#me want to lay on the floor and wail like a toddler. its fucking hard enough to get my brain to fill out my timesheets. and i just streight

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[horuslupercal]

got asked on the Guilliman post so

How Primarchs Cry (To Me)

Lion: represses and represses and represses and then hides away in a closet squished into the corner like a cat on its deathbed but otherwise cries pretty normally. do not point it out to him. gets defensive if you point it out

Fulgrim: gets headaches from crying so hard. keeps a handkerchief nearby because his face gets all gross. at some point in every hardcore crying session he verbally says, "enough." because it annoys him

Perturabo: trying everything in his power to give off the vibe that he never cries. takes every breath very carefully to make sure it's silent, confidently strides off away from this shit (hides away), etc

Khan: is fine, is fine, is fine, and then he's laying in bed and suddenly has to bolt upright to cry into his hands because holy shit that's sure a wave of emotion. it's okay, it'll pass, but hooooly shit at this exact moment it hurts. doesn't want to be seen but it's not the worst thing in the world if he is

Russ: crawls under Freki and Geri like when they were pups and cries for a good while. at some point he rolls over and runs his hand over his face and then grabs one of his brothers around the neck for a wrestle session and he's either fine or he's fine enough to keep on keeping on

Dorn: goes to a private room, does the "I am in control of my emotions" like Spock in that one TOS episode, and then spins around and puts his fist through the wall. opens the door with a hole in the wall and his hair no longer perfectly coiffed and his face blotchy and red and tells you he wasn't crying

Konrad: either silently weeping or wailing like a banshee. never in between. he doesn't choose which.

Sanguinius: the only primarch who can pretty cry but only up to a certain level. at some point he starts screaming and wailing like a fox caught in a bear trap and doubling over in pain and his hair gets all stuck to his face

Ferrus: throws tantrums. doesn't collapse to the floor like a toddler but does start breaking things. makes fun of the reason for his upset -- the mid-funeral roast session in some au where Fulgrim dies pre-heresy would get him cancelled on twitter because it's the only way he can deal with something that shattering. I'm pretty sure I got that headcanon from @luwupercal actually

Angron: cries for all sorts of reasons. sometimes the nails make him cry, not because they hurt or because he hates them but just because they're directly fucking with his brain chemistry. that's the kind of passive cry where he's crying but it's not an event, it's just his tear ducts doing their thing. used to seek out comfort from his siblings in the pit when he was crying from emotion, now he flips tables and screams

Guilliman: an asthmatic pug caught in a plastic ring. gasping for air, sounds like he's being strangled, the works. sounds like he's dying

Mortarion: also sounds asthmatic, on account of the asthma. his tear ducts don't work right so he doesn't really "cry" so much as hyperventilate and occasionally dry heave

Magnus: the crying is what it is, the psychic crying is the real event. his aura gets real sticky and slow and sad, like syrup, and has a tendency to kind of. contaminate other people with his grief unless he specifically stops it from doing that. I feel like he cries when he's mad, too

Horus: sits down and covers his mouth with his hand and puts his elbow on his knee and cries like that. for some reason I feel like it's especially weird for the luna wolves to see him cry -- it's always weird to see your parent cry, but it's extra weird for them and I'm not sure why. horus sitting on a couch crying with his head in his hands and two luna wolves sending panicked looks at each other 👍

Lorgar: compresses/hugs himself so hard he can't breathe, digs his nails into his skin, etc. we saw in the first heretic that he makes himself physically uncomfortable about grief and that's really stuck with me tbh. doesn't really.... know how to cry without also being in physical pain about it

Vulkan: bows his head and weeps, standing right where he is. weirdly bad at being okay with his own grief specifically -- he'll comfort a brother without issue, but his own makes him feel on edge and sedentary and he needs to move and do something and not stand here being sad, he needs to take action, he can't let it be sticky and slow

Corvus: repression king. he can't cry right now he's too BUSY. fuck this shit. and then there's a trigger and he shatters like a popsicle bridge with too much weight on it. the year of isolation before his departure definitely involved a blanket burrito

Alpharius Omegon: how do they need to cry for this scenario?

[randomdarksidersblog27]

'Sly,stay here and don't come out till I tell you alright?' Conner told his young son. Sly whimpered,reaching for his father.

'B-but Daddy! They'll hurt you!' The small raccoon cried,trying to grab the adult and pull him to safety. Conner just smiled knowingly,hugging his son. Possibly for the last time.

'I'm willing to risk that if it means keeping you safe Sly.....I love you.'  Conner said before he closed the closet door. He faced the intruders and prepared himself. He just hoped they didn't find his son.......Last he heard was Sly crying and calling him.

'Daddy!'

'Daddy-Daddy! Daddy! ' Conner woke with a start,staring at -

"Sly!" The four year old beamed at him,giggling.

"Daddy! You were talking in your sleep again silly head!" The gray raccoon chirped,nuzzling his father. Conner held Sly close to his chest,heart racing. It had all been a dream? No....no....a memory. Somehow he managed to survive the attack and the Fiendish Five were beaten and arrested. Conner had gone to the hospital and stayed for a good few months,causing Sly to be put in the Happy Places Orphanage until his father was released. That had been the hardest thing Conner ever had to go through. His poor baby boy,alone in that slum of a place. This was the first week that he had Sly back,and like hell Conner was gonna let go.

"Sorry 'bout that pumpkin. Daddy was just......remembering things. How are you this morning,are you hungry? What do you want to do today?" Conner asked as he sat up,Sly fitting in his lap like a puzzle piece.

"Can I go see Murray and Bentley? Pleeeeease?' Sly begged,big brown eyes pleading.

"Who?" Conner asked,raising a brow.

"Bentley and Murray! They're my friends I made in the orphananage!" The young raccoon happily chimed,beaming brighter than the sun.

"Oh? I'm happy you made friends,but.....I don't think we can go see them? Not unless we make an appointment." Sly frowned.

"Why?" The older raccoon shifted,sighing.

"Because. That's how they get adopted." He explained. That wasn't the right thing to say,as Sly's whole face lit up and he started to bounce like he had eaten mounds of sugar.

"CAN WE ADOPT THEM? CANWECANWECANWECANWE?" He yelled. Conner groaned,his head starting to ache.

"Sly,sweetie,no.....I can't adopt them. Its a long process,and I don't think they'd like me anyway." He tries to reason. His son looked disappointed and sadly slinked off his lap,disappearing into the hallway. Conner thunked his head against the bedframe. Why did he feel like this would bite him in the ass?

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The next few weeks were full of Sly not so subtly leaving notes and hints of adoption around the house. Pamphlets in the cereal,single sheets of 'why adoption is the answer' on the coffee machine,even cute little drawn family portraits of Conner,Sly,and who he assumed were Bentley and Murray holding hands left by his computer,the toilet,just.....anywhere. This was NOT something Sly was going to drop was he?

It came to a head one night,as Conner finished cooking and went to the table,only to find it set for four. Conner sighed and put the meal in the middle of the table,calling for his son.

"Sly Thatcher Cooper! Get down here now!" He called upstairs. He heard the small boy coming down the stairs and waited for him,arms crossed. Sly saw the table,then looked at his father with hope.

"Uh....surprise?" He said shyly. Conner sighed again,rubbing his temples.

"Sly,sweetheart......You need to understand,we can't adopt. We can't invite more people to our lives,they might not be able to catch up. We are THIEVES Sly. We can't AFFORD to have a hippo and a turtle with us,they can't do what we do. I'm so sorry honey,I truly am." He said,kneeling beside his son and laying a hand on his shoulder. Sly looked at his dad,heartbroken. He began to breathe irratically,eyes welling up with tears. His hands curled into fists and his lower lip wobbled. It was at this moment Conner knew,he fucked up.

Piercing wails filled the house,possibly heard for miles. The paintings on the walls shook,glasses rattled,cats on the streets hid! Sly was throwing his first ever true tantrum. And what a glorious tantrum it was. Crying,wailing,screaming at the top of his tiny lungs. He threw himself around on the floor,rolling around and just LOSING HIS ABSOLUTE COLLECTIVE MARBLES. Conner couldn't believe it. His perfect son,the most well behaved toddler he had EVER known,was losing his shit right in front of him. All because he wanted two orphans to join their family............he was so going to regret this wasn't he?

"-and that's how I convinced Dad to adopt you guys! I may say,it has been my finest work to date." Sly said as he sat cross legged on the rug,beaming at his audience. Bentley,shaking his head,patted Sly on the back.

"Sly.....I'm not sure that's true. Your finest work is when you seduced that one weird fellow at school into giving you the answers for the chemistry test." He said. Sly blushed,covering Bentley's mouth.

"Shhh! Don't let Dad hear you!"

"Don't let Dad hear what?" Conner said as he came into the room. Sly removed his hand,smiling innocently.

"U-uh,that Murray is hungry again!" He lied. Murray looked up from his magazine.

"I'm not hungry,I'm STARVING!" The hippo complained. Conner chuckled.

"Well,I was JUST about to come get you rascals for pizza. Care to join?" He asked,laughing hard when the three preteens scrambled to get out the door first. Sly was last,but he turned to his dad and hugged him suddenly. Conner hugged back,confused before Sly spoke.

"I just wanted to say thanks Dad........I have brothers now,and they're essential to the team.....thank you for adopting them and teaching them......I love you." Sly said. Conner chuckled and kissed his son's head.

"I'll admit,they've grown on me.....just promise me no more tantrums. People thought we had an earthquake from how hard you kicked the ground." The older raccoon joked. Sly blushed and stuck his tongue out before joining his father and brother's at the table. It was a mismatched family. A little broken,but still good.

Yeah. Still good.

@cooperific-aus I loved your AU of Conner rasing them.

[twittytelly]

An Unexpected Gain

Chapter Two – Bathroom Surprises

Colin Shea X Female Reader

Previously...

Series Masterlist

A/N:Hi! Remember when I said this was going to be a two-parter? I lied. This is going to be at least three parts.

Warnings: Swearing, slight sexual and vomiting references, idiocy.

Mood board by @imanuglywombat​

“Y/N?”

You were quickly pulled from your thoughts as Colin's voice reverberated through your apartment,  the aroma of pizza quickly hitting your nostrils. Had the pizza from Seb's always smelt so strongly, or was this some weird pregnancy thing? You pushed the thought to one side, as you got up from where you had installed yourself on the bathroom floor, regretting ever giving Colin a key so he could stop by whenever he wanted.

“I'll be out in a minute.”

You looked in the mirror and cleaned yourself up, trying your very best to conceal the fact that you had spent the past few hours sobbing on the bathroom floor. It was pointless. You looked like shit. Your eyes and nose were red, you had dark circles under your eyes and to top it off you were green around the edges from the nausea. Wasn't this meat to be MORNING sickness? Taking a deep breath you failed to still the five million thoughts that were racing through your brain. You knew that you had to tell him, but you rationalised that you needed a day or two to process this – what use would it be if you were both freaking out?

Using every ounce of courage within you, you slowly exited the bathroom and made your way to the living room, where Colin was waiting for you with the offending pizza and your favourite beer. You would've been touched by the gesture if you were not internally freaking out over how you would have to explain not being able to drink it. Before you had time to think too much, Colin looked up, his happy-go-lucky smile turning into concern.

