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sebsmetal-arm · 4 years ago

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Sex (f)or Breakfast || Bryce and Hunt

Summary: The morning after Bryce takes care of Hunt, the two are met with some unspoken truths lingering in the air. When their worlds - and lips - finally collide, there is going to be more than just eggs on the table for breakfast.

Disclaimer: These characters and world are the sole intellectual property of Sarah J Maas. I claim no right to this property, this is a work of fan fiction. I tried my best to stay true to Sarah's writing style and characterization but any difference in character aspects or dialogue is intentional. Please do not copy or repost my work. Hope you enjoy!

Thank you to everyone on Instagram that helped me with ideas of what was in Bryce's nightstand, and THANK YOU to my beta readers! You know who you are and I love all of you!

After the prior night’s events, Bryce had spent the better part of the morning laying awake in bed, waiting for a text, a call, anything to break the damning silence of the apartment. She knew eventually that bedroom door opposite hers would open and she would have to face the reality of what had transpired between the two of them. She couldn’t seem to shake the images of all that she had seen the night before - the dark emptiness in Hunt’s eyes when he had come through the front door. The way she discovered him sitting in the shower an hour later, letting the scalding hot water batter and burn him relentlessly. How she could feel the pain and remorse and inner hatred roiling off him in waves as thick and suffocating as the steam from the shower. The horrifying realization that this was not the first time he had done this, that he had become accustomed to this act of self-inflicted torture following each of Micah’s depraved missions.

The world had been so wrong about him, he didn’t wear the title of Umbra Mortis with pride; he wore it with shame. In that moment, he was nothing but a shell of himself, of the Hunt that she knew. It was akin to staring at a reflection of herself, of her soul, and of the torment and guilt that had plagued her every day since Danika’s murder.

So she did what she had wished for those past two years. She took care of him, the way she had wanted someone to take care of her. She had been alone, with no one left, and she would never let him feel that sort of hollow loneliness again.

She lathered his hair and his wings, and carefully scrubbed his raw skin free of any grime and blood that remained. With her hands, she gently coaxed as much pain from his body as she could, washing it down the drain along with any physical trace of what had happened that evening. He remained resolute in his silence, with his head downcast and the wet strands of midnight hair framing his face, only giving her the barest recognition when she asked him to stand. But it was enough. Enough for her to know that he was still in there, however deeply buried beneath the weight of contrition.

After slinging a towel around his waist, she gently patted him dry, and led him to his bedroom and into a pair of shorts before helping him into bed. When Hunt sank down into the mattress, the groan of the bed seemed to shake the stillness of the room, as if Hunt was piling on those invisible chains he had worn for over two centuries. He had been designed by Urd for the heavens, gifted with wings for great and magnificent things, but had spent most of his life shackled to the ground by the thorned halo across his forehead. That wretched tool of enslavement, which was a bastardization and mockery of the Malakim, placed a chokehold on his magic so strong that it had become nothing but a trickle.

When Bryce made to leave, his hand shot out and gripped her wrist, giving a barely there squeeze as if silently pleading for her to stay. So she did. Letting him nestle his head in her lap, she stroked his hair until the restless heaves of his chest stilled into a calm rising and falling as sleep consumed him. Once content with his sleeping form she eased out from under him, carefully letting his head fall back onto the pillow. There had been nothing sensual about that evening, but as Bryce crept back to her room she couldn’t deny the inkling that something had changed. Since they had begun their partnership, their lives had simply been locked in orbit. Revolving around the same fixed position, tethered by gravity that held together the shattered pieces of their lives. But with every stroke of her fingers through his hair and each desperate lean into her touch, their worlds had begun to eclipse.

***

When Hunt awoke, the first thing he noticed was the distinct smell of Bryce’s skin. He stretched out to reach for her, hoping to ground himself once more, but was met with nothing but crumpled bed sheets. She had definitely been there last night, there was no denying the scent of her that lingered heavily.

He had spent so long coping with his own nightmares in solitude, that when she was suddenly kneeling in front of him on the tile floor, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what to say, his own mind numb and void of anything remotely human. It wasn’t until Bryce was coaxing him into bed that he realized what it felt like not to be alone. And when her caressing touch dragged the last dregs of tension from his shoulders, he had slept soundly for the first time in ages.

The intoxicating comfort of her presence called to him. He knew he needed to seek her out, to thank her, and to let her know that he was okay. He flipped off the covers and threw on a pair of sweatpants, silently padding to the door as the smell of coffee wafted through the apartment. As he approached the kitchen island, Bryce scowled at her phone before throwing it down in protest. He leaned against the marble countertop.

***

“Hey.”

Hunt’s voice, gruff with sleep, startled her out of her furious haze and she spun to find him leaning against the island. She couldn’t help but notice he was shirtless, a grey pair of sweatpants hugging his lean hips.

“Fucking Hel Hunt, you need a warning bell or something.” Bryce cursed, her fists clenched in surprise. His shoulders shook, his mouth crooking up slightly. A smile, good. “How are you?”

His brows furrowed, pain washing over his face momentarily. “Fine.” he stated in a pinched but gentle manner.

She took that as a clue to leave him be, not wanting to pry but worry overtook her so she averted her gaze, toeing the ground nervously before attempting to change the subject, “Do you want some-”

“Wait, Bryce,” he blurted, interrupting her, “I- I’m okay, really. I mean, I don’t think anything will ever change the- the person I have to be.” He ground out, his voice full of disdain, “Or the consequences of that. Not as long as I still bear this,” he said gravely, gesturing to the halo, “but-” he stammered, taking a breath to school his thoughts.

He closed the distance between them hesitantly, his statuesque form now towering over her. She couldn’t help the way her breath hitched at the closeness of him or the smell of his bare skin. As he looked down at her sun-kissed face, her lips already parted in anticipation, he could see the hope and trepidation swirling in her amber eyes. He took one of her hands in his, a gentle and intentional embrace.

“I’m more okay than I’ve ever been… Thank you.” he breathed, his words skittering across her skin like electricity.

Her eyes lit up, as if they had soaked in the morning rays beaming through the living room windows. Any fear that had once lingered on her face had been chased away and the smile that broke across her face, Urd help him, was brighter than any star in the realm. They shared a silent moment, her hand still in his before she averted her gaze, a secret blush creeping into her cheeks.

He broke the silence first, sensing her uncertainty of what to do or say next, “So, how about that coffee?”

***

As they milled about the kitchen, the routine was much of the same. But the unspoken truths hung in the air, smothering the very oxygen from the room until they were both choking on it. And when Hunt unexpectedly pressed a gentle kiss to Bryce’s cheek in a gesture of thanks, she was left reeling. She tried to fight the heat piquing in her cheeks as she became hyper aware of the hairs on her arms raising at his touch. Of the muscles between his wings flexing as he tended to breakfast. Of her thighs clenching to quell the rush at her core, and the subsequent absence of underwear causing the color to drain from her face. She was wearing nothing under the shirt. His shirt.

Without warning his shoulders went tight, his wings tucking in, and he slowly turned on her with a curious but predatory gaze. The sudden quickening of her heart rate had likely alerted him. Or maybe it was the newfound heat pooling between her legs that had incited the almost feral way his eyes were roving over her.

“You okay, Quinlan?” He asked, giving a smug perk of his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I- I’m great.” She choked out, barely able to breathe under the weight of his stare.

As he scanned the length of her body once more, his eyes narrowed, “Is that my shirt?”

She nervously fingered the hem, which fell to mid-thigh, tugging it down for good measure but not daring to look away. “Uh, yeah, I hope you don’t mind.” she breathed, her usual bravado now a simpering and demure thing hiding in the corner. He continued to examine her for another few seconds too long, causing her to resign to embarrassment, “I’m sorry, I’ll go change” she stammered, turning to escape to her room. But as she went to step, he grabbed on to the hem and tugged her back to him.

“No, Quinlan, I don’t mind.” He said, his fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the hem. “I like seeing you in my shirt.” he confessed, his voice rumbling over her skin as he dropped his own gaze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed roughly.

In the movement of him pulling her back, she was now wedged between him and the island, suddenly aware of the cool marble against her spine. She knew her next move could be detrimental, that she was toeing the line between staying professional or diving headlong into something she might never be able to come back from. But in truth, she was already drowning in his presence and her own arousal. She willed her hand to move, placing her palm against his chest and he became violently still. Neither of them dared look at the other, their attention solely on her hand which was now drawing lazy circles on his tan skin.

“What about…” she trailed off, her nerves jolting her into momentary submission before she steeled herself, practically shouting at that part of her quivering in the corner to pull up her fucking bootstraps, “what about out of it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He became preternaturally still, not even a feather rustling out of place. Before she could register what was happening, not even lifting his head he stepped away, letting her hand fall to her side, and turned back around to the eggs cooking on the stovetop. Bryce watched him for a moment, letting the realization of her mistake sink in, before whirling around to escape the sight of his rejection, the distance now separating them. She crossed the line that she had stood on the precipice of for so long, and she had fucked up. She silently admonished herself, pressing her palms against the countertop in agitation. The sound of the burner clicking off echoed through the morose quiet of the room. Not even she could muster the confidence to eat breakfast with him, not after what had just happened.

She was about to excuse herself from the room when a strong hand snaked around her from behind, palming her stomach, as another hand ghosted down the length of her arm sending chills racing along her skin. His lips were suddenly at her ear, his voice dripping with desire as it consumed every nerve in her body.

“I would like that even more, Bryce.” He murmured, her name rolling off of his lips like a prayer. His body was pressed against hers, conforming to every curve, and the evidence of his arousal was pushing into her backside. The only thing louder than the stark silence of the room was the thunderous beating of their hearts.

Hunt reached up, pushing aside her red-wine hair, and Bryce trembled at the cool draft suddenly whispering against her bare neck. Even though she knew what was coming, nothing could prepare her for the state of catatonic shock her body plunged into when his lips pressed against the silken skin of her shoulder. Everything became narrowed to that singular point of contact. She turned to putty in his hands. He trailed his lips up her neck, her mouth dropping open when his teeth grazed against her skin until he reached the shell of her ear once more.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, his voice a tremor beneath her, threatening to shift and rupture her entire existence.

“Everywhere.” she moaned, gasping for a breath she had been holding.

“Show me.” he said. A two word command that had her body aching and quivering.

His hand that had been tracing up and down her arm nestled into her cupped palm, hanging limp at her side. Silently begging for permission. For direction.

Fighting through the erotic haze fogging her brain, she found the wherewithal to respond and gripped his strong, callused hand. As she guided his hand down her leg, she turned her head to look at him, holding his gaze as their hands crept toward the inner apex of her thighs. It was when his fingers brushed across her center and the physical evidence of her aroused state that she whispered a single word.

“Here.”

His eyes went dark with primal lust and when his lips met hers, they were rough. Needy. No longer gently asking permission but rather desperately demanding entrance. She would let him take and take from her until they were both sweating and limp with satiation.

Her lips parted, his tongue diving in to entwine with hers. She grazed his bottom lip with her teeth and a guttural growl rumbled from his chest. In a swift movement, he spun her around and gripped her behind her thighs, lifting her to sit on the edge of the cool, marble countertop. It was as if he had read her mind, seen the fantasies she had imagined many a morning.

He pressed himself between her legs, the feathered tips of his wings tickling her calves as they flexed and shifted around them. His hands roved the surface of her body, fitting into every crook of her curves, each voluptuous swell nesting perfectly in his palm, his grip greedy and unforgiving. As they kissed, their gasps and moans the only sound in the room, Hunt pushed his hands up her thighs, working the shirt up to her waist. When his thumb pressed and circled around her delicate clit, her jaw slackened as she exhaled a whimpering moan into his mouth. She grappled for something to hold onto, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck. He continued to work her, massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves as he kissed along her jawline.

He hooked his arm under her knee, lifting it up and spreading her wider on the marble, causing her to drop one hand and lean back on the counter to support herself. With their faces mere inches apart, he held her gaze as he continued the rhythmic movements of his hand against her center, watching the way she reacted to him with delightful hunger. When he teased her entrance with one finger, her grip on his neck tightened and she bit her lip. She was aching for him and that drove him wild. He was becoming unhinged at the sight of her, her heaving chest pressing her pebbled nipples against his shirt, her thighs spread wide for him, and the way she had just bitten her pink, kiss-swollen lip.

Before Bryce could even beg, he slowly thrust one finger into her, making her head tilt back with euphoria, “Fuck, Bryce.” he cursed. The feeling of her wrapped around him, warm and wet, made his cock ache even more. Attaching his lips to her neck, he kissed and sucked and licked from her chin to the hollow of her throat. He wanted to draw this out, to tease her until she was trembling and gasping with pleasure. He wanted to taste her. Gods, he needed to taste her. But not yet.

After a few moments, he withdrew his finger before inserting a second. Bryce brought her head up and with her eyes closed and lips parted in a pant, she focused on the sensation of his strong fingers teasing and stretching her, her arousal surely glistening on his skin. She wanted him to fill her, make her ache and scream with pleasure until there was nothing left of her.

The next word she uttered made him groan in approval, “Faster.” she pleaded, knowing exactly what she needed to find her release. Hunt brought his forehead to hers, their lips barely touching as they shared breath, and he quickened his pace. The skin-to-skin contact and the way his strong fingers moved in and out of her, would bring her to the edge soon. When his free hand slid under and up her shirt to palm her bare breast, his thumb flicking her hardened nipple, she gasped, “Yes- yes, keep doing that, please!” she begged.

He did as she asked, his fingers unrelenting in their actions, and soon enough she was tipping her head back in ecstasy, her body shaking with pleasure. Hunt feathered kisses along her neck and chest, seeing her through her orgasm and when she was done, when her chest no longer heaved, he withdrew his fingers. He sucked them into his mouth, rolling his eyes back at the sweet and all-consuming taste of her. When his eyes opened again he realized she had been watching him, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across her flushed face.

“Are you done?” she asked pointedly, her eyebrow perking.

“Not even close.” he growled, catching her lips in his. When he dropped her leg, letting her straighten on the island, she broke from the kiss and gave a sharp intake of breath. The sound of pain sobered his mind and he discovered her face wrenched in a grimace. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” he blurted out, gently gripping the sides of her face with concern.

“Oh stop fussing, it’s just my leg.” she told him off, “As much as I fantasized about this exact moment, I didn’t really take into account the comfort level of a countertop.” she laughed.

When Hunt didn’t laugh along, Bryce searched his face and found it set in a look as grim as his sudden demeanor. He was gently running his fingers along the brutal scar on her leg, his mind somewhere else entirely. She reached out, tipping his chin up to look at her and his gaze met hers, full of remorse.

“No one could have changed what happened, not even you. If it weren’t for you being in that alley, I might have died that night… so stop blaming yourself.” Bryce said, her voice soft with forgiveness.

Hunt gave a terse nod, cradling her hand that was pressed to his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss into her palm.

“Now, for the love of Urd, can we go somewhere more comfortable?” Bryce laughed in feigned exasperation.

“Alright, c’mon, we’re going to your room.” he said, sliding his hands under her and picking her up, letting her legs wrap around his waist. He walked toward her bedroom determinedly and she eyed him with curiosity.

“You just want to look in my nightstand, don’t you?” she asked with suspicion.

“Oh, you fucking know I do.” he purred, giving her ass a possessive squeeze.

When they entered the room, Syrinx jumped off of Bryce’s unmade bed with a yowl and ran out of the room. Hunt kicked the door shut before laying her down carefully on the bed.

She swatted his hands away, “Fucking Hel Hunt, I’m not an invalid. I just need a second to stretch, okay? Go do what you came here for.” she said, gesturing to the side of the bed. As she began stretching her leg, he turned to the notorious nightstand, grabbing the handle and pulling the drawer open with contained excitement and curiosity.

Silence, and then,“What the fuck?” He exclaimed, her back turned to him as she stretched. The contents of the drawer jostled as he plucked an object from inside.

“Oh c’mon Athalar, don’t act like you’ve never seen nipple clamps before.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes before turning around to see that looming giant of a man clutching a tiny Jelly Jubilee to his chest, his other hand shielding the toy’s face like a child.

“Don’t look Juby!” He proclaimed, gasping in a playful tone. “Why in the Hel is she in your left nightstand?”

“I don’t know, maybe I decided to bring her in here for safekeeping after someone rifled through my linen closet!” she spat in accusation.

He leaned in, whispering as if performing an aside, “Y’know, I don’t think I can, in good conscience, continue this with her in the room.”

“Oh for fuck sake, Hunt, just give her to me.” Bryce demanded in endeared exasperation, reaching up and snatching the glittery pegasus unicorn from his clutches before tossing it into the opposite nightstand.

The contents of the drawer clattered again and when she turned back over, he was gripping her trusty vibrator in one hand, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold swinging from one outstretched finger. “I see you found Bob.” She winked.

“Who the fuck is Bob?” he asked, genuine confusion lacing his voice.

She snorted. “Battery. Operated. Boyfriend.” she punctuated, pointing towards the purple, silicone vibrator in his left hand.

He looked back and forth between her and the toy, contemplating what to say next before gulping in a breath. “Well besides that, uh, interesting bit of information, I have so many questions.” he mused, climbing onto the bed and crawling over to kneel between her legs, already spread for him.

“For starters, where did you get these cuffs? They feel alarmingly real. Not just some cheap, adult store replica.”

Setting down the other two items, he focused on the metal handcuffs, unlocking them with the key he had also pulled from the drawer before tossing it onto the nightstand.

“Those?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows and feigning forgetfulness, “Oh I, uh, may or may not have stolen them…” she said, “...from the 33rd.” she added, her face breaking out into a sheepish grin.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he let her words sink in. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because,” she sat up, peeling off his white t-shirt, her body in all its glory now visible to him. He gulped, his eyes growing wider and he shifted on the bed. “Just like the rest of this gods forsaken city, you’ve heard the stories. My reputation precedes me…” she said. He saw the hurt flash through her eyes momentarily, but as quick as it had happened, it was gone.

