nightclub we were arrested at.”

Ray smiled. “Ray Palmer. Interesting name you have.”

“One of many,” Lucifer smirked, his eyes falling on Mick. “That must mean you’re Mick Rory. Heatwave himself. I’ve read plenty on your exploits with Mr. Snart in Central City. Pleasure to meet the man behind the goggles.”

Mick stared at him for a moment, then stood up. “Okay, I’ll go with him.”

John snorted as they followed Lucifer out of the cell. “Of course you would, he’s the Devil.”

“Hang on, the what?” Ray yelped, turning quickly to Lucifer.

“The Devil, yes,” Lucifer nodded. “Did the name Lucifer Morningstar not tip you off? That’s not the point though. Like I said, there’s a lot to discuss. We should do it over breakfast. I know an excellent place-“

“I don���t do breakfast with the Devil,” John shook his head. “Thanks for the save, but we’ll be on our way.”

“Oh, I think you’ll want to reconsider that, especially it concerns Neron.”

Ray saw John reach for his pocket, but his hand fell away with a sigh. “Breakfast it is.”

~~~

“I heard John Constantine came through last night,” Maze said as she lounged in one of the booths. “Apparently he started a fight. Your doing?”

Neron nodded from the other side.

“You’ve gotten better at concentrating it on one place.”

“Centuries of practice,” Neron shrugged. “Not controlling it though, that’s way more fun. Can’t turn off who I am, Maze.”

“You have your chaos, I have my knives,” Maze smirked. “As fun as it was to watch security footage of Constantine going mad and getting arrested, what did you do that brought him here?”

“Well, you know he’s damned to hell. He’s determined to take as many of us down with him as possible.”

“No, there’s more,” Maze sat up. “You’re up to something, Neron. Even in hell, you were always planning something.”

Neron smiled fondly. “We’re demons, Maze. That’s how we are.”

“But whatever it was drew Constantine here to follow after you, and he brought back-up. It must be something.”

“He’s just running off of guilt of letting this wimp become my new host. He doesn’t know what I’m truly creating.”

“And what is that?”

Neron tilted his head. “Come out with me tonight and I’ll tell you. We can have a night on the town. Tear it up, paint it red, just like we did the last time we were on Earth.”

Maze raised her eyebrow and leaned closer. “And you’ll tell me everything?”

“I will. So what do you say, Mazey?”

“For old time’s sake,” Maze grinned dangerously. “One night, just like we used to.”

“Perfect,” Neron flashed his host’s stupid blinding smile. “How about I pick you up around nine? I can’t stick around today. There are some things I have to do today.”

Maze watched as he left the booth and started heading for the exit. “Where are you going?”

“Taking a tour of the city. Don’t worry, I’ll hold out enough for our fun tonight.”

              Maze watched him leave the bar. Lucifer had left a while ago to visit the police station, so he was probably out with Chloe for a while. While she was all alone in the club, she could get some of her own work. With Neron out, she could piece together more of how he’d come to this host. The more she knew, the more she could prepare for whatever he was plotting.

~~~

“We should really be going to the police for this. I have my badge, I’ll call in-“

“But this was on our way,” Charlie gestured to the club they were in front of. “Let’s go in and have a look, see if the owner’s there, and have a chat with him.”

“Charlie’s right,” Sara shrugged as they walked past the sign for Lux. “We can go to the cops next, but the last place they were seen was here, and Gideon did pull that footage of Neron walking in there. It’s worth a shot.”

When they made it up to the right floor, they didn’t see anyone. Sara was the first to step out, making her way down the short staircase to scan the rest of the club. Still no one.

“Nice place,” Ava remarked. “Except it’s completely empty.”

“You looking for someone?”

              The group turned around to see a woman leaning on the railing above them. Sara could have sworn she wasn’t there a moment ago. The way she stared at them like a lioness regarding her prey reminded Sara of assassins she had known in the League. They knew they were formidable and didn’t mask it from anyone.

“We’re looking for the owner,” Ava finally said, stepping forward. “Can you tell us where he is?”

“Out. What do you want?”

“Were you here by any chance last night?” Charlie asked.

“Who’s asking?”

Ava held up a badge. “The government. We’re after a fugitive who we’ve traced to this city. Now answer the question.”

The woman eyed all of them carefully. “Not last night. Most of yesterday though.”

“Is it possible you’ve seen this man?” Zari raised her tablet up to show the woman Gary’s government ID photo.

“Why? You here with a job for me or something?”

“No, we just need to know if you have seen him here or anywhere at all,” Ava demanded, taking the tablet from Zari to hold towards the woman. “Have you?”

The woman glanced at it and narrowed her eyes at Ava. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I haven’t seen him,” she snapped. “But if you need help finding him, I am a bounty hunter. I’m more than happy to lend my services to bringing his ass in to you.”

“We don’t need bounty hunters,” Ava said coldly. “Thanks for your help.”

“Do bounty hunters have cards?” Charlie asked before they could leave. “Just in case I need to call in your services.”

The woman walked over to the bar, grabbed a napkin and pen, and scribbled down a series of numbers.

“Thanks,” Charlie grinned, taking the napkin and tucking it into their pocket.

              Sara still felt the woman’s eyes on them as they walked back to the elevator. Ava’s phone buzzed as soon as the doors shut. When she pulled it out, Sara noticed her girlfriend looked upset, but she shook it off as she typed out a response. Zari was holding the tablet close to her chest, a thoughtful expression on her face. Charlie had pulled out the napkin and was studying the number.

“She was lying about seeing Neron,” Zari finally said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Me too,” Charlie nodded. “So, police station now?”

~~~

“So how do we get back to the Waverider?

Nora shrugged and sipped her coffee. “Well, we can’t exactly call since we don’t have phones, and I don’t know their numbers.”

“Johnny doesn’t even carry a phone,” Des sighed. “All we have is Linda’s number, but I don’t want to pull her into this. It’s not worth putting a target on her back for Neron.”

“But at least we know that he’s nearby after last night,” Nora reminded him. “Not that I want to run into him anytime soon.”

“That makes two of us,” Des stopped and did a double take at the curly haired man who walked past the window. “Unless we have something to fight him so I can hold my own without wanting to vomit. Right now, he’s probably corrupting something into hate and fear.”

“Is that what he did with you?”

Des nodded. “Yeah. Right now, he’s been wanting souls. That’s currency in hell, so the more souls he gets-”

“-the more power and status a demon has in hell,” Nora finished. “That’s probably why the Devil lives in LA, and why Neron might want to come out here. He needs power for whatever his plan is.”

“And if he succeeds, he’ll be one of the most powerful demons in existence. Maybe more than the Devil.”

Nora looked over at him. “What is Neron planning to do?”

Des swallowed and told her.

Once he was done, Nora turned pale. “We need to stop him before it’s too late.”

“And see if we can pull Neron out of Gary,” Des added. “I hope Neron’s got him pushed to the back of his mind, but I doubt he’s going to be that lucky.”

“Me too. I didn’t know Gary as well as Ava or the Legends. He could be annoying and awkward whenever I met him. But he was always kind to me, even if I wasn’t to him. He’s got a good heart.”

“Seems too noble for his own good if he took Johnny’s place,” Des smiled. “Hopefully I get the chance to meet the real him. He’s the reason Johnny’s alive right now.”

“But he is in jail right now,” Nora reminded him, draining her cup. “Along with Mick and Ray.”

“Then we need to track him down before Neron does,” Des murmured. “He’s going to want to rub in his victory. He’s a petty asshole.”

Nora’s lips quirked a little at that. “Well, we still have to get them out, and what we have on us cannot be enough for bail.”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking of doing it legally,” Des admitted. “I know you’re a witch. I’ve got an ancestor who passed magic down the line to me. What do you say to combining forces?”

She grinned. “I like the way you think.”

~~~

              Neron watched gleefully as two cops began brawling on the sidewalk outside of the precinct. As a crowd started to gather around them, he slipped through the doors into the station. A pen exploded all over a man in a suit who held the second door open for him. With each step, he spread a little more chaos around. People began to shout at each other or fight like the two officers outside. Someone swore about hot coffee in a break room. Papers spilled out of overloaded files onto the floor as he made his way to the desk of a certain detective.

“Detective Decker,” Neron greeted as she glanced up at him. “How have you been?”

“Better,” she muttered. “But I did find John Constantine and his associates last night. They’re in custody now.”

“Yes, Lucifer told me that this morning,” Neron explained, picking a thread off his jacket. “He seemed upset though. Is there trouble between the two of you?”

“That is none of your business. Is there something else I can help you with?”

She was starting to get frustrated, which was good for him. “I’m just following up, although there is something you can do for me. I need to have a word with those three men who you brought in last night.”

A man on the other side of the room suddenly snapped his head up towards him as Chloe shook her head. “I can’t do that, even if you did tip me off about Constantine. I’m actually about to go talk to one of them about charges in Central City right now.”

“You know, if you need any assistance with it,” Neron purred, accidentally knocking a file off the desk. “Oops.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe bent down at the same time as he did to put the papers back together. His hand brushed against hers while doing so. The contact burned and he jerked his hand away quickly.

“Hand was asleep,” he grinned when she frowned at him. “But I really can help you. I mean, Lucifer hasn’t shown up to help. I know it’s because you two are on the outs and broke up, but still you think he’d show some loyalty instead of running off when things get rough.

“He…what?”

Neron covered his mouth with a hand to make his smile. “I’ve said too much, you should probably forget about that.”

“I said one thing…” Chloe muttered. “Look, I have an interrogation to do. Dan over there can help you if you have anything else.”

              Neron watched the detective stalked off, speaking briefly to the man who’d been watching him. She then walked somewhere with another officer, likely in the direction of the holding cells. The other man, who was probably Dan, still looked at him cautiously. Neron flashed a winning smile and sauntered over to him. This one looked pretty and stupid…oh he’d be easy. Not to mention he could smell the desire to be better wafting off him. It wasn’t as pathetic as Gary’s had been, but it was still something.