“Is everything okay Y/N?”

Despite your resolve to try and keep it cool, you couldn't help but to break down, the tears you were trying to force back were now running amok down your cheeks. Concern turned to worry as Colin got up from his seat, making his way towards you.

“Oh Y/N” he said dejectedly, wrapping his arms around you. You couldn't help but melt into his embrace as you sobbed into his shoulder. Colin wordlessly comforted you as he held you tightly, swaying you from side to side. You couldn't help but imagine him doing this with a small bundle of blankets as  it wailed in the middle of the night. Eventually the sobs decreased into whimpers and Colin pulled away from you. Placing his fingers under your chin, he gently lifted your face until your eyes met his bright blue eyes, as they silently probed you for an explanation.

“I've had a really weird day and I feel like shit,” you truthfully explained, praying he wouldn't question you further. “And I'm really sorry, but I'm really not in the mood to do anything tonight -  if you want to go I won't be offended,” You said apologetically, before quickly adding on “not that you could ever want me when I look this horrendous.”

Hurt flashed across Colin's face as he placed both hands on either side of your face. One hand started to wipe away the last few straggling tears, while the other tucked a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. “Y/N our arrangement is more than just the sex. I love hanging out with you Y/N. You really mean a lot to me” he confessed. “You know I'm always gonna be here for you if you ever wanna talk abut anything or you need a shoulder to cry on” he affirmed, giving you that same small sympathetic smile he had given you many months ago on that fateful night in the bar.

“Thanks Colin” you said, returning the smile as he brought you into a bear hug, the butterflies beginning to swarm in your stomach. “And for the record, you always look so beautiful” Colin said quietly. You were convinced that you heard the smallest hint of vulnerability in his voice. Your heart started to thud against your chest, and you hoped that Colin couldn't feel it. No. You must have imagined it. You broke away from the hug and looked into his eyes. Everything inside of you was screaming to tell him the whole truth, but you ignored it.

“You're always such a charmer,” you joked, now desperate to move on from this before you spilled it all. Colin chuckled but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

“Well if you're not feeling well, why don't we eat this pizza and drink this beer while we watch something light-hearted on Netflix” he suggested. You nodded in agreement, walking into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water before settling next to him on the sofa. Luckily he didn't question this or the fact that you were only able to stomach a couple of slices of pizza. He soon put his arm around you as you noticed that he had put on your favourite rom-com, a film that you had told him few weeks ago never failed to cheer you up. Had he remembered this or was this purely a coincidence?

You tried your hardest to concentrate on the movie, but your brain was still running at a thousand miles an hour as you tried to figure out what to do next. Colin could tell you were still on edge and drew you closer to him, fingers tracing shapes on your thighs. You let yourself relax into him and you marvelled at how easy it was to just sit in silence together. Soon enough the credits were rolling, but you were not ready for Colin to leave.

“Stay with me-don't think I wanna be alone p-please” you sputtered. For some reason you felt completely exposed. You usually didn't have any problem telling Colin your deepest desires, but this was different. Despite you not telling Colin about your situation you couldn't help but feel that something had shifted between you.

“Of course” he smiled as if it was obvious that he was going to stay with you. As you turned off the TV he got up from the sofa and held out his hand for you. Nervously you took it and let him lead you to your bedroom. As he stripped down to his boxers and you changed into your comfiest pyjamas, you couldn't help but feel how intimate this was. Sure you hadn't even kissed, but there was something oddly domestic about this. The pair of you climbed into the bed an snuggled up to each other. After exchanging your good nights, the air was soon filled with Colin's gentle snores.

As you lay awake you couldn't help but imagine various different scenarios. Colin's hands placed on your swollen stomach as he felt small kicks against your belly. Colin watching you adoringly as you fed a small baby in the early hours of the morning. Colin comforting a crying toddler as they climbed in between you, recounting their nightmares. You smiled at the images in your mind as Colin's warmth enveloped you and you succumbed to sleep.

-

Your alarm dragged you awake after the best night's sleep you had in ages. You grumbled as you turned the alarm off  and pulled yourself out of bed, careful not to disturb Colin. Colin's work in a local recording studio coupled with the fact he was often playing gigs late into the night meant that it was often nearly lunchtime by the time he'd get up. You made your way to the bathroom and had a shower. It was here you resolved to call in sick at work and go to the doctors. Talking about your options with someone impartial seemed like the most reasonable option and once you had figured things out, you would tell Colin everything; giving him the space to be as involved as he wanted.

You were making breakfast, when Colin emerged from your room. You couldn't help but grin to yourself as you noticed how adorable he was half-asleep with his short, brown bed-hair all over the place. Colin looked at you and gave you a sleepy smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Would you mind if I used your shower?” he asked sheepishly.

“No, go ahead.” You replied turning back to the kettle to finish making tea for the both of you.

However as soon as you heard your bathroom door close it sprung open again as Colin rushed back to your bedroom. He was power-walking to your front door cradling his clothes in his arms.

“Sorry just remembered that I have to be somewhere.” he rushed and before you had a chance to respond, your front door slammed shut and he was gone. You thought it was a bit odd, but you brushed it aside; it was not the first time Colin had forgotten an early morning recording session. Besides, you had more pressing matters to think about.

-

Later that day, you returned home from your doctors appointment; a weight partially lifted from you. Talking things through with the doctor had helped with your anxieties; but what had cemented your desire to keep the baby was hearing the heartbeat during the scan. You couldn't help but cry again, but this time they were happy tears. But now came the hard part. Telling Colin. As you racked your brains about the best way to tell him a wave of nausea hit you and you sprinted to the bathroom.

You were trying to get the vile after taste out of your mouth by brushing your teeth, when something out place caught your eye. You turned to put the item back in its place when you froze, a wave of terror crashing over you.

“Oh no, no, oh fuck no!” You exclaimed to no one. It was the pregnancy test. That's why Colin had acted so strangely and left so suddenly! God why were you so stupid?!

Well that was it, you had to tell Colin now. You hoped he wouldn't be too mad at you for keeping this from him. Maybe if you explained to him that everything had happened in less than twenty-four hours he would understand. Clutching the picture from the scan you made your way to his apartment. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on his door. After what felt like a lifetime, Colin slowly answered the door in nothing but his boxer briefs.

“Hi” you said nervously, “do you mind if I come in? There's something that I need to talk to you about.”

Colin almost looked guilty as he opened his mouth, but before he could utter any words a female voice beckoned from his bedroom

“Are you coming back to bed Colin?” the voice asked seductively “you promised me a least one more round.” Horror spread across Colin's face.

“Y/N I can explain-”

“It doesn't matter” You interrupted “I think I might have made a big mistake.” Before Colin had the chance to respond you turned and ran back to your apartment, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill.

-

Thank u, next

-

Tag you’re it: @whiskey-cokenfanfic @mrs-captain-evans @captainrogerrspumpkinslut @supersoldiersruined-me @southerngracela @katiew1973 @kelbabyblue @amiquette

[princess-of-the-worlds]

high by the beach

To @misssophiachase. Happy Birthday, babe! You asked for something beach!AU. I kinda cheated and went with a beach resort au. I hope you like it!

Caroline pushes her over-sized sunglasses - yellow to match the bright flowers on her white bikini - further up on her forehead, frosty margarita in hand as she struts her way toward the hotel pool area. There are multiple pairs of eyes on her as she walks, and she arches her neck, enjoying the attention and appreciation. She didn’t work on all those ab crunches during fall and winter to cover her shapely body in baggy sweaters all year.

Someone wolf-whistles, and she shoots them a quick smile and a flirty wink.

She’s drawing closer to the pool now, able to spot Bonnie and the Petrova twins from where they’ve settled down over a cluster of pool chairs. And besides them is the last empty pool chair that’s under the shade of the palm trees that enclose the pool.

She tips her head back slightly, her face basking in the warm rays of the sun.

God, she deserves this vacation, what with all the overtime she had to work this spring to secure those reclusive but highly-popular authors that her bastard of a boss, Damon, kept driving away from their publishing house.

There’s a quiet chime from her phone, nearly inaudible over the loud chatter and splashes from the pool, but Caroline only hears it because her ears became so attuned to the familiar sound over the last few months.

It’s a message from the devil himself, Damon:

Blondie, N. Mikaelson just committed to us. We’re publishing his next bestseller.

Caroline experiences a brief thrill of excitement and triumph (N. Mikaelson was one of the authors she worked so hard to secure, emailing him extensively over the last six months), but it’s quickly overpowered by bone-deep exhaustion and a burning desire to get to her pool chair and shed off the stink of her five-hour long flight.

Except, when she glances back up from her phone, someone is now sitting in her pool chair.

“Fuck,” she hisses and storms towards the pool, bypassing Elena as she begins to wave hello.

She’s practically vibrating with fury by the time she arrives in front of the pool chair and lays eyes on its occupant.

He’s a gorgeous, gorgeous man. Sandy curls that are mussed fashionably. Dimples. An aristocratic nose. And that torso, oh that muscular torso with the faint golden hairs that trail downwards before disappearing into his navy shorts.

But that doesn’t matter; none of that matters. Not when he’s the bastard who stole her pool chair.

The man in question, when he notices her standing over him and glaring, raises his sleek black Ray-Bans to reveal inquisitive dark blue eyes that trail slowly over Caroline’s body. “May I help you, sweetheart?” he drawls, flashing her a brilliant but arrogant smirk.

“No, you may not,” Caroline rages, bristling, and the man’s eyebrows raise. “The only thing you can do, and should do, is get off that pool chair because it is mine!”

He chuckles in response, turning to exaggeratedly search the chair. When his eyes return to meet Caroline’s gaze, they are highly amused, and she huffs with irritation. “Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asks softly. “Your name’s not on it.”

“Ugh!” She resists the urge to stomp her feet and wail like a toddler. “I had my eye on it! It’s right next to my friends.” Caroline gestures toward Bonnie, Elena, and Katherine, all who are watching her and this hot but aggravating man with curiosity.

“But you didn’t leave your belongings here or even ask your friends to drag the chair closer,” the man tells her, raking a hand through his messy hair. “Thus, I don’t think the finders-keepers principle applies here. Next time, do try to be faster.” His smirk only grows wider.

“Look here, buddy,” Caroline starts. “I have had a long day. My plane was late, and there was a baby kicking my seat the entire time. All I wanted to do was unwind by the pool, margarita in hand.” She gestures to the now-liquid drink in her other hand. “Give me the fucking pool chair.”

“Now, I have a proposition for you,” the man begins, but Caroline never gets to hear it because, at the exact moment, a stunning blonde from the other side of the pool yells for a “Nik!”

The man groans, propping himself up and rolling his eyes when there’s another call for “Nik.” Turning to Caroline, he smiles slightly. “I guess you got lucky, sweetheart. Enjoy the pool chair.”

Caroline decidedly does not watch the man’s shapely ass as he retreats towards the blonde and smiles smugly as she slips into the pool chair, slides down her shades, and begins to sip her now-watery margarita.

“One of us is gonna get laid tonight,” Bonnie prophesizes as she, Elena, Katherine, and Caroline step inside the club.