“So,” she stretched out two upturned fists to him, “cuff me officer.” she pouted, jutting out her bottom lip and giving him the saddest looking doe eyes.

His cock throbbed at the tone of her voice, at the way she was looking up at him so innocently, but he could see the wicked glint in her eyes. He took her hands, ratcheting the cuffs around each wrist and then picked up the blindfold, sliding his rough fingers along the silk material. He pushed a few stray strands of her hand behind her ears before stretching the elastic and sliding the blindfold down over her eyes. He ghosted his hands down the length of her arm, lifting them above her head and gently laying her back to rest on the bed. A knowing smirk played across her face.

“What are you up to, Athalar?”

He was hovering over her, his hard groin pressed against her aching center, his lips inches from hers. “Keep your arms up, and don’t move.” his voice was low and hungry, his command reverberating off her bones.

With his hands planted on either side of her torso, he began kissing his way down her body, his lips trailing a tortuous path along her skin. When he reached her breasts, her skin pebbled at the contact. At his lips savoring each taste, his teeth grazing her teasingly, and at the cool breath he blew across her skin. He took each pert nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue around them, meanwhile flicking the other with his thumb.

Suddenly, he pulled his hands away, releasing her nipple from his lips. As much as it killed him, he stopped touching her altogether, admiring the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell with each breath. She began to squirm and his grin turned devilish.

“Hunt, what the fuck? Why did you stop?” Her voice was wanting, needy.

He didn’t respond. Just continued to watch her squirm in the wake of his silence, enjoying the sight of her missing his touch. After a few moments he rubbed his fingers together, feeling the static spark come to life. Pressing the pads of his fingers to her skin, he circled them around her breasts, dragging a small electric current along her skin and causing her back to arch off the bed.

“Fucking Hel Hunt!” she yelped, bringing her hands down to her chest where he caught them by the chain of the handcuff.

“I told you not to move your hands.” He scolded, his voice a deep bass.

“But I-”

“Does it hurt?” He asked, a tinge of concern edging his voice.

She paused, considering her response carefully.

“No.”

“Then,” he pushed her arms back, guiding her hands once more to their resting place above her head. “Do what I say and don’t move, understand?”

She nodded, obeying willingly, and he sat back to work his remaining undergarment off and reposition himself. Laying down on his stomach, he nestled himself between her legs and wrapped his arms around her hips, bringing his hands up to rest on her abdomen. He looked down at the junction of her thighs, humming in approval at the sight of her gloriously aching center, the wetness of her arousal glistening in the morning light that shone through the penthouse windows.

He called forth that static again, that small kernel of power that was only a fraction of the full might of his gift. As he kissed down the inside of her thigh, the one that had been injured two years before, he traced his fingers down the inside of the opposite thigh. She let out a gasp, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced. He repeated the action of kissing her other thigh, this time not using his power, taking care not to cause her further pain. When he could no longer contain himself, he pounced upon her, his tongue lavishing erotic pleasure to her sensitive clit. When he electrified her skin once more, her back arched into his mouth as he feasted upon the taste of her. The delicious mixture of sensations - the soft press of his lips and the sharp tingling of his fingers against her skin - sent her reeling.

He repeated the tantalizing of her skin, diving his tongue into her entrance. “Holy fucking Urd, Bryce, you taste so good.” he groaned in delight, each word a tantric vibration through her core.

Each languid swipe and thrust of his tongue was breaking her down and tearing her apart from inside. She could feel herself tightening, feel herself building to that eventual climax, but she didn’t want it to end that way. She wanted him inside her, filling her up so she could fall apart wrapped around his cock. She let him have a few more moments, let him savor the taste of her with delicious appreciation before setting her ruse into action.

“Hunt, stop,” she moaned, lacing her voice with a whimper. He pulled himself up, sliding his body over hers so that he was once more hovering above her face, his arms pinned on either side of her torso.

“What- what is it?” he asked. She could hear the panic in his voice. He had taken her bait.

She couldn’t help the devious smirk that spread across her face as she, with surprising strength, rolled him over onto his back and straddled him. She pushed the blindfold off and reached over, grabbing the key off of the nightstand. With quick precision, she unlocked the cuffs and chucked them, and the key, across the room. In this position, she could easily and selfishly find her release but she wanted nothing more than to sink down onto him. He reached up to caress her arms but she pushed them above his head, her body parallel to his, her breasts pressed against his hard chest.

“I want you inside me.” She moaned in a whisper, nipping his lip playfully. She felt his abs clench underneath her in response, heard the growl hum in his chest.

Reaching back, she grabbed his already hard cock, positioning it at her entrance, teasing herself and delighting in the way his jaw clenched at her touch. His eyes were dark with hunger, his face schooled into a look of lethal and predatory calm. When she finally shifted her hips, pressing herself down onto his throbbing length and taking him in fully, their jaws both slackened and the moans they let out were loud enough for even the wretched souls at the bottom of the Istros to hear. With her hands planted on his chest and her nails digging into his skin, Bryce sank down onto him over and over, her lithe dancer’s body affording her grace and flexibility as she gyrated up and down. Hunt reached around, his wide grip claiming her ass with devious possessiveness, bringing her hips down harder as he thrust himself up to meet her. The change in force made Bryce whimper and dig her nails in deeper, threatening to draw blood.

“So, is it just like you imagined?” Bryce asked, her words breathless and unhinged.

“If you’re referring to this,” Hunt said, giving a pointed squeeze of her ass, “it is so much better.” he growled, before pulling her down to catch her lips in his, his tongue invading her mouth with reckless abandon. Bringing his hands up to either side of her face, his fingers slid into her hair and he gripped a section, giving a tug to bare her neck to him.

“I have one more idea that I think you’ll enjoy.” she said as he feathered kisses along her skin from her chin to the hollow of her throat.

“What could I possibly enjoy more than this?” he whispered, his breath tickling her neck.

Without answering, Bryce lifted herself off of his cock, the absence of him instantly making her ache even more. She crawled down to the edge of the bed and on all fours, perked her perfect rear into the air and gave a beckoning wiggle. She wasn’t looking, but she knew as the bed shifted with his movement, that he was prowling towards her with a voracious hunger. She could practically feel the tension and sexual energy sizzling in the air. She felt his hands grip her ass again and then she felt his teeth sink into the tender skin of her rear, followed by a gentle but territorial spank.

His callused hands traced along her back and up to her neck, reaching around to gently grip her throat. His body was confirmed to hers and when his lips were once more at her ear, his deep voice rumbling through her, the fire inside of her was reignited with damning ferocity.

“The kitchen counter may have been your fantasy, but this is mine.” he groaned, tracing his tongue along the shell of her ear.

“Oh, I know.” she moaned with a smirk, her voice dripping with arrogance.

Hunt dipped two fingers into her, giving a few quick thrusts before withdrawing and sliding his cock in, letting her wrap around his sensitive erection. In this position, his reach was even deeper and their gasps and groans intermingled, filling the otherwise silent room. With his right hand still gripping her throat, Hunt reached his free hand around her abdomen, his fingers finding her clit. When they made contact, her body shuddered around him, writhing at the sensory overload assaulting her body.

Bryce heard an airy snap as Hunt unfurled his wings fully and a moment later the room became a torrent of air. With both hands occupied, he was using the flap of his feathered wings to both balance himself and provide him further leverage to sink into Bryce with each thrust. The currents of air made her nipples harden, made her skin tingle with delight, and she could feel the coil deep within her tightening again.

“You’re going to wake up the entire building with all that flapping.” Bryce snapped, her sex-mussed hair billowing like a curtain of fire.

“Good.” Hunt grunted, “Let them hear.” His wings beat faster, bringing his thrusts against her backside harder and deeper. His fingers still worked her clit, massaging her in circles that made her legs tremble. When he dragged his tongue up the side of her neck, biting her earlobe and groaning into her ear, it was her undoing.

The coil within that was threatening to rupture sprang alive and it was everything she could do to keep herself on all fours. Her body shook with unrelenting pleasure and her moans echoed off of every wall. When she tightened around his cock he, too, found his release. The windows vibrated from his roar as he spilled into her, every muscle in his body tense, his skin gleaming with sweat. When they both stilled, their chests heaving and legs trembling, they collapsed onto their backs in a sweaty but satiated heap, laying shoulder-to-shoulder.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was their gasping pants. Hunt’s wings were still extended, cascading over the edge of the bed in a blanket of white, Bryce’s blood red hair a stark contrast.

Bryce squirmed, reaching under her and yanking our the purple vibrator.

“I guess we didn’t need Bob after all.” She exhaled, tossing it to the other end of the bed. Hunt chuckled, his laughter shaking the bed, a smug smile forming.

“I-,” Bryce started, still gulping in air, “I guess it’s a little late to ask, but do you take the tonic?”

“Every month on the dot, as per Micah’s contract.” Hunt said, his voice now a sharp edge at the mention of his servitude, “It doesn’t bode well to have a bunch of slave offspring running around I suppose.”

Bryce looked over and saw the way his face was set into hard lines, his eyes turning dark as he became lost in thought. She rolled over onto her side, taking his tattooed wrist into her hand. She pressed her kiss-swollen lips against the inside of his wrist where the slave tattoo was etched into his skin. She repeated the action, kissing the spot several times before angling herself up to do the same across his forehead, trailing her lips gently across the thorned halo.When she was finished, she pulled back and looked him in the eyes with absolution.

“I’ve seen who you are Hunt, who you truly are, and you are so much more than those markings.” she spoke quietly, the tender admission lingering in the air between them. His eyes grew softer as he looked into the amber ones peering into his soul. Like so many other times, his breath caught at how beautiful she was. How the morning sun made her glow with an otherworldly radiance. How her face was so soft, a smattering of freckles bedecking her skin like a constellation. How her red hair spilled over her shoulders and back like a velvet curtain.

In that moment, he wanted so badly to say what had tortured him every day since his exploration of her linen closet, and the innocent way she had divulged a part of herself that no one else had seen. He could taste the words on his lips, could feel them forming, but before he could utter a word Bryce broke the silence with a contented sigh and flopped back down onto the bed.

“Alright Athalar, can we actually go make breakfast now? I’m fucking starving!” she exclaimed, making the bed shake from their laughter.

Hunt rolled over to hover over top of her, his sable hair hanging down around his face and tickling her skin. He pressed his lips to hers, lingering once more at the taste of her.

He spoke, his words coming out muffled against her mouth. “The last one there has to do the dishes!” he grinned wickedly, making a dash for his underwear discarded across the room.

“It’s on alphahole!” she shouted, leaping off the bed, knocking her bedside lamp off with a clatter in the process. She shrugged on his t-shirt once more, dodging the forgotten handcuffs he chucked at her which hit the closed bedroom with a metallic crash. From across the apartment, Syrinx gave a whine at the commotion, leaping down off of the couch to wait patiently for Bryce to fill his food bowl.

#BryceHunt #crescent city #Quinlar #Bryce quinlan #Hunt athalar #sarah j maas #alphahole #angel #smut #fanfiction #fantasy #books #love #angst #fluff #confessions

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animemangasoul · 4 years ago

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You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 4/10

Obi-Wan came to, to a throbbing headache, a flaring pain in his abdominal region and two warm bodies sprawled on top of him on either side. Full awareness had yet to sink in, faint traces of nightmares still clinging to his consciousness; threatening to drag him back under.

But the painful memories they spun through his mind were not easy to shake off. The warmth of Master Qui-Gon's presence dimming under his desperate hands, his own injuries screaming in agony, the tears, the horror, the force within him, building and building until it burst. Until there was nothing.

Until he was nothing.

He remembered it all so vividly. Even weeks later, those excruciating moments clawed at his chest, screamed in his soul, choked his heart.

It had hurt, Obi-Wan remembered that much. Being stabbed by the Sith had nothing on the pain that came after forcefully healing his Master with everything he had. He'd never been a proficient healer, had never learned nor mastered the art, but fear and desperation had forced his hand and as his Master had begged him to let him go, begged him to not endanger his life, begged him to train the Chosen One, Obi-Wan remembered shaking his head; tears running down his face, remembered how he'd let his emotions rule him.

How he'd clung to a man ready to join the force. How he'd exhausted himself, holding onto a soul ready to depart as he poured his very essence into his Master, until there was nothing left in him anymore.

And he remembered, Qui-Gon tears splattering against his hands. Remembered how his Master had tried to heal him in turn, but his body had rejected it. As if the force required penance for his crimes. As if by giving himself fully to bring Qui-Gon back, the force shied away from him.

It was the last thing he recalled. That face, his Master's face marred in so much pain, so much horror, so much desperation and so much grief.

It had been the last thing he'd seen. His Master alive and breathing. Obi-Wan had thought then that his time had come and if, he'd wondered as his gaze connected with the pleading eyes of Master Qui-Gon Jinn, if he was to go saving his Master, then there was no greater honour. And so he'd let the darkness take him, consciousness fading to declaration of love and sobbing demands to please wake up.

'If I die saving you, Master,' he'd thought, wrapping his thinning force presence around the grieving man in comfort. 'Then I'm glad. I'm so very glad.'

And then, there was nothing.

A blissful moment of silence. A fleeting moment of peace. Until he was forcefully dragged back,

Until he opened his eyes and found himself alive.

Oh and if the reality he woke up too wasn't a nightmare he rather not have laid his eyes on. Even now, his eyes stung thinking about it. The betrayal, the abandonment, the…….

His Master had repudiated him, hadn't he?

Clenching his teeth, Obi-Wan blinked frantically to stave away the oncoming wave of tears.

'No,' he hissed at himself. 'I won't cry anymore. Never again. Not over this.'

What was done was done. No amount of self-pity and confusion was going to clarify it. And Obi-Wan couldn't linger in the past, not anymore.

'Here and now, Padawan,' he thought bitterly. 'keep your concentration here and now where it belongs.'

He gritted his teeth and sighed, feeling exhausted even as it appeared that he had actually gotten a goodnight sleep, going by the bright morning light breaking through the window.

A soft mumble against his ear snapped him out of his grief and he blinked. Turning ever so slightly as not to disturb the man sleeping next to him he came nose to nose with the peaceful face of Quinlan. His best friend making a little noise at the back of his throat, brows furrowing before he sighed and leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

Exhaling gently, Obi-Wan ignored the painful twinge of his heart at the action and carefully pressed his cheek atop the crow of the other man's head. Closing his eyes in silent gratitude.

Leaving the Halls had been such relief, but he'd also dreaded it. Maybe that's why he'd been so cooperative with Master Che; the healer endlessly suspicious of his respectful attitude and his lack of attempts to flee the scene. It was unusual for him after all, to be so obedient. But he hadn't done it out of any sense of respect, not really. Because despite his reckless need to be independent and his bone deep fear of medics, the outside world was so much scarier than the white walls of the Halls.

To cry out for independence and for it to thrust into his lap in the cruelest way imaginable. It rattled him. And in a way, he found hiding within the Halls of Healing, away from the prying eyes of the public, gave him the only level of dignity he could be afforded.

Sighing, he allowed himself to drown in the two force presence surrounding him. Little Aayla's force signature still a little unfamiliar to him, but all the more welcoming. The newly minted Padawan had practically shadowed Quinlan for as long as she'd been at the Temple, and while Obi-Wan hadn't had the pleasure to talk to her often, her gentle kindness had been a balm against his burned soul these past couple of weeks.

Smiling softly at the Twi'lek girl pressed against his side, Obi-Wan fumbled for Quin's hand, squeezing it lightly even as the sudden movement; little as it were, sent a flash of pain across his chest.

Still, the presence of this particular Master, Padawan duo made the turmoil of his current situation just the tiniest bit more bearable.

He hadn't wanted anyone to come along when he'd left the Halls, all the attention and broadcasted worry by his friends and new Master, making him uncomfortable. So he'd left them with a grateful goodbye. Master Windu pushing him to their newly shared quarters.

It had been embarrassing, being fussed over. Master Windu clearly had other more important businesses and order meetings to take care of, but somehow the man had made himself available for his discharge and kept a steady follow of conversation between them as he guided the hoverchair to Obi-Wan's new home. "I can walk, Master," he remembered saying; face ducked into his chest to avoid the curious glances sent his way. "You can go if you want." And he remembered Master Windu placing a gentle hand atop of his head and patting him gently in response.

"I know you can kid," he'd huffed. "But there is no need to strain yourself when you don't have to." And that had been the end of it. Somehow the warmth emitting from Master Windu's force presence curling around him in soft comfortable that Obi-Wan didn't quite know why it made him want to cry. So he only flushed deep red and nodded. Content in sharing this little moment with his new Master.

Rarely had Master Qui-Gon been so open with his worry and concern for him, his action of course spoke louder than words and Obi-Wan vividly recalled his former Master's arms around him as he sobbed into his hair, begging him to hold on. But his mind, his thoughts had always alluded him, so to experience Master Windu's care for him, so openly, so unrestrained, it had been….. Comforting.

In the end Quin and Aayla had greeted them as soon as they'd arrived at Master Windu's quarters. Grinning at him with little Aayla rushing forward to give him a tentative hug. His weeks in the hospital had brought them closer with Anakin and her forming an adorable friendship and secretly Obi-Wan was thankful. For as sweet as Anakin could be, sometimes being in his presence, remembering how Qui-Gon chose---- sometimes it was difficult to be kind, so Aayla whether she realized it or not had been a force blessing in disguise.

The Master, Padawan duo had refused to leave of course and with Master Windu backing them--- "It's your first night out of the Halls Obi-Wan, it's best to be careful with your recovery," there was nothing Obi-Wan could do but let them stay.

Master Windu left shortly after that. Helping him to his bedroom first; quickly snatching up what suspiciously looked like Soresu training leaflets from the covers with fond exasperation and nearly tucked him in if he hadn't caught himself last minute, much to Quinlan's amusement and his own mortification.