“Don’t hurt him.”

“Shut up and stay down,” Neron hissed under his breath. He ran a nail against the exposed flesh sticking out of his sleeve before setting his sights on Dan. “Hi there.”

“Hey. Dan Espinoza. I was told you wanted to visit someone in custody?”

“That’s right,” Neron beamed. “See, we have some…shared history. I’m concerned for his wellbeing, not to mention that of his associates. I just want to see how they’re holding up.”

Dan grimaced. “Yeah, you haven’t been the only one. Unfortunately, I can’t let you speak with any of them right now. Even if I could, then you wouldn’t get anything out of coming here.”

“Oh, I think I would,” he purred, setting his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “So, Dan, it was? What do-“

Before he could go on, Chloe Decker stormed back into the room. “Dan, what did you do?”

“Chloe-“

“Why didn’t you tell me they got bail?!”

The negative energy rolling off her…he could use so much of it and make it consume her, but Lucifer liked her too much. He’d have to play his cards carefully with her. “Who made bail?”

“John Constantine and the two men I brought in with him last night. Dan, how could-“

              Neron’s mouth opened and closed with rage and surprise, tuning out whatever Chloe was yelling about. He had made sure those problems had been dealt with and they’d all be in one place. The rest of the Legends must have bailed them out. In the back of his head, Gary was praising the turn of events with a little laugh. Neron ground his teeth and plunged the weakling into a traumatizing memory.

“I’m sorry, but John Constantine is GONE?” he snarled as someone began to scream at a Lopez.

              The power flickered before popping and fizzling out, plunging the whole station into darkness. While the humans scrambled, Neron made a break in the same direction Chloe had gone earlier. His nails bit into his palms as he strode down the hallway. By the time he reached what he was looking for, he was greeted with a few lowlifes sulking in custody, but no sign of John or the other two. Fuming, he let his true face show in the emergency lighting and roaring before making his way to the exit.

~~~

              Ava took the lead once they arrived at the police station. She channeled every ounce of her authority outward as she walked up the steps with Sara and Zari, as Charlie had elected to stay in the car. This was another mission, but it was also a lot more than that. A year and a half ago, she wouldn’t have ever let herself get personal with anything. Now, things were different. She did personal now.

“He has to be here,” Zari muttered as she watched officers clean up broken glass and papers. “It’s a mess.”

              Ava nodded before speaking to one of the officers about where to go regarding bail. They were then directed to the person in charge of processing, only to be told that John, Mick, and Ray had already been bailed out. Apparently, Lucifer Morningstar had been the one to do it a few hours ago. When Ava showed the officer Gary’s photo, they got confirmation that he had been there, but they had only just missed him. To add to the frustrations, there had been a power outage at the station that caused the cameras to go down, so they had no idea where Neron had gone. The trail was cold until they could get back to the Waverider and run another trace on the courier.

“I can’t believe he got away!” Ava shouted as they walked out of the station and a car nearly ran them over. “We were so close!”

“We’ll find him,” Sara assured her, even though she was looking disappointed by the turn of events. “But we need to find the rest of the team too. We don’t even know where Nora and Des are still.”

Fury suddenly filled Ava. “Meanwhile we don’t even know what Neron’s doing here. It’s been two days, that’s plenty of time to get something together. He could get attack tomorrow and none of us would even be ready!”

“And if we did, we’d fight him,” Sara bit back. “Ava, just calm down.”

“No! When you tried to ambush him, you failed! He beat all of you, then went and took one of my agents and used him to attack the Bureau. I should be back there running operations and dealing with that, not running around Los Angeles avoiding calls about Gary’s family. If your team was capable, then none of this would have happened!”

“Oh please,” Zari spat. “Neron was riding Gary for a week and you never noticed anything was wrong. The attack on the Bureau, McNeil’s death, that’s on you!”

“Of course, you’re going to blame me for that,” Ava snarled. “You always have so much blame to throw around. Yourself, the Legends, the Bureau. And you don’t even care about Gary. All you care about is fixing your future. Who are you blaming for that today anyway? The Bureau or the Legends?”

Zari’s hand clenched and the wind turned from a gentle breeze into a strong gust. Ava’s hand moved down towards her side either for her flasher or gun, she didn’t know which to grab.

“Oi, stop it!” Charlie shouted, startling all of them. “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

The wind stopped blowing as Zari blinked in confusion. Ava shook her head as the anger that had been coursing through her evaporated instantly.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t know what that was. Something just came over me.”

“Me too,” Zari said as Sara nodded. “It just came out.”

“It was Neron.”

              Ava turned with the others to see who had just spoken. Desmond was walking up to them with Nora. Both of them were alive and intact. However, Des looked like he’d been sick somewhere recently. Nora was eyeing him like she was expecting him to keel over at any moment.

“That’s what he does,” Des continued. “I’ve watched it happen enough times to know when it’s him. He messes with your head. Whatever you’re feeling gets corrupted into hate and anger. Everywhere he goes, chaos happens.”

“You’re alive,” Charlie grinned. “I was starting to worry you were both goners.”

“We got a little cut off, no big deal,” Nora shrugged. “If you’re here, I’m guessing you know what happened to the others.”

“We just got out of there,” Ava told them. “They were bailed out this morning by a Lucifer Morningstar. And apparently Neron was there not long before us, but the power went out and we don’t know where he’s gone.”

Zari groaned. “That car that nearly ran us down…that’s when we started fighting. It was going so fast that I didn’t see who was driving. It had to be Neron.”

“Definitely Neron,” Des confirmed. “I realized too late after I felt him. He’s gone now though.”

“Well, at least he doesn’t have the guys,” Sara sighed. “Then again, they’re with that Lucifer guy.”

Nora shuddered. “They’re with the Devil. The actual Devil. That’s just as bad.”

“Yeah,” Ava agreed. “We need to get John and the others back with us.”

Sara nodded. “Ava’s right. As soon as we have them back, then we figure out a plan. Together.”

              Zari worked out getting a ride for them back to where they parked the Waverider. As they waited, Charlie questioned Nora and Des about the club while Sara listened in. Meanwhile, Ava stared at the phone number she’d gotten from Gary’s file to contact his family. They’d already tried to file a missing persons report before another Time Agent interfered and got it taken down, but calls were coming in every day from his parents expressing concern over not hearing anything from him for two weeks. She should have made the call yesterday, but she didn’t know what to say.

How were you supposed to tell someone that a demon had possessed their son?

~~~

The ride up in the elevator was silent until they hit the top floor and John finally opened his mouth. “So you’re telling me Neron’s been lying low with you?”

“He came into town yesterday,” Lucifer explained as they entered his penthouse. “Played it up like he was human at first, but I sniffed him out quick and got him to come clean. That murder charge the detective arrested you on was actually him. He wore a trench coat to the crime scene to really sell it. If I didn’t know he was in town, I would have thought it really was you.”

“Wow,” Ray gaped. “And I doubt that guy had a time courier. Do you know where Neron is right now? Or what he’s doing?”

“Possibly out with Maze. They’re both gone and she’s not picking up her phone. Don’t worry though, if anyone can reign in Neron, it’s a demon that he’s got a history with.”

“Oh, totally foolproof,” John muttered sarcastically, his hand dipping into his pocket where Gary’s glasses were. Ray had taken a look at them earlier in the week when John had left them lying out. The glass and frames were too damaged to be worn again, but the glasses overall were still intact. When he could save Gary and get Neron out, then John would find a new pair for him. It was least he could do for Gary taking his place.

“Constantine!”

“Huh?” John snapped his head up, withdrawing his hand. “Sorry, were you being a pretentious bastard again?”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “I said that I trust Maze. She’s dealt with Neron before. But the reason I bailed your sorry ass out of jail is to get questions answered. I’m going to start with what brought you and these two gentlemen here, not to mention that other woman from last night.”

“Doing our job,” Mick told him shortly, plunking himself down on one of the couches.

“Mick’s right, but there’s more to the story,” Ray added. “A group of us have been after Neron for a while. We almost got him, but then he pulled a surprise out of his hat at the last minute and took over someone we knew. Then he attacked us again a week ago and we tracked him to LA. This time, we’re going to get him.”

“Oh, so you’re roped more people into your line of work,” Lucifer smirked at John. “You really must have pissed off Neron if he’s taking over someone you shagged.”

“Is that what he told you? Neron’s taken over two people close to me. The first was my boyfriend, then it was-”

“Some pathetic, sorry notch in your bedpost? His words, not mine.”

John clenched his fist and shook his head. “His name is Gary Green. He traded himself for me as Neron’s next host. It’s my fault that Neron’s running around in his body because he came after me in the first place when Neron was tossing me around the room.”

“Hey, quit beating yourself up,” Ray scolded. “We got him out of the Bureau. That’s something right there. You and Nate have got to stop beating yourselves up over this.”

“He didn’t even notice it wasn’t Gary! None of them did!”

“Hang on,” Lucifer cut in. “How long did it take for you to realize this Gary wasn’t really Gary anymore?”

“A week,” Mick answered. “He gave them a crap story about the demon leaving his meatsuit. They all believed it and moved on. We were on a mission and didn’t know he was back until the end of the week. Trenchcoat was the only one who thought the demon was still in him. We went there, exposed him, and now he’s running.”

“And then you followed him here,” Lucifer turned to look at John.

He nodded. “When Des was sent down to Hell, I ran. Now he’s in someone else I care about. I can’t run again.”

“And why,” Lucifer leaned forward. “Is that?”

The words started spilling out before he could stop them. “Because Gary saved me from getting possessed again. And I tried to run again but I couldn’t. I want to save him. Yes, it’s to beat a bloody demon but it’s also because I do still like Gary. I like him a lot more than I realized.”