“How can you be so sure?” Katherine asks slyly, arching her neck. She’s already making seductive eyes at a hot brunet across the dance floor.

Caroline rolls her own eyes. “I don’t care if she’s right or not. I just need to get laid.” She struts off, tossing her curls behind her.

Finding a guy to flirt with can come later. Right now, she just needs to lose herself on the dance floor.

Nearly an hour later, Caroline stumbles away and heads for the bar. Her head is aching from the flashing lights and the pounding bass, and her minidress is glued to her skin in random places from her sweat, the hemline creeping higher and higher up her bare thighs as she totters in her high heels.

“One strawberry spritzer,” she tells the bartender, leaning an elbow on the counter as she slides up onto a stool.

She taps her fingers restlessly on the counter as she waits, but within minutes, the bartender is handing the liquor-filled glass to her. Caroline tips him with a few loose bills from her clutch before slipping off the stool and making her way towards the dance floor.

Then she promptly collides with someone else, and her drink slips from her hand and spills all over herself.

“Fuck!” she cries, but her shriek is swallowed up by the volume of the dance floor.

“You really should watch where you’re going, sweetheart,” a familiar voice says as a hand presses down on her shoulder to steady her.

Caroline’s gaze shoots upwards.

“You,” she hisses. “You’re the bastard who stole my pool chair. You’re Nik!”

“So, I am,” he responds dryly. “And I see you’ve discovered my name.”

“Thank your girlfriend,” Caroline shoots back, and Nik groans, expression looking truly disturbed for a moment.

“Now, why did you have to go and do that, sweetheart?” Nik complains. “We were having a civil conversation. Rebekah’s my sister, not my girlfriend.”

She blushes slightly and begins to apologize, but her rage ignites again when her eyes dip down and catch a glimpse of the damage the drink has done. “You ruined my dress!” Caroline exclaims. “It was Prada!”

The white fabric is stained a reddish-brown, and there’s bits of chopped strawberry sticking to the neckline.

“I just bought it,” she adds mournfully, now too focused on the dress to pay heed to Nik.

“That stain will be near-impossible to remove,” Nik chimes in, mouth turned up in a frown. “I will admit that I am partly at fault since I glanced down at my phone for a moment and walked into you, but you too could have been looking up.”

“Fine,” she says shrilly without looking up, still prodding at the fabric. “We’re both at fault. But my dress is still ruined! What am I supposed to do now?”

Nik doesn’t answer, his fingers swiftly unbuttoning his dark-colored shirt. He shrugs it off, leaving him in a white undershirt that doesn’t look out of place with the rest of the attire in the club, and offers it to Caroline. “Here, sweetheart. Consider this my apology.”

“What?” Caroline is taken aback, mouth gaping open slightly. “I can’t just take your shirt. I’m a total stranger!”

“Sweetheart, we’ve already bumped into each other twice in the last two days at a resort that claims to be twice as large as Disneyland. You accused me of stealing your chair,” Nik tells her, chuckling. “We’re practically dating at this point. Now, just take the shirt, and when you get back to the hotel, ask for it to delivered to the room of Marcel Gerard.”

Nodding wordlessly, Caroline takes the shirt and slips it on, tugging it and adjusting it in a way that it covers the front of her dress. “Thank you,” she responds quietly, unsure of how to react now that her anger has faded away.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart,” Nik drawls, his playful tone smoothing some of Caroline’s awkwardness and tension. “I’m just making up for stealing your pool chair.”

Caroline regains enough of her composure to roll her eyes at Nik. “Finally!” she states triumphantly. “You admit it. You are a pool chair thief.”

“I guess I am.” Nik shrugs, his lips stretching into a mirthful smile. “Now that apologies have been made, are we familiar enough with each other that I will be able to ask for something quite daring? Perhaps your name?”

Throwing back her head to laugh, she prepares to answer, but Elena suddenly appears at her elbow, expression harried.

“Caroline, there you are,” the brunette says in relief. “We have to go. Katherine got in a bar fight with this guy who tried to follow her inside the women’s bathroom. Bonnie’s got her out front in a taxi. Let’s go.” She doesn’t even spare a glance for Nik.

Before Caroline can protest, she’s bundled off by Elena, barely managing to wave apologetically at Nik. “Sorry,” she calls behind her.

“Don’t be, Caroline,” Nik shouts back with a smirk, his accent caressing her name in a way that makes her sigh. “Knowing our luck, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

There’s knocking at her hotel room door, barely audible over the shower, but Caroline still turns the faucet to turn off the flow of water and slips a plush, oversized bathrobe on as she goes to open the door, pulling it wide enough open to stick only her head out.

“Good morning, Ms. Forbes,” the uniformed hotel worker says with a polite smile. “There was a note delivered for you from another guest.”

“Oh, um.” Caroline bites her lip, peering further out the door and down at the cream-colored envelope in the hotel worker’s hands. “I wasn’t expecting anything, but thank you.” She reaches and takes the envelope, smiling at the hotel worker as she closes the door and locks it.

She slips out the note and unfolds it as she returns to the bathroom.

In elegant but messy handwriting, it reads:

Caroline, I know that we have had few and brief interactions, but I would love to see you again. Please meet me tonight on the hotel room for dinner.

It’s signed by Nik.

Caroline gasps, her heart fluttering slightly. She didn’t expect Nik to ask her on a date even though they shared undeniable chemistry, but now that he has, she’s elated. Glad.

Well, looks like she’s cancelling her evening plans with her friends.

Caroline’s putting the finishing touches on her lip, blush-colored to match her peony-printed sundress, when her phone rings, startling her enough that she nearly smears her lipstick over her cheek. She quickly caps the tube and drops it none-too-gently onto the bathroom counter, hand scrabbling for her phone.

She flips it off, eyeing the contact name of her caller, and groans.

Stefan Salvatore

Stefan is Damon’s brother and his counterpart at the publishing firm. Caroline likes him; they’re friends who lunch occasionally, but every time Stefan calls out of the blue, it’s always related to something Damon fucked up and means more work for Caroline.

She swipes on her phone screen to accept the call, pressing it to her ear.

“Hey, Care,” Stefan says. “How’s your vacation going?”

It was fine until you called, she thinks.

“Get to the point, Salvatore,” she sighs. “You didn’t call me just to chat when you know I’m on vacation. What do you need?”

Stefan makes an apologetic sound. “Sorry, Care, but you’re going to have to cut your vacation short. Damon was fired, and we’re gonna lose N. Mikaelson to our rivals. We need you to come back.”

“Fuck,” Caroline cries, running her hand through her perfect curls and mussing them up. “I took this vacation after so many years. I worked so much overtime to get Mikaelson to sign on. We can’t lose him!”

“I know, Care,” Stefan tells her regretfully, “but there’s not much I can do. I’ve been up day and night for the past week trying to secure our other authors.”

“When did Damon get fired?” she asks slowly.

“The day you left,” Stefan admits. “I’m only calling you, because you’re our last resort. If we lose Mikaelson, two years of our hard work goes down the drain.”

“Fine,” Caroline sighs again. “When do I leave?”

“I bought a ticket for you. The flight leaves in an hour and a half. You have maybe an hour to get to the airport,” Stefan explains.

Shit. Even if she speed-packs, she’ll barely be able to make it to the airport. And Nik, oh Nik. She’s never going to make it to dinner, and she doesn’t know how to tell him that. She doesn’t have his phone number or even his full name.

“Care? You still there?” Stefan asks.

“Yup. Still here. Gotta go now. Have to pack. Bye.” She cuts the call and rushes to her suitcase, mind whirling.

Caroline may not know his phone number, but she knows a name for a hotel room that he’s connected to. She quickly flips the note over and grabs a pen, scribbling on the back of it.

Nik, I’m sorry, but something’s come up. I won’t be able to make dinner. Sorry, Caroline.

It’s two weeks after she was forced to leave her vacation early, and Caroline is exhausted in every sense of the word.

She’s spent most of her time since she returned from the resort in her office, sending frantic emails and chasing after N. Mikaelson’s team, and they’ve finally secured a meeting with the reclusive author himself today.

She should be triumphant, but her mind’s still fixed on a certain British man.

“Caroline,” Stefan says, drawing her attention away from the file she’s drearily gazing at. He smiles at her. “I can’t believe that this happening. We’ve worked all year for this.”

“I gave up my vacation for this,” Caroline mutters.

His expression becomes sympathetic, and he slides a comforting hand over hers. “Care,” he says, looking her in the eyes. “After this, you’ll be getting much more than a vacation. Damon’s position is still vacant. If they don’t promote you, I’ll eat my own shoe.”

“Don’t do that,” she jokes. “Your shoe is Italian leather, and you’re vegetarian.”

Stefan chuckles, reaching for a pile of stapled papers and straightening them. “Good to know,” he says just as there’s a quick knock at the door. “Come in.” He turns to Caroline and mouths It’s them.

She clears her throat with a cough, straightens up in her chair, and steels herself to meet N. Mikaelson.

The first man through the door is tall, broad-shouldered, brunet, and dressed in a stylish grey suit. “Good morning,” he says. “My name is Elijah Mikaelson, and I am my brother’s manager.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Caroline says as she stands and shakes Elijah’s hand. “And where would your infamous brother be?”

“Right here, sweetheart,” comes a familiar voice as Nik shoulders his way through the doorway, informally dressed in a grey Henley and jean. “My name is Niklaus Mikaelson. Klaus to most people. Nik to you. And I believe, Caroline, that you still owe me dinner.”

[ghostbustermelanieking]

everything changes but the sea

summary: He’d never once considered being a father. (extended backstory on CSM)

part of my series i rewrite as i rewatch txf. 3x24: talitha cumi, 4x07: musings of a cigarette smoking man, 4x23 demons (flashbacks). wc: 8k

note: this sprung from interest in the backstory hinted at in demons and talitha cumi/irritation that moacsm didn’t cover that instead of all that villian mary sue bullshit. warning for csm’s usual creepiness and bullshit. disclaimer: the views expressed in this fic do not at all resemble the views of the writer.

“It struck me as I was sitting here… everything changes but the sea.” -CSM, 3x24 Talitha Cumi

He’d never once considered being a father. Not after his father. Not after the criminal his old man had been. The orphanages he’d grown up in had turned him off of children permanently--all the loud shouting, sharp elbows in his face, sticky fingers and stifled sobs and unintentionally (or intentionally) knocking his books into the mud. He had no interest in that for the rest of his life; children had always seemed a burden. But somehow, inexplicably… it happened.

Bill Mulder had come back from leave, telling everyone that his wife was pregnant, and he’d known. He’d just known. He hadn’t had to call Teena for confirmation, hadn’t wanted to. Things were better, it seemed, if the baby remained Bill’s. No risk of embarrassment for either of them. He’d wanted to forget it, but had found it impossible. He found himself considering things in the middle of the night, lying awake with his thoughts stealing to Teena, the baby, as much as he tried to push them away. Bill had gone on leave again and returned, showing everyone pictures, the picture of an excited young father. Spender had dutifully looked at the snapshots of the new baby (who was staring at the photographer with huge dark eyes), thumped Bill in the back in congratulations. Waited till everyone was gone before muttering, “What a stupid fucking name.”