While Quinlan's presence was annoying as ever after that, practically lounging in his bed, taking up more space than required and forcing him to watch stupid holodramas. His and Aayla's company pushed away the dark thoughts clouding his mind and even as he grumbled and frowned at his best friend, Obi-Wan found himself relaxing. And just like that, their laughter and jokes, Aayla's timid little smiles and mischievous tales of her and Anakin's exploits, Quinlan's snarky comments and embarrassing retelling of Obi-Wan's childhood stories, lulled him to sleep. Holodrama forgotten and for the moment, Master Qui-Gon too.

Now here he was, eyes tracing the ceiling of this unfamiliar bedroom, lingering ever so often on the scorch marks; likely done with a lightsaber and wondering how Master Billaba had gotten away with practicing her lightsaber forms inside her kriffing bedroom. It's the funny mental image of Master Billaba slashing across the walls, while Master Windu frantically begging her to stop, that accompanies him back to sleep. Aayla's fingers curled around the hem of his tunic and Quin's breath fanning warmth across his skin, grounding him as he slipped away into a dreamless rest.

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

When he woke up next, it was to a dull headache, pain bursting through his guts and a distinct lack of bodies clustering around him in his bed.

He sighed, arm coming up to cover his eyes, teeth digging into his lower lip to keep himself from yelping at the sheer agony that flared up at his action.

Obi-Wan took his time dragging himself out of bed. Fingers grabbing for the note by his bedside, eyes skimming over Quinlan's chicken scratches and snorting at the hurried explanation for their departing-- "Ay needs to get to class!! Can't believe I slept in!!!! You Obs make a hell of a pillow!" and of course the threats for him to take his medication or else--- "Take those pills man or I'll sic Bant on you. Don't think I won't!!!" With a crude drawing of Bant with a pitchfork.

Obi-Wan wondered how Quin had found the time to draw the picture if he was in as much of a hurry as he said, shaking his head fondly. Clearly he'd taken his time with it too, going by the erased lines and all the redraws. Snorting in amusement, he threw back two pills, ignoring the warning of eating something first; the pain was borderline on unbearable at this point, and slowly eased himself up and in the direction of the bathroom.

Every apartment in the Temple were simplistic and almost identical in their designs; the only difference being the size and number of rooms depending on one's status as a Jedi, so Obi-Wan managed to get through his morning routine with relative little difficulty. The shower taking the longest time as he struggled to stand through the hot water cascading down his back. He should have just settled for a sonic, he thought bitterly, but the pelting droplets of water somehow elevated the coldness in his chest and loosened his muscle; unknown tension draining from his figure and even as he pressed his face against the cool glass, legs barely able to hold him up, so he couldn't find it in himself to regret his momentary reprieve. Constantly as it might have been.

Still, even with the painkillers dulling the pain coursing through his veins, Obi-Wan stumbled out, breath coming in gasps and even drying himself off taking more energy than his body was capable of providing. His bandages had come off around a week ago, the bacta tank having healed the external wound to a degree but Master Che fearing infection, had kept them on for a time. The healers were extra careful in how they treated him, and from the way his stomach and his insides, from the way it all burned, Obi-Wan couldn't fault them for treading lightly.

Collapsing on the bed; pants all he'd managed to drag on, Obi-Wan scrunched his eyes shut, the trickle of tears sliding down his cheeks joining the splotches of dampness on his covers by his poorly dried hair.

'Just a minute--' he thought, swallowing down the misery, muscles screaming from unused exhaustion.

It appeared to be that no amount of physical therapy could make up from weeks suspended in a bacta tank. 'Just a minute.'

At last he found himself making his way out of his new bedroom and wandering into the living room; a simple tunic the only outer layer he had any strength in pulling on before his body once again bucked against him in protest.

Fingers clutching at the doorframe, he let his eyes scan the vast space.

Looked like Masters on the council had much larger living space afforded to them then just being a Master. 'Or maybe it's just the Master of the Order,' Obi-Wan thought, eyes landing on the floor to roof length windows stretching from wall to wall and the meditation space separate from the living room itself and finally the modest sized kitchen down the hall that he couldn't quite see from his position.

He'd heard rumours that outside of important council meetings, council sessions between select members were often held in Master Windu's quarters for convenience, and from the several chairs surrounding a round table by the far side and the datapads stacked like mountains in the corner, Obi-Wan was inclined to believe the rumours to be true.

Finally, his gaze landed on the stacked boxes by the wall separating his new bedroom from Master Windu's own and he found that he couldn't quite swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.

Those were his things.

He knew Garen had brought them over sometime during the holodrama marathon, even offering to unpack most of it with Quin and Aayla's help; despite Garen having a mission briefing to report to.

Obi-Wan had flat out turned it down. Firmly telling his friends that no, he didn't need help with every little thing in his life. "I'll unbox them at my own time," he'd said, glaring mulishly at them. "Just because I'm a recently recovered victim of a Sith does not mean I can't take care of myself."

They'd eventually relented when he'd threatened to kick them all out if they didn't stop; Quin hurriedly shooing Garen out, claiming his favorite episode was coming up and he couldn't afford to be kicked out now, while Aayla just laughed at them all.

"If you wanna waste time unpacking all this junk, be my guest," was Garen's departing words, saluting them as he went. "Don't come crying to me when you get tired." And his friends had left it at that.

If only they'd known the real reason why he hadn't wanted their help.

Sighing, he carefully shuffled over to the boxes, fingers running over the sealed tape, eyes stinging for just a moment at the thought of Master Qui-Gon packing away his things just so he could give his room to his new favorite Padawan. 'No,' Obi-Wan thought, even as his fingers clenched and jealousy spiked in his heart. 'This is not Anakin's fault.'

Of course it wasn't. He was just an innocent kid, a kid who'd been through hell and now was caught up in the middle of this mess, and yet…..

What it most have been like for him. To be chosen by Qui-Gon. To be wanted, when Obi-Wan begged and pleaded and cried for even a sliver of that attention.

Gritting his teeth, he let his arm drop. Having Gar and Quin help him with unpacking his stuff would have been much easier all things considered; especially since Master Windu would be back around noon to check up on him as he'd promised, but…..

Just the thought of Master Windu's kind smile and understanding eyes froze him in place. Refused to let him even entertain taking the first step in opening those boxes, because…. What if….

What if Master Windu changed his mind?

It's not like their partnership had been made official yet. Master Windu hadn't stood in front of the council and declared him his Padawan. Not yet….. Maybe not ever.

What if, right this very moment, he was thinking his decision over. Realizing a grown adult Padawan was not what he was looking for. What if he was talking with Master Qui-Gon and Master Qui-Gon was telling him about all of Obi-Wan's shortcomings. What if he got back later only to inform Obi-Wan; with that sad tilt of his mouth and calming force presence that this, their partnership wouldn't work out. Because Obi-Wan was too much trouble and no one in their right mind could ever teach him and turn him into a competent Knight.

What if Master Windu was regretting giving him hope, telling him he wouldn't be sent away and now he was stuck with him and there wouldn't be an easy way to let him down and maybe Qui-Gon had been right all along maybe Obi-Wan had never been cut out to be a Knight because if he was meant to be a Knight, why did Master Qui-Gon throw him away!

And oh….

He couldn't breathe.

Slamming a hand against his chest, he tried. His throat tightening up, a wheeze escaping past his lips.

He couldn't breathe.

Shutting his eyes, he counted. The silence, the quiet. He drew it to him. Focused on every inhale and exhale. One, two, three. In and out.

'Breathe,' he told himself, the ghost of Master Qui-Gon's hand pressed between his shoulder blades. 'Breathe Obi-Wan. It's going to be okay.'

It took him several minutes; of what felt like hours, to get his raging emotions under control, but when he did, a loud gasp pushed through his mouth, finally, and he was breathing again. Shuddering and forcefully fighting against the need to curl into a ball and weep, but breathing nonetheless.

Obi-Wan stumbled back, using the boxes for support as he blinked away the dark spots that invaded his sight.

Breathe.

It's going to be okay.

Somehow he found within himself the strength to move over to the couch and sit down. Kneels buckling underneath him as he sank into the cushions. Wiping a tired hang across his brows, Obi-Wan gave himself a window just to gather his sense and it was not a moment too soon for a couple of minutes later a knock alerted him to an unknown guest outside Master Windu's quarters.

"Come in," he called before suddenly realizing that this wasn't actually his old quarters and unlike Master Qui-Gon's not many refused to use access code. But just as he was about to force himself back on his feet, the door slide open and Master Billaba walked in. Hands carefully balancing a tray of food she most have gotten from the refectory as well as a slim wooden box.

"Hello, Obi-Wan," she smiled and Obi-Wan smiled back; albeit with much more restraint and politeness.

"Hello, Master Billaba."

"Depa," she corrected, eyebrows raised.

"Master Depa," he said, bowing as best as he could without agitating his recent injury.

Stepping into the apartment, Master Billaba placed the breakfast tray on the dinner table, before she made her way over to him; wooden box in hand.

"I don't have much time," she said, sitting down across from him. "I'm expected to be present for the council meeting starting thirty minutes from now so I most be quick." Folding her legs, Master Billaba gave him a calculating look. "I have something for you."

Obi-Wan stiffened. He didn't know much about Master Billaba except for her sound reputation and Master Windu's fondness of her.

What could she possible have for him?

'Maybe Master Windu sent her to soften the blow,' a traitorous voice whispered into his ear. 'Maybe he couldn't face you when he rejected you too.'

Swallowing thickly, he schooled his features into serene blankness. "What do you have for me Master Bill---" she gave him a look. "Master Depa," he corrected with an apologetic smile.

"Well," she said, and strangely enough to Obi-Wan's quiet surprise, she sounded unsure of herself as she fiddled with the cover of the box. "I talked to Mace and--" tearing her eyes from his, she exhaled loudly; her force presence coiling around her as if soothing away her worries, concern? "We talked about your Padawan-braid, Obi-Wan. How Master Jinn removed your marks of achievements when he released you from his care."

Obi-Wan flinched, fingers immediately coming up to tug at his braid, long as it were, bare as it was. "Yes," he managed to stutter out. "That is correct."

His pain most have reached her, for Master Billaba sent him a sympathetic smile before carefully removing the lid of the box and looking down at the content. "We both know, that for Padawans, the beads and bands they collect throughout their apprenticeship means more---" she swallowed, blinking slowly. "Means more to them, than any outsider of the Order can ever hope to understand. It signifies our commitment, our devotion, our dedication and---" a pause. "our relationship with our Masters." The last part was but a whisper, as if Master Billaba by speaking softly could somehow spare him the hurtful truth of his repudiation.

It didn't and it was all Obi-Wan could do not to recoil from her words. "Yes," he whispered back. "Yes."

This time, Master Billaba's smile was brittle, pained but when she met his eyes it held the calm resolve of the woman who had ha seat in the council, one of the youngest Masters to ever be appointed. He saw Master Depa Billaba of the Jedi Order and her tranquil presence helped him cobble together a modicum of composure to not fall apart right then and there. "I know Master Jinn took your accomplishment with him when he repudiated you," she said. "And what I have here might not make up for that loss, might not hold the same history or importance to you, but I hope it can give you…., a sense of closure and a sense of closeness to those that do care for you."

Obi-Wan blinked, confused. "What---" he started, but before he could even formulate an appropriate question, Master Billaba stood up and gently placed the open box in his lap and when Obi-Wan looked down he saw beads of several different colours.

Blue and red and pearl white and, was that Bant's pale green band that Tahl had given her for all those years ago?---- "I don't understand," he mumbled, a single finger running over a diamond shaped bead that distinctly looked like the one he'd seen in Garen's braid just a cycle ago. "I don't….. What is this?"

Resting a hand on his shoulder, Master Billaba projected warmth, comfort and calmness through to him and Obi-Wan found the tension within his body slowly easing away. "Your apprenticeship is nearly over and I felt that it was wrong for you to have to finish it without all the accomplishment you have achieved with your own merits on display like every Padawan that came before you and will come after you. Therefore I had an idea--" she squeezed his shoulder slightly. "And so I ran it by Mace and your fellow Jedi and it looks like many of your crèchemates and friends value you dearly Obi-Wan Kenobi. Those beads are either from their former Padawan braids that they have requested from their Masters or from their current braids in the case of Padawan Eerin and Padawan Reeft. Each contributed a single bead or band, to you." Leaning over so she could meet his eyes, Master Billaba smiled, soft, kind, gentle. "You are very loved Obi-Wan, I wished for you to know that."

"Oh."

For what else could he say.

Here were all the….. The evidence of how much…..

He hadn't been the brightest Youngling nor the strongest Initiate and his years as Master Qui-Gon's Padawan were fraught with controversies and infractions, and for the longest time he'd known, in his heart of hearts that he was destined for infinite sadness. That in his path lay nothing but misery and suffering.

So to see, despite of his current predicament, despite his rejection, despite his bone deep loneliness, this level of kindness. It…..

Every bead and band gave of little pulses of familiar force signatures. Without needing to concentrate Obi-Wan could feel them all. He could feel Quin and Bant and Reeft and Gar. And he could feel Master Billaba, Master Windu and Master Plo Koon. His crèchemates and Masters Friends he'd met throughout his years as a Padawan and…..

Obi-Wan didn't quite know when he started crying, but when the first droplet of water splashed atop of the silk green band, he raised a finger to brush against his cheek.

'Would you look at that,' he thought, faintly aware of Master Billaba coming to sit next to him. 'I'm crying.'

"Who's this one from?" He finally managed to whisper after an infinite time of him just staring down at a gift he didn't know quite what to do with. "I don't recognize….the force signature?" Obi-Wan had asked in hopes of distracting himself from his embarrassing display of emotions but holding the green little orb in his hand, the question still held true. This bead was the only one whom its force signature was wholly unfamiliar to him.

"That one belonged to Feemor," Master Billaba said, eyes far away and lips drawn into a sad frown. "He is an old friend."

Curiously staring down at the green bead, Obi-Wan wiped away his tears and felt for the gentle force pulsing from it. It was calming. "Could you… thank him for me? All of them I mean. I…. I'm not quite sure how to react, it's….. Thank them for me?"

Master Billaba squeezed his shoulder again. "Of course," she said and with that was on her feet making her way to the door. "Oh and Obi-Wan," she called back.

"Yeah?" Fingers digging into the wood, he barely managed to tear his eyes away from it.

"Mace told me that your Padawan announcement will be held in front of the council tomorrow afternoon and if you're not up for it physically it will be held here, in your quarters."

"What?"

Master Billaba's force presence wrapped around him in a hug. "You will officially become my Padawan brother tomorrow, Padawan Kenobi. Congratulations."

"I…. I don't--"

What do you say in the face of such overwhelming kindness?

"Thank you," he said, face probably blotched, nose red and eyes stinging. "I will be ready to go to the council….when I'm called."

Master Billaba nodded, her fondness all but ruffling his hair and Obi-Wan found himself ducking, blushing at the carefree display of affection. "Take care, Obi-Wan," walking out the door, she nodded at the dinner table. "And eat your breakfast."

Letting out a watery chuckle, Obi-Wan shook his head. "I will."

And with that, Master Billaba was gone, vanishing out the door as quickly as she'd walked through it. Leaving behind a new legacy and a new bond.

Obi-Wan sat on the couch for a long time simply looking at the handful of beads swimming at the bottom of the box, silently wondering how Quin had managed to keep it a secret from him this whole time. It most have taken so much effort. Knights like Gar and Quin having to go back to their former Masters to request a single token from them and they'd done it all, for him.

Closing the box with a gentle click, Obi-Wan stood up. It was time to unpack his things.

"One step at a time," he told himself, a tiny smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.

Maybe after all these weeks he could finally move forward. Maybe Master Windu was right, and it would all work out in the end.

Maybe, just maybe.

The End

Note: In this AU I'm going by the popular headcanon that Feemor had a previous Master who died and Qui-Gon picked up his training and saw him through to knighthood. Half of Feemor's braid is therefore put under his bed with his former Master's belongings and the other half he gave to Qui-Gon and that's how he could also give Obi-Wan his bead. Also it paints an interesting parallel between the qui-gon who helped a padawan who lost his master to knighthood and the jaded qui-gon of today who is the one abandoning a padawan willingly to train the chosen one.

Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan fanfic #qui gon jinn #depa billaba #quinlan vos #aayla secura #star wars #star wars fanfic #fanfic #you are wanted obi-wan kenobi #qui gon a+ parenting #Mace is best dad #chapter 4 #yawowh chapter 4

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hellowkatey · 4 years ago

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What are Men to Rocks and Mountains? Chapter 3

Rating: T | No warning apply | Obi-Wan Kenobi & Satine Kryze

Summary: Quinlan Vos has a good Obi-Wan bullshit-meter. Satine continues her pattern of not having fun at balls. Obi-Wan is trying his best.

Read it on AO3 Here

Chapter 3: Care to Dance?

Obi-Wan sits on the bench of the training room, pouring the cool contents of his canteen down his throat. Sweat is pouring down his back from nearly twenty minutes of sustained saber practice. Somehow Quinlan Vos, his sparring partner, is still swinging his lightsaber around in various loose katas. Obi-Wan is pretty sure his energy is endless.

"You could at least act like you are tired," Obi-Wan huffs, setting down the canteen.

"Against the Jedi Code, lying is," Quin mocks Master Yoda in a surprisingly accurate voice. Obi-Wan chuckles, standing and spinning his saber around with a loose wrist to prepare to re-engage.

"What form are you practicing?" Quin asks, knowingly eyeing the opening stance of Ataru. "Or should I say, supposed to be practicing?"

"I didn't realize I was sparring with Qui-Gon."

Quin snorts. "C'mon Obi, I'll do Makashi."

"You suck at form two," Obi-Wan deadpans.

"Exactly, maybe you'll have a chance."

Begrugedly, he shifts his stance to Soresu. The stance feels unnatural after practicing Ataru so vigorously-- mostly because Qui-Gon has just begun training him in more advanced forms. He is set on mastering Ataru to catch up to his peers like Quinlan who are already experimenting with other forms. His Kiffar friend has practically mastered Ataru himself but has been working on his Djem So the last couple of weeks.