              Lucifer straightened back up, surprised by what he’d heard. John sighed and glanced over at the other two. Mick was studying him intently, as if he was planning to use what he’d just heard in his next books. There were going to be words after this as to why he shouldn’t even think about doing so. Ray, on the other hand, had a look of understanding on his face. That did make sense given Nora had been Mallus’s host.

“So the desire thing is true after all,” John muttered. “Hoped that was just a myth.”

“Then you would be myth-taken,” Lucifer replied. “But I didn’t expect to hear all of that. Neron’s host is someone you care very much about, isn’t he?”

“He’s not just some host. His name is Gary.”

“We really need to save him,” Ray took over now. “Neron is planning to do something awful. We figured it was why he came to LA until John told us about you. If there’s anything that you have that can help us”-

“Ray, stop,” John held up a hand. “You aren’t making a deal with the devil. I’ll be the one who owes him a favor.”

“A favor from John Constantine?” the Devil smiled. “I’ll accept that.”

“Great, now what’s he up to?”

“Haven’t the faintest,” Lucifer answered, getting a eyeroll from Mick. “But I do know where he is and can find out where he’ll be going. Do either of you have a phone?”

Ray pulled his out and Lucifer took it from him.

“When Neron came into town, I wanted to keep tabs on him, especially since he wasn’t concerned with me being gone from hell. So Maze made sure she could track him with her phone, made sure I could with mine this morning, and now I’m doing the same for Mr. Palmer’s. Also my number’s in there too for you.”

“We won’t need to call again,” John said as he took the phone from Lucifer when he extended it to them. “You know, you do seem awfully keen on helping us go after one of your own, Old Scratch. What’s that all about?”

A cloud passed over the sun and darkened the penthouse as Lucifer’s eyes glowed momentarily. “His inclination to chaos isn’t needed here. He’s causing problems, like bringing you all the way out here.”

“Point taken” John nodded as he turned and headed back to the elevator. “Thanks for the bail. Come on, you two. We’ve got stuff to get before we meet up with Neron again.”

[rough-tweed-action]

Mary Morstan/Watson

I once witnessed a live version of a Tumblr-style fight in real life. A girl said that in her opinion Jim Morrison was a mediocre artist and a weird drunk. A boy, all angry and frustrated, raised his voice and told her, ‘You should read his biographies!’ The equivalent of Tumblr's ‘read our meta!’ I last saw this in an Adlock versus Johnlock post (rightly so, it’s been years, can we finally stop bringing up Irene being exclusively gay?)

I have too much time on my hands and I did read your meta. A lot of it. It’s a very good distraction from real life problems. I like reading Mary Watson (referred to only as Mary Morstan/AGRA/’Mary’) meta, although the dislike of the character (and the actress, let’s be honest) and the general negativity can be too much sometimes. 

It’s no secret that once we hate someone, everything they do is offensive. Analysing Mary’s motivations is no different. For example, one of Mary’s unforgivable sins is leaving her baby and her husband without a word when she was in danger. While this seems perfectly reasonable to me, her wish to keep her family safe by staying away from them, many consider this a selfish move. Mary didn’t try to explain the situation to John, didn’t allow him to help her, like a proper wife would and abandoned her child. Doesn’t this interpretation suggest that certain people are biased against Mary? 

Another example is Mary’s reply to Sherlock when he said motherhood was slowing her down, that ‘Pig!’ Sherlock didn’t look like that hurt him. We’ve seen him upset in The Blind Banker when Sebastian was mocking him. In the Six Thatchers, Mary’s comment didn’t sting at all. Him, at least. His fans, though, quickly described Mary’s word choice as abusive, hurtful, demeaning and so on. 

Many examples of Mary’s supposed abuse (verbal, emotional) are just like that ‘pig’ comment. Something that could offend only a particularly sensitive and vulnerable person. Was John really in thinly veiled agony when Mary playfully compared him to a dog? Or when she questioned his sudden urge to find Isaac in His Last Vow? Someone compared their exchange in that scene to this example of, say, verbal abuse:

A: I’m cold.

B: No, you’re not.

I can understand the logic behind this comparison, but these two examples have nothing in common. Mary didn’t say John was too weak, not heroic enough to find Isaac. She simply didn’t want him to do something stupid when he was so worked up (she was right, John had no reason to attack Billy and yet he did).

A large number of people claim they hated Mary before His Last Vow, before she shot Sherlock. This is supposed to, I think, show that they were clever enough to see that something was off about her. She couldn’t really want to help John and Sherlock be friends again. She either wanted to keep Sherlock close to hurt him more or she worked for Moriarty. However, if she was disliked before she actually deserved that, what does it say about those fans?

If someone who dislikes Mary is reading this, they probably think I’m a Mary stan, a murderer apologist. I’m not a big fan of Mary, her plan to save John was so stupid and her comment about being the best thing that could happen to John was cringeworthy. Her death scene was so very dramatic and her constant appearances in the two other episodes were increasingly annoying. But when people demonise her and twist her every word to make her look like the evilest woman on earth, I have to disagree.

One of the examples of the desperate search for the signs of Mary’s villainy is her smile in CAM’s room, this one:

A true villain, murderously gleeful, happy to have the opportunity to get rid of a love rival. But what about this shot?

Magnussen could see her face in the mirror. That’s why she smiled. She had enough problems with one pressure point, she hardly needed another one. 

Another sign of her evil nature is not revealing anything about her past and letting Sherlock deduce who she was. I assume that intelligence agents are trained to do keep their mouths shut during an interrogation. 

Even Mary’s ultimate sacrifice is a part of her evil plan to separate John and Sherlock. Like the true abominable bride, she wanted to make her death count, so she ensured Sherlock would be blamed for it. Nothing an antagonist can do to be redeemed, it seems. I don’t want to say a female antagonist, but I am thinking that (Irene Adler, for instance, is still described as a villain.)

It’s best, I believe, to look at the facts and try to be objective. Whatever is being said about Mary, she had an instant connection with Sherlock. She could have pretended she agreed with John when he was furious with Sherlock, but she didn’t. If she hated Sherlock and saw him as a rival, she would have simply encouraged John to not forgive him. In the wedding episode, she wanted John to let Sherlock know it wasn’t the end of an era. Before she shot him, she clearly warned him not to come closer and expressed her remorse. Sherlock clearly forgave her and they remained friends. Unless, this is, he wanted to help her when she was in danger so John could kill her...? He protected her even after she gave birth, so she was more to him than a human incubator.

Also, Mary is definitely arrogant and condescending. Creepy in HLV. Selfish. A bit too economical with the truth; if anyone should know your true identity, it’s you husband-to-be. And again, that idiotic plan to save John.

She’s been criticised for her sass in HLV, after the shooting, when she dared not to grovel at John’s feet, begging for his forgiveness. She also refused to give up her right to choose Rosie’s name, something that (female) fans should be able to understand. Even an assassin experiences morning sickness, labour pains and postpartum bleeding. I can’t believe that some women let their partners choose the name. (If my mum let my dad choose the name, I’d be Anna, lovely name but so very plain.)

Regardless of Mary’s actions and her motivations, she was bound to be hated, simply because she was in a relationship with John. Some people can’t really tell the difference between characters and actors and hate Amanda Abbington as well. Mary’s redemption in series four was supposedly the effect of the breakup of Amanda’s relationship with Martin Freeman; Mofftiss, just like children of a divorced couple, had to choose one side and that’s why John was ‘suddenly’ a bit not good. 

TL;DR Mary is not as evil as some people think. I don’t believe Sherlock hates her or is afraid of her. I wouldn’t want her as a friend, but I’m not Sherlock.

[newsfundastuff]