He tried not to think about it. He focused on his drills, on his books. Holed up in his hard mattress turning pages and didn't think of the baby. He didn't want to be a father. He didn't want to think of that night with Teena. He stayed focused, did his duty, told himself that Fox was Bill’s son and it didn't matter.

Bill invited him to come visit on their next leave, when the baby was six months old. He rode up the coast in Bill's car, the radiator rattling with military-like precision. Teena looked different than he remembered, hair falling over her face and hiding it from view as she bent to scoop up the baby. Her hair had been short when he'd known her, and now it was long and loose and wavy. She was a mother now, holding her baby gently and looking down at him before everyone else.

The baby was always crawling, always on the move. Once, he tugged Spender’s pants cuff, and Spender looked down on the baby with what he hoped was detachment. You're Bill’s son, he told the baby silently. He reminded himself that the baby had a stupid fucking name. The baby gnawed on his fist and stared up at him with the eyes he thought he could remember his mother having, a long time ago.

He could blend into the background of the house; Teena rarely, if ever, spoke to him directly, and they both seemed wrapped up in the baby. Spender did what he usually did and read a lot, feet propped up on the ottoman so he wouldn't block the baby's crawling paths. He shouldn't have come.

On his last night, he ran into Teena as she folded laundry in the living room. Bill had driven into town for some groceries. The baby was asleep. Teena didn't look up as he entered. “There's leftover chicken if you're still hungry,” she said briskly, crisping the edge of a sheet between her fingers.

“I'm fine, thank you.” He sat across from her, back ramrod straight, and lay his palms flat on his knees.

Teena sighed, wearily, and set the sheet down on the pile. “What do you want? I'm very busy.”

“I'm sure,” he said calmly. “Your son seems to be very healthy.” This seemed like an understatement to him; every time the kid cried, it was earsplitting to the point that the house seemed to tremble on its foundation.

Her shoulders tensed; she stared hard at the wicker laundry basket. “Thank you,” she finally replied, stiffly, as she folded a washed diaper.

“May I ask you a question?” She gave no indication of permission. He plunged on anyway. “Why Fox?”

“That is none of your business,” said Teena coldly.

“I think it's very much my business,” he tried. Teena still wasn't looking at him, routinely stacking diapers. “Teena.” He lowered his voice. “I assume he's mine. After that night…”

“That night never happened,” she hissed. “We agreed.”

“The timing is right, Teena.” He lowered his voice and used her middle name, the name she'd been trying out when he'd known her in college, the name he'd whispered to her that night. “Elizabeth…”

“He is my son,” she said firmly. “Mine. And that's the end of it.” She finally looked up, dark hair slipping around her face. She held his gaze with a cold steadiness.

Somewhere in the house, the baby started wailing. He winced delicately; the constant crying was terribly annoying. Teena got to her feet, scooping the diapers into her hands, and rushed down the hall. He could hear her soft soothing under the baby's sobs as he went back to the guest room. When they left in the morning it was early, before Teena or the baby were up.

It seemed easy to forget, after that. He threw himself into drills, his duties. He read books. He kept talking to Bill Mulder. Months passed, and before he knew it, he was being summoned to General Francis’s office.

“My one-year-old just said his first word,” Bill said as he stood to leave, and Spender shoved down the usual burn of jealousy (the origins of which weren't exactly clear). He hadn't even known the kid had celebrated a birthday yet.

Bill showed him the snapshot, of Teena holding the baby on her lap. “What was the word?” he asked, somewhere between politeness and actual curiosity.

“J.F.K.,” Bill said fondly. He smiled, and Spender smiled too. He wasn't sure why. He went to the office and accepted a top-secret assignment that would change the course of history, and thought about his son's first word as the details became clear. It was like a strange twist of fate, or destiny. Maybe his son subconsciously knew what his father was destined for.

He went back to the bunk to pack his things. “Where you going?” asked Bill from his bunk, sprawled across the scratchy blanket.

“Reassignment,” he said, latching his suitcase shut.

“Where to?”

“Classified.”

Bill made a sound of understanding, getting to his feet. “I think it's safe to say we'll all miss you around here,” he said, extending his hand. Spender took it, shook it. “Good luck.”

“You, too.” He thumped Bill on the back before stepping away. “Take care of that boy of yours, Mulder,” he said, lifting his bag off of the bunk. Bill nodded at him as he left.

Bill hadn't noticed when he'd grabbed the picture of Teena and the boy from the bedside table and stuck it in his suitcase. It was something.

---

Time passed. Bill and Teena had another child, one that was definitely not his. He spent the majority of his time in shadowy, smoke-choked rooms or in his shabby apartment, hunched over a typewriter. He kept the picture, even though the child had grown into a knobby-kneed toddler. Bill still seemed to consider him a friend. He was invited to visit the Mulders at Quonochontaug during the summer, and he accepted. He wanted to see the children and Teena; and besides that, his supervisors had an interest in Bill Mulder. “Particularly his children,” they told him. He didn't dare mention that they both weren't his.

He went to the seaside house at  Quonochontaug and was greeting by more crying, this time the higher shrieks of a little girl. Bill greeted him at the door with a strong handshake. “Good to see you,” he said heartily, motioning him in. “It's been too long.”

“It has,” he said, putting out his lit cigarette in the ashtray by the door. In the open door to the living room, he could see Teena pacing with a sobbing dark-haired baby on her shoulder. No emotion rose at the sight; he felt no connection to this one.

“Teena, he's here!” Bill called, leading him into the living room. Teena turned and forced a smile to the surface, but he saw the wary look on her face. The baby, whose crying had tamped off into hiccups, stared at him with big brown eyes, curls frizzing all over her tiny head, and he was reminded of how Fox had been bald, even at one. “This is Samantha,” Bill said proudly, reaching out to tickle her tiny bare foot. Samantha giggled, kicking and wriggling in her mother's arms. Of course, he thought, of course they'd give Bill's child a normal fucking name.

“She's very beautiful,” he said stiffly.

Teena narrowed her eyes and turned, saying, “She needs to go down for her nap,” as she went.

Bill waved goodbye to the baby before turning back to him. “Oh, and you haven't seen Fox in a long time, have you?”

“No,” he replied in that same stiff, polite voice. He hadn't see Fox in that long; he'd refused to spy like that. All he had was the stolen picture. “How old is he again?”

“Four,” Bill said proudly. “He's growing up so fast. He's probably off watching television somewhere…”

They went into another room and there he was, sprawled on the floor in front of the television and playing with what looked like army men. The kid looked up at them uncertainly, his eyes fixing on Spender. “Who’re you?”

He ignored the prickle of annoyance at the boy's words, and said, “A friend of your father's.”

“Mr. Spender is going to stay with us for a few days, Fox,” Bill was saying. “I expect you to be polite.”

He was watching the boy. His hair was as dark as Teena’s, his eyes the same as when he was a baby. The boy gave them an uncertain look before mumbling something of acknowledgement and sweeping over a line of army men with his arm, yelping loudly as he did so. Spender raised an eyebrow as he imitated explosions, tossing the little toys around. The television droned on in the background.

He turned and touched Bill on the arm. “Mulder, there's a business opportunity,” he said quietly. “The one I left the military for. One I think you'd be interested in.”

“What kind of opportunity?” Bill asked, watching the boy sing along to the theme song of the show that had just come on.

He didn't answer. He put his hands in his pockets and said, “You work for the State Department, right?”

Bill looked at him, then, face blank. “Let's talk outside,” he said finally. “I can show you the boat and the water skis.”

They talked down by the water until the sky was painted orange with the setting sun. Teena called for dinner and Bill called back that they would be inside in a minute. Nearly an hour later, she came out with the children. She held the baby on the porch while the boy ran around the yard, patting the baby's back and watching them instead of the boy.

Bill Mulder shook his hand just as the sun sunk under the horizon, and it was done. He wouldn't know the full details of the assignment until later.

In the darkening twilight, Bill went up to the porch to talk to his wife. He stood on the lawn and watched them argue, heads bent close together. Teena stood abruptly and went into the house, the baby asleep on her shoulder. Bill followed, the screen door smacking shut behind him. He watched, silence but for the sea churning before him. The sea, and the sudden ear-splitting cry behind him.

He turned and saw the boy on the pavement, sobbing like he hadn't grown any since the last time Spender had seen him. He drew closer, kneeling beside the boy and asking, “What happened?”

“My knee,” the kid wailed. Under the hand he had pressed to his knee, there was a slight trickle of blood.

Spender tapped the boy's hand in an indication to move it so he could see; when he didn't, Spender pulled the fingers back himself and studied it. Just a scrape. He'd seen a lot worse. “It doesn't look serious,” he said sternly.

“It huuuuurts.” The kid snatched his hand back and rubbed his eyes with his fists, sniffling. “Where's Mommy?”

“Fox, my goodness.” Out of nowhere, it seemed, Teena appeared and knelt on the other side of the boy. He latched onto her immediately, and she pulled back slightly to get a good look. “It's just a scrape, sweetheart, calm down,” she soothed immediately, smoothed his dark hair. The boy sniffled and threw his arms around her neck. She scooped him up and stood. She hadn't looked at Spender once.

“Lucky I was here,” he said, standing as well and brushing dirt off of his suit pants.

“Yes,” Teena murmured to the top of her son's head. “Fox, say thank you to Mr. Spender.”

“Thank you,” the boy sniffled into his mother's neck. Teena turned and carried him into the house.

He turned to watch the churning sea. Inside, he could hear the baby wailing.

Samantha and Fox. They had different fathers. And that, it seemed, would determine their fate.

---

When it was determined that he would be committing another assassination, he was already seeing Cassandra. Three days after his meeting, she showed up at his apartment in the midst of his work on his novel and told him she was pregnant.

A combination of excitement and worry flashed through his mind. This child would be his, someone he could raise--but his employers would certainly be interested in his child, watch his family the way they had watched other families. (He had a file full of names and addresses in his cabinet: the Browns. The Fowleys. The Hendricks. The Youngs. The Scullys. The Kryceks. The Mulders, of course; that was his assignment specifically.) It was inevitable; they'd have an interest in his child. The most he could hope for was to gain some control in the situation.

He proposed to Cassandra and promised to give her a ring and a house. He was called to a meeting the night later. His employees were interested, just like he'd known they would be. They didn't know that Fox Mulder was his, but they knew about Cassandra already. Incredible. He and Teena had hidden things well.

“We have an interest in this child, as I'm sure you know,” they said. “It's your duty, remember.”

“I know,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I'll agree, under one impression. I supervise. I'm the child's caretaker. They stay with me, the baby and Cassandra both, when they're not taking parts in experiments.”

They said, “You won't feel sympathy? Your bias won't come into play? You won't change your mind and take him away?”

“Duty comes first,” he said. “My child should be proud to serve our cause.”

“If you prove to be trustworthy,” they said, “we agree. But be warned. We'll be watching.”

He took a long drag off of his cigarette and said, “I know.”

It was a boy, another son. Cassandra named him Jeffrey. Looking at his son, he felt a rush of pride. Somewhere he had another son who was seven years old who he didn't know, who he only saw when he briefly visited Bill in Massachusetts or Rhode Island. Here was his new son, his son. Surely Cassandra wouldn't keep him from Jeffrey the way Teena had kept him from Fox. Surely things would be different.