Quin tips his saber down in the Makashi opening salute. It looks out of place, a formal duel beginning done by the unconventional and infamously roguish Jedi. Quinlan immediately steps forward with less grace than is supposed to be employed with this form, but it holds power all the same. Obi-Wan accepts his defensive position and catches the saber on his own, satisfied with the ease it blocks the blade.

Quinlan is, of course, unrelenting. He twirls, quickly performing a counter move that unblocks his saber and goes for another calculated hit. The movements remind Obi-Wan of the sparring session he witnessed while with Lady Satine, and a smile appears unwillingly on his face.

"What's that stupid look on your face?" Quin prods when they lock their blades once more. The green and blue blades light up either side of his friend's face, making his eyebrow wiggle more menacing than he meant it to be.

"Not sure what you're referring to." Obi-Wan decides to throw in some acrobatics, using the Force to launch him to the other side of Quin as he is going into a backswing. It adequately catches him off guard, making him go on the defense for a moment while Obi-Wan integrates a few more aggressive attacks.

They get into a stalemate, stalking one another from a few meters apart. "Either my chest is sending you into a conniption-- which, understandable, I have been working out." Obi-Wan glances down at his friend's bare chest, rolling his eyes. Or... it's something up there," he gestures his lightsaber at Obi-Wan's head.

"The first, obviously." Quin has always been known for being difficult to clothe. Obi-Wan can still remember the way their creché master's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she walked into him cutting the sleeves off his tunic-- unsuccessfully, as he stole a practice saber from the training room to do the job and failed to realize it was in training mode. It had the cutting ability of a flashlight. Quin claims he feels restricted in clothing and prefers to wear as little as possible. Obi-Wan has gotten used to it at this point, so Quin's half-clothed state didn't even register in his mind.

"I knew it."

They fall back into step. Quin's Makashi is beginning to look suspiciously like Ataru with every passing second, and Obi-Wan is aching to return to it as well. Remaining on defense isn't nearly as fun as getting to attack. The moment he gains the upper hand, he switches back to the more aggressive form, managing to draw a rare yield from Quin. Now he looks tired.

"I'll get you next time, Obi," Quin says as Obi-Wan extends his hand to help up his friend. Quinlan walks across the training room and unties his locks from the bun he had them strapped in. They fall in neat heaps to his shoulders. "Though I still am curious, what're you thinking about?"

"It was really nothing. Your horrible Magashi form just reminded me of something amusing."

Obi-Wan ties his tunic and slips on his outer robe. Quin has already thrown on a shirt and haphazardly secured his own robes when he appears at his side.

"What kind of amusing something?"

"Is it any of your business?"

"Things that make you look like a youngling with a crush are always my business, Obi my boy."

"Youngling with a-- you're crazy, Quin." Obi-Wan throws his bag over his shoulder but Quin trails closely behind him.

"I'll ask Bant."

"Go ahead," Obi-Wan says. He hasn't really told anyone about his current mission... he isn't sure why he is keeping it fairly guarded. He has a... feeling. Obi-Wan isn't sure if it's a good or bad feeling, but the Force is different as of late and he is still trying to figure out why.

"Interesting," Quin makes a point of rubbing his chin as though he has facial hair to stroke. "You didn't even tell Bant, then? Must be not a something, but a someone."

Obi-Wan makes the horrible mistake of stopping in the middle of the hall. Quin's eyes grow wide, making his yellow facial tattoo upturn like a giant smile. He is fairly sure the hyper Kiffar may start throwing a party.

"Obi, you dirty dewback."

"Quin, please--"

"You sneaky bastard. Who?"

He sighs. He hasn't even had the chance to figure out for himself what the hell is going on with him, but what Obi-Wan does know is that he left Lady Satine's home with a fluttering in his stomach. Why? He has no idea. The entire afternoon was practically a nightmare. He was stuck in a room with three Mandalorian teenagers who made making him as uncomfortable as possible a game. The only words Lady Satine and him exchanged were laced with sarcasm and a bit of underlying displeasure with one another, so why he found himself captivated is well beyond him.

"It's-- Well I have-- There's..."

Obi-Wan's sputtering just makes Quin laugh, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'll keep the secret that you have the hots for someone unspecified so long as you promise to tell me about it when you figure out how to speak again."

"It's not the hots... Blast it, nevermind," he throws his hands up in defeat and they continue back toward their respective rooms. He can feel his cheeks flush red and he just hopes any passerby assumes from Quin's disheveled appearance it's from a recent saber training encounter.

He steps into the shared apartment of him and Qui-Gon, finding his Master sitting in the living room, strolling lazily through a datapad. Qui-Gon glances up. "Obi-Wan. How was sparring?"

Obi-Wan drops his bag and goes straight to the kitchen to prepare himself a cup of tea. "Good, Master. I beat Padawan Vos."

A hum of approval makes Obi-Wan relax, a wave of happiness blossoming through him. He drops tea bags into two mugs and carries one to Qui-Gon.

"Thank you, padawan."

Obi-Wan takes a seat across from Master Jinn, watching as the water slowly darkens with every passing moment. "Any word from Lady Satine today?" This time, Qui-Gon puts down his datapad and looks up with a look that Obi-Wan often equates with trouble. "Master, you know I hate that look."

"What look are you referring to?"

"You know the one."

"I have no idea what you could be talking about." He reaches down and picks up his mug, taking a sip despite it definitely not being done steeping. Dramatic bastard, Obi-Wan thinks, shaking his head. "I did hear from her this morning, actually."

A pause. For dramatic effect, it seems. Obi-Wan has a very strong feeling he is not going to like this. "It appears there is a fundraiser tonight that Lady Satine is to attend. We agreed it would draw too much attention for me to attend, as the invitees of the party are young politicians and leaders and I am not as young as I once was... But you--"

"Master don't tell me I have to go to another party."

"But you won't stand out among your peer group."

Obi-Wan sighs.

"Oh, and one more thing," Qui-Gon says, a sly smile crossing his lips. Okay, Obi-Wan has a really bad feeling now.

_____

The only thing that Satine can think about is how strange it all is. Strange that she is sitting here with her sister, cousin, and a Vizla boy waiting to leave for a fundraiser. Strange to see the accents on Nel's formalwear matching her gown.

They'd been spending a lot of time together the last few days. Nel is not as quiet as she initially thought him to be, and has really grown to be a pleasant companion.

He was showing her holos from Mandalore before the war. They were reveling in the good old days when suddenly Nel's eyes caught hers, and Satine realized they were sitting quite close. Close enough that his leg pressed against hers and one of his arms had found its way across the couch behind her.

Her heart raced, and she ever so slightly shifted her leg away to reduce the tension. And then his hand slid from the couch to her shoulder and she was sure she stopped breathing.

"The fundraiser," Nel said, his eyes watching her carefully. "Could I have the honor of being your date?"

She didn't think. How could she think with a man as attractive as Nel sitting so close? She just nodded, and he cocked his head to the side. He's waiting for a real answer, she realizes, and she clears her throat. "Yes, yes that would be lovely, Nel."

Then Bo-Katan came in, and though Nel didn't seem concerned with their position, Satine sprang back, severing any contact between them.

And now she sits next to Nel, his arm across the back of the couch behind her, and his accents the same blue-green color as her gown.

Bo sits across from them, outfitted in one of Satine's old dresses. It's an emerald green dress, structured through the torso and with a lightweight skirt and long billowing sleeves. She knew Bo would like it because it was a birthday gift from her father-- meaning the structured top is really a beskar chest plate, not battle-grade but enough to provide adequate protection. Leave it to Mandalore to figure out how to make elegant dresses with beskar. Satine's own gown is a newer model, instead of a chest plate the material is woven with beskar fibers. Much more flexible and can still stop a blaster shot. It's has a similar silhouette to Bo's A-line dress, but her sleeves are cinched at the wrists rather than hanging open.

Kira walks in, dressed up in her own beskar plated dress of a more simple design. "I believe the Jedi is on his way up," she says, causing Bo to roll her eyes.

"I don't understand why he has to come."

"The Chancellor was specific. I go anywhere public, I must bring a Jedi."

"I didn't realize the throne of Mandalore bowed to the Chancellor of the Republic," Bo says spitefully.

Satine lets out a frustrated huff. It's been like this all week. Things between them are fine and then suddenly she is reminded of Bo's short circuit. Anything involving the Republic, political tasks, and the Jedi seem to set her off. Satine feels like she's been walking on eggshells ever since she came.

"It's called diplomacy, sister. I meet the requests of the Chancellor and a good relationship is achieved that may be helpful one day. You must trust me. I know more about this than you."

The door opens and in walks Obi-Wan. Satine sees him and nearly double takes in surprise.

Gone are his ratty Jedi robes. Instead, he wears a dark blue formal tunic with a long dark gray outer piece that hangs down to his knees. His blue pants tuck into a pair of shined black boots. Even his hair seems to have been contained. His messy spikes now look soft and neat. The only indication that a Jedi still stands before her is the tiny braid that peeks out from behind his ear, though it is tucked away, that horrible ponytail, and the glimpse of his lightsaber strapped to a black leather belt, complete with silver accents. It's simple, modest, yet it flatters him.

Obi-Wan bows. "Good evening, Lady Satine of House Kryze, Lady Bo-Katan of House Kryze, Nel Raiko of House Vizla, and Kira Kryze of Clan Kryze," he says fluidly. Satine suspects he rehearsed it, though it rolls off his tongue effortlessly.

"Padawan Kenobi," she replies, bowing.

"Great, now we can leave," Bo says, standing and pushing past Obi-Wan. Satine shoots him an apologetic look, and Nel comes to her side.

"Ready?" he says, extending his arm out. Satine slips her arm in the crook of his elbow. When she looks up at the Jedi she realizes he looks quite uncomfortable, his eyes trained on her arm in Nel's. The realization dawns on her. He thought we were going together? She thinks back on her conversation with Obi-Wan's master. Yes, she did word it as him accompanying her...

"Padawan Kenobi, I thought you could be Kira's date for tonight. So you two could collaborate."

She glances at Kira who nods and walks next to the Jedi.

"Yes, Lady Satine, I think that is a splendid plan." He turns, mirroring Nel and holding out his arm for Kira. Satine holds back a laugh as Kira looks surprised by this gesture, but takes it nonetheless. Coincidentally, Kira's gray dress goes well with Obi-Wan's own attire.

"This should be interesting," Nel whispers as they head toward the lift.

"Oh, undoubtedly."

They arrive at the fundraiser in higher spirits than they left. To Satine's surprise, Obi-Wan was quite attentive to her cousin Kira. The entire ride he chatted with her, not about their duty as she would have expected, but just asking questions and getting to know her. From overhearing their conversation, Satine learned that Obi-Wan is also eighteen years old (but nearly nineteen), he is from Stewjon originally but considers Coruscant and the Jedi temple his home, and he and Master Jinn have been partners for five years now. How could this be the same standoffish boy she's encountered many times in the last few weeks?

With Nel and Bo engaged in their own conversation about who-knows-what, Satine began to stew. She isn't quite sure why her mood changed, but something about being treated rudely by the Jedi when he obviously is more than capable of being civil-- even pleasant!-- doesn't sit right with her.

Nel seems to notice the shift, pressing a hand into the center of her back. "You alright?"

"Of course," she says, not bothering to lessen the sharpness in her tone. Nel's arm drops. Immediate regret fills her. She reaches up and gingerly places her fingers near the crook of his elbow. He wings it out so she can slip her arm through. "Apologies. The last time I was at a large event my life was endangered."

Nel nods. She told finally him about the occurrence the day earlier. "Not to worry. I'm sure your shadows won't allow anything to happen to you," he says, glancing back at Obi-Wan and Kira. Nel leans in, his lips slightly grazing her ear. "Nor will I."

A shiver runs down her spine, followed by a blush she hopes her makeup covers.

The fundraiser is much smaller than the Senator Ball, though still as grandiose. It is a special event that Satine has genuinely enjoyed the last few years because it only invites young politicians. They raise funds for causes that affect younger generations and give the spotlight to up and coming movements. It is quite progressive and makes Satine feel at home with like-minded individuals. The banquet hall is beautiful decorated with lights and holos advertising the various causes that are being supported. One end contains gambling games where all the proceeds go to the winner's choice. The other end is a giant dance floor that is already occupied with dozens of occupants. The border is lined with various information booths with gifts and incentives to donate. She already has a few causes she is eager to learn more about.

"I think I will visit the booths first," Satine says. Nel looks down at her, his handsome face cool and neutral.

"I told Bo I would go with her to play a few rounds of sabacc. I am considered the best player among my friends."

Disappointment fills Satine. "But how will you know what cause you want to donate to if you do not learn about them?"

Nel shrugs. "Well, whoever you want to donate to, I will oblige."

She sighs. She has half a mind to directly ask him to stay with her, but she meets the eyes of Bo, who approaches them.

"I found a table where the players are quite inexperienced," Bo says with a grin. Nel detaches himself from Satine, stopping to give her a smile. His hand reaches up and grazes her cheek.

"Only for a little bit. I very much would like to have a dance with you once we get the fundraiser portion of the night out of the way."

Her chest flutters with excitement... or nervousness? dread? She isn't sure.

"Yes, I look forward to that."

He disappears into the crowd.

Satine sighs, turning to find Obi-Wan and Kira watching. She swears she sees the Jedi raise an eyebrow in the direction of Nel. Kira leaves Obi-Wan's side and joins her. "Shall we, cousin?"

They walk from booth to booth, hearing the pitches of the representatives. Once again, Obi-Wan surprises her. He follows closely behind, seemingly interested in the causes and asking a few questions between the sessions. His interest is genuine, she can tell, but his knowledge of politics seems to be lacking. She watches the way his face seems to fall when she starts talking about political procedures. He seems more interested in the idea of change rather than the process, which disappoints her. Ideas are great, but there is much that needs to be done to insight true action.

By the end of their circuit, they are spit out near the casino area. Satine looks over to see Nel and Bo still huddled around a sabacc table, piles of chips in front of them. She stares at him, hoping to catch his attention, but he doesn't look up.

"Lady Satine," she turns to see Obi-Wan with his hand out. "Would you care to dance?"

"I would," she says without hesitation. Her eyes go wide and Obi-Wan bows and turns to find a space on the dance floor. Satine leans back so she is close to Kira.

"Did I just agree to dance with Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

Kira chuckles. "I daresay you find him amiable, Satine."

"Which would be most inconvenient since I have sworn to loathe him for all eternity."

Kira places a hand on the back of Satine's back and gives her a gentle push forward. She sighs, catching up with Obi-Wan.

The music shifts and Satine recognizes the characteristic chords of the Sarabande, an Alderaanian partner dance. For a moment she panics that Obi-Wan is not knowledgable of this, but he lines up across from her, his stance correct for the dance.

The chords pick up, indicating the first step. Obi-Wan steps toward her, holding his hands out for her to take. She grabs them softly, and he pulls her gently toward him before they separate in half-steps.

"You know this dance," she says with a hint of surprise peeking through.

"Of course, I wouldn't have asked you to dance if I was to make a fool of myself."

She holds back a smile. They meet once again, his hand taking hers and they stand parallel to one another.

"Your clothes are... different than what I was expecting."

He glances down, suddenly seeming a little insecure. "Well, I told Master Jinn it wouldn't be appropriate to wear my robes... even my good ones as it would make me stand out. I borrowed these from another StewJoni padawan."

"So they are traditional of your home planet?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"They are nice."

He smiles, his youth suddenly returning to him. Satine hadn't realized until this moment, but what was striking her as different about Obi-Wan was how much larger he looked in these clothes. Broader. Like a young man rather than a boy in oversized robes. The attention that she usually gave to his raggedy clothes was suddenly focused on the bright blue of his eyes and the dimples that appeared in his cheeks when he smiled. I daresay you find him amiable, Satine. Satine pushes back that comment, forcing it to not echo in her mind as it has been since they began this dance.

She glances toward the cards table and sees Nel still not paying any attention. Her mood dips. Obi-Wan spins her, allowing the quiet to fall over them.

"It is your turn to say something, Padawan Kenobi. I commented on your dancing. Now you ought to remark on the party, or the number of couples who obviously have no idea what they are doing." she says, her eyes watching two Mid-rim senators struggling to keep in step.

"Do you talk as a rule while dancing?"' His tone is light, but it jabs at her efforts to attempt to be civil with the Jedi. As he had been with Kira all night.

"No, no. I prefer to be distant and taciturn. It makes it all the more enjoyable, don't you think?"

Obi-Wan is quiet for a moment. She feels his grip on her hand slightly stiffen. The air around them suddenly changes. She can feel the tension build, causing her cheeks to feel warm.

"Then I shall oblige, Lady Satine. I must say, I am curious. Nel Raiko is your date, is he not?"

They reach the part of the dance where she turns, so her back is to Obi-Wan, relieving her of his sudden question. She swallows hard, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as they meet again.

"He is a childhood friend and has been quite supportive and lovely as of late. So yes, he is my date this evening."

"I see he is being especially supportive tonight."

They turn so they are parallel once again and Satine is relieved he can't see the tightness in her lips. It is a low blow. A valid observation, but not one that he has any right to comment on.

"To use one's skill in sabacc to support a good cause is an excellent way of support, I would think. Not that you would know, but charity comes in many forms."

"Not that I would-- why would you say such a thing?" he says, his calm demeanor giving way to an emotion that Satine cannot identify.

"I am just making out your character, Padawan Kenobi."

"And what have you discovered?"

"Very little." They fall silent. His face is hardened and his jaw set in a way that makes him look much older than he is. Much more imposing. They are standing, staring at one another while the music progresses, trailing toward the end of the song. Thankfully the final cord is played. Both of them bow to one another. "I have observed such different sides of you in such a short time. It puzzles me as to how you can genuinely be all of them."

The rising and falling of his chest slow as she sees in real-time him calming his emotions. He looks at her with apathy, which is more jarring than any anger he could have displayed. "I hope to give you more clarity in the future then."

He turns, leaving Satine alone in the middle of the dance floor.

