#my bastard of a dad is in the icu again

[satansappendix]

I am experiencing emotion

[topazadine]

And the thing is that these nurses will use their power against anyone they judge, think has caused their own suffering, or whatever. (TW for medical trauma, medical neglect, slutshaming, misogyny)

When I was in high school, I suffered a ruptured hemorrhagic ovarian cyst. I was absolutely pouring blood. Drenched two of those puppy pad things. I straight up could have died, that's how bad the blood loss was. I'd been bleeding most of the day and only cracked and begged my dad to come get me around the end of the school day because I was literally hunched over on the floor, crying, chalk white from pain.

My idiot father took me to the peds ICU for some goddamn reason even though I was like 15 or 16 and absolutely should have been sent to the adult ICU for a ruptured ovarian cyst.

I told them, having been diagnosed with PCOS the year prior, that I thought it was a ruptured ovarian cyst because I'd read up on my condition and knew it was a possibility, and the pain was only on one side of my body. They didn't believe me because apparently I was just a dumb lying teenager.

Not only did the nurses ignore me in favor of oohing and ahhing over a newborn baby, but they catherized me, pumped my bladder full of fluid, and left me there.

For three hours.

While they "waited for imaging." With a little Tylenol to tide me over. Oh, thanks.

Imagine having a full bladder, for three hours, while you are pouring blood from an ovarian cyst, in immense pain, terrified of how much you are bleeding, scared and wanting your mom (my father was a bastard and absolutely no help, and my mom was off on a business trip), and the nurses just.

Ignore you. For three hours. Because they've got better shit to do I guess. Don't check on you except to throw another puppy pad under you and then leave again.

Then, I got imaging, and they realized, "oh shit you have a ruptured ovarian cyst and it's pouring blood," and suddenly they couldn't get me out of there fast enough. Like basically pushing me out the fucking door, telling me to take a Tylenol and giving me a permission slip to stay out of school the next day. No actual pain relief, no aftercare instructions, nothing. Just "oh well maybe it'll stop or something idk, bye."

It was only months later that I realized that they likely were "punishing" me because they thought I'd been having a miscarriage as a teenager. I wasn't even sexually active at the time.

They then realized they'd been totally fucking wrong after forcing me to lay there with a full bladder for three hours. That I had told them what it was and they had ignored it in favor of being judgmental little shits. And that if I wanted to, I could have gotten them all in serious trouble for ignoring a patient whose room looks like a murder scene while they busy themselves squealing over babies.

Being in the peds unit (again, my father is an idiot), they likely didn't even consider that it could have been ovarian cyst. But instead of, you know, consulting with literally anyone else, they shoved me in a room and ignored me because of their own prejudices. They likely believed I was lying about not being sexually active because my dad was there, because why believe a stupid teenager? Then when they realized they were absolutely wrong, they got me out of there as soon as possible so I couldn't protest.

It was an absolute nightmare, and I hate that they got away with it because I was too young and scared to call out their bullshit, and my father was useless.

(This was at Endeavor Health Northwest Community Hospital in Arlington Heights, IL, around 2008 or 2009. I have no idea how terrible they are now, but I'd advise against going there because fuck them.)

On the plus side, though, it taught me to advocate for myself. Medical professionals have tried to use my mental illness against me multiple times - such as gaslighting me into thinking I'd signed up for group medication management when I distinctly remembered saying I wanted individual treatment - and I call them on it every fucking time. I have walked out of therapy appointments because of bad vibes. I get the ombudsman involved when I have to.

When doctors are extremely late, I go up to the receptionist and tell them to reschedule me and that this behavior is utterly unacceptable. I tell them that I will refuse to pay the copay if they attempt to charge me so they better get ready to eat the cost. And doctors hate it, and I absolutely do not care.

If your patients are always demons to you and calling your ass out, maybe YOU are the problem, not the patients. It's one thing to get a few assholes every once in a while. It's another thing if you're getting so many that you feel the need to get a little snarky pin.

You just better hope you don't run into a patient like me who is more than happy to get you in trouble for being an asshole.

surely it's not just me who finds those fucking "be nice, I'm in charge of the pills" pins you sometimes see doctors and nurses wearing in pretty bad taste right? like the *point* is a stand against being mistreated by patients but like...yea you are in charge of the pills and can arbitrarily deny care to people, not really sure why that's something to gloat about? like the number of stories especially of black women being totally denied painkillers in hospital and stuff because the nurses were assholes it's like....maybe you can have your snarky pins when you're not in the position to medically torture someone? idk

like you get people rushing to defend it like "you don't know what it's like working in a hospital" but like...i do sure as hell know what it's like being mistreated by medical professionals. I'm not even getting paid to be here. it's kinda fucking evil when you think about it for more than a second.

[poem-today]

A poem by Nick Laird

Up Late

If I shut my eyes to the new dark I find that I start to experience time in its purest state: a series of durations rising and dilating beneath my inwards gaze: an eruptive core where the umbra blooms in crestless waves of darkness as within another umbra bubbles up from the interior – from nothingness, from nowhere – and at the centre of the crest of this disintegrating, reassembling nest the jet of time generates, is consciousness, the planetary mind, aloft, alone, mine, jostled and spun like a ping pong ball.