He still had to do his work observing the Mulders, and it unfortunately wasn't something he could do with Cassandra and Jeffrey around. He and Bill were close because of work (they still hadn't told him that he'd have to give up one of his kids) and Bill had seemed more than open to the suggestion of the Spenders joining them at their summer house, but Cassandra didn't like the Mulders. The four adults had been to dinner, once, and the awkwardness had been palpable, especially between Teena and Cassandra, who'd never met. They were different as night and day, Cassandra light-haired where Teena was dark, Cassandra free-spirited and ditzy where Teena was serious. He hadn't dared told Cassandra that Teena was the mother of his other child. That would not go over well. He did what he could, encouraged Cassandra to make friends, but Teena was even less interested in the whole prospect than she was. It was useless. Still, he did what he could. Jeffrey and Cassandra would go and visit her mother in the summer, and he'd drive up to the Mulder summer house and spend a week or two with them.

Teena still distrusted him at first, but the more he was around (without acting too fatherly towards Fox), the more she loosened up. The three of them would spend hours out on the porch smoking and sipping wine. Teena didn't talk much, but the tenseness in her shoulders faded away until they both could laugh at Bill's stories. It was good, he thought, that they trusted him. It would help.

Fox grew into a gangly child through eight, nine, ten, who would disappear for hours outside with their black lab and reappear with a dirty face and scratches along his arms, waving a stick as he recounted his adventures to his mother. He and Bill didn't seem particularly close, however, and he never acknowledged Spender unless he had to. (Fox didn't seem to notice Spender watching him, almost out of the corner of his eye. He noticed what the boy was reading; he seemed to have an interest in science fiction. To say that Fox talked a lot was an understatement; he never shut up, rambling on at dinner, waving a forkful of potatoes or peas or chicken back and forth while his little sister whined about how she never got to talk. He watched the boy, looking for signs of himself or his other son or the mother he barely remembered. Looking for signs of pride.)

The little girl, Samantha, he barely noticed. She always wanted to tag along with her brother, but it usually ended in a yelling match and tears on Samantha's end. She played on her own a lot--dolls, make believe, riding her tricycle (and later bicycle) in the driveway and up and down the street, tea parties with her stuffed animals that she always begged her parents and brother to attend. She was bright-eyed and physically fit, exactly the type they'd be looking for. She'd skip around the house, shouting nursery rhymes in a sing-song tone until Spender thought his head would explode. Bill really, really loved her--more, maybe, than he loved Fox. He wondered if Bill knew, somewhere in his self-conscious. He knew, every time he looked at her, what awaited her if he had his pick. Samantha herself had no idea; she mostly ignored him but was nice enough, offering him plastic teacups full of water every now and then. Certainly politer than Fox was, he mused.

Mostly, the kids ignored him. He was “Daddy's friend”, who didn't talk to them and spent half the day in his room, typewriter click-clacking. Fox seemed a little suspicious of him, but it was only a little. When he arrived the year Fox was eight, the boy had come rambling up to his mother and talked at a rapid-fire pace. Teena had instructed him to say hello, and he'd ground out a rushed, “HelloMr.Spender,” before continuing to talk to his mother like he didn't exist.

His other son, Jeffrey, kept growing as well, and the older he got, the more clear it became that he was entirely like his mother. He had a serious demeanor that Spender saw in himself, but otherwise he was all Cassandra. They were the closest in the family, Jeffrey always clinging to Cassandra’s side or climbing up into her lap. She read him his story, every single night, and half the time she'd fall asleep in his room and not bother coming to bed. One night, he'd come to Jeffrey's room and offered to read his story, and Jeffrey had shaken his head wildly and said, “Want Mommy to do it,” around his thumb. Well, then. He did what he usually did and went out to the porch to have a cigarette. It seemed like bitter irony that both his sons loved their mothers more than him.

One night, Jeffrey wandered out on the porch in his striped pajamas and climbed up on the porch swing next to him. Surprised, he said, “Hello there, Jeffrey.”

“Hi, Daddy.” It was easy to forget how tiny Jeffrey was, only three years old, until he was right next to him like this. He swung his legs back and forth, looking around at the stars and the outstretched lawn before looking back at Spender. “You smell, Daddy,” Jeffrey said, matter-of-factly.

He could remember thinking that about his mother, vaguely. It had been the reason he'd stayed away from them, before he tried them and got hooked. “It's the cigarettes,” he explained.

Jeffrey wrinkled his nose. “They're groooooss.”

“I think they smell nice,” he said and his son giggled in delight. It was a nice sound, he was surprised to find. He imagined, for a minute, every night being like this: his son being delighted to be near him, laughing at things he said, looking at him like he was some sort of a hero. And for a minute, his mind delved towards his other son. Imagined Fox sitting beside them on the swing, the same respect and amazement aimed towards him, their father. Better than his old man had ever been. Fox and Jeffrey could be brothers, real brothers the way he himself had never had. Fox could take care of Jeffrey, play with him. They could be a family; he could raise his sons to be good men.

(One time, months later, he was in Massachusetts to gather intel on the Mulders. He sat outside their house watching, got lost in a bottle of booze and the pack of cigarettes on his dashboard. He saw the light on in an upstairs room that he suspected was Fox staying up to read, and all of a sudden, he got an uncontrollable urge. He imagined stealing into the dark house and waking Fox and Samantha, leading them out to the car and driving away. He could deliver the girl to the facility and bring Fox home to Jeffrey and Cassandra. They could be a family. He was ready to do it, had his hand on the door handle. But he'd ended up passing out. When he woke up, the entire thing seemed insane. He drove home with a pounding headache and slept it off.)

---

The time came two years later. Jeffrey had just turned five. He was called to meet with his employers, and they stared at him through the smoke swirling the room. They all smoked, constantly. He took a long drag off of his cigarette and flicked the ashes off of the end.

“This November, there will be an abduction at the Mulder house,” they said. “It is time.”

He coughed into his fist, said, “I know.” He'd expected this for a time.

“Has Bill Mulder been made aware? Has he made a choice yet?”

Samantha, he thought. Samantha was the only choice. For a time, he'd thought about convincing them to choose Fox, so his son could come to live with him, but he'd reconsidered after seeing some of the experiments for himself. Besides that, if Jeffrey was destined to be involved in the experiments, than it was better that only one of his offspring was involved. It was only fair. He couldn't make all the sacrifice, and Bill Mulder required a sacrifice of his own. Even if he'd raised Fox as his son, the fact remained that he wasn't. Samantha was the only choice.

“No,” he said aloud.

“We will tell him,” they said. “But you are to oversee the whole process. You are to oversee his choice.”

Bill was called. He waited outside the room while they met with Bill, going through cigarette after cigarette. Bill shouted and shouted, but it was to no avail. Two hours later, he stumbled out of the room, face white as a sheet. “You okay, Mulder?” Spender asked, standing to greet his friend and stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. It left a black mark on the wall.

Bill rubbed his eyes, leaning against the door. “Fuck,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Cigarette?” he asked, extending one to Bill.

“I hate the smell of the damn things. I need a fucking drink,” Bill said through clenched teeth.

They went to a bar. Bill drank and drank, eyes squeezed closed. He smoked and watched him, thinking of Jeffrey and the day he'd have to go away. Thinking of what Cassandra would say.

“They want me to sacrifice one of my children,” Bill finally slurred, hunched over his fifth glass of Scotch. “My children.”

No, he thought, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Not all yours.

“If I don't,” said Bill, rubbing his eyes, “they'll kill them all. Fox. Samantha. Teena. Me.” He gulped the rest of his drink. “What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to choose?”

He took another drag on his cigarette. “I suppose,” he said, “that you have to look at it strategically, Bill. Who will bring you more out of life? Who could you stand to lose? Who will go further in this world, your son or your daughter?”

“Fuck you,” Bill slurred. “Fuck you. You have no idea what it is to choose. You'll never understand.”

He swirled his drink in his glass, tapped the ashes into the ashtray. And said calmly, “Someday, I'll take my son in for their experiments. I have no choice. Jeffrey is the only choice. My wife may hate me. I don't know what will happen to my son. But I'll do it, because it is my duty. Our duty, to our country.”

Bill was quiet, his face stony still. He stared down into his glass. “You'll still have a child left at the end of the day,” Spender said. “Who will it be? I think it should be your son.” My son, he thought. Mine. And as much as I hate it, he'll be safe with you and his mother.

They drove to Rhode Island, Bill mulling over it the whole time. By the time they reached the house at Quonochontaug, he'd decided. “Samantha,” he muttered. “I'm going to let them take my little girl.” He buried his face in his hands, mumbling, “Oh my god.”

“It'll be okay,” Spender said from the driver's seat. “Come on, let's go to sleep. We can enjoy the time left with your daughter tomorrow. You still have a few months, remember.”

“No,” Bill said, muffled by his palms. He looked up, some kind of grief-crazed determination in his eyes. “Teena. I need to tell Teena. I need to make her understand.”

He started to argue, but Bill was up the porch stairs and in the house before he could stop him. By the time he reached inside, Teena was trying to steer him into the bedroom. “Bill, settle down, the kids are asleep in the loft,” she hissed. “They'll hear you. Come on, let's go to bed…”

“No, Teena, no, we need to talk,” Bill insisted. “We need to talk.” She froze, eyes stealing to where he stood in the corner. “Here, sit down, sweetheart, sit down,” he said, nudging her onto the couch.

She obliged, looking between them uncertainly. “Bill, what's going on?” she asked, face white with fear as she looked between the two men.

Bill took an uncertain breath, paced around the room. “We… we have to give up one of our children.”

He didn't think it was possible, but she paled even more. “What?” she whispered incredulously.

“We have to, Teena. For our country. For ourselves… they said they they'd kill us if they didn't.”

“They?” Teena’s voice sharpened. “Who is they? Is it… is it him?” She jabbed a finger at where he was standing in the corner.

“No, Teena,” Bill snapped, running his hands through his hair. “It's not him, of course it's not. It's the people above us.”

“Your… employers? Your employers want you to give up your… child?”

“Yes,” Bill said wearily. “Yes, exactly.”

“I don't believe you,” she said simply.

“Well, you'd better start,” Bill snapped. “I could lose my job, Teena.”

“I don't give a damn about your job!” she shouted. “I'm not giving up my children, Bill! I'd leave you before I would give them up, either of them!”

Bill stiffened, spine straightening. “You wouldn't,” he replied coldly. “You'll be a single mother. You can barely handle a day alone with them, Teena, how could you…”

“They are my children, I carried them, I've done more for them than you ever have!” Teena snapped, furious, hair wisping around her face. “I didn't choose to sacrifice them! I'm not letting you take them! Either of them! I'd die first!”

“You may have to. They'll kill you,” said Bill coldly. Teena clasped her hands together tightly, tears springing to her eyes. “They'll kill us and take them both. Or maybe they'll kill them, too, they have no mercy. How would you feel, with Fox and Samantha both dead?” Teena moaned, closing her eyes, but Bill plunged on. “This way is better, you have to understand. We have no choice. This way we still get one child. One of them will be safe.”