A tap on her shoulder. She turns to see Nel, his eyes trained on Obi-Wan pushing through the crowd.

"Are you okay?" he asks, finally looking down at her. "It looked pretty... tense over here."

She lets out a breath, hiding her shaking hands behind her back. So he had been watching. She can see his deep frown as he tracks the Jedi with his eyes, even still. Is he... jealous? The thought nearly makes her laugh. Nothing in the world could make her want Obi-Wan Kenobi. He has nothing to be jealous of.

"Everything is perfect, now that you are here to dance with me," she says, holding out her hand. Nel's frown becomes a small smile and he takes her hand in his.

_____

Who would Obi-Wan run into as soon as he returned to the Jedi Temple than Quin? Of course. Even worse, his other friends Bant Eerin and Garen Muln sit in the windowsill with him. As soon as Quin sees him, he jumps up, his eyes wide. Right. I'm still dressed like a blasted politician.

"Obi, where the hell did you just come from? Out seeing a certain someone?" Quin says. This is exactly the attention Obi-Wan is not in the mood for at this moment.

"Nowhere and no one," he says coldly, just wanting to go hide in his room and meditate. He tries to push past Quin, but he grabs Obi-Wan by the bicep, his playful demeanor suddenly shifted to seriousness. Even Bant and Garen have gotten to their feet, staring at him with wide eyes.

"What's wrong?"

He sighs, pulling his arm out of Quin's grasp. "I need... I need to meditate, Quinlan." He can't bring himself to look at Bant or Garen.

The use of his full name seems to catch him off guard enough that he releases him. Obi-Wan makes a mental note to apologize to him and the others later, but for now, he has two things on his mind: getting these damned clothes off and sinking into meditation so deep it rivals Master Yoda.

He takes off down the hall, leaving Quin, Bant, and Garen speechless and standing in the middle of the passage.

As soon as he gets in his apartment, Obi-Wan starts pulling off pieces of his outfit. How long did he spend tracking down that senior padawan to borrow these clothes? To look nice? To make his impact less obvious for Lady Satine's sake? He marches into his room, throwing them in the direction of his hamper. Now standing in just a plain shirt and his undergarments, he takes a deep breath, letting the Force surround him. He summons good feelings, using them to help push out the bad ones.

"Obi-Wan?" he distantly hears his name, but he ignores it for now as he sinks into a meditative pose on the floor.

It is not the Jedi way to be angry. To be affected in such a way. I release these negative sentiments to the Force.

It is not the Jedi way to be frustrated. To let the words of others, especially of those I have sworn to protect, to make me bitter. I release these negative sentiments to the Force.

The weight on his shoulders lessens and he relaxes.

It is not the Jedi way to take my emotions out on my friends. I shall explain my poor mood to them and apologize. I release these negative sentiments to the Force.

Maybe he will go see them tonight. They are likely still sitting out there discussing his strange behavior.

It is not the Jedi way... he swallows hard. It is not the Jedi way to... you know. I release these sentiments to the Force.

#what are men to rocks and mountains #WAMTRAM #chapter 3 #care to dance #obitine #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #fanfiction #pride and prejudice #ao3 #archive of our own

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labyrinth-runner · 5 years ago

Note

For the 50 day of fics: prompt #3 with quinlan vos and obi wan thank youuu

50 days of fics: Day 29

Oh shooooooot. Honestly, the Quinlan & Obi friendship things I’ve been dabbling in are fun.

Prompt: you’re drunk in the department store I manage and you keep yelling at other customers so please come into my office while I call the cops

Obi-Wan was just minding his own business, trying to help restock the jewelry department when he heard a ruckus.

“Your hips are unrealistic!” He heard someone yelling.

“What in the galaxy,” Obi-Wan murmured, leaving his subordinates to continue restocking.

He turned the corner to find the source of the noise, a very drunk man. The man had his arm around a mannequin, yelling at it.

“You propagate unnatural body standards!” the man slurred before knocking it over.

The customers turned to look at the ruffian and he flipped them off. “What are you squares looking at? Haven’t you ever seen someone overthrow the patriarchy?” he bellowed.

Obi-Wan straightened his tie before heading over to the man. “You, Sir, need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere! Not until the people know the truth!”

“The truth is that you’re very knackered, and that you’re making a fool of yourself. Not to mention, a mess that me and my staff will have to clean up,” Obi-Wan said sharply.

The man flinched, causing his tattoo to crinkle a bit. “Listen, Mate, it’s not my fault that you decided to be a cog in the machine.”

Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Please, Sir, just come with me.”

The man staggered on his feet. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere you can complain about the ‘patriarchy’ until your heart’s content,” Obi-Wan replied with a thin smile. The man nodded, letting Obi-Wan lead him back into his office.

“This looks like patriarchy bullshit to me,” the man replied, sliding things off Obi-Wan’s desk.

“What does that even mean?” Obi-Wan sighed. “Just... don’t destroy anything, please, Mr....?”

“Vos. Quinlan Vos,” the man replied.

“Alright, Mr. Vos....” Obi-Wan trailed off to step out and call the cops. It was going all nice and dandy, until he heard things start to crash in his office again. He hung up with the police before coming back into his office, seeing more of his things on the floor. However, Quinlan paused, holding a photograph.

“Who is she?” He asked quietly.

Obi-Wan came up to look at the photo in his hand. He smiled. “My wife, Padmé.” The picture was from her maternity shoot a few months ago.

“She’s beautiful,” Quinlan commented.

“She hates the patriarchy, too,” Obi-Wan chuckled.

“I like her already.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Mr. Vos, is there a reason you got drunk tonight?”

“I got fired,” Quinlan sighed.

“And you decided to wreck my store because...?”

“It’s owned by the guy that fired me.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Well, I had called the police, but I suppose since no one was hurt... you’re free to leave. Would you like a ride home?”

Quinlan nodded, looking at the man’s name tag on his desk. “Yes, Mr. Kenobi, I think I will take you up on that.”

#50 days of fics #day 29 #obiwan kenobi #quinlan vos

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lexiseigneur · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter sixteen: First bite

Lexi woke up starving. Her stomach grumbled and her throat was scorched as if she had swallowed battery acid. The violence of those sensations was shocking. She went to the bathroom and drank directly from the tap in a desperate attempt at calming the fire. It did nothing beside frustrate her. Downstairs, the men moved and chatted and the beating of each of their hearts was torture. Quinlan had been pulled from his slumber by her distress spilling inside the Bond.

“Lexi, please stay here. I do not believe it is safe for you to be around them at this moment.”

His hands caressed her shoulders and she looked up at his reflection in the dirty mirror.

“How am I going to be of any use today? I don’t even think I could run right now.”

“I will ask Augustin for help. We will not require much. Just enough for us to infiltrate the building and after that, the problem will solve itself.”

Lexi reached for two memories to share. In the first recollection, a drop of blood appeared on her hand and in the second another drop rolled from her mouth. Then as she gave them to him she apologized for making him suffer that way.

“I will accept your apology for the first, but the second one I amply deserved.”

Quinlan kissed her temple then dressed quickly and left the bedroom. Lexi followed his footsteps and his words anxiously.

“Mister Elizalde, a word?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Both walked to the space just under the staircase.

“An issue has arisen which will need to be resolved before our departure.”

“What’s going on?”

“Lexi requires sustenance or her abilities will become significantly diminished.”

More footsteps and Gus sighed.

“She was fine last night with that little demonstration.”

“Unfortunately, this, in addition to several days of undernourishment, are the cause of this issue.”

Lexi felt like a complete idiot. Dhampir speed was taxing and she should have saved her strength. Inexperience in these matters was obviously a problem.

“How much?”

“Ideally a pint but half of that amount would suffice.”

“OK, at least that’s not much. Good thing she ain’t as big as you are, Quinlan.”

“We will secure larger amounts as we retake your building.”

Gus’ heartbeat accelerated slightly which was incredibly distracting.

“Well, sucks to be them.”

There was a moment of silence then Gus spoke again.

“Let me handle that. Maybe some of them will understand.”

The Sun Hunter walked to his gathered men.

“Alright, guys! I need volunteers for something you ain’t gonna like!”

“Shoot!” replied an unfamiliar voice.

“The lady won’t be able to fight without some blood first.”

A tense silence fell on the room.

“I also prefer my blood inside my body but I don’t mind giving up some if it means Creem ends up losing all of his.”

Some of the men chuckled at that remark.

“I’m in, couz’,” said Raul.

“My man!” said Gus there was a slapping sound. He had tapped his cousin on the back.

“Me too.”

This voice Lexi recognized as well. It was the man she had threatened with her machete. Intrigued by this, she approached the bedroom door to listen more closely.

“You sure, Gordo?”

“Yeah. I’m kinda scared she might decide to just drink me completely otherwise. Cause I was dick.”

Lexi laughed out loud and in the general silence, her voice echoed through the building. That irritated her throat further and she made a wry face.

“Fuck, she heard me,” said Gordo.

There was a cacophony of laughter. More unknown voices agreed to donate blood.

“I will show them some of the medical equipment the doctor had here.”

“Thank you.”

“Beloved…I think you solved the matter yourself.”

Lexi relaxed and stopped focusing on the sounds below. Instead, she distracted herself by taking the honing stone from the metal trunk and working on her machete. It did not take as long as she had hoped. She returned to the bathroom and begun tying her hair into a tight French braid. It was challenging and managed to take some of her concentration away from the fire in her neck. Her ears and the jewelry adorning them became particularly obvious. The shallow swirls on her throat were merely light pink, a visual reminder of her thirst. Heavy footsteps approached. Lexi sighed in relief. Quinlan entered the bedroom with a bottle tucked under his arm while also holding a plate covered with food. He closed the door behind him then suspended his gesture when he saw her.

“Are you alright?” she asked and crossed the room.

“You look…stunning.”

She accepted the compliment with a smile and despite herself started purring. It hurt. The rumbling stopped immediately.

“Here… Augustin insisted on you getting human food as well.”

Lexi downed the bottle of blood in seconds. The thirst subsided and a wave of warmth originating from her throat traversed her entire body. Quinlan’s reaction to drinking her donation the night they had met suddenly appeared mild.

“Maybe I can take that downstairs and thank them before I eat?”

“Yes…your thirst seems under control for the moment.”

They joined the group of men who were still eating at the glass table.

“You good?” asked Gus.

“Yes, thank you all. Truly.”

There were nods and dismissive waves of hands. Barely suppressing a smile she turned to the one named Gordo.

“Especially you.”

“You’re welcome!” he said with a chuckle then scooted over so she could sit next to him. Both she and Quinlan sat down at the table. The dish they shared was composed of stale tortillas and canned beans.

“We only know three of your names,” she said after swallowing a bite.

The men introduced themselves rapidly. Next to Gordo was Amir, the youngest by far and the one sporting a large scar from the top left of his forehead to his right cheek. Then Jorge and Marcus were both dark-skinned men and the latter had a thick accent she could not place. The other four men were all Hispanic and looked surprisingly similar. Julio, Arturo, Antonio, and Miguel were in fact brothers and that fact moved her strangely. After the Fall, she was surprised that so many members of the same family had remained alive. They chatted between themselves until Amir who had glanced at her the entire time finally spoke.

“Hey, huh, Lexi?”

“Yes, Amir?”

“How come your hair is two colors?”

Quinlan stared at him with a faint scowl. Amir shifted his position so that Gordo’s large frame would shield him from that gaze.

“Why are you scaring that poor man?” she asked him through the Bond.

The Dhampir stopped staring and looked at her instead.

“Why should he have any interest in your physical attributes?”

“Because humans are very curious. I know I certainly was about you.”

Quinlan rattled softly and she could still feel his irritation. Lexi shook her head and turned to the young man.

“Well, it changes colors with the seasons. In summer, it turns red.”

“Really?”

Amir leaned forward and looked avidly at the strands.

“No, it’s dye.”

Gordo who had been listening to the exchange snorted then almost choked on a mouthful of tortilla. Quinlan hid a grin under his hand. The others taunted the youngest for his gullibility and he took it in graceful self-derision.

After the meal, they prepared for the assault ahead. They left for Manhattan and during the entire ride, Lexi braced herself for what was to come.

Climbing the brick wall of the building was trivial. The crevices afforded them enough purchase to reach the top in under a minute. As described by Gus, the door on the roof was locked but not guarded. The couple stepped from the burning sun into the equally painful violet of UV lamps. The entire staircase leading to the top floor was flooded in their glow. At the first door, they stopped and listened. Fifteen hearts beat within the bowels of the building below.

“They are all gathered downstairs, unfortunately. We will have to disable most before feeding.”

“Swords or guns?”

“Hands preferably. I would rather avoid having to force Augustin’s men to clean the blood of their former associates.”

“That’s rather thoughtful of you.”

It was not the time for displays of affection but it was tempting nonetheless.

“You appreciate those men. So I would prefer not to antagonize them more than strictly necessary.”

“Thank you. Shall we?”

“We shall.”

They entered a large loft almost empty because most of its contents had been thrown into a corner without care. Lexi frowned when she spotted on the floor a framed picture of Gus with an older woman. The glass was cracked.

“Such disrespect,” she said and removed her hood and glasses.

Quinlan and Lexi blurred downstairs into a common area where the men had gathered to play cards and video games. In a second, they assessed the situation. One was behind a counter at the farthest point, pouring himself a drink. His teeth shone silver. Lexi’s lips lifted savagely. A large automatic weapon was propped in front of the only uncovered window and there, a man peered outside while smoking.

“The one at the window needs to go first. The buzzer is next to him. Then, there are more men at the table so I will deal with them.”

“Alright, I’ll get the ones around the TV.”

Only now did one man spot them but it was too late. They flew, slowing down as they snapped and twisted the necks of their targets. She had killed three of them when the back of her throat tickled. She still had three more to go. The next jumped to his feet as she came to him and punched him in the plexus, collapsing the bone into his heart. Her throat was burning again.

The next one was reaching for the weapon on his side and she smacked him on the temple. He hit the floor, dead. That last target was aiming his weapon at her and she growled loudly. The crack of gunfire echoed in the large open space. He missed but only by a hair. She was already struggling to maintain her speed and her throat and body were afire.

“Drink him,” said Quinlan.

But she had already decided before his voice boomed in her mind. Lexi jumped on the man and broke the wrist holding the gun. Then as he fell on his back, she straddled his chest and opened her mouth. The green eyes stared in horror as her tongue parted and covered each of cheeks. Disgusted by what she was about to do, she covered his upper face with her gloved hand. She could not take his life while he watched.

Her stinger clasped around the exposed neck. His uninjured hand was attempting to pry the appendage off. Firmly, she pinned it down. Bones snapped under her grip. The precision muscles inside her stinger worked and soon, she felt the need to spit. The sensation was familiar because she had lived it through Quinlan. She pushed and the sharp bone pierced the skin and the wall of an artery. Blood poured and she drank deeply, pumping with each heartbeat. The relief that action provided did not attenuate her guilt and horror. Tears fell on the paling face of her victim. His entire body contracted and the heart stopped.

The blood flow was cut and she instantly sprang away from the corpse, lest she be tempted to look at her victim’s face. Quinlan was drinking as well and by the color of his prey’s skin, it had just started.

There was just one man left standing. Lexi watched him rise from behind the bar in panic. He pointed a shotgun at Quinlan and fired. The shot hit Quinlan’s victim in the back as he used the body as a shield. Lexi’s roar sounded just as Creem aimed again. This was one was trying to hurt Quinlan. To kill him. The edges of her vision darkened leaving only the prey highlighted. Now, as clearly as if they had been painted on him, she could see the major blood vessels coursing through his body. Faster than she had ever moved, she closed the distance between her and Creem. He was still aiming when she stood above him on the bar. Lexi grabbed the shotgun and threw it across the room. This would not hurt her Quinlan. Her dearest one.

Lexi was furious at this despicable human both for his attempted murder and for betraying the Sun Hunter. The gloved fingers closed around his throat. Fresh blood gave her strength a new impetus. She lifted him above her head. The dark eyes bulged and his hands scratched and punched her hand and wrist. Silver jewelry around his digits burned her skin but not enough to make her stop. The small stinger flew without her making a conscious effort to direct it. It closed at the junction between Creem’s stretched neck and shoulder. Blood gushed down her throat and this time, she did not care if the dying eyes stared. But the man was still moving too much and the seal of the appendage leaked. Blood dripped along the thin skin of the stinger and onto her chin. His dark skin turned ashen and his struggle ceased. She drank until he convulsed and his heart gave out. With a howl, Lexi tossed his body which rolled at Quinlan’s feet. His blue eyes were wide and his jaw hung open. There was still a filter of rage above her eyes which tainted everything grey. She resented the way he looked at her at this very moment, and instinctively uncovered her sharp teeth. Quinlan returned the snarl and she was surprised to see enjoyment in his eyes.

“Lexi.”

He purred then jumped on the counter. The aggressive rumbling in her chest only subsided when his forehead pressed against hers. Downstairs, there was the metallic clank of a heavy door opening. Quinlan had already buzzed the men in. His skin against hers allayed her rage and her vision normalized when her companion pulled her closer.

“How I wish we could remain alone for just a moment longer.”

He shared his desire with that thought. She gawked in bemusement. That same lust was plain on his face and it was contagious. As she considered kissing him, the men entered the room. All had drawn their weapons but quickly realized it had been pointless.

“Well…shit,” said the Sun Hunter.

His armed hand fell and he peered around, his gaze stopping on each dead face. His lips disappeared into a fine line when he spotted Creem.

“But…we dropped them off like five minutes ago,” said Amir and he looked at his companions as if they would confirm that this scene was an illusion of some kind.

“Let’s help them clean up,” Lexi shared to distract from her frustration.

“Later…” replied Quinlan. He placed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She repressed a smile and jumped off the counter. Amir took a step back when she approached. She stopped in her tracks. The young man had not been scared this morning.

“Huh, you’ve got some…something on…” He pointed at his own chin.