It’s pilot season — when broadcast networks decide which of dozens of prospective shows should become full-fledged series.TheWrap’s complete network pilot guide will keep you up to speed on the status of every project under consideration by ABC, CBS, FOX and NBC. In cases where they’ve already ordered a show to series, we’ll say so.Check back often for regular updates.ABC: Comedy / DramaCBS: Comedy / DramaThe CW: DramaFox: Comedy / DramaNBC: Comedy / Drama ABC COMEDYMY VILLAGE Writer(s): Kari Lizer Studio: Sony Pictures Television, ABC Studios Logline: An empty-nester mom wonders how she ended up alone while her children live their best lives thousands of miles away. She decides her place is with her family and as she reinserts herself into their lives, her kids realize they might actually need her more than they thought.(Multi-camera)PROSPECT Writer(s): Sherry Bilsing-Graham, Ellen Kreamer Director: Randall Einhorn Studio: ABC Studios Logline: A comedic western with a feminist twist: an idealistic young woman moves to the frontier to be a schoolteacher, but her ideals are quickly tested when she learns that her students are rowdy ranch hands, not children. (Single camera)Back to Top ABC DRAMATHE BIG SKY — Series Order Writer(s): David E. Kelley Producer(s): Ross Fineman, C.J. Box Studio: A+E Studios, 20th Century Fox Television Logline: In this procedural thriller, private detective Cassie Dewell partners with ex-cop Jenny Hoyt on a search for two sisters who have been kidnapped by a truck driver on a remote highway in Montana. But when they discover that these are not the only girls who have disappeared in the area, they must race against the clock to stop the killer before another woman is taken.THE BRIDES Writer(s): Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa Producer(s): Greg Berlanti, Sarah Schechter Director: Maggie Kiley Studio: ABC Studios, Warner Bros. Television, Berlanti Productions Logline: A sexy contemporary reimagining of “Dracula,” is a family drama with a trio of powerful female leads at its heart. With strong horror elements, “The Brides” is a vampire soap about empowered, immortal women and the things they do to maintain wealth, prestige, legacy — and their nontraditional family.HARLEM’S KITCHEN Writer(s): Zahir McGhee Producer(s): Marcus Samuelsson, David Hoberman, Todd Lieberman, Laurie Zaks Studio: ABC Studios Logline: An ensemble family drama set in a fine dining restaurant in Harlem. Ellis Rice, Executive Chef and patriarch, runs a successful restaurant with his wife and three daughters. But an unexpected death thrusts the family into turmoil and puts the restaurant’s future in jeopardy as long-buried secrets are revealed.REBEL Writer(s): Krista Vernoff Producer(s): Davis Entertainment, Alexandre Schmitt, Erin Brockovich Studio: ABC Studios/Sony Pictures Television Logline: “Rebel” is inspired by the life of Erin Brockovich today. Annie “Rebel” Bello is a blue collar legal advocate without a law degree. A funny, messy, brilliant and fearless woman who cares desperately about the causes she fights for and the people she loves. When Rebel applies herself to a fight she believes in, she will win at almost any cost. Cast: Katey SagalTHIRTYSOMETHING(ELSE) Writer(s): Marshall Herskovitz, Edward Zwick Director: Edward Zwick Studio: ABC Studios, MGM Television Logline: A sequel to the groundbreaking series “thirtysomething,” which follows an ensemble of new faces playing the grown-up, 30-something children of the original cast. Apparently, raising children (even grown children) never ends, but who could have known how hard it would be for them to raise their parents? Cast: Ken Olin, Mel Harris, Timothy Busfield, Patty WettigWRECKAGE Writer(s): Jacquie Walters Producer(s): Sarah Timberman, Carl Beverly, Mark Martin, Keith Samples Director: Marc Webb Studio: ABC Studios Logline: On the surface, Lillian Linden looks like a brave survivor of a plane crash. But she’s been lying to her family, her friends, and the whole world since rescue helicopters scooped her and her fellow survivor, Dave Hall, off a deserted island in the South Pacific. Missing for almost four years, the castaways are thrust into the spotlight after their rescue, becoming media darlings overnight. But they can’t tell the real story–so they lie.Back to Top CBS COMEDYB POSITIVE Writer(s): Marco Pennette Producer(s): Chuck Lorre Studio: Warner Bros. Television, Chuck Lorre Productions Logline: Faced with finding a kidney donor, newly divorced dad Drew is at the end of his rope when he runs into Gina, a rough-around-the edges woman from his past who volunteers her own. Together they form an unlikely bond and begin a journey that will change both of their lives. (Multi-camera)GHOSTS Writer(s): Joe Port, Joe Wiseman Producer(s): Mathew Baynton, Jim Howick, Simon Farnaby, Laurence Rickard, Ben Willbond, Martha Howe-Douglas, Alison Carpenter, Debra Hayward, Alison Owen, Angie Stephenson Studio: CBS Television Studios, Lionsgate Television, BBC Studios Logline: A struggling young couple’s dreams come true when they inherit a beautiful country house, only to find it’s both falling apart and inhabited by many of the deceased previous residents. (Single camera)THE THREE OF US Writer(s): Frank Pines Producer(s): Ben Winston, Jeff Grosvenor, James Corden Studio: CBS Television Studios, Fulwell 73 Logline: Adult siblings who are children of divorce must circle the wagons when their sister’s husband unexpectedly announces he wants to call it quits on their marriage. (Multi-camera)PLEASE HOLD FOR FRANKIE WOLFE Writer(s): Max Mutchnick, David Kohan Producer(s): Ben Winston, Jeff Grosvenor Studio: Universal Television Studios Logline: Frankie Wolfe is an unfiltered, irreverent, powerful businesswoman with no personal life. When Frankie’s impossibly fragile and neurotic sister, Tommie, abandons Quincy – an incredibly bright inner-city child who Tommie attempted to foster – Frankie is faced with the choice of taking him in or casting him back out. Can these two lonely, damaged people find the love and companionship that has eluded them their whole lives? (Multi-camera)THE UNITED STATES OF AL Writer(s): David Goetsch, Maria Ferrari Producer(s): Chuck Lorre, Reza Aslan, Mahyad Tousi Studio: Warner Bros. Television, Chuck Lorre Productions Logline: A comedy about the friendship between Riley, a Marine combat veteran struggling to readjust to civilian life in Ohio, and Awalmir (Al), the Afghan interpreter who served with his unit and has just arrived to start a new life in America. (Multi-camera)WE THE JURY Writer(s): Dana Klein and Stephanie Darrow Producer(s): James Acaster, Kenton Allen, Matthew Justice Studio: CBS Television Studios Logline: A group of jurors are sequestered together until they all agree on a verdict…and they can’t even agree on lunch. (Hybrid)UNTITLED KINGSBURY/DALEY/GOLDSTEIN PROJECT Writer(s): Corinne Kingsbury, John Francis Daley, Jonathan Goldstein Producer(s): Aaron Kaplan, Dana Honor, Wendi Trilling Studio: CBS Television Studios Logline: When Penelope’s career takes off at exactly the same time as her husband’s, they call on Penelope’s young single mom, Georgia, to help raise their son, but what they find is Georgia needs more raising than their kid. (Multi-camera)Back to Top CBS DRAMACLARICE — Series Commitment Writer(s): Alex Kurtzman, Jenny Lumet Producer(s): Heather Kadin, Aaron Baiers Studio: MGM Television, CBS Television Studios, Secret Hideout Logline: It’s 1993, a year after the events of “The Silence of the Lambs.” CLARICE is a deep dive into the untold personal story of Clarice Starling as she returns to the field to pursue serial murderers and sexual predators while navigating the high stakes political world of Washington, D.C.THE EQUALIZER Writer(s): Andrew Marlowe, Terri Miller Producer(s): Dana Owens (Queen Latifah), John Davis, John Fox , Debra Martin Chase, Richard Lindheim, Shakim Compere Studio: Universal Television Studios, CBS Television Studios, Davis Entertainment, Martin Chase Productions, Flavor Unit Logline: A reimagining of the classic series in which an enigmatic figure uses her extensive skills to help those with nowhere else to turn. Cast: Queen LatifahBack to Top CW DramaKUNG FU Writer(s): Christina M. Kim Producer(s): Martin Gero, Greg Berlanti, Sarah Schechter Studio: Warner Bros. Television, Quinn’s House, Berlanti Productions Logline: A quarter-life crisis causes a young Chinese-American woman to drop out of college and go on a life-changing journey to an isolated monastery in China. But when she returns to find her hometown overrun with crime and corruption, she uses her martial arts skills and Shaolin values to protect her community and bring criminals to justice…all while searching for the assassin who killed her Shaolin mentor and is now targeting her.THE LOST BOYS Writer(s): Heather Mitchell, Rob Thomas Producer(s): Dan Etheridge, Mike Karz, Bill Bindley, Rebecca Franko, Juliana Janes Director: Marcos Siega Studio: Warner Bros. Television Logline: When a mother and her gen z sons move to the seaside town where she grew up, they discover there’s a sinister reason the local cool kids sleep all day, party all night, never grow up and never get old. Family bonds are tested as the brothers find themselves on opposite sides of a mythological struggle. Based on the 1987 cult classic that revolutionized how we think about vampires.MAVERICK Writer(s): Merigan Mulhern Producer(s): Josh Schwartz, Stephanie Savage, Warren Hsu Leonard, Lis Rowinski Studio: CBS Television Studios, Fake Empire Logline: In a present day America that finds itself under authoritarian rule, the President’s daughter – raised to believe her father is moral and benevolent – has her worldview rocked on her first day at Georgetown. Challenged by her fellow students, and under the watchful eye of Secret Service agents, she’ll have to decide if her loyalties lie with her family or with a growing resistance as she navigates her freshman year.THE REPUBLIC OF SARAH Writer(s): Jeffrey Paul King Producer(s): Marc Webb, Mark Martin, Jeff Grosvenor, Leo Pearlman Studio: CBS Television Studios Logline: Faced with the destruction of her town at the hands of a greedy mining company, rebellious high school teacher Sarah Cooper utilizes an obscure cartographical loophole to declare independence. Now Sarah must lead a young group of misfits as they attempt to start their own country from scratch.SUPERMAN & LOIS — Series Order Writer(s): Todd Helbing Producer(s): Greg Berlanti, Sarah Schechter, Geoff Johns Studio: Berlanti Productions, Warner Bros. Television Logline: Follows the world’s most famous Super Hero and comic books’ most famous journalist as they deal with all the stress, pressures and complexities that come with being working parents in today’s society. Based on the characters from DC created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. Cast: Tyler Hoechlin, Elizabeth TullocWALKER — Series Order Writer(s): Anna Fricke Producer(s): Dan Lin, Lindsay Liberatore, Jared Padalecki Studio: CBS Television Studios, Rideback. Logline: A reimagining of the long-running series “Walker, Texas Ranger.” Centers on Cordell Walker, a widower and father of two with his own moral code, who returns home to Austin after being undercover for two years, only to discover there’s harder work to be done at home. He’ll attempt to reconnect with his children, navigate clashes with his family, and find unexpected common ground with his new partner (one of the first women in Texas Rangers’ history), while growing increasingly suspicious about the circumstances surrounding his wife’s death. Cast: Jared PadaleckiUNTITLED THE 100 PREQUEL — Backdoor Pilot Production Order Writer(s): Jason Rothenberg Producer(s): Leslie Morgenstein, Gina Girolamo Studio: Alloy Entertainment, Warner Bros. Television, CBS Television Studios Logline: Set 97 years before the events of the original series, this project — which is currently being developed as a planted spinoff and will air as an episode of THE 100’s final season — starts with the end of the world, a nuclear apocalypse that wipes out most of the human population on Earth. The epic adventure follows a band of survivors on the ground as they learn to cope in a dangerous world while fighting to create a new and better society from the ashes of what came before.UNTITLED ARROW SPINOFF — Backdoor Pilot Production Order Writer(s): Beth Schwartz, Mark Guggenheim, Jill Blankenship, Oscar Balderrama Producer(s): Greg Berlanti, Sarah Schechter Studio: Warner Bros. TV, DC Entertainment Logline: Spinoff following the women of Arrow. Cast: Katherine McNamara, Katie Cassidy, Juliana HarkavyBack to Top FOX COMEDYCARLA — Series Commitment Writer(s): Darlene Hunt Producer(s): Jim Parsons, Todd Spiewak, Angie Stephenson, Miranda Hart, Eric Norsoph, Mackenzie Gabriel-Vaught, Mayim Bialik Studio: Warner Bros. Television, FOX Entertainment, That’s Wonderful Productions, Sad Clown Productions, BBC Studios Logline: Carla is a 39-year-old woman who struggles every day against society and her mother to prove that you CANNOT have everything you want — and still be happy. Which is why she spent the money her parents set aside for her wedding to open a Cat Café in Louisville, KY. Based on the BBC UK original seriesMiranda, created by Miranda Hart. (Multi-camera) Cast: Mayim BialikHOUSEBROKEN — Series Order Writer(s): Clea DuVall, Jennifer Crittenden, Gabrielle Allan Producer(s): Sharon Horgan, Clelia Mountford, Aaron Kaplan, Dana Honor Studio: Fox Entertainment, Kapital Entertainment, Bento Box Logline: Explores human dysfunction and neurosis through a group of neighborhood animals who live in the suburbs. (Animated) Cast: Lisa Kudrow, Clea DuVall, Sharon Horgan, Nat Faxon, Will Forte, Tony Hale, Jason Mantzoukas, Sam Richardson, Bresha Webb, Greta LeeTHIS COUNTRY Writer(s): Jenny Bicks Producer(s): Angie Stephenson, Charlie Cooper, Daisy May Cooper, Dan Magnante, Cathy Mason, Rachel Mason Director: Paul Feig Studio: Lionsgate, BBC Studios, FOX Entertainment, Feigco Entertainment, Perkins Street Productions Logline: In this half-hour mockumentary inspired by the BBC format, a documentary crew goes to a small town to study young adults and their current concerns. Their focus is the daily lives of cousins Kelly and Shrub Mallet and their idiosyncratic surroundings. We follow the cousins as they pursue their dreams, confront challenges, and fight each other for frozen pizza. These two don’t have much, but they do have each other. (Single camera)Back to Top FOX DRAMATHE BIG LEAP Writer(s): Liz Heldens Producer(s): Sue Naegle Studio: 20th Century Fox Television, FOX Entertainment Logline: Inspired by a UK format, THE BIG LEAP is a funny and contemporary tale about second chances, chasing your dreams and taking back what’s yours. The show centers on a group of diverse underdogs from all different walks of life who compete to be part of a competition reality series that is putting on a modern, hip remake of “Swan Lake.” What they lack in the traditional dancer body type, they make up for with their edge, wit and desire to reimagine an iconic story to fit their own mold. THE BIG LEAP takes us on a journey of self-acceptance, body-positivity and empowerment at any age.THE CLEANING LADY Writer(s): Miranda Kwok Producer(s): Shay Mitchell, Melissa Carter Studio: Warner Bros Television, FOX Entertainment Logline: A darkly aspirational character drama about a whip-smart doctor who comes to the U.S. for a medical treatment to save her ailing son. But when the system fails and pushes her into hiding, she refuses to be beaten down and marginalized. Instead, she becomes a cleaning lady for the mob and starts playing the game by her own rules. Based on the original Argentine series.Back to Top NBC COMEDYAMERICAN AUTO Writer(s): Justin Spitzer Producer(s): Aaron Kaplan Studio: Universal Television, Kapital Entertainment Logline: Set at the headquarters of a major American automotive company in Detroit, where a floundering group of executives try to rediscover the company identity amidst a rapidly changing industry. (Single camera)CRAZY FOR YOU Writer(s): Rachele Lynn Producer(s): Lorne Michaels, Seth Meyers, Mike Shoemaker Studio(s): Universal Television, Broadway Video, Sethmaker Shoemeyers Productions Logline: Daisy, with her life stalling, re-enters the dating scene only to discover that while she was out of the game, the game sort of, totally, completely changed. Realizing she is a bit rusty at being “normal” and “appealing” on first dates, she’ll need the support of her friends as she strives to succeed while being her true self in today’s quick-to-dismiss dating culture. (Single camera)THE KENAN SHOW — Series Order Writer(s): Jackie Clarke Producer(s): Lorne Michaels, Andrew Singer Director: Chris Rock Studio: Universal Television, Broadway Video Logline: Kenan Thompson strives to be a super dad to his two adorable girls while simultaneously balancing his job and a father-in-law who “helps” in the most inappropriate ways. (Single camera) Cast: Kenan Thompson, Punam Patel, Dani Lockett, Dannah Lockett, Andy GarciaJEFFERIES Writer(s): Suzanne Martin Producer(s): Jim Jefferies, Sean Hayes, Todd Milliner, Tim Sarkes, Alex Murray Studio: Universal Television, Hazy Mills, Brillstein Entertainment Partners Logline: Jim Jefferies stars as a fictionalized version of himself – a comedian with a unique and often controversial take on modern life, relationships and co-parenting with his best friend. (Multi-camera) Cast: Jim JefferiesNIGHT SCHOOL Writer(s): Chris Moynihan Producer(s): Kevin Hart, Will Packer, Malcolm Lee Studio: Universal Television, Hartbeat Productions, Will Packer Productions, Bicycle Path Productions Logline: An adaptation of the 2018 film, “Night School” centers on a unique mix of adults at a night school GED prep class who unexpectedly bond over their shared experience and find themselves helping each other both inside and outside of the classroom. (Multi-camera)SOMEONE OUT THERE Writer(s): Matt Hubbard, Josh Siegal, Dylan Morgan Producer(s): Emiliano Calemzuk, Gonzalo Sagardia, Javier Veiga Studio: Universal Television Logline: A romantic comedy about two set-in-their-ways adults who are challenged by very unexpected strangers to become the best versions of themselves in order to find love and possibly each other. Based on the format “Pequeñas Coincidencias,” created by Javier Veiga. (Multi-camera)YOUNG ROCK — Series Order Writer(s): Nahnatchka Khan, Jeff Chiang Producer(s): Dwayne Johnson, Dany Garcia, Hiram Garcia, Brian Gewirtz, Jennifer Carreras Studio: Universal Television, Seven Bucks Productions, Fierce Baby Productions Logline: Inspired by the formative years of Dwayne Johnson. (Single camera) Cast: Dwayne JohnsonUNTITLED PHIL JACKSON/DAN GOOR Writer(s): Phil Jackson Producer(s): Dan Goor Studio: Universal Television Logline: Ensemble comedy about black people, dating and wine. (Single camera)UNTITLED TINA FEY/ROBERT CARLOCK — Series Order Writer(s): Tina Fey, Robert Carlock Producer(s): Jeff Richmond, David Miner, Eric Gurian Studio: Universal Television, 3 Arts Entertainment, Little Stranger Logline: A wealthy businessman runs for mayor of Los Angeles for all the wrong reasons. Once he wins he has to figure out what he stands for, gain the respect of his staff and connect with his teenage daughter, all while humanely controlling the coyote population. (Single camera) Cast: Ted Danson, Holly Hunter, Bobby MoynihanBack to Top NBC DRAMAAT THAT AGE Writer(s): Carla Banks-Waddles Producer(s): Malcolm D. Lee, Debra Martin Chase Studio: Universal Television, Blackmaled Productions Logline: An exploration of an African-American family’s legacy. After the Cooper family’s golden child suffers a catastrophic event, seven family members face a foundational shift, make life-altering decisions and deal with deep secrets coming to light.DEBRIS Writer(s): J.H. Wyman Producer(s): Jason Hoffs Studio: Legendary Television, Frequency Films Logline: Two agents from two different continents, and two different mindsets, must work together to investigate when wreckage from a destroyed alien spacecraft has mysterious effects on humankind.ECHO Writer(s): JJ Bailey Producer(s): John Davis, John Fox Studio: Universal Television, Davis Entertainment Logline: A high-concept, genre procedural revolving around a team of investigators who solve the highest-profile crimes by sending our heroes 36 hours into the past … in the body of the victim. They assume the victim’s identity and must race against time to prevent the crime before it happens.LA BREA Writer(s): David Appelbaum Producer(s): Avi Nir, Alon Shtruzman, Peter Traugott, Rachel Kaplan, Ken Woodruff Studio: Universal Television, Keshet Studios Logline: When a massive sinkhole mysteriously opens in Los Angeles, it tears a family in half, separating mother and son from father and daughter. When part of the family find themselves in an unexplainable primeval world, alongside a disparate group of strangers, they must work to survive and uncover the mystery of where they are and if there is a way back home.LANGDON Writer(s): Dan Dworkin, Jay Beattie Producer(s): Dan Brown, Ron Howard, Brian Grazer, Anna Culp, Samie Falvey Studio: CBS Television Studios, Universal Television, Imagine Television Logline: Based on Dan Brown’s international best-selling thriller “The Lost Symbol,” the series follows the early adventures of famed Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon, who must solve a series of deadly puzzles to save his kidnapped mentor and thwart a chilling global conspiracy.ORDINARY JOE Writer(s): Russel Friend, Garrett Lerner Producer(s): Matt Reeves, Adam Kassan, Rafi Crohn, Howard Klein Studio: 20th Century Fox Television, 6th & Idaho, 3Arts Entertainment Logline: Explores the three parallel lives of the show’s main character after he makes a pivotal choice at a crossroads in his life. The series asks the question of how different life might look if you made your decision based on love, loyalty or passion.Back to TopRead original story TV Pilot Season 2020: TheWrap’s Complete Guide At TheWrap