*

My father died today. Sorry to bolt that on. You understand the shift required. This morning the consultant said your father now is clawing at the mask and is exhausted and we’ve thrown everything we have at this. It’s a terrible disease.

He promises to give him morphine and that a nurse will be beside him at all times to hold his hand and talk him through it. It being the transition, the change of state, the fall of light, the trade,

the instant of the hand itself turning from the subject into object. No, we are not allowed in the ward and there cannot be exceptions. Thank you for making this difficult call. But I know what the body wants. Continuance. Continuance. Continuance at any cost.

*

But dying, then, as we speak, my father in the IC ward of Antrim Area Hospital.

The icy ward. The ICU. I see you too.

On Sunday they permitted us to Zoom and he was prone in a hospital gown strapped to a white slab. The hospital gown split at the back and the pale cold skin of his back was exposed.

He lifted his head to the camera and his face was all red, swollen, bisected vertically by the mask, and we had to ask Elizabeth the nurse to say his words back to us – he sounded underwater – it’s been a busy day but not a good day. 

*

I could see even with the mask on your little satisfaction with the phrase managed out.

And the achievement left you so depleted you lowered your head back to the slab, having done with us,

like some seal on a rock looking up as we pass on the Blue Pool ferry out to Garinish. Dad, you poor bastard, I see you. You lay like that for a week alone with your thoughts in the room.

Tethered. Breathless. Undefended. At sea as on an ice floe slipping down into the shipping channels.

*

The eye adjusts, even to darkness, even to the presence of what overwhelms us, and as I make my way from the bed to the study the soles of my feet on the carpet warp it as any fabric made of this space-time will distort beneath the force of a large object – and my father, as it happens, is gigantic – and if you thought an understanding could be reached, you are wrong for it could not. The goldfish pilots the light of itself through a ten-gallon darkness and I keep watch as the large hand of the clock covers the small and leaves it behind to the weak approximation I sit here in and finish writing.

*

I want the poem to destroy time. What are the ceremonies of forgetting?

There is a spring in Boetia that lets the river Lethe enter the world.

King Gjuki’s ale of forgetfulness. Excessive phlegm.

But I like the notion of the angel lightly tapping the baby

in its soft hollow above the top lip, erasing all the child knows,

all its regret, all its terrible grief, before it descends again fresh to the world.

*

After your stroke you were born once more as smaller, greyer, softer, and after Mum died, left bewildered, adrift, ordering crap online and following the auctions, the horses, the football, the golf – but hungering for company, for anyone, sending money to that Kenyan who was younger than me and flying out to Germany to see her, and again, before Jackie arrived on the scene, the divorced blonde who had ‘her demons’, by which you meant she was a violent alcoholic, though with Louise things seemed steady enough, for a few months, before you got stuck in one of your loops about her ex-husband funding her and the weird behavior of her ingrate daughter.

*

You could never let anything go, a trait I also suffer from, and kind of admire, but

this is not a possibility. The tick of the clock is meltwater dripping into the fissure.

The minute hand clicks across the hour hand and hovers for a minute, exactly,

and impinging on the vision is your slack wild face and the way a nurse’s hand might hold

your cold hand or try again to lift your hand but your hand now will not respond.

*

I have been writing elegies for you all my life, Father, in one form or another, but now I find the path is just this game trail through the forest, the forested mind and I would follow in the manner of an animal – a deer, a fox, a chimpanzee – returning to the clearing to nuzzle the corpse, to lick its nape or bite it softly, to look away, and look again, and wait for a response. One hand on the clock holds the other for a minute before going on alone. It is death that is implicit in the ticking.

*

One must negotiate the next moment. The mind will not stop and certain things are good to think with. Goldfish; carpet; clock. I want something fit to mediate the procreative business of redoubling the brittle world, and settle on an image, for a second, since it is a given that the mind will keep returning to the magic, the legerdemain, the trick: one hand holding your hand as it turns into an object, as I turn back along the track toward the fold, toward the corner of the field where the father’s body lies, and with an animal’s dumb clarity do grief work – kiss your hand and kiss your cheek and leave my forehead for a time pressed against yours.

*

When I phoned the hospital this afternoon to say goodbye, though you were no longer lucid,

Elizabeth the nurse held the phone against your ear and I could hear your breathing, or perhaps the rasping

of the oxygen machine, and I said what you’d expect. I love you, Dad, and I want you to keep on fighting,

but if you are too tired now, and in too much pain, then you should stop fighting, and let go, and whatever

happens it’s okay. I love you. You were a good father. The kids love you. Thank you for everything.

Then I hung up. And scene. Impossible to grieve and not know the vanity of grief. To watch one

self perform the rituals that take us. Automaton of grief, I howled, of course, by myself

in my office, then sobbed for a bit on the sofa. An elegy I think is words to bind a grief

in, a companionship of grief, a spell to keep it safe and sound, to keep it

from escaping. There are various ways to memorize. Plato calls on Mnemosyne.