Lexi rubbed her face and looked at her fingers. Her glove was stained with blood. Then she also noticed that the thick liquid had run down her throat and onto her black shirt. The realization that she appeared like a monster was mortifying. Gordo handed her a blue handkerchief. She thanked him and stared at her feet while she cleaned herself as well as she could.

“You can keep it,” he said and promptly walked off.

“They must think I am a beast.”

She turned away as the group dragged the corpses to the service elevator. Gus was not helping them. He had gone straight for a phone behind the counter. Landlines were still active in the city and since cellphones were now useless, they had become the main mode of communication.

“Some of them probably do but I have met humans who could look past their fear.”

The Dhampir approached her, his traits softened by compassion.

“As you did,” he added.

“It’s stupid of me to care. We need them but that doesn’t mean they have to like me.”

Quinlan licked his thumb and wiped the corner of her mouth.

“They would be fools not to like you.”

From across the room, Arturo hailed the couple.

“Hey! How about you two help us with that?”

Raul who was struggling to carry a dead man by his lonesome nodded in approval.

“I do not think this one is much afraid. Or he would not have dared order us this way.”

Quinlan’s brow lifted and he glared. Lexi took over Raul’s burden. First, they had treated her as a frail counterpart to Quinlan and that had displeased her. But now, at the complete opposite of that spectrum, she felt just as uncomfortable. At least, she would not have to contend with that issue for very long. She pinched the base of her nose at that distasteful thought.

Gus spent most of the daylight hours on the phone while the men cleaned and assessed the status of their merchandise. In the underground level, not unlike employees of a supermarket, they counted food cans, pill bottles and a range of other items. The two Dhampir helped where they could, mostly when their inhuman strength was needed. Arturo disappeared inside a vaulted room and emerged after twenty minutes, ticking things off his notepad.

“Everyone! We’ve got the numbers! Let’s head back up and see how Gus is doing,” he said and the various conversations around quieted after the first word. They all followed and when the Sun Hunter spotted them, he raised two fingers. They waited until Gus put an end to the phone call. Humans and Dhampir sat around the table where playing cards were still spilled.

“How much did the fools waste down there?” asked Gus gravely.

“Not as much as I thought, foodwise,” said Raul and he handed a notepad to his cousin.

The dark eyes went through the numbers and he nodded. His eyes narrowed and he turned to Arturo.

“What about the vault?”

“It ain’t good.”

Awkward silence fell. Gus sighed and took the papers handed to him.

“The vault contains our silver and weapons,” commented Gus for the sake of his guests. “And it looks like those dicks had a few shopping sprees.”

He slammed the pad on the table.

“They spent a fifth of the silver. In two fucking weeks. The assholes.”

Gus put his elbows on the table and crossed his fingers tightly. He stared at the people gathered above his hands.

“Creem tried to stiff my suppliers and my clients. Since we had a monopoly in here, he could do it but that’s short term thinking. The only kind he knew.”

A vicious smile stretched his lips.

“So you guys can imagine how fucking happy they were that I was back in charge. And with me, the original prices.”

There was a wave of chuckles.

“Ok guys, no time for jerking around. There are deliveries that need to be honored. The list is by the phone. Gordo, you take care of that…”

Promptly, Gordo stood and walked to the bar.

“Amir, you’re on guard duty for now.”

The young man sprang to his feet and went to sit by the window. Gus pointed at two other men.

“Raul, Arturo, you stay here cause we need to talk. The rest go help Gordo.”

Soon, only the two Dhampir and the three men sat at the vast round table. Until this very moment, Lexi had felt very much like an outsider but now, it seemed that they were about to be clued in.

“After the city got nuked, I raided the federal reserves. With all that silver I started this little business.”

He raised his arms in a gesture that encompassed the room.

“But I don’t give much of a shit about all this. I just needed time. With my guys, for a year, we managed to get eyes all over the place. We were gonna find that creepy bastard, the Master, and riddle his ass with silver bullets.”

Lexi grinned at his confidence.

“He never stopped hoping,” she said.

“It would have been an honorable death.”

Quinlan was correct, their plan would have been a hail-mary destined to fail.

“Until a rumor started that some guy had killed an entire nest of bloodsuckers all by himself with a bone sword."

He shook his finger toward the Dhampir.

"It could only be you and I needed you in the game."

"He has a lot of faith in you," said Lexi with pride. Quinlan's hand reached for hers under the table.

"But now there are two of you? The Master is so dead."

"In both of us," said Quinlan.

"We're gonna start making the bullets and some of those nasty silver grenades I've seen before the Fall."

He turned to Arturo.

"That's your job, man. When the others aren’t busy with the deliveries, grab 'em so they can help."

Then to his cousin.

"You're gonna assist Lexi and make fucking sure those brain machines don't crap out on us."

Raul threw a careful look at the Dhampir then nodded.

"How does that even work?" said a skeptical Arturo.

His brow was wrinkled by a permanent scowl and his hair was mostly grey. He was the oldest human present.

"It's like taking a microphone and screaming in it while two people are talking. The brains transmit an intense signal and prevent Strigoi from receiving orders from the Master."

The old man was still unconvinced but his opinion on the matter was not particularly important.

"Our first test with the current devices was a success. The Strigoi freeze, like puppets whose strings have been cut. I have seen its effects on the Master as well. It weakens him," chimed in Quinlan.

“I will need more brains to build additional devices.”

"How many more brains are you gonna need?" asked Gus.

"As many as we can get," she said.

For their plan to work they would need to cover a vast surface with that jamming signal. Otherwise, it would be trivial for the Master to just rush to the humans and destroy the machines.

"Quinlan, you're with me. We need to arrange everything that's gonna happen after you get the worm.”

Lexi expected to feel irritation from her companion at being ordered that way. It did not come. The Dhampir was relieved and also somber.

"His help will make our victory extremely swift."

Relief at seeing the end of his mission so near and sadness at knowing that their time together was going to end just as quickly. She knew those were his reasons because she felt the same. Lexi looked away from the humans.

"It will still take time to build the devices and the silver arsenal. Every second we do not spend working, we will be together. They need to sleep more than we do and this time will be ours," she said.

Their gaze met. How she loved that face. The impossibly clear blue eyes, the deep green and black of his stripes. She even liked that scar across his cheek. Her eyes were burning as she fought back tears. How very unfair. How very cruel this all was.

"What's up with you two?" asked Gus and he waved impatiently.

"Tell him. I can't," she said.

Quinlan detached his eyes from hers and his face kept its usual composure.

"If our plan succeeds, we will both die with the Master. We are connected to him."

The three men stared and even the stern Arturo appeared surprised.

"Then why are you doing this?" asked Raul.

"Because we will never find peace while he lives."

Gus and Arturo exchanged heavy looks.

"Yeah. I get that," said the Sun Hunter.

They all did. Not a single free soul on the planet would find true peace as long as the beast was there to crush them.

#mr.quinlan #quinlan #quintus sertorius #the strain #the strain fx #the strain fanfic #the strain fanfiction

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anavoliselenu · 7 years ago

Text

Aced chapter 10

We’re eight days in. Halfway through.

This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. We were supposed to have Ace—the baby we never thought we’d ever have—and be blissfully happy. Get the unexpected cherry on top of our happily-ever-after sundae.

Not this bullshit.

I thought the hard part would be coming face to face with my dad. That would be our biggest challenge. That I would be the one to fuck this all up. I had no clue that while I was closing the damn door on the skeletons in my closet, Selena would slowly come undone.

The other shoe most definitely has dropped.

Humpty fuckin’ dumpty. The thought’s there instantly of another time, another place when I felt this goddamn helpless. This time though . . . man, I’m not sure what it’s going to take to put things back together again.

I walk over to the bed, to my whole fucking world, and hate that it doesn’t feel so whole. I press a kiss to the side of her shoulder and just leave my lips pressed there for a second as I breathe her in. Fight, Selena. We need you. I need you. I’m not sure if she’s asleep or not because she doesn’t react, and man, how I want her to react. I know she’s doing everything she can to keep herself together right now—for all of us—when it seems all she wants to do is fade away.

My scrappy fighter, who is so goddamn beautiful even now with circles beneath her eyes, will find her way. I just can’t pressure her regardless of how much I want to.

Or at least that’s what Google says. Her mind is betraying her.

Reaching down, I scoop up Ace, who thank fuck is completely content with his full belly, and carry him out of the room.

What the hell do I do with him now?

My hands feel like clubs when I change diapers.

My lullaby game is non-existent.

The blanket thing? How in the hell do you get it to look like a burrito? It’s not that fucking easy. So what if I used a four-inch piece of duct tape to keep it closed? Call me resourceful.

Or an idiot.

It’s taking everything I have not to cry uncle and call in the cavalry: our moms, Quinlan, Haddie. But then that’s admitting defeat and fuck if I want to admit that. Plus I can’t do that to Selena. She’s already so fragile. Asking others for help without her consent would be a slap to her face. Push her farther under water when she’s already drowning. Prove to her that I don’t think she’s capable of handling this.

And that’s not what my intention would be. But with Selena right now? Shit, I know that’s just how she’d take it.

Yet my cell sits on the counter and looks so damn tempting.

I’m a fish out of water. It’s not pretty. I’ve paced, I’ve rocked, I’ve swayed, and no goddamn dice. Ace won’t have any of it.

Just go to sleep!

“Look, little man,” I say, holding him up so I can look in his eyes as he continues to fuss. “I’m new at this. Have no clue what the fu—er, heck I’m doing here. Can you give a guy a break and go easy on me? Please?”

I can’t believe I’m pleading with a newborn—that I’ve been reduced to this—but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“It’s just you and me, dude. Boys club. Your momma’s having a tough time so you’re stuck with me. I know I suck . . . don’t have boobs like she does. Believe me, I miss them too. One day you’ll understand. But for now . . . you have to man up. I’ll show you how. First step, go to sleep for me.”

Please. I close my eyes for a moment, unsure what to do now. My mom’s not too far away and could get here quickly at this ungodly hour of night. When I open them back up, his eyes are closed.

Thank fuck for that.

THE DARKNESS CALLS TO ME. Pulls me. Drowns me in its welcome warmth. It’s like a lover’s kiss, addictive, all-consuming, and irresistible.

I don’t want to leave it.

But I have to.

I’m going to be better today. I’m going to look at Ace and want to wrap my arms around him and pull him in close to me, breathe him in, love him till it hurts.

Connect with him.

Be a mother to him.

My sweet Ace. My miracle baby. My everything.

The constant merry-go-round continues. Justin brings Ace in. He nurses. My head hurts, my heart aches, and my soul tries tirelessly to be what I need to be for him. For them.

It kills me when I can’t.

Justin watches, gauges if I’m better today. Or worse. If he should leave Ace with me a little longer. If it’s helping or hurting. There are lines etched on his face. Concern. Worry. Disbelief.

My mom. Short texts. Avoided phone calls. Unanswered messages. I know she’s worried. I know I can talk to her. But I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone.

Justin talks to me. Spends endless hours trying to pull me toward his light.

“I think I’m going to skip the next race or two. Denny deserves a shot at driving the car. Besides, I’ll miss Ace too much if I’m gone.”

You’re lying. You’re afraid to leave me here alone with him.

And yet I don’t respond. Can’t. Because I’m afraid of being alone with Ace too.

The silences screams around us.

“I talked to Zander today.” He tries again.

My Zander.

“He sounds better.”

If I could feel relief, I would. But I won’t believe it until I see it for myself.

“I told him when you’re feeling better you’re going to have him come back over. He misses you. The boys miss you.” I can see the look in his eyes that says, I miss you.

I miss you, too.

But Justin doesn’t stop, doesn’t dwell on the fact I don’t respond to his unspoken words. He just walks slowly back and forth with Ace on his shoulder and rambles on about nothing and everything until his cell phone rings or our son falls asleep.

Or Ace needs to nurse again.

The endless cycle. One I abhor and crave desperately. Because it means he hasn’t given up on me.

Guilt eats at me. Niggles in the back of my mind. Confuses me. I try. I really do. I fight the pull of the water over my head, drowning in the numbness that ebbs and flows before I can resurface from its hold. I fight to come up for air for my burning lungs, before plunging back down into its depths.

A text from Justin even though he’s just downstairs:

Remember this one? It still holds true. I’m here. Keep fighting. I’ll wait. All of Me by John Legend.

A flashback of our earlier times. An attempt to lift me up. A challenge for me to remember the feeling. The love. Myself. But I’m so buried I can’t even lift my head. Or take a breath.

I’m so sorry, Justin. I’m so sorry, Ace.

I’m trying.

I’m fighting.

Don’t give up on me.

I really do love you. I just can’t feel it. Or show it.

But I will.

It’s just the baby blues. I’m stronger than this. Than it. I just need a bit more time.

Tomorrow will be better.

“I CAN’T WAIT TO GET my hands on this little guy.” Haddie rubs her hands together as she leans forward and hugs me distractedly, already reaching out to grab Ace from me.

“Thanks for getting here so quickly. I didn’t know who else to call.” Who Selena wouldn’t freak out over, I add silently, because she sure as fuck is going to go ballistic when she wakes up to find Haddie here.

“Anytime. Besides I should be thanking you,” she says, lacing kisses on Ace’s head. “Selena’s been so set on getting his routine down before having visitors that I thought I’d never get to see him.”

“About that . . .” I say, taking a deep breath, knowing I’m crossing some kind of marital boundary I shouldn’t be, but am past caring. “She’s struggling a bit. Baby blues.” I nod my head to reinforce my words, to try and relay the rest of what Selena has forbid me to say. Haddie narrows her eyes at me.

“Oh, that’s normal. Everyone I know goes through it a bit. No worries, Donavan, I’ll cheer her up,” she says with a wink.

I know I need to move. Get to Kelly ASAP but fuck is it hard to leave Selena when she’s like this. This could go so wrong on so many fronts. Selena is going to kill me. She’s not going to be able to hide from Haddie what’s going on. And a tiny little piece of me feels relieved because I don’t know what to do anymore.

I’m lost. Like on-a-deserted-island lost and don’t have a clue how to help her.

This could push her over the edge or help reel her back. I hope to hell it’s the latter.

“Now go. Get. I know you’re in a rush. I’ve got it covered here,” Haddie says, interrupting my thoughts.

“She’s napping upstairs. I didn’t tell her I was going.”

“GO! I’ve got it under control. You’re starting to eat into my auntie and Ace time.” She starts to shut the front door, and I walk toward the car where Sammy is waiting in the passenger seat when she calls to me. “Hey, Justin?”

I turn, my hand resting with the car door handle, anticipation humming in my blood. “Yeah?”

“Kick Eddie extra hard in the nuts for me, will ya? He deserves it for fucking with my bestie.”

“Only if he’s still standing when I’m done with him.” I slide into the driver’s seat. Sammy’s chuckle fills the car, and my mind races.

“We’re good to go?” I ask, my eyes flickering back and forth from Kelly to Sammy to make sure we’re all on the same page.

“Yep. Dean’s got him inside. Everything else is in place.” Our eyes meet, his unspoken warning I don’t want to see is loud and fucking clear within them: cool my jets, my temper, and let the plan work.

And as much as I know he’s right, I turn my back to him and start up the walk without acknowledging I saw it.

No one’s going to tell me how to run my own show. I know the fallout for my actions. They’re clear as fucking day. But I also know Eddie’s fucked with my wife and my son, and if a man doesn’t stand up for his family, he shouldn’t be standing at all.

Going to jail isn’t an option. And not because I care about having a record or the media frenzy it would cause. I just can’t do that to Selena with how she is or to Ace with how little and helpless he is. But it sure as fuck doesn’t mean I’ll toe the line.

Bring it, fucker. I’m ready for you. Pumped and primed. Push my buttons. Pretty please.

Without knocking, I open the door to the rundown apartment. Kelly’s cohort, Dean, is standing just inside. Our eyes meet. A mutual understanding is passed between us—my thanks, his take your time—before he steps out without another sound.

I take three steps in. I don’t hear the door shut. I don’t notice that Sammy’s back is pressed against it, because my eyes are focused on the man sitting on the ripped couch in front of me: elbows on knees, head hanging down, leg anxiously jogging up and down.

Rage like I’ve felt very few times in my life roars through me. A fucking freight train of fury I need to keep on track before I let it derail.

I clear my throat. When Eddie realizes someone else is in the apartment, he whips his head up with eyes wide as saucers and mouth open. He looks like shit. Good.

“What the . . .?” he asks at first, looking startled, eyes blinking as he shoves up from the couch to stare at me again. And then he belts out a long, low condescending laugh that does nothing but confuse me and piss me off further.

“Something funny?” I ask, fists clenched, curiosity piqued why this is so amusing to him.

“I should have known,” he says with a shake of his head, his body visibly relaxing.

Give me a reason, you fucker. Just one.

“Were you expecting somebody else?” I know my threat is nothing compared to the others he will face. That unexpectedly works in my favor.

“Yes. No.” That taunting smirk is back front and center. “Your pretty little wife, perhaps.”

Bingo.

I’m across the room in two seconds. Arm cocked. Fist flying. The give of flesh against my knuckles. The thud of bone connecting against bone. The crunch that is nowhere near satisfying enough after what he’s done to my family.

The sound of glass shattering as his arm hits the lamp and knocks it over breaks through my silent rage, brings me back to the here and now. Reminds me that I want some answers before I finish what he started.

I don’t worry about the neighbors hearing us and calling the cops. In places like this no one pays attention. They all keep their head down and stay in their own trouble. I should know. I grew up in a place just like this. No one came to the rescue of the little boy screaming in pain on the other side of the wall.

The thought fuels my anger. Adds strength to my resolve to not be that person. To not stoop to the level of the man in front of me.

But God, how I want to stoop.

“Look at me,” I yell. My voice fills the room. He lifts his head up from where he’s landed askew on the couch, a red welt swelling on his cheek. “Don’t talk about my wife, again. This is between you and me, you fucking bastard.”

That chuckle of his is louder, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have to not unleash the fury I feel.

Because I want what I came here for. Answers first. Vindication second. And, oh how sweet that last one will be. He doesn’t have a clue what’s about to hit him.