Teena moaned again, burying her face in her hands. For a minute, all they could hear were soft sniffles. And then a murmur: “Which one?”

Bill sighed. “Samantha,” he said. “They'll take Samantha.”

She stiffened immediately. Bill went to her side to comfort her, and she cried out, “No!” He sat beside her and tried to touch her. “No!” she wailed. “My baby!” Bill touched her shoulders, and she shook him off. “Get away!” She got to her feet, storming across the room to where Spender stood, and hit him hard in the chest. “Not Samantha!” she roared, hitting him again. “This is your doing, isn't it? You want to take her away from me!” Again and again, tapering off into sobs. “You want to ruin everything! Well, you're not going to! Not my baby, not Samantha!”

She went in to hit him again, but he grabbed her by the shoulders. She froze, terror across her face. He could remember once when he'd held her lovingly, when he'd thought she might love him, too. He loved Cassandra, but there were still times when he remembered Teena, dreamed of her and Fox. He'd thought if she left Bill, with Samantha gone, maybe his dream could come true, but clearly not. She hated him. She despised him.

“You'll still have your son, Teena,” he said easily, ignoring the our son at the back of his mind. “You'll still have Fox.”

Anger flashed across her face and she pulled away, storming out of the room. “You just had to make things worse, didn't you,” Bill hissed at him, coming close in the same matter that he and Teena had been standing a few minutes ago. He looked ready to punch him. “Don't you dare touch my wife, and you stay the hell away from my family!”

“It's unavoidable, Bill,” he said simply. “You know that.” He smiled at Bill. “But I'm your friend, Bill. I'm here to help.”

“Like hell you are,” Bill snapped, and then he was gone too, gone after Teena.

Defeated, he went into the kitchen for a smoke, cracking open the window. He could hear flickers of the argument in the next room--Teena saying, “How can you do this to our family?”, heated and sad and furious. And then he heard the footsteps in the hall.

Curious, he stepped into the doorway and watched as Fox crept down the hall, towards the room where Bill and Teena were fighting. Bill was saying, “I'm not doing it! It's not just me. These orders are coming down from…” Bill turned and saw Fox watching and slammed the door shut.

“You're a little spy,” he said, amused, stepping towards him with the smoke still billowing from the end of his cigarette.

Fox turned towards him, terrified. He was the same gawky kid that Spender remembered, dark hair and long-sleeved striped shirt and pajama pants he was too tall for. Spender was amused at the sight; maybe he was his father's son after all.

“I want to know why Mom and Dad are fighting,” Fox said bravely, although there was an audible tremor in his voice. “What's going on?”

He took a long drag off of his cigarette. “You shouldn't be out of bed, Fox.”

“You can't tell me what to do,” Fox snapped. “You're not my dad.”

Anyone else might have flinched. He simply smiled knowingly.

“Fox?” said a little voice behind them. When he turned, he saw Samantha in her long white nightgown staring at them nervously.

“I told you to stay upstairs, Samantha,” Fox hissed, irritated.

He chuckled with amusement, stubbing out his cigarette. “That's okay, Fox. My goodness, Samantha, I haven't seen you in a long time. You've certainly grown.”

(If they were awake, they may have heard. What game were they playing? Did they know what was going to happen? Did they even understand?)

“Mr. Spender?” Samantha asked uncertainly.

“That's me. I'm glad to hear you remember me.” They'd told him he would be Samantha's caretaker when her time came. Might as well start getting to know her now, his best friend (if he could call Bill a friend anymore) and former lover's daughter. He smiled toothily at the girl. “You know, I've wanted to get to know you better for a long time now. You're the children of my best friends, you know. By default, I consider you my children as well.”

Fox snorted loudly behind them, the picture of a sarcastic adolescent. “Really?” Samantha asked nervously. Her hands twisted in her nightgown.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He extended his arms for a hug. “I hope we can be friends, Samantha.”

She looked uncertain, but she stepped closer slowly. He pulled her in, head landing under his chin. “Samantha!” Fox said with disgust. It was clear his son didn't trust him, the father he didn't know he had.

The door opened behind them, and Teena and Bill were at his side before he realized it. Teena looked disgusted. Samantha pulled away and clung to her mother's side. “He says he wants to be friends, Mom,” she whispered. “But he smells gross.” Not unlike what Jeffrey had said to him two years ago.

Teena stroke her daughter’s curly head but didn't look at her. “Kids, go to bed,” she said, looking straight at him. It was a look that could cut diamonds, a look that burnt him to the core.

“But, Mom…” Fox started.

“Now,” Bill said sternly. Samantha scampered away from her mother and down the hall, Fox on her heels. He cast a wary look at Spender as he went, one that suggested that he had witnessed the fight in the living room. The adults listened to the kids climbing the ladder, the squeaking of the floorboards until it was clear they were in bed.

Teena waited until it was quiet before turning on him, nearly shaking with rage. “I want him out,” she hissed. “I want him out of my goddamn house. I'd kick you out too, Bill, if it seemed possible, but at the very least I want him gone.”

He chuckled, pulling a cigarette out of his breast pocket. “That's a lot of hostility, Teena. When I was so polite to your children.”

Her hand cracked across his cheek in a hard slap. He didn't flinch, just looked at her. “Teena,” said Bill wearily.

“You don't get to talk about them, you don't get to look at them, you don't get to lay any claim to them at all,” she growled, fists clenching. “That is not your right. Now get the hell out.”

He left. His cheek still stung from the weight of Teena’s palm. He gulped down half of the bottle of booze in Bill's glove box before walking onto the road to town. He could find a hotel and get on a bus in the morning.

---

Things were being put into motion. Contact was being made, sacrifices. They called him in and told him his wife was next. “You must bring Cassandra to the airbase when it is time,” they told them. “She is extraordinarily important to this Project.”

He would've been lying if he said he wasn't expecting this. He could've argued, but everyone required sacrifice. He knew this was coming. He told Cassandra he wanted to have a night alone with her, got a sitter for Jeffrey, and drove off to save the world. When it was over, they told him they had a house ready for him and his son. “The next part is starting,” they told him.

He went home and packed up the house. Jeffrey watched him from the couch, thumb in his mouth. He was still wearing his pajamas, the shirt buttoned wrong from where the sitter dressed him for bed. “Where's Mommy?” he wanted to know.

“Mommy had to go away for a little while,” Spender told him as he stacked picture books from the nearby shelf in a cardboard box. Damnit, Cassandra had bought entirely too many of these; at least they could be used to calm Jeffrey (and possibly Samantha) down.

Jeffrey sucked on his thumb, staring down at him where he was kneeled. “What are you doing, Daddy? Are we going somewhere?”

“We're going to a new house,” he said, trying to make his voice nice and comforting. He was in no way equipped to care for young children, honestly. Maybe he should've suggested Fox for abduction; how would he care for the girl? “At an air base. April Air Base.”

“April means Easter!” Jeffrey swung his legs in excitement. “Will Mommy be there?”

“Eventually,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “There might be someone else there, too. A girl for you to play with.”

“But what about my Thanksgiving play at school? I'm a Pilgrim, Daddy. I can't miss school, I won't get to play with Danny and Gerald. We're gonna play tag at recess,” Jeffrey said in a long whine.

“You can go to school at the airbase,” he said, but he was mostly guessing. He regretted sending Cassandra away in the moment; Project or not, Jeffrey needed his mother.

They managed, somehow. Jeffrey was very quiet, sucking his thumb a lot and asking about Mommy every few hours, but they managed. At the new house, his employers had a nanny waiting for him. He could focus on his work, on his writing. “The Mulder girl will be here in a few months,” they told him. They put together a girl's room in the house. Jeffrey watched from the hall, sitting on the floor and playing with model cars. He asked if he was getting a sister. “Sort of,” Spender muttered as he watched two people in coveralls carrying in a bed. It looked nothing like Samantha's bed back in Massachusetts, but then again, it wasn't supposed to be.

On November 27, 1973, Samantha Mulder disappeared from her home. Her older brother was found disoriented on the floor with no memory of the incident. A search began, but it was noted in the police report how uninterested the father seemed in looking for his daughter. How listless and defeated the mother seemed at coming home and finding her missing, reportedly saying that she was gone and there was no use looking for her. (He had expected this. Bill had demanded to know when she’d be taken and they had refused to tell him. The Mulders were given no warning whatsoever. The past few months had shattered them completely.) The police interrogated Bill about Samantha’s disappearance and were fully convinced of his innocence when he broke down in the little room. Reportedly, the boy disappeared for hours one night and was brought home in the back of a police car wrapped in blankets, a flashlight in one hand and his father’s gun in the other. “I was trying to find her,” he reportedly kept saying as he was lead into the house, into his mother’s stiff embrace and father’s disapproving stare. “I’m her brother, I’m supposed to protect her. I have to find her.”

The search was called off at the end of December. Spender signed the order himself.

---

He didn’t see Fox in person after that, not for a long time. He was worried the boy would make the connection to the fight that summer night in Quonochontaug, and besides that, Teena wouldn’t permit him in the house. He was always watching, though. Once, he'd considered himself above spying, but that was before he was used to seeing his son every summer, and now there was no other way. He had considerably less dignity than he once did. When his wife was returned and abducted again, when his son received a new person to press his hands into cement with, he would leave periodically and fly cross-country to watch his other son. Fox spent long hours walking the streets, the woods, the beach. He holed up in his room but he didn’t read science fiction anymore. He threw pencils at the ceiling, stared blankly at the wall. He’d pause and screw his eyes shut before entering a room sometimes, leaving Spender to wonder what all that was about.

(He knew. He knew where Samantha was, what was happening to her, always, and he never told any of them. He didn’t believe they deserved to know.)

Their employers kept Bill in the know about Samantha, but he started to edge out of the Project, developed a listless disinterest. Teena left him a year and a half after Samantha disappeared, moved to Connecticut and took Fox with her. He went to Bill’s house to try and comfort him, but Bill waved him out of the house, not even bothering to get out of his chair, said I'll kill you if you come any closer. He saw the bottles lined up on the counter and thought, This is how you ruin a man. He concluded that he must be stronger than all of them.

He left Bill alone and went to visit Teena next, rang the doorbell sometime after Fox must’ve been asleep and waited. He was surprised to feel a gun poke hard into his ribs as soon as the door opened. There was Teena, dressed in a nightgown and bathrobe, graying hair braided back, and poking a handgun into his ribs. “I suggest you get off of my porch,” she said evenly.

He didn’t make a move to leave; instead, he slid his hand into his breast pocket for his pack of Morleys. “Your hostility confuses me, Teena,” he said. “Can’t a man visit an old friend?” He pulled one cigarette out before extending the pack. “Cigarette?”

Teena didn’t move, but a muscle in her face twitched. “We were never friends,” she ground out, jabbing him harder in the ribs with the small pistol. “Whatever transpired between us was a mistake. I realized soon after you disappeared that you never loved me. You never cared for me the way Bill did.”

“Funny thing for a divorced woman to say.” He lit his cigarette.

“He still stood by me for fifteen years,” she growled. “Bastard that he was, he had more honor than you ever did.”

“Funny you should say that.” He took a slow drag and smiled at her. “Well, then, even if a man can’t visit an old friend, doesn’t a father have a right to visit his son?”

“You are not. His father.” Teena’s finger curled around the trigger. “You didn’t aid in his raising. You haven’t done anything for him as far as I’m concerned, outside of shielding him from the people who took my daughter, and it seems to me that the only reason you did that was to hurt Bill and me.”

“I’ve always had the boy’s best interest in mind,” he said around the cigarette in his teeth.

“Then you should understand that you are the last thing he needs.” Teena poked him with the gun at the end of every sentence, talking in a rapid-fire pace: “Do you know what this has done to him? Losing his sister like this? He blames himself, you know, and he’s in a horrible place. You ruined our family, you ruined my son. You are no father.”

“And how can you equate yourself to a mother, in that line of thinking?” he said easily. She paled horribly, but he kept going. “I’ve seen, you know. The way you ignore the boy now. How hard he tries to impress you, get your attention, and how little you respond. You only care when he’s out too late because you’re afraid we’ve come for him, too, but you don’t care anymore. You’re so focused on the child you lost that you are forgetting the child you have left.”

“How dare you,” hissed Teena through her teeth. “Don’t you dare pin this on me! You’re the one who took her away. She’s just a little girl, for god’s sake, where is she? What have you done to her?” In a flash, the gun moved from his torso to press against his skull. “Bring her home,” Teena whispered, close to sobbing. “Bring her home and it’ll all be okay. Bring my baby home or I’ll shoot you right here.”

He blew out smoke with a puff, and said, “She’s safe. I’ve seen to that personally.”

“I don’t believe you,” she whimpered. The gun thumped against skin and bone. “Bring her home. Bring my baby back and leave us alone, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

He took one last drag before putting out the cigarette on the porch rail. “You won’t kill me, Teena,” he said, self-assured. “You don’t have it in you.”

He turned around and walked away. No gunshot came. He heard the door slam and the horrible sobs behind it as he got into his car.

After that, he still watched Fox but he didn’t speak to Teena or Bill again. He had no desire to put himself to such trouble. It seemed better to watch the boy’s growth from afar.

---

Years passed. Fox grew into a shaggy-haired, snarky teenager that disappeared to England to go to college, finally going somewhere where his father couldn’t watch him. He was not assauged. He turned his attention to his other son, but by the next year Cassandra had discovered that her husband was not a victim of the experiments they suffered through, but in fact the cause of them. She cursed him and threatened him and took Jeffrey and ran off into the night. He wouldn’t let his employers pursue them. Enough, he said. They could observe from afar, the way he watched the Mulders. At this point, he didn’t miss Cassandra a bit and wasn’t discouraged at the loss of Jeffrey. It was clear the boy hated him and wanted nothing to do with him. That was fine. Jeffrey had always been weaker than he would’ve liked, whinier and frailer and still hiding behind his mother at twelve years old. He’d wait for Jeffrey to become a person who could make him proud.

Still, it was jarring to be alone in the large house on the airbase. The girl’s room that had been set up over seven years earlier was locked, wallpaper peeling, and the rooms seemed too empty without Cassandra and Jeffrey huddled together, whispering. He left, purchased an apartment in DC. Turned back to writing, unhindered by the rejections he’d received years before. All he needed, it seemed, was a typewriter and three or four packs of cigarettes at his side and he was a happy man.

He hardly expected Bill Mulder to show up and blow a hole in his peaceful life, but come he did. He was confused when a knock came at the door--he rarely, if ever, got visitors--but opened it anyway to find Bill Mulder’s fist on the other side. A hard, grinding punch that shifted the muscles in his jaw.

Blinking hard, he stumbled away from the door, a hand shooting to the sore spot. “Bill,” he said, working his jaw back and forth. “What a lovely surprise. It really has been too long, hasn’t it?”

“You son of a bitch,” Bill hissed, shoving his way inside. “I know.”

“Know what?” he asked, because there were, after all, several things he could be referring to.

“I know… he’s not mine,” Bill grumbled, rubbing his knuckles with his other hand. “I know he’s your son.”

This was the last thing he’d expected; he’d expected this talk years ago, when Fox was still small. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said politely.

“Oh, bullshit.” Another punch, this time to the eye. He staggered back hard into the desk, the sharp edge bearing into his spine. “You know, I should’ve known,” Bill panted. “All that shit about how it should be Samantha instead of Fox who got sacrificed… you were protecting your own interests! You son of a bitch.”

There was no denying it; he picked himself up off of the desk, balancing on the chair. “Be that as it may, Bill…” he said unsteadily. “All that was many, many years ago. Why does it matter anymore?”

He expected a spiel on his betrayal, dishonor, how much he missed his little girl. He didn’t expect Bill to laugh and say, “Because I wanted you to know that I know. What I’ve done.”

“What have you done?” he asked. Silence on Bill’s end. Nerves rising, he stood up straight and said, “Bill? What have you done?”

“He may have been yours, but you'll remember I raised him.” Bill laughed again, wildly. “I’ve set him up to ruin you, you son of a bitch. I’ve set him up to look for his sister, to find the truth about everything.”

Breathing hard, he rubbed the sore spots on his face and growled, “And just how have you managed that?”

“You know what Fox is at Oxford for, right?” Bill laughed even harder, saying, “He wants to go into the FBI. There, I think, he’ll find the X-Files… that crazy-ass unit Arthur Dales opened? He’s been looking for Samantha for years, that’s why he wants to go into law enforcement. He’ll keep looking, and he won’t stop until he finds the truth. He’ll find you. He’ll take you down.”

He gaped at his former friend, incredulous at what he’d just heard. Of all the things he’d imagined for Fox (his son), he’d never imagined the boy being his enemy. Never his ruin. For the first time in a very long time, he was speechless.

Seeming satisfied, Bill turned away and headed for the door. Spender scrambled for words, calling after him, “Mulder!” Bill turned. “If you tell Fox the truth,” he said slowly, some attempt at warning, “you know what will happen. It will backfire. It will ruin both of you. You’ll be dead.”

Bill considered this before nodding unsteadily. “I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m not going to tell him. He’s going to find out the truth all by himself.”

Bill turned and left on that note, the door slamming behind him like a nail on a coffin.

Head spinning, he collapsed in his chair and breathed in the familiar scent of nicotine. Fox could not be his ruin. He could not. The boy may not have realized everything he'd done for him, but he had not put in all of that work just for it to fail in the end. He protected the boy for years. He was his goddamn father. This cannot happen, he thought. He has to be stopped.

He turned and fumbled for the phone, called someone he knew he could trust. “Ronald,” he said. “I need you to begin surveillance on someone. Yes… yes, a Fox Mulder. He’s over in England right now, getting educated at Oxford, but I think he’ll be back in the States before long.” He swallowed. “I have reason to believe he’s going to be a problem someday,” he said. “I need to make sure that does not happen.”

Bill was right though, he realized as he hung up the phone; Fox had been looking for years, and he wouldn't stop now. The best he could hope for, if Fox found the truth, was that he took after his mother. That he, too, wouldn't be able to pull the trigger.

[totallytubulargirl]

Soulmate AU; Donatello X Reader

Rating: PG-13

Universe: 2016

Authors Note: Ok so if we’re talking about soulmates here, I believe that means that the universe will draw you together no matter the circumstances. I know a lot of Soulmate AU’s have them sort of communicating before they meet and they already sort of know that they are soulmates. But like if we’re speaking realistically (i mean as realistic as we can get) that wouldn’t happen right? Like you’d be drawn together over some sort of item or situation and click right away, So I sort of wrote it like that, but if you guys want the next one to be different send me an ask or something. I think Raphael is next, so if you want his to be not the same as this lol let me know. 

Summary: Donatello finds his soulmate. 

Donatello sat in the sweet rarity of silence, polishing his microscope, carefully maneuvering around the small intricate pieces. A golden chain smacked his plastron, a small stone that mimicked that color of stormy ocean clouds hung at the end. Donnie had had the broken pendant for as long as he could remember. With all the science he knew, he still couldn’t explain why he was so drawn to it. He had found it in the sewers when he was only a toddler, but even then he had thought it to be so pretty, he had placed it around his neck. At first, Splinter had thought it was cute but as the years passed he had begun to understand it held a deeper meaning for Donatello. It got the occasional giggle and tease from his brothers, but he didn’t care about that. There was something in his gut that told him it was worth it. Donatello’s phone vibrated against his hip, interrupting the silence he was so enjoying. He answered the phone, as Leo yelled something on the other side. 

“We need you on 54th!”

“Ten-four.” Replied Donatello and the line went dead. He could’ve at least said bye.

[Y/N] looked down onto her chest, gripping the broken pendant that hung around their neck tightly. They sat in her closet, avoiding the violent drunk man they called their dad. They could hear him, throwing furniture to the side, desperate to take his anger out on them. 

“Where areya!?” He roared from just outside their bedroom. [Y/N] pressed their back against the cold closet wall, shutting their eyes as tight as they could. Their hand clutched around the pendant tighter, praying that they wouldn’t be caught. They tried comforting themselves with thoughts of their mother, of her warmth and her smile. They drew themselves farther into their own memories, living for a moment in a time when they were happy, when their mother was alive, before being snapped out of it by unbearably loud thrashing noises. [Y/N] knew their father was getting closer, fear ran rampant through their mind, keeping them from making rational thoughts. They tried to keep their panting under control, “I know yer inhere sumweear.” He taunted. They knew the window facing the alley was open if they could just get to it. They took a deep breath and kissed their pendant before leaping out of the closet door into the open. Their room was a mess, a shell of its former self. Clothes were strewn across the floor, furniture was everywhere, even her ceiling light was shattered, [Y/N] rolled their eyes at the sight of their room, knowing he had been there. They didn’t have time to feel angry though, stomps were getting closer and before they could think about it, they were out the window and onto the fire escape. They scurried down the ladder, before noticing there was a street brawl going on in their alley. They kept going, unfazed to the dark underbelly of New York City. They didn’t live in the best neighborhood, so they were used to criminals. Not to mention their home situation. They kept going, ducking behind a dumpster as their father poked his head out the window. “Ya won’t gitaway dat easy.” He shook his fist after them, angrily. The gangsters fighting on ground level continued their brawl, unperturbed at the small person running away from home. [Y/N] scrunched up against the dumpster, hoping that the street fight would be over before their dad made his way down.

Donatello knew where Leonardo wanted him, but he still tracked his phone to be sure. He rounded the corner in the battle shell, honking his horn to alert his brothers of his arrival. Headlights shone brightly into the alley, bringing the battle to light. Foot soldiers surrounded the Terrapin brothers, as sirens wailed in the distant. A drunk man dragged himself into the alley, yelling slurs towards a dumpster. The foot quickly retreated, and the turtles ducked into the shadows. Donnie turned the headlights off, watching the man from the end of the alleyway. The pendant around his neck began vibrating, slowly lighting up from within. 