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‘New Dusty’ a draft prospect with a rocket

THE FRAME of the ‘Connect Four’ board game stands ready to play in the corner of the kitchen in Cam Rayner’s family home. Rayner’s battles with his mum, Nicole, are renowned in the household, described as almost a Collingwood and Carlton-like rivalry. 

Rayner’s strategy relies on dropping the first coloured disc in the middle column and building from there. “A couple of times when she’s off-guard she’ll let me get three in the bottom row next to each other,” Rayner said. “It’s good fun.” But it’s also competitive, a side of the 17-year-old that exists in everything he does.

“I’ve always been like that. I don’t like to lose in anything: it could be a PlayStation game, playing in the backyard with my brother, footy tipping, a wrestle, a game of Connect Four or on the field,” he told AFL.com.au this week. “That won’t ever change.”

That’s been obvious in the past 12 months, as Rayner’s form has seen him rocket into being a likely early pick at November’s NAB AFL Draft. He’s even a contender for the No.1 selection, such has been his ability to impact games with his explosive and powerful streak. It’s happened quickly.  

Rayner put his name firmly on the radar at the end of last year’s TAC Cup season, when he kicked seven goals for the Western Jets against Bendigo and followed it with five the next week against the Calder Cannons. He was recognised by being added to the NAB AFL Academy.

He announced himself as a leading prospect at the MCG in April, when he kicked three goals from 23 disposals in the NAB AFL Academy’s 20th anniversary match. The 187cm Rayner was the standout, a performance made more noteworthy given he was carrying a toe injury.

Days before the contest, Rayner tripped and fell down some stairs. The tumble split his right big toe and ripped the nail off, and left him in doubt to feature in the celebration game. He barely trained in the lead-up, and kept out of his boots until game-day.

He kicked as much on his non-preferred left foot as he could, and at times forgot about the piercing pain. “I was never going to miss playing in that game. It was a real chance to showcase my talents against the best players, and I think I took advantage of that,” he said.

His ability to push on despite the injury didn’t come as a surprise to those who know Rayner well.

Rayner was a fearless kid. He first split his head aged 10 months, after being a little too ambitious and getting the wobbles, and it started a run of times he needed stitches to his head: after falling from the tree in the backyard, when he hit himself on the family’s piano, on his first day of school in prep, misjudging a backflip into a pool, and even after a pillow fight with his dad, John.

“We were mucking around and I went into the cupboard, and felt a bit of a knock. I looked up and said, ‘Dad, have I done it again?” Rayner said. “My head was stuck on the corner of a drawer and as dad pulled my head the drawer moved out with me.”

Sport has come naturally to Rayner. He was always one of the better players for his local club Hillside, near his home in Sydenham in Melbourne’s north-west.

He moved to the Doutta Stars in Essendon for a season as an under-16s player and kicked three goals and was named its best player in the Grand Final. Two weeks later, as a 15-year-old, he played in the club’s under-18 Grand Final, booted eight goals and again claimed the best afield medal.

Recruiters nominate Rayner as one of the main draft hopefuls to have elevated their stocks this season. And they have continued to rise in the past two weeks, with the damaging midfielder/half-forward dominant in Vic Metro’s first two games in the national under-18 championships.

He prides himself on playing well in big games, and opened the carnival with 23 disposals and six clearances against Western Australia at Domain Stadium. He played more as a forward last week against Vic Country, and kicked three first-half goals and finished with 21 disposals.

Rayner is a unique mix of traits. He’s strong and tough, can bang the ball a mile on both feet, and has a natural spring in his legs that makes him tough to stop in the air. He’s also quick off the mark, and enjoys the physical stuff. Clubs keep telling him he needs to improve his endurance base, but he’s confident that will happen.

Cam Rayner’s competitiveness shows through in everything he does. Picture: AFL Photos 

“I see myself as a player who can impact a game. Even if I have 12 or 13 disposals, I use the ball well when I get it and think I can influence the game,” he said.

“This is the first year where I’ve been predominantly a midfielder, so I’m still getting used to that side of things. My running has been getting better and I’m learning more about playing there.

“I haven’t been fazed by the pressure of going into the championships, even though it does make you think things are getting closer.”

Other things have made him feel like an AFL career might only be around the corner. He has signed with a player agent (Robbie D’Orazio at Connors Sports), at a local game of footy recently he had plenty of people he hadn’t seen for years come over and wish him well, and he has even won comparisons to Richmond’s Dustin Martin for his on-field style (his pre-championships haircut is also very similar to the Tigers’ star).

“I’ve seen that mentioned a couple of times,” Rayner said. “I definitely model my game around his ability to impact a game with a couple of big possessions and moments. He bullocks through the midfield and has that clean outside game too, and I like to use my body ‘inside’ and then hit targets by foot.”

Making the top level felt more realistic to Rayner on draft night last year, when he and his family went to close friend Daniel Venables’ place to watch proceedings unfold. Venables, a school mate of Rayner at Penleigh and Essendon Grammar and teammate at the Jets, was picked by West Coast with pick 13.

“We came home after that and had a chat about it and said that a year from today we could be in the same position,” Rayner said. “I’m nearly finished school and everyone there is thinking about what they’re going to do next year and I just try to keep it to myself what I want to be doing, even though I think about it a lot.

“It gets me excited to realise I could be playing out on the MCG or Etihad Stadium or wherever around Australia. I watch footy on the TV and see blokes I played against last year and think, ‘I reckon I could do that as well’. I’m excited to see what happens.”

The post ‘New Dusty’ a draft prospect with a rocket appeared first on Footy Plus.