“You want to settle a score? Go right ahead. You think you scare me, Donavan? Think again. You. Can’t. Touch. Me. You’re such a pussy you have to bring your goddamn henchman over there,” he says, pointing to Sammy standing silently at the door, “to do your dirty work for you.”

“I think your black eye will prove I can do my own dirty work just fine.” I look over my shoulder and lift my chin to Sammy to tell him to leave. It’s better this way. No witnesses. No he said, she said. Just my word against Eddie’s. Kelly’s so damn convinced that Eddie’ll sue if I touch him anyway.

Oops. Guess I already broke that rule. My bad.

“Is everyone in your life that tight on your string? One pull on it and they dance?” He raises his eyebrows as his eyes follow Sammy out the door. I glare at him. Bide my time. He’s so fucking arrogant I can see him itching to gloat about how he pulled this all off.

“You don’t know shit about my life, Eddie.”

“I know I won’t dance. So how does it feel to pull a string and get back a big giant fuck you, huh?”

“Is that what this was all about? Proving you’re better than me?” I ask, feigning indifference when I’m anything but.

Take the bait, Eddie. Feed your ego. Prove. Me. Wrong.

He rises from the couch and steps toward me with eerie calm. “I am better than you,” he says as he steps right into my wheelhouse. Tempting me like never before. “And I’m not stupid either. Lift your shirt up. I bet your pansy ass is wearing a wire. Trying to hook me on something I didn’t do.”

Is he fucking crazy? Like I’d let the police on this little get together we’re having. Shit, he’s going to wish I went with a wiretap.

“Prison was that good to you, huh?” I taunt as I lift my shirt up and turn around for him to see I’m not wired. “You into guys now?

“Fuck you,” he spits.

“No thanks,” I say, taking a step closer. “I want nothing more from you than answers. Everything else you’ve got coming to you is of your own making.”

He quirks his head, arrogant smirk spreading wide. “Thanks to your son, nothing else is coming to me. Sold that picture of him to the tabloids.” He sneers. “Made a mint and paid off old debts. Thanks to Ace, I’m free and clear.”

Fucking pompous bastard. Joke’s on him though. That’s the only reason I’m not throwing another fist into his face.

“Bravo,” I say as I clap my hands slow and deliberately. His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches. Good. I’m pissing him off. “You could have made more money with the video though.” The lie flows off my tongue, but I have to force the words out. “Bet you didn’t think of that now, did you?”

There’s the hook, fucker. Take a big bite so I can set it.

“Prison has a way of putting things on hold.” He glares at me. “But it also allowed me a lot of time to plan, to figure out how to get the fucker back who put me there.”

“Get me back? For what? Because I didn’t let you waltz out of my office with the blueprints, sell them to someone else as your own, collect the royalties, and get away with it? Are you out of your fucking mind? Did you think I was going to let you take what was mine and use it?”

“Seems like I took what was yours and did it anyway.”

The quiet comment’s double meaning—the stolen blueprints and exposure of Selena on the video—calls to me like a goddamn moth to a flame. This time I can’t resist.

He sees my punch coming and gets a quick one into my rib cage before my knuckles meet his jaw. His head snaps back. His body slams into the wall behind him. The sound of him grunting overrides my quick sting of pain from where he landed his.

My body vibrates with anger. Pure unfettered rage as I stare at the waste of space and talk myself out of finishing this right now. And of course because he’s a cocky fucker, when he lifts his head back up, that curl to his lips tests my restraint.

Jesus Christ. This is so much fucking harder than I thought it would be. To keep my shit together when all I want to do is show him the rage I feel. Throw punch after punch. Relieve the stress and pain he has caused us.

But that won’t solve anything.

“You’re a useless piece of shit. Deserve everything you get.”

“What I get? Like I said, Donavan. You can’t touch me. I did nothing illegal. The video wasn’t yours. I didn’t steal it. It was in a safety deposit box while I served my time. Shit, it gained in value.”

“Did that eat at you, Eddie?” I ask, stepping back into his personal space. “Taunt you every fucking day while you sat in a six-by-ten cell? You felt entitled to fuck with my family because you’re a useless piece of shit who can’t control his own gambling habits, so to save his own ass, has to rob Peter to pay Paul? It’s so much easier to place the blame somewhere else than realize you did this to yourself.” I poke my finger in his chest as I laugh under my breath. Taunt him. “Talk about being a pussy.”

Dangle the carrot.

“A pussy?” he asks, voice louder as he stands taller. Little-man complex front and center as he puffs his chest out. “You cost me everything!” His voice thunders into the empty apartment, spittle flying from his mouth, as he slowly becomes unhinged. “My wife. My kids. Everything!”

“Cheaters never prosper,” I say in a singsong voice. He starts to come after me, nostrils flared, fists clenched, but stops when I just raise my eyebrows at him. My empathy is nil. “You. Can’t. Touch. Me,” I whisper back to him in the same voice he used with me.

“Fuck you!” he screams, rage winding with each and every word. “You’re the one who caused all of this. Not me. You want to point a finger? Point it at yourself, you arrogant son of a bitch.”

“I caused this? You’re out of your goddamn mind!” Come at me. Please. Give me a fucking reason to go against my promise to myself. Motherfucker. My fists are clenched, my blood is on fire, and it is taking every ounce of restraint I have to not knock his teeth out. But I don’t. He’s baiting me. Doing a damn fine job of it. But a black eye is one thing. Knocking his teeth out is another.

But damn is it tempting.

His jaw clenches. Hands fist. His body physically bristles at my criticism. His ego so large he’s dying to correct me. “You’re such an arrogant asshole. I knew you wouldn’t part with your money. Even planted some seeds with the tabloids to put pressure on you. But fuck, you’re the goddamn golden boy so you figured you’d take the hit in stride. Get an ego boost from the attention it sure as fuck was going to get you. But not once did you think about that precious wife of yours, did you?” His words serve their purpose. Dig at me. Carve into the guilt. “Threw her to the goddamn wolves rather than pay me the money. You proved me right. You’re all about you and could give a fuck less about Selena or her reputation—”

“Don’t you fucking say her name again,” I yell. I connect with him, forearm against his throat as I pin him against the wall behind him. And he doesn’t resist. Knows damn well he’s pushing my buttons and he’s having way too much fun doing it because he thinks I can’t touch him. His lack of reaction a non-verbal, fuck you.

“Why? Does it bug you, Donavan, that I called it right? That when I knew you weren’t going to pay, I chose to fuck your wife over anyway. Prove to her what a piece of shit her husband is. That he chose money over her?” I press my arm harder into him, needing to shut him up yet wanting the torture of hearing more. “How did it feel when she pushed away from you? When she blamed you for losing her job? I hoped it ripped you apart inside. Fucked with your head because it’s nowhere close to how I felt when you took my wife from me.”

“Go to hell,” I grit out, unable to move because I know if I do, I’m not going to be able to stop myself. My fury has a mind of its own and all it’s waiting for is any little thing to set it off. “I’m not playing into your mind games. Because you’re leaving out that you’re the one who fucked up. You were so goddamn thirsty for revenge that you forgot about the loan sharks waiting to crawl up your ass. You let your temper get the best of you, uploaded the video without even negotiating, and were shit out of luck because your bargaining chip just went out the goddamn window. You lost your money and knew the bill collectors were coming.” I let the smirk play the corners of my mouth as my fists beg to finish the talking for us.

“I get the last laugh though, don’t I?” he taunts in his calm, even voice despite the pressure on his chest. “That little video made you the ‘it couple’ for the media. Caused a frenzy. Frenzy means more money. Upped the price of the photo of your son to a pretty penny. Killed two birds with one stone: paid off my debts and got a final ‘fuck you’ in with your kid.” He leans his head forward as far as he can so his face is inches from mine. He whispers but I can hear it clear as fucking day. “You’re not such a badass when every man in America is watching that wife of yours come and fantasizing it was them with her, now are you?”

Restraint snapped.

Promise to myself reneged.

The fucker deserves it.

This one’s for Selena

My fist flies. The impact is bittersweet as his head snaps to the side, blood spurting from his nose, a groan falling out as he brings his hands to his face and slides down the wall. I’m only allowing myself one.

Fuck it’s going to be hard to walk away. So I don’t. I step closer, rein in the fury and take the high road when all I want to do is crawl in the gutter with him. I reach out and yank his hair so his head snaps up to look at me.

“Don’t ever come near my family again.” My threat is plain as day. I let go of his hair, shoving his head back. “What is it they say about revenge? Before you try to get it, make sure to dig two graves?” I grate out, voice shaking, body amped up on adrenaline. “Maybe you should have taken the advice.” He looks up, confusion flickering in his eyes as to what I mean. His mind only focused on the grave he dug for me, and not the one he should have dug for himself.

Well, if he doesn’t get it now, he sure as fuck is going to understand in about two minutes.

“Fuck you,” he says as I walk toward the door.

I stop and hang my head down as a chuckle falls from my mouth that clearly says the same thing back to him. I let the silence eat up the room. Allow him to think this is all there is going to be.

And then I drop the hammer.

“You may have paid your debts back. But I think you forgot about the interest you owe them. I guess I’ll let someone else do my dirty work for me after all.”

I open the door and walk out of the apartment, a part of me wishing I could see the expression on his face, the other part of me never wanting to see him again. Holding my hand up, I ask the guys standing a few feet away to give me a minute. A goddamn second to catch my breath and figure out how the fuck I feel about getting but not getting what I wanted.

Because yes, I got my answers. Got them tied up with a nice little bow that normally I’d question the ease in which he confessed them. But I know that fucker inside out. I worked with him for years, watched him across the table from me in mediation and on the stand during the trial, can read him like a fucking road map. Do I question the answers’ validity? Not enough to care because he was so itching to one-up me. Desperate to prove he stuck it to me in the end—got me back—that he was so amped up on the high of it, there was no way in hell he’d be able to spin the truth.

So yes, I’m good with his explanations. But fuck if I’m not struggling with giving him what he deserves by my own hand. Selena. The reason. The answer. The goddamn everything. That’s why I have to be okay with this outcome. With someone else doing my dirty work to reach the same endgame.

And when I look up, they are there, ready and willing to do it for me. And for them. Three fuckers solid as tree stumps. Scary shit to owe money to these guys.

“You have five minutes to collect your interest before Kelly calls the cops. Make sure he’s alive when they get here. He seems to be in violation of a restraining order.”

Fucker has no idea what’s about to hit him. Fairly sure it’ll wipe the smarmy smirk off his face.

I think he’ll welcome going back to jail after they get done with him.

I meet Sammy’s eyes. I see the question there. You’ve wanted a piece of Eddie for so damn long, why are you walking away now?

But Sammy knows why. Probably can still hear the fury in my voice from the hospital all these days later. Her. Safety. Comes. First.

And if not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to justify shit to anyone. I have two perfectly good reasons at home. They’re what matters. My end all, be all.

The reason I’ll never stop trying to be the man deserving of them.

I just shake my head and slide into the waiting car. I’ve wasted enough time on Eddie fucking Kimball.

Eddie will not be bugging you again. He’s in custody.

My feet stop as I look at the text. I need a minute.

Fuck, I need more than a minute. I need to drown myself in a fifth and take a whole goddamn evening to swim in it. So I can brood. Be that cocky asshole I used to be and not give a fuck about anything or anyone.

But I can’t.

So I sit down on the step to the front door and sigh, close my eyes, hang my head, and give myself sixty seconds I can’t afford to take. Because once I walk in the door, I need to be the same man who just walked away from Eddie without throwing another punch. Responsible. Mature. Selfless.

Right now I want to be anything but.

Or is it that I’m a pussy and fear what I’m walking in on? A goddamn powder keg of unknown. Will my wife be here? Because I miss her so fucking much. Or just that shell of her that I’ve grown to despise?

Yeah, you’ve been pussified, Donavan. Needing a woman to complete you when you used to not need shit. My, how the player has fallen.

I chuckle. Not for relief but because I need something to take the edge off all this pent-up emotion. And because I know what else I need to do when I go inside, what I need to tell Selena is going to happen, and I just hope the news about Eddie helps take the sting out of it.

The door opens behind me. It closes. And I wait for it. Know it’s coming.

“You okay?” Haddie asks as she sits down beside me and holds out a beer and a bag of ice to me. I look over to her, wondering how she knew I needed both. “Call it a lucky guess.”

“Thanks.” I take them and hiss when I put the ice on my knuckles. We sit in silence for a few moments.

“Shane stopped by unexpectedly. He’s in with Ace right now,” she says, surprising me. But I shouldn’t be. Shane’s one of Selena’s boys. He knows something is wrong just like I do. “Selena’s out on the upstairs patio. I talked her into getting some fresh air.”

“She is?” Hope tinges my voice. She must be feeling better. I knew she’d come around.

“Justin?” By the way Haddie says my name, I know: Selena isn’t better at all. In fact, it reinforces what I have to do even more.

“I’m calling the doctor in the morning.” I answer the unspoken question she left hanging out there, bring the beer to my lips, and take a long pull on it. And I hate myself for saying it because now I’ve put it out there, I have to admit there is something wrong with Selena.

And I don’t want there to be something wrong with her.

“At first I was pissed at you, at her . . . You didn’t tell me and I’m her bestie. I should know this. But I get it. I understand how proud Selena is. How she thinks she can handle everything and if she admits she can’t then it makes it even worse. But, Justin, this is about her getting better. Not about her being weak.” She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs.

I shake my head. Emotions fucked. Head more so. “I thought that dealing with Eddie today would help. I could come back and tell her he won’t bother us anymore. Maybe knowing that worry was gone might be what she needed to help her break through . . .” I stop when I realize how fucking stupid that sounds.

“It might help some,” Haddie says softly, “but it’s not going to fix her. We’re back to Matchbox Twenty on repeat again but there’s no music this time. In fact, there’s no sound at all. She needs help, Justin.”

I scrub my hands over my face. “I know, Had. I know.”

“She tried to keep it together for a while but I know her well enough to know better,” she says as I stand up.

“Thank you . . . for everything.” Our hug is brief, my need to see Selena ruling my thoughts.

“Always,” Haddie says as I open the door and walk into my house.

I hear voices, my hopes rising to be dashed once again when I see Shane on the couch talking to Ace. And fuck, for some reason seeing Ace hits me hard, validates the reasons why I walked away from Eddie.

My end all, be all.

Shane looks up when he notices me. “Hey,” he says as he stands immediately, eyes locked on mine. I know a threat when I see one but for the fucking life of me can’t figure out why Shane’s the one giving it to me.

“What’s wrong, Shane?” I ask, mind spinning as he hands Ace off to Haddie without letting me see him first.

“Can we talk?”

And if he wasn’t so dead serious, I might laugh at the sudden growl to his voice and stiffening of his spine. “Sure,” I say as I fire a look at Haddie and get a shrug in response. “Why don’t we head into the office?”

I lead the way, let him walk in first, and then shut the door. We take seats on opposite sides of the desk, and this time when he looks at me I see so much more than the threat from a moment ago. I see a scared kid trying to be a brave man and I’m not sure of the footwork of how to go about this.

Well, I’m scared too. For different reasons. But scared nonetheless.

“What’d you want to talk about, Shane?”

He shifts in his seat, fidgets his hands, and before he even speaks, I can see we need to spend some more time together so I can help him look controlled when he’s not feeling it. That’s a must for a man and I’ve dropped the ball in teaching him that.

“You’re supposed to be the one who takes care of her,” he accuses with more certainty than his eyes reflect, suddenly nervous now that he’s actually standing his ground. “I mean, you can see something’s wrong with her, right?”

I bite back the flippant comment I’d normally give—how I sure as shit know how to take care of my fucking wife. The exhaustion and the shit with Eddie make it so goddamn tempting, but I’m able to find my restraint. To realize this is Shane in front of me trying to make sure Selena’s okay.

I lean back in the chair and roll my shoulders, put myself in his shoes. “She’s having a tough go of it, isn’t she?” I meet his gaze. I don’t shy away from it, because I want him to see I understand Selena needs help.

“If you’re not going to get her a doctor, then I will,” he states, voice resolute but then throws me for a fucking loop when his eyes well up with tears before he quickly looks down.

“I’m calling one tomorrow. She asked me for time to try and get through it,” I explain with more patience than I feel. But it’s one of her boys, a part of her family. “But she’s not getting any better so I’m going to get her some help. She’s going to be okay, Shane.”

“Don’t say that,” he says between clenched teeth. He squeezes his eyes closed and his face transforms. “That’s what they said about my mom. And look what happened to her.” His voice breaks as he delivers the words.

Fuck. How could I have not seen this coming? How could I have not realized Shane would compare Selena’s postpartum depression to his mother’s depression? The illness that caused her to take her own life in an overdose of pills. Or the fact he is the one who found her and is forever scarred by the memory.

“Look at me, Shane.” I pause, waiting for him to lift his head and meet my eyes. The courageous man who walked in here is gone. The broken boy who lost his world when his mom died has replaced him. I scramble to fix it. Him. Use words that won’t do shit but will sound like it. “She will get better.” And I’m not sure if the strong resolve in my voice is to convince him or me. “I am going to have a doctor see her tomorrow. It might take some time, but we’ll get our Selena back, okay?”

He stares at me no doubt deciding if he believes me or not. He nods his head slowly as he begins to speak. “Selena is the only mom I have. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets better.”

I nod my head, the words he doesn’t say are reflected in his eyes: I can’t lose another person.

I understand that more than you know, kid.

“That makes two of us.”

“SELENA?”

Justin’s voice shocks me from the darkness of my mind into the blinding light of the patio.

Everything wars inside me: relief against spite, fear against hope, numbness against pain.

He stands in the doorway. Vitriol-laced accusations scream in my head but don’t form into words. Can’t. It’s too much effort.

“You left me.” My voice sounds hollow, unaffected. Numb.

I missed you like a drowning person misses the air.

The baby monitor clicks as he sets it on the table. The cushion whooshes as he sits beside me. His eyes give an apology I don’t want to accept.