“[Y/N],” yelled the man from the alley. “I’m gunna fuck youap,” he stopped hurling insults at, what seemed to Donnie to be, thin air. “Just like I did yer ma.” Ouch. Even Donatello felt the sting of his words, and he felt compelled to protect the invisible victim. He quickly slipped out of the car, making his way to the drunk man from within the shadows. His necklace wasn’t doing a very good job of being stealthy, shaking more violently as he neared the man. The drunk man turned around, a scowl was plastered on his face, “What the-” was all he could manage before Donatello knocked him out. There was only a split second of rest before his necklace began tugging him behind the dumpster, Donnie slowly approached the dumpster as the necklace glowed, levitating above his chest. 

“I knew it,” He snorted to himself, so grateful to be proven right. He looked down where a small girl trembled. “Are you ok?” He asked, watching a matching necklace that glowed equally as bright as his own. They lifted her face to meet his, and he abruptly forgot every unimportant thing that had ever made him miserable in his life, because at this moment, looking into the sparkling eyes of the love of his life underneath the stars, he was the happiest turtle to ever exist. [Y/N] felt frozen, an indescribable feeling rushed through them and they were suddenly afraid to breathe as if he might disappear with their breath into the night sky. 

“Yeah."They whispered breathlessly. Donatello helped them up and they didn’t feel afraid anymore, even though their father lay unconscious at their feet. He smelled a hint of mint on their breath and Donnie couldn’t help but wonder what they tasted like. Their necklaces glowed brightly until they connected, creating a heart. The pendants seemed satisfied at finding its other half as the light from within dimmed down until it was extinguished. His brothers watched the events unfold before them from the shadows, but he wasn’t concerned about that now. 

"Should we say something?” Asked Leo only to be hushed by his youngest brother. It was like watching a movie happening in real time, but it seemed so personal it was almost uncomfortable to watch. [Y/N] told themselves not to kiss him, that they had just met him, that maybe they should be asking questions about the fact that he was a giant turtle. But all that stuff seemed less important than feeling his lips against theirs. They stood on her tippy toes to reach him and their faces converged, only able to taste the sweet sensation for a split second before a blinding white light flashed from their necklaces and blew everyone backward with a blinding explosion. Donatello’s head spun and a high pitched ringing took over his ears. He groaned in pain, crawling on all fours trying to find the girl that had so suddenly seemed to take over his life. “Donnie!” He heard a muffled voice yell. He looked to his left, Leo was trying to find the source of the obscene noise. Raphael and Mikey were ok except for the spots in their vision and the annoying noise ringing in their heads. Donatello’s glasses had been cracked in the explosion but he could still see a little. He finally found them lying unconscious, face down on the other side of the alley. He picked them up in his arms and they were so limp he feared the worst. A single tear fell from his eye as he pressed two fingers against their neck to see if they still had a pulse. 

“Please please please.” Donnie pleaded. He could feel a faint pulse thumping against his fingers softly. “Oh thank god!” He lifted them up quickly as Leo approached him. 

“Let’s get out of here!” Yelled Leo, trying to be louder than the ringing in his ears. Raphael warned of oncoming police, 

“Aye cops will be here in 60 seconds!” Mikey already stood at the manhole, opening it and waving them in. Donnie jumped in first, not waiting for his brothers to slow him down. He took off for the lair, sprinting down tunnels and passageways as fast as he could. He couldn’t let it end, not like this. He hurried past a couple of more twists and turns before finally reaching the lair. He rushed into his lab, past Splinter who was drinking tea in the kitchen. Donatello immediately went to work, hooking up her arms with wires to monitor her vitals. He spent an hour running tests to see if she was completely ok. He needed to be thorough to make sure she was ok. Donnie didn’t know why the anxiety in his chest was forcing him to work so hard for a stranger, he had saved other people before but not like this. He felt as strongly as if it were one of his brothers lying on that table. He had a lot of questions, what was that blast? Who was she? Why was he so drawn to her? They would all have to wait though as he finally sat beside her and realized the only thing he could really do was wait for her to wake up.

[Y/N] could still see a bright light that seemed to limit her vision. They could feel a presence in front of them,

“Hello?” Their voice echoed into the distance.

“Hello, my daughter.” Their mother stepped forward from the light, revealing herself. [Y/N] was in shock, was it really her?

“Mom?” They asked. She opened her arms and [Y/N] ran into them. They sobbed uncontrollably as their mother kissed the top of their head.

“My daughter,” She said, stepping back. “we don’t have much time, someone very important is working very hard to wake you up.” She smiled, placing a hand lovingly on her daughters face. Tears fell down their face, “do not cry darling,” She bent down, coming face to face with them for the first time in years. “when I died, and my necklace broke in half, I made sure the other half would reach someone worthy of your soul.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Donatello will take good care of you baby girl.” They wondered who Donatello was for a second, before deciding they didn’t care and throwing themselves into their mother’s arms.

“I love you, mom.”

“I love you too baby.”

A few hours had passed before [Y/N] finally woke up. They lifted their head off of the table, groggily looking around to see where they were. Wires stuck out from patches on their arms, they would’ve thought they were at the hospital but everything seemed like it was handmade. Two turtles, a blue masked one, and a purple one stood in front of them conversing before they noticed they were awake. The purple one seemed stunned at the sight of them, 

“Hello.” Said the blue one cautiously. “How are you feeling?” Their eyes lingered on him for just a second before their attention turned to the purple turtle who had so swiftly taken over their heart. 

“I think I’m ok.” They managed. None of their limbs appeared to be missing, so that was a plus. 

“Donatello here never left your side. “ The blue one nudged his elbow into the lean turtle next to him. Donnie’s eyes widened in embarrassment, turning his face a deep green.

“Donatello.” She repeated, engraving his beautiful name in her memory, that’s who her mother was talking about. He could’ve sworn they were singing his name because it sounded so pure coming from their lips. Just then two more turtles walked in with different colored masks.

“Hey, your girlfriends finally up?” Asked the biggest one. Donnie tried to wave his hands around, signaling them to stop but if they got the hint they didn’t show it. 

“Awe, now you guys can finally make out!” The small turtle brought his hands to his face and made kissy faces. Leo could see the torture in Donnie’s face and although he was amused he knew the two needed time alone.

“Come on guys.” Leo guided the other two turtles out of the room while they groaned their complaints.

“But Leo,” whined the orange-clad turtle. “We were just starting to have fun.” They closed the door behind them and the room grew silent. [Y/N] tried to get up and Donnie rushed to her side,

“Hold on,” he stopped her. “you need to rest.” His fingertips brushed her arm and he was breathless, but quickly pulled away. He could feel something coiling in the pit of his stomach, but he tried to ignore it. Why would such a beautiful human being want to be with HIM? He chuckled, “Sorry.” [Y/N] stared at him in wonder, 

“Thank you.” They finally cut through the silence. He rubbed the back of his neck modestly,

“For what?” He asked. 

“For saving my life.” They replied. He smiled and they could feel their heart stop. They could finally get a good look at the person who had saved them from their own father, and now from death. He was tall, much taller than them self. He was lean, his chest puffed out leading to a tapered waist, they had never seen anyone more attractive. His eyes seemed to be the best part about him, they seemed so honest and genuine. Glasses sat on his green snout, and he shoved them back up his face. Donnie felt like he was under a microscope, their eyes jumped from place to place, examining everything around them, even him. He tried to think of the situation logically but everything seemed jumbled in his head and he couldn’t form a solid thought without stuttering first. 

“Uh, aren’t you s-scared of me?” He asked. They almost laughed, they lived in New York City, if mutant turtles were to exist anywhere it would be in the big apple.

“You’re just greener than I’m used to.” They smiled. “And have a shell.” Donnie felt a smile creep onto his face. The room almost felt electric, but it wasn’t because of the tech,

“Thanks, I guess.” He said. “What’s your name?”

“[Y/N].” They replied. “And I’m guessing you’re Donatello?” 

“Yeah, how’d you know?” He asked.

“Do you really want to know?” They questioned. “I mean it’s kind of crazy.” They trailed off.

“Crazier than a mutant turtle living in the sewers of New York City?” They rolled their eyes, knowing he was right. “How about I unplug you from all these machines, and you can tell me your story?” They nodded in agreement. So they told him about her mother, how she had died, how her dad had become a drunk afterward. They had been running away from him when they came across the turtles fighting the foot in the alley. They finally told him about their vision.

“She was in white robes,” They explained. “She said she loved me and,” they paused, afraid of what he might say when they told him. “She told me about you.” [Y/N] stopped, looking down to fidget with her thumbs, free from the wires that had saved her life. “She made sure you got the other half of that necklace…” Words sat heavily at the edge of her tongue, unsure of whether to retreat or continue. “because you’re the only one worthy of my soul or something.” They smiled, embarrassed. Donatello stared at them, in awe of the obstacles they had overcome. He wondered if they questioned what their mother had said to them. If she really meant for a mutant turtle to receive the other half of her pendant.

“Do you believe her?” He asked. Donnie twirled the words around in his head, he believed her. The way he felt when he looked at [Y/N]… there was no other way to explain it. 

“Do you?” They retorted. [Y/N] felt a something inside of them, an undeniable feeling that told them their mother was right. They were afraid of his reaction. He seemed like a man of science like he would only believe the tangible. 

“No.” He replied, startling her. “I don’t think I am worthy of you.” Donnie looked away. A muffled “Aw.” came through the door. Donatello stood up to open the door, his brothers tumbled in, one after the other. Donnie rubbed his temples in frustration. Leo was the first one to get off the floor, helping Mikey and Raph after him.

“We were just-” Leo started.

“Just making sure you were ok, right Mikey?” Raph said, through clenched teeth. [Y/N] watched the orange turtle they called Mikey, he looked like he was about burst with a secret that could kill. He giggled before spilling the beans,

“I totally think you guys are soulmates! Ask her out Donnie!” He hollered. Donatello looked like he was going to die of embarrassment while the two other turtles ushered Michelangelo out of the room. “Do it, Donnie! Follow your dreeeeeaaammmss!” He reached for Donnie dramatically as he was dragged away.

“Sorry about that.” Leo smiled politely and closed the door behind him. The room was silent once again and Donnie wished his brothers would come back.

“So?” They asked. “Are you going to ask me out?” They bit their lip nervously. They could tell he wasn’t very forward at all, constantly afraid of saying the wrong thing. I guess it’s up to me, they thought. They stood up from the examination table. “I believe my mother Donatello.” They took a step towards him. “I mean she's never come to me like that before, why would she now?” Donnie contemplated her words taking a deep breath. 

“Why else would her necklace have exploded?” Donnie thought to himself, although he already knew inside his heart [Y/N] was his soulmate, he wanted them to be sure. His words gave her hope that he felt the same way they did.

“Exactly!” They took another step towards him, bravely taking his hands in hers, pressing them against their chest. “I don’t know about you but-” they stopped, so very terrified of pushing the words out into the open. “I can feel it.” Their heart thumped at an alarming pace under his fingertips. He was astonished, only lifting their hand to his heart to reveal a heart rate that kept up with theirs, beating in sync. “Woah.” They said in unison. “Kiss me.” [Y/N] whispered. Donatello was happy to comply, meeting her lips softly and tenderly. They kissed him back, wanting to convey how long they had been waiting for him. The two kissed passionately, as the background disappeared and only the stars that had sealed their fate surrounded them. [Y/N] pulled away and they locked eyes and they both knew that they had found their soulmate.