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Hot Single Dad ALERT! Grab Goaltending by Jami Davenport now! Keep reading for an excerpt! Amazon → http://amzn.to/2mMUkcM iBooks → http://apple.co/2nePbxk Nook → http://bit.ly/2mIjY1y Kobo → http://bit.ly/2nssF4C WANTED: Single dad needs nanny--In more ways than one. Martin "Brick" Bricker is living the good life. He's playing the sport he loves, has all the women he can handle, and parties like a rock star. At twenty-six, he has no interest in slowing down or taking anything seriously--except hockey, of course. Then a knock at his door changes everything.Suddenly he's the single father to a five-year-old daughter he didn't know he had, and he's trading his playboy ways for Barbies. Amelia Stacey struggles to make ends meet and juggles her day-care job with a full load of college classes. When she's offered a temporary, two-week nanny position making more money than she imagines, she jumps at the chance. Before she knows it, she's in over her head, not just with her five-year-old charge but with the girl's hot single father. Brick always goes after what he wants, and he wants Amelia. Only responsible Amelia doesn't want anything to do with the party boy. Struggling with fatherhood and his unexplainable attraction to his nanny, Brick has to figure out where his daughter and Amelia fit into his life.If they fit at all. But one thing's for sure: Brick can't block this shot straight to his heart. EXCERPT: Chapter 1—In the Net Martin “Brick” Bricker was one lucky bastard. He had it all. Good looks, ripped body, more money than he could spend, and more women than he could handle. It was good to be him. Really, really good. Being named sexiest male athlete last week by the Hot Hockey Hunks website was icing on his already rich, gooey cake. And he loved that cake, indulging every chance he got. Who could blame him? He was young, attractive, and virile. He loved all females, tall and slender, short and curvy, and anything in between. And women loved him. But Brick’s good fortune didn’t stop there. He was the starting goalie on one of the NHL’s hottest young teams. The Seattle Sockeyes were touted as Stanley Cup contenders by the preseason predictors, whoever the hell those people were. Brick wanted the Cup so badly he imagined the deafening roar of the crowd as the final buzzer rang, the weight of the Cup in his hands as he skated victoriously around the arena, and its sweet metallic taste as he drank champagne from it. He might only be in his fourth year, but he coveted the Cup as much as a guy who’d been in the league for fifteen years and had never won it. He sure as hell didn’t want to be that guy. He wanted to win it while he was young—and keep winning it. With a weary sigh, Brick stretched and rolled out of bed. He squinted at the clock—two in the fucking afternoon. Damn. He’d had a wild night last night and had staggered home well after the sun had come up. He’d been gifted with incredible stamina and a hardy constitution that required little sleep but for some reason last night’s activities had hit him harder than usual. After taking care of business in the bathroom, he walked naked into the kitchen of his large Lake Union condo. He hated clothes, partially because of his propensity to overheat and partially because he enjoyed the shock value. Brick sweltered in warm rooms. They reminded him too much of how hot his stepmother—correct that, father’s second wife—chose to keep their house. The place suffocated him. He’d always preferred the chilly temps of his mom’s cabin in the woods. Putting a Tully’s K-Cup in his Keurig, he waited for his mug to fill. Taking a sip, he carried it to the wall of windows and stared down at the water below. Houseboats rocked gently on Lake Union, and he had to smile. Ever since he’d seen Sleepless in Seattle, one of his mother’s favorite movies, he’d sworn if he ever moved to Seattle he’d own one of those houseboats. His Realtor had been toiling for months to find the right one. So far, no luck, but Brick was a patient man. For now, he had to be content with his condo and the privacy it afforded his current lifestyle. He kept his place at arctic temps and never invited women over. He preferred an impersonal hotel room from which he could escape in the early hours, as he’d done this morning. He practically had a room on retainer in the luxury boutique hotel five minutes down the street. He was certainly on a first-name basis with everyone who worked there. Brick rubbed his eyes, wishing he hadn’t caved to his teammates’ insistence he party with them, but he’d never been one to turn down a chance to raise hell. Staying home was never an option. Brick had a reputation to maintain, and he needed his people, probably more than they needed him. After all, if he wasn’t fun-loving, beer-guzzling Brick, people wouldn’t like him. Even worse, he might have to spend time alone with only himself for company, and he probably wouldn’t like what he found. Better to be the shallow party boy everyone loved than the introspective, serious guy everyone avoided. The doorbell rang, rescuing Brick from a rare and unwelcome moment of personal reflection. He frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and he didn’t encourage uninvited guests. None of his hookups had a clue where he lived, and his teammates rarely visited because of the frigid temps, except Rush. His teammate was from Russia and didn’t notice how chilly Brick kept his condo. This person couldn’t be his buddy, though. Rush would still be passed out after a night of partying. He needed eight to ten hours of sleep, unlike Brick’s three- to four-hour requirement. Perplexed, Brick took two steps toward the door and paused. Usually, he had no qualms opening the door bare-ass naked, but some sixth sense stopped him this time. “Just a minute,” he shouted, and strolled to the master bedroom. He dug around for a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Walking back to the entryway, he looked in the peephole and saw nothing. His condo door opened to the outside, rather than into a hallway with a secure entry. That’d never bothered him before. He could handle himself in a fight. Yet something felt off. Those same instincts that alerted him where the puck was when he couldn’t see it clanged warnings in his head. With his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated. Frowning, he glanced around for a weapon. An umbrella leaned against the wall. He grabbed it, then yanked open the door. Staring into the rainy Seattle afternoon, he saw nothing until he looked down. A little girl with long dark hair and huge brown eyes like an anime character rested her tiny hands on her hips and stared boldly up at him. He stared back, then glanced around for the mother. Tensing, he expected a gang of home invaders to emerge from the dreariness and force their way into his house. He saw nothing, except an old Toyota barreling out of the private parking area and down the street. What the fuck? “Are you lost?” he asked the little girl. She shook her head, still staring, as if she expected something from him. “Are you Mr. Brick?” “Yeah,” he said uneasily. “Daddy!” She launched herself at him, displaying incredible strength for one so small. He staggered back against the wall as she grabbed on to his leg and hugged him tightly. Brick managed to regain his balance and extricated his leg from her tight grip. Placing his hands on her thin shoulders, he held her at arm’s length. Daddy? A shot of fear stronger than the hundred-proof vodka he’d indulged in last night burned down his throat. “Where’s your mother?” His uneasy feeling dialed up higher. “In heaven.” The little girl’s expression flipped from happiness to sadness faster than the flick of a light switch. She picked up a raggedy doll and hugged it to her. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Uh, okay. I’m sorry to hear that. Where do you live?” She craned her head around him and looked into his house. “With you.” He felt as though he’d been dropped into the twilight zone. “With me?” he croaked. “Yes, with you.” She nodded with absolute certainty. “Uh, I don’t know who put you up to this, but I don’t have any kids.” This had to be a scam to get money out of him. Or one of his teammates had concocted an elaborate joke. Once again, he looked for an adult skulking near the stairs. “Yes, you do.” She narrowed her eyes and studied him, scowling as if she’d found him lacking. She held out an envelope. It was smudged and wrinkled as if it’d been clutched in her hands for a long time. He stared at it, not wanting to take it and feeling as if the bottom was about to drop out of his charmed life. She shoved it toward him, and Brick accepted it with a shaking hand. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out a coffee-stained piece of paper. Mr. Bricker, I’m dying of cancer, and my granddaughter is all I have left. Her mother has gone to heaven, and that’s on you. I only have a short while left to live. By the time you get this, I’ll be dead. I don’t want Macy in foster care. I have asked a friend to deliver her to your house upon my death. She is your daughter, and she deserves to have all the things you can afford to give her. Please take care of her and love her. You owe us that. Sincerely, Sue He scowled. This had to be a scam. “How old are you?” “Five.” He did the math quickly in his head. He’d been playing on a major junior team in Vancouver, his hometown around the time she’d been conceived, and he hadn’t lacked female companionship. He thought back six years but couldn’t recall anyone who stood out, not that his lack of memory meant anything. He couldn’t recall the names of the women he slept with last night, either. And he’d spent a lot of his late teens and early twenties in a drunken haze on non-game nights. He read the letter again, stumbling over the sentence her mother has gone to heaven, and that’s on you. On him? Why would this stranger’s death be on him? Had she been some crazy stalker fan who’d committed suicide? Surely he’d have heard about it. At the least, his agent would’ve told him. Her accusation probably meant nothing. He was reading too much into it. He ran his hand through his close-cropped hair and blew out a sigh. He needed to call his attorney and his agent immediately. They’d know what to do. In the meantime, what the fuck did he do? He didn’t want a kid. They were okay, and he got along fine with them at signings and shit like that, but he wasn’t father material. Thank God, she probably wasn’t his. Though he had to admit, there was a resemblance, which made his blood run cold. Really cold. She looked like pictures he’d seen of his sister at that age. And those eyes… Damn, those huge eyes could melt the most strongly barricaded heart. “Uh, why don’t you come in while we straighten this out?” She nodded and tried to lug a battered suitcase as large as her inside. Brick took it, and she ran ahead of him, dragging the doll by one arm. She stopped and surveyed the living room. Frowning, she hugged herself and shivered. “You can’t afford heat, either?” she asked. “Huh?” “My granna couldn’t afford heat so it was always cold in her house, too.” “I, uh, can afford heat.” He was at a loss for words. “I’m cold.” Her lower lip puffed out in an unmistakable pout. She was a demanding little thing. “I’ll fix that.” Brick hurried to the thermostat before she could do something scarier than shit, like throw a tantrum or, heaven help him, cry. He raised the temp from fifty-five to seventy and also turned on the gas fireplace. “Thank you.” She sounded so adult, as if she’d lived ten lifetimes in five years. Brick didn’t form connections with people, not real ones, but something about her tugged at a deeply hidden vulnerability he hadn’t known he had. Walking to the massive stone fireplace on one wall, she sat on the hearth as it flared to life. Brick wiped his brow, overheating already. “What’s your last name, honey?” he asked, hopeful this could all be cleared up with a few phone calls. “Bricker, like yours.” “What about your granna? What was her name?” “Granna.” Sighing, he reached for his cell. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” “Are you going to send me away?” He froze in midstride. “I—uh—uh—” There went that tug again, harder this time, even a little painful. “Granna said you would take care of me, but I didn’t believe her. No one wanted me but Granna and Mommy. Now they’re both gone.” This was getting worse and worse. Brick didn’t need this complication in his footloose-and-fancy-free life. But he couldn’t send the child to foster care. He’d never been in foster care himself, but he’d had friends who were, and he wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone. “I’ll be right back.” She gazed up at him, clutching her doll to her chest. Tears filled her luminous eyes, and one dribbled down her cheek. The tug turned into a hard yank. Oh, crap. Before he did something stupid, he hurried to the bedroom, dialing his phone as he walked. His agent shared his time between Seattle, where he had a huge number of clients, and sunny California. Just so happened he was in Seattle right now. “Al,” he said before Al could get one word in. “Ah, Brick, my man. What’s up?” “I have a fucking problem.” “You always have fucking problems. What psycho woman did you piss off now?” “I wish it were that simple.” Al started laughing as if he were looking forward to Brick’s pain. “Get your ass over here. I need you.” Brick didn’t wait for an answer and hung up. He sank onto the edge of his bed and buried his head in his hands, suddenly feeling much older than his twenty-six years. * * * * When Brick returned to his living room, Macy was running around his kitchen island, arms outstretched as she unraveled a roll of paper towels while making barking sounds. She skittered around him, yapping like the obnoxious poodle his aunt Hazel once had. The sound grated on his nerves, which were already frayed. “Stop.” She didn’t stop, only raised her voice until the barking neared ear-splitting decibels. He prayed Al showed up soon and rescued him from this particular hell. The doorbell rang, and he bolted, tripping over the paper towels wrapped around his legs. Macy was one step ahead of him. Right before his eyes she transformed from a one-child wrecking crew to a sweet little princess with a cherubic smile. She yanked open the door. “Hi,” she shouted in her piercing little-girl voice. “I’m Macy. Do you want to have a tea party with me and Daddy and Simone?” She raised the doll upward in one hand. Al’s eyebrows shot all the way to his hairline. A slow, devious smirk spread across the bastard’s face. “Daddy?” “I, uh, uh.” Al laughed and knelt in front of the little girl. “Hey, honey, I’m Al. I’d love to play with you and Simone, but your daddy and I have a few things to discuss. Do you think you could sit over there like a good little girl and watch TV for a few minutes?” “Okay.” She skipped to the couch. “How do you turn it on?” Brick let out a sigh and flipped on his eighty-inch UHD flat screen. He scrolled through the channels until he found a children’s station, then quickly retreated to the relative safety of the kitchen. “You gotta help me.” Al grinned a toothy, wholly unsympathetic grin. “You think? I’m your agent, not your babysitter.” Brick glared at him. “She’s not my child.” “She thinks she is.” Al was entirely too amused. “I need your help. I’m desperate. I can’t have a kid here.” Al chuckled and glanced at Macy, who was singing along to the TV. “Care to explain what’s going on? You were childless when I talked to you yesterday.” Brick filled him in, ignoring the bastard’s growing amusement. “Here’s the note.” Al looked it over with a shrewd agent’s eye. “Interesting. Any idea who the mother might be?” “You’re shitting me, right?” Brick growled, forcing himself to keep his frustration at bay and his voice low. “It might be an important part of the puzzle.” “Can’t you find out where she came from? I pay you to clean up my messes.” “Not enough.” Al threw back his head and laughed. “This isn’t funny. You gotta help me.” Brick’s gaze was drawn to the little girl sitting on his couch singing to her doll. His gut clenched, and he swiped at his sweaty brow. “Okay, I’ll get my PI friend on this. Find out any existing relatives. See if I can get a picture of the mother. We’ll run a DNA test, but that’ll take time.” Al switched into troubleshooting agent mode, even though his mouth still twitched with amusement. “I don’t have time. The regular season is under way. I have a road trip in two days, and I can’t have a kid living here.” “It’s not like she’s a stray cat you can dump off at an animal shelter.” Al pointed out the obvious and drew a well-deserved scowl from Brick. “And most likely she is yours. She looks like you.” Brick scowled all the more. “I always wear a condom.” “Condoms fail.” “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” Brick groaned and dropped his ass onto a dining room chair. He searched his memory, trying to recall any condom malfunctions. Yeah, there had been a few incidents during bouts of rambunctious sex, but he couldn’t begin to remember those women’s faces. Al sat across from him. “Let’s see what the DNA test says. If she’s not yours, we’ll call Child Protective Services.” “And if she’s mine?” His agent’s smirk was downright annoying. “Then welcome to the world of the single dad.” “What the fuck do I do with her in the meantime?” Brick scrubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He lived a charmed life. Everything always went his way. “For starters, clean up your language.” Al snorted and leaned back in his chair. “I can’t take care of a kid. I have a life. I play hockey. I’m gone half the season.” “Real-world problems, my man. Real-world problems.” “You’re not helping any.” “Since when do my duties involve family matters? Be lucky you only have one—so far.” Brick shuddered. “Don’t say that.” Al snickered and winked. “Good luck. I’ll call your attorney, make sure housing this child is legal and all.” He stood and headed for the door. Brick leaped to his feet and followed him. “You can’t leave me like this.” Al waved at the little girl, completely engrossed in some kid’s show. “Bye, Macy.” She waved back. “Bye, Uncle Al.” “Uncle Al?” This kid was making way too many presumptions. “I like the sound of that.” Al opened the door. “You’d better get cracking. You have a road trip in two days.” “Where am I going to find a nanny in two days?” Brick groaned. He’d always avoided responsibility outside the rink, and an instant child was way too much responsibility. “I noticed a day care a few blocks down the street. Ask them.” With those parting words, Al left Brick to fend for himself. Glancing at the child, Brick considered his options. She smiled at him, and he swallowed around an odd lump. He managed a smile back. He could dial his mother. She’d know what to do. She’d probably travel from Vancouver tomorrow and take this kid off his hands. His stepfather, Rick, wouldn’t mind. He loved kids. If only his mother had married him while Brick had still been living at home, maybe his teen years wouldn’t have sucked so much. Brick slunk into the kitchen so Macy couldn’t hear him. “Mom?” “Hi, honey, how are you?” “I’m not so good.” “Oh God, Marty, what did you do now?” “I didn’t do anything. Not exactly.” He hedged, trying to come up with a way to break this to his mother. He decided on honesty and ran through the entire story. When he finished, silenced reigned. “Mom?” “I’m a grandmother?” He couldn’t tell if she was pleased or pissed. “I’m not sure. We need to do a DNA test.” “Who leaves a child on a stranger’s doorstep and disappears?” His mother sounded indignant. “I don’t know. That’s the least of my worries. I need help. I have a road trip coming up. Could you come to Seattle tomorrow and get her?” Another long silence. “Mom?” He wasn’t feeling too good about his odds right now. She blew out a long-suffering sigh only his mother could produce. “It pains me to say this, but no.” “What?” Surely he hadn’t heard her correctly. “You heard me, young man. Did you forget Rick and I are leaving in a few hours for a month and a half in Europe?” “Uh, yeah.” He hated to admit he’d forgotten. He’d been so focused on his surprise, he’d spaced on their trip. She sighed. “You’re not the only person in this world with plans, Marty.” As if he hadn’t heard that before. “I know.” “I agree. With your schedule and not having a wife or steady girlfriend, it’d be next to impossible to raise a young child. Let me discuss this with Rick, and we’ll see what we can do when we get back, assuming she’s yours. This problem is your responsibility for now.” Leave it to his mother to be pragmatic about the situation. “But—” “I have to go now. I’ll call you in a few days and see how you’re doing. I can’t wait to see my granddaughter when we get back.” The phone went dead. Brick felt a tug on his sweats. “I’m hungry.” The little girl looked up at him with the biggest, most innocent cocker spaniel eyes, and who could resist a cocker spaniel? His hardened heart cracked a little, and he shored it up with mental duct tape. He wouldn’t fall prey to this child. She couldn’t stay with him. He tried another number. His sister would help. All he had to do was text her a picture, and she’d fall in love, as she did with every stray animal. Nona answered. “Hey, Brick, to what do I owe the pleasure?” “How’s my favorite sister?” “I’m your only sister. What’s up?” “Just called to see how you were.” “No, you didn’t.” He was guilty as charged of calling his sister only when he needed something. Brick pulled out all the stops. “Ah, Nona, seriously. What’s wrong with me wanting to have a conversation with my sister?” “Nothing’s wrong with it other than you never call me just to talk, so fess up, Marty.” Brick groaned. “Okay, I admit it. I need your help. Desperately.” “Oh, really.” He could hear her devious wheels turning as she calculated what he might possibly be calling for and how she could use it to her advantage in their friendly, ongoing sibling rivalry. “Yeah, really,” he said gloomily. “Daddy, can I have some milk?” The little urchin stared up at him with pleading eyes. “Daddy? Did I hear that right?” His sister’s voice came through loud and clear, as did the restrained laughter. “Is that your problem?” “Yeah, found her on my doorstep this afternoon.” “Are you kidding?” Brick made his way to the refrigerator and poured Macy a glass of milk. She thanked him and returned to her TV. Certain she was occupied, he relayed the story to his sister, who was dying of laughter by the time he’d finished. Why people found his predicament so hilariously funny was beyond him. “And what do you expect me to do?” “Come and get her. I have a road trip in two days.” “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re the one who can’t keep it in your pants. Welcome to adulthood, baby brother. I’m in graduate school. I don’t have time for a child. And Mom’s leaving on her trip.” “I know,” he answered grumpily. Nona erupted with more laughter. The women in his family had no appreciation for the dilemma he was in. “You could always call Dad and Liz. You know how touchy-feely our beloved stepmother is.” Brick shuddered. He knew all right. The woman could melt a hole in an ice rink with one glare. As desperate as he was, he’d never subject a child—any child—to that cold, calculating bitch. “Never mind. I’ll deal with this myself.” He sighed and disconnected the phone, his sister’s laughter still ringing in his ears. Macy yawned, and Brick realized with a guilty start she’d probably had a long, tiring day, even though it was early evening. “Time for bed.” “I don’t want to go to bed.” She screwed her face up into a nasty scowl worthy of Ice, the Sockeyes’ surly defenseman. “Sorry, but you need some rest.” He was so not cut out for this parenting shit. He could leave her to her own devices. He was tired, even if she wasn’t. He must be getting old. Partying all night never used to wear him out, but last night’s binge had taken a toll. “No.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her little chin. Her belligerence wore on his patience. “Please, Macy, it’s been a long day for both of us.” They stared each other down, but she was out of her league. He could stare down the best of them. Finally, she looked away and stuck out her lower lip, which quivered. “Okay.” Brick didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. He grabbed the suitcase and led her to the guest room. He showed her the adjoining bathroom. She stood near the bed and rubbed her eyes. Her attitude had dissipated, leaving a scared little girl so alone in the cold, cruel world. Brick stood in the doorway, praying she didn’t cry. “Do you need help getting ready for bed?” She shoved her knuckles in her mouth and shook her head. “Okay, well then, good night.” Drawn by emotions he couldn’t begin to explain, Brick crossed the room, knelt down, and gave her a hug. Her little arms went stiffly around his neck. He blinked several times, finding his eyesight a little blurry. Sitting back on his haunches, he held her shoulders. “It’ll all be okay. I promise.” She sniffed and nodded, gazing at him with disbelieving brown eyes. Not liking how close to the surface his own feelings were, he rose to his feet. “Good night.” Her little voice wavered, and Brick got the hell out of there. He turned down the heat, stripped off his clothes, and crawled into bed. He sank into the welcoming mattress and closed his eyes. Only sleep didn’t come. He was an asshole. A big asshole. Instead of comforting this scared child who’d been abandoned on his doorstep, he’d run like a coward. Sure, he’d hugged her, but he could’ve done more. Brick stared into the darkness for God knew how long. Finally, he got out of bed, threw on a robe, and walked down the hall to the guest bedroom. He listened at the door and heard nothing. Cracking it open, he peeked inside. Macy lay under the covers, her doll clutched tightly to her. Her eyes were shut. He walked closer and stared down at the cherubic face. She was a pretty little thing and would be a beauty by her teens, requiring her father to sit on the front porch with a shotgun to scare off the boys. He shuddered at the thought, not because he’d pictured himself hefting that gun, but because he knew what teenage boys were capable of. He reached down and brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. Tenderness welled up in his chest, leaving him momentarily incapacitated. When she’d thrown her arms around him and called him Daddy, he’d lost his sanity for a split second and almost wished it were true. But it wasn’t, and he wasn’t fit to be any child’s father. Brick backed away, fighting a surprising paternal urge to care for and protect this child. What the fuck was wrong with him? About the Author: USA Today Bestselling Author Jami Davenport writes sexy contemporary and sports romances, including her two new indie endeavors: the Game On in Seattle Series and the Madrona Island Series. Jami’s new releases consistently rank in the top fifty on the sports romance and sports genre lists on Amazon, and she has hit the Amazon top hundred authors list in both contemporary romance and genre fiction multiple times. Jami ranked Number Seven on Kobo’s Top Ten Most Completed Authors, an honor bestowed on the year’s “most engaging” authors based on an average page completion rate by their readers. Jami lives on a small farm near Puget Sound with her Green Beret-turned-plumber husband, a Newfoundland cross with a tennis ball fetish, a prince disguised as an orange tabby cat, and an opinionated Hanoverian mare. Jami works in IT for her day job and is a former high school business teacher. She’s a lifetime Seahawks and Mariners fan and is waiting for the day professional hockey comes to Seattle. An avid boater, Jami has spent countless hours in the San Juan Islands, a common setting in her books. In her opinion, it’s the most beautiful place on earth. Connect with Jami! Subscribe to my newsletter to receive a free novel and be notified of new releases, special sales, and contests: http://eepurl.com/LpfaL Website Address: http://www.jamidavenport.com Twitter Address: @jamidavenport Facebook Address: http://www.facebook.com/jamidavenport Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/jamidavenport/ Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1637218.Jami_Davenport