“I had to take care of some things, Selena.” He sounds tired. Rough. Something’s going on and yet I can’t find enough energy to care.

My body begins to hum. The ghost of the panic attack I had when I found out he had left comes back to haunt me. I wring my hands. Try to hold on to my control even though I can feel it slowly slipping away from me.

I can’t breathe.

“I went to see Eddie.”

Air feels like water, slowly filling my lungs with each inhale. Closing over my head and pulling me under.

“It was the first time he’d surfaced so I had to go.”

The deeper I fall the more my body begins to burn with heat from the inside out.

“He won’t be bugging us ever again.”

I fight back. Break the surface. My lungs heaving for the air his words bring me.

My eyes open wide and meet his, a moment of clarity amidst this haze.

“Thank you,” I say, voice hoarse as I try to elicit the emotion to match my words. But I can’t feel. When I don’t want to it’s all I can do, and when I do want to, I can’t.

I keep my eyes locked on his. Hope they’ll be the lifeline I need to keep me afloat, and sustain this feeling of normalcy for a little longer. The span of time seems to be less and less as the days go on.

Justin reaches out and runs the back of his hand down the side of my cheek. Tears well. I fight them back. I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out.

I need help.

He moves to sit next to me, pulls me in close to him. I try to find comfort, try to use that hum of our bodies touching to tell me I’m still alive. And if I’m alive I can keep treading water until I can get to the edge.

I close my eyes. A tear slides over. A little piece of me leaving with it.

“Shane is really worried about you.”

I saw it in his eyes: the fear, the memories of his mom, the worry. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t reassure him. He saw right through it.

Guilt. The one constant I feel is back, swims in my head.

“Your mom. I’m not going to be able to keep her away much longer, Selena. She’s worried.” I am too. I can hear the unspoken words in his voice but don’t have the wherewithal to respond. “I’ve kept her happy with pictures and videos. Telling her you’re sleeping when she calls. She’s going to come up this weekend.”

“No!” It’s the only show of emotion I can give. The need to keep this under wraps from those who would be disappointed in my failure the most.

“I’m going to call Dr. Steele then.” His voice is soft but slams into my ears like the harshest of noises.

“No!” My voice cracks with panic—the word on repeat in my head—as I try to shove away from him. Struggle as he pulls me hard into him to stop my resistance against the idea.

I fight because I can handle this.

No, I can’t.

And because I’m scared. What if I can’t ever find my way back?

Yes, I can.

The darkness is so much more tempting than the fight. Less work. Less struggle. But Ace and Justin are worth fighting for. I’m so sick of the dark. So sick of its loneliness. I do the only thing I can: cling onto Justin, my light.

“I’m holding tight so you can let go, Selena,” he says into the crown of my head, the heat from his breath warming the cold lingering inside me. “Let go, baby. Deal with what you need to. And just know that Ace and I are here for you when you come back to us. Then we’ll get our little piece of peace.”

He still loves me.

He still wants us.

He’s fighting the fight for me.

Even when I can’t.

“HADDIE MUST HAVE CALLED IN the troops.”

My mother’s laugh is deep and rich through the phone. The concern is there though. I can hear her hiding it.

But it’s okay. I am too.

I glance to the extra bedroom where the door is shut and wonder what is taking them so long.

“You have no idea. She only means well.” Then silence. Fuck. Here we go. “You should have told us, Justin. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re here to help you.” I can hear the hurt in her voice, get that she thinks I didn’t trust her coming into our private life enough to tell her what was going on. And if my own mother feels this way, I’m going to have to steel myself for how Selena’s mom is going to handle this.

I clear my throat, unsure what to say. “It’s not like that, Mom. It’s complicated.” Tread lightly, Donavan. She’s not intruding; she just wants to be a mom.

Just like Selena does.

“I know it is.” Her voice is softer. Her hurt feelings back in check. Being a mom again—pushing away her hurt to help me deal with mine. “Has the doctor finished talking to her yet?”

I glance at the door again. “No.”

“I’m sure she’s just reassuring Selena. Sometimes when you hear things you don’t want to hear and they’re spoken by someone else, you actually listen to them.”

“I miss her, Mom.”

God, I sound like such a pussy. You can’t miss someone who is right in fucking front of you twenty-four/seven.

“Of course you do. You’ve all had a lot of changes over the past few months.”

“Changes?” I snort and then press a kiss to the top of Ace’s head. Use him to calm me. “I feel like we’ve had the shit beat out of us so much in the past month I’m surprised we’re not black and blue.” Sarcasm she doesn’t deserve is thick in my voice.

“You’re only alive if you bruise,” she says softly.

Then I must be thriving.

“Yeah.” I sigh. My eyes are back on the door but her comment sticks in my mind.

“You can’t do this all yourself, son. Let all of us help you. We’re setting up a schedule so we can come and—”

“I don’t know about that, Mom. I appreciate it, but Selena—”

“Sorry. This is what family does. We rally the troops and take care of our own,” she says, the no-nonsense tone in her voice taking me back twenty years to when I was a punk kid getting reprimanded. “You don’t have a choice. Selena’s mom, Quinlan, Haddie, and I will take shifts if need be. Anything it takes. And you’ll take the help and not argue. Understood?”

Yep. Right back there to being ten and getting caught trying to light firecrackers in the backyard.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you need the break too. You’ll burn yourself out. A proud man is a good man. But he can also be stupid one.”

I can’t help the laugh that falls from my mouth. My blunt mother telling me like it is. One of a very few women who can.

“Mom, I have to go,” I say as the door opens.

“Let me know what she says so I can let everyone know and—”

I hang up the phone. Cut her off. I need to know.

“Dr. Steele?”

“Walk me out, please?” she asks.

“Sure.” We head to the front door. This doesn’t sound good. My dread builds with each footstep. My heart is in my throat by the time we walk outside and shut the door behind us.

“He is an adorable little guy, isn’t he?” she says as she focuses on Ace when all I want her to do is tell me about Selena.

“Doc?” I finally ask, hoping she’ll have pity on me.

“You were right to call me, Justin.” The breath I’m holding burns in my lungs. “She’s definitely struggling with more than the typical baby blues.”

I feel a flicker of relief. I don’t know why. She hasn’t said she’s going to be okay, but at least I’ll know the beast we’re facing.

“Okay, so what do I need to do for her?” Something. Anything. I’m a guy. I need to fix things and this not being able to fix Selena is fucking me up.

She smiles softly at me. “To be honest, there’s no clear-cut answer here. I talked with Selena. Explained how she’s not alone. That a lot of women go through this and that getting help does not mean she’s failing as a mother.” She reaches out and plays with Ace’s hand as she continues. “Sometimes, postpartum depression is triggered by a sequence of events that seems out of the person’s control. Add in the rush of hormones. Then there’s the pressure of trying to get a newborn—who couldn’t care less about a schedule—to be on a schedule because every book you’ve read says that’s what you should be doing or you’re not doing it right. All of those combined are like the perfect storm of uncontrolled chaos. In Selena’s case, her mind has internalized it all and has fallen into a little downward dip of depression.”

I blow out a breath, hear her words and know it’s not my fault. But I’m a guy so I blame myself nonetheless. “Is she going to be okay?”

She nods. “I’ve written a prescription for some anti-depressants and—”

“Can she still nurse?” I ask, knowing that nursing is the only time she feels somewhat connected to Ace.

“Yes. There is much debate on this. In my opinion the trade-off is worth it: getting Selena on the road to recovery versus a trace of the drugs passed on through the milk.”

“Okay.”

“She’s a fighter, Justin. Get her out in the fresh air. A walk on the beach. A drive in the car. Anything you can think of doing to get her up and about without triggering her panic attacks.”

I chuckle. She does realize who we are, right? Did she forget there’s a reason she’s making a house call and we’re not going to her office?

“I know. It’s difficult in . . . your situation, but the more stimuli, the better.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly. “I appreciate you making the house call.”

“She’s going to be fine, Justin. She just needs a little time. It’s not going to happen overnight. The drugs take some time to take effect, so be patient like you’ve been so far, and soon enough you’ll have your wife back.”

The words cause my heart to pound. Fucking stupid since she’s been here all along. And yet my pulse is racing at the mere thought of getting my best friend back. Hearing her laughter. Watching her eyes light up with joy over staring at Ace. Listening to her sing off key to her beloved Matchbox Twenty. It’s the little things I miss. The day-to-day. The insignificant.

Desperate may not be something a man should wear but fuck if I’m not swathed in it wanting her to come back to me.

After the gates close behind Dr. Steele, I head inside, uncertain which Selena I’m going to find: The fighter I’ve grown to admire or the lost woman I can’t even recognize.

“Let’s go, little man. Let’s see if we can make your momma smile.”

FADING IN.

My moments with Ace, the ones I can feel, I try to hold tight to them. Try to use them to keep me afloat. Soak them in.

A text from Justin: Photograph by Ed Sheeran.

A rush of warmth. A flash of happy. The recollection of that night. Of sweetness. A picture frame waiting to be filled. Memories to make.

Panic I won’t be able to make it. A struggle to hold on to the good from the song, and not the bad. Please help me hold on to the good.

Falling out.

Thoughts come. Thoughts go.

The house a constant revolving door: my mom, Haddie, Dorothea, Quinlan. Frustrating me. Reviving me. Holding me up so I can fall, but not be alone when I do.

My mom. Opening blinds. Zipping through the house like Mary Poppins infusing her cheer to try and make me smile. Except I can’t smile. I can’t feel anything. Watching her hold Ace, coo over him, connecting with him should make me happy, jealous—anything—and yet I feel absolutely nothing.

The clock ticks. Time in Ace’s life I can’t get back.

My Justin. I watch him with Ace. Day after day. Night after night. Moments I capture, file away, and pray can keep. Justin asleep with Ace on his chest, tiny fingers curled against his muscles. Made-up lullabies that dig into the fog and make me feel something . . . lighter. A flicker of warmth. A strand of hope. A moment I can embrace.

Before the lead curtain falls again.

Seconds spent.

A tug of war of inner wills.

Hours gone.

And every night, Justin pulls me against him as we lie in bed and murmurs in my ear the wonderful memories we still have to make to put in our picture frame. The warmth of his body against mine is his subtle reminder to his wife, who is still lost in her own mind, that she’s not alone.

Days lost.

“Teddy called today,” Justin says. The ocean breeze is cool. The soothing surge from Ace nursing a little stronger today. The fog a little lighter.

“Hmm?” Afraid to hope. Wanting to know but fearing the worst.

“The board voted to keep him on as director.” An unexpected flutter. A tinge of excitement. “You’ll be reinstated if you choose to go back to work after your maternity leave.”

A deep breath in. Exhale out.

“Mm-hmm.” A bit of inflection.

Justin’s smile at my response. I love his smile. The feel of Ace’s hand kneading my breast. I love his little hands. A glimpse of hope.

A pile of jumbled jigsaw pieces. Two finally fitting together.

A text from Justin: I’ll Follow You by Jon McLaughlin

He tries so hard to keep me above the fray. To do anything to help me hold on a little longer than last time. A message to tell me I’m not alone. That it’s okay.

A pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.

You can do this.

Change is never easy.

Fight to hold on.

Fight to let go.

Fight because they’re your whole world.

“I STILL CAN’T GET OVER it.”

“Get over what?” I ask as I look from where Ace is passed out on my chest—mouth open, hands up, legs apart. Content as fuck. And thankfully asleep since he’s been running me ragged.

“You. A dad.” Becks chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Yeah well, he looks sweet right now . . . but don’t let him fool you. He’s a stubborn little cuss. He had me up to my elbows in shit earlier. Not a pretty sight.” Fucking disgusting. But shit, I’d do it a hundred more times if I could be rewarded by the soft smile on Selena’s face when I looked up and saw her standing in the doorway watching us.

Becks throws his head back and laughs. “Fuck. I would have paid to see that.”

“No. You wouldn’t,” I deadpan, “but you do what you have to do.”

Becks nods his head and lifts his chin toward the pool deck where Selena is reading. Baby steps. Tiny bits of her returning to me. “Haddie says she’s doing better?”

“One step forward. Three back.” I shrug. “But at least we’re moving, right? Just trying to figure out our new kind of normal or some shit like that.”

“And you’re hanging in there?”

“Most days,” I say with a laugh. “But God I’d kill to get on the track. I need some speed to clear my head and give me a chance to not think for a bit.”

“Not thinking is what you do best. You don’t need to hit the track for that.”

“Fuck off,” I say with a laugh. And regardless of my response, I welcome the dig. Need a bit of our typical banter to get a little part of my normal.

“Dude, you better watch your mouth or else Ace’s first word is going to be fuck. And while it would be funny as fuck,” he says, raising his eyebrows at the intended pun, “I think that might earn you a spot in the doghouse.”

“True . . . but fuck—”

“There you go again.” He laughs, causing me to just shake my head and sigh.

“This is going to be harder than I thought.”

“Most good things in life are,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows. And I stare at him for a beat, hearing what he’s saying. That shit’s tough right now but it’s all worth it.

Damn straight it is.

“Like I said, just say when and I’ll get the track time reserved for you,” he says as he stands. His unspoken, I’ve got your back, comes through loud and clear.

“Thanks . . . for everything.”

“No problem, brother. That’s what I’m here for.”

They’re gone.

I’m thankful the vultures have packed up shop and gotten the hell out of Dodge, but I still can’t believe it’s true. I check the live feed on my phone from the security camera mounted on the front gate one more time. The street’s still free and clear of paparazzi scum who had been camping out there for what felt like for-fucking-ever.

Thank God they listened for once. Chased the story I hand-fed them about Eddie. Uncovered truths behind his actions: his desperate and fucked-up act to exact revenge on my wife because he was found guilty. Paparazzi’s apologies mean shit to me. They’re just covering their asses from getting sued for slander. Besides, I know it won’t stop them from doing the same thing with their next story, their next lead, their next chance to fuck up someone else’s life.

Of course, I’m not blind to the fact they’re all playing nice in the hopes of getting first crack at pictures of Ace if we ever decide to go that route and sell the rights. So I’ll take their printed retractions. Use their hope to clear our street and rid our lives of their constant presence. But more than anything I’ll hold tight to the fact that their apologies have helped restore Selena’s reputation.

Too bad she’s so lost in her depression she doesn’t know it.

Because while their apologies may have restored calm outside the gates, they’ve done nothing to quiet the storm still brewing inside them.

From my chair on the patio, I set my cell down and watch the set of waves roll in, immediately itching to grab my board and get lost in the ocean. My mind wanders. Thoughts run. Will Ace want me to teach him to surf some day? Will he be interested in racing?

Or will I just be the authority he resists until he gets old enough to understand the why behind my rules? Like father, like son.

The baby monitor crackles on the table beside me. I give him a sec, wait to see if he’s awake, but nothing. I lean back in my chair and get lost in thoughts about the next race. My everyday world that feels so fucking far away from the one I’m currently living in.

“Shh. Shh.” Selena’s voice comes through the monitor and startles me. My heart races. My eyes burn with emotion I don’t want to feel but can’t stop as I bring it to my ear to hear more.

Silence. Nothing else. Should I go upstairs or stay here and see what happens? If I’m there, does it add more pressure on her as she takes a step forward when so many we’ve taken have been backward?

And then those dark thoughts in the back of my mind take hold. The ones I haven’t wanted to acknowledge but linger nonetheless. The ones that make the evening news headlines about what mothers with postpartum depression have done to their children.

I’m up and on my feet in a second. A war of emotions battle over what to think and what to do. I stand in the hallway, frozen in indecision with what feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders.

Hope surges through me. I hate it and love it at the same time.

I choose to love it. Need to.

C’mon, Selena. Give me something to tell me I’m right.

“My sweet boy. You hungry?” I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, pissed at myself for doubting her but knowing I have every right to.

Joy, relief, fear, concern, caution. Too many fucking feelings hit me at once. The biggest of all of them is relief that I can see the light at the end of this long-ass tunnel. Our life has been put on hold for what feels like forever, and it’s time to get it back.

She’s not better yet. We still have a long way to go. Hell yes, this moment is a baby step, but fuck if I won’t take it because we weren’t even crawling a few days ago. This step may be on wobbly legs, but it’s a step all the same.

When I enter the bedroom, Selena is lying on the middle of the bed, and Ace is nursing beside her. It’s the first time I haven’t had to bring him to her. The thought sinks in and takes hold as I watch the two of them together. A visual sucker punch of love.

Leave her be, Justin.

Good in theory, but not in my reality. I don’t know why I resist the pull when I know in the end it’s futile. It always is when it comes to Selena.

I cross the room, pull my shirt over my head, and slide into bed behind her without saying a word. Careful of disturbing Ace, I put arm around her hip, and line our bodies up. And just breathe her in.

God, I’ve missed her.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear him wake up. I didn’t mean for you to have to get him.” I give her the lip service, soft words that won’t upset her, when I’m not sorry at all.

Silence greets me. I hold back the sigh I want to breathe out. Push down the disappointment she’s lost again. Accept that the power of her own mind is ten times more powerful than any love I can give her. Fight the fear I won’t be able to pull her back again.

So I begin the routine. My nightly process. My way of telling her I’m not giving up on her. I tell her about a memory I can’t wait to make with her.

“I thought of another one today. Memory two hundred thirteen that I can’t wait to put in our picture frame. We should rent a private island. Or a secluded beach somewhere. Sand, sun, and our family left all alone to do as we please. Silly, right?” My own voice rings in my ears but her body relaxes against mine and I know she’s listening. “It’s not though. Because the island rules are that you’re required to wear very skimpy bikinis. Or go topless. Topless is preferable. And yes, to make it fair, I’d have to wear that loincloth thingy so we have clothing equality on the island. Oh shit,” I murmur as I press a kiss into the back of her hair. “I’m still getting used to this baby thing. I forgot topless doesn’t bode well with a kid. So I guess topless would only be allowed when Ace is napping. I’m sure we could find a few ways to occupy our time during those hours anyway.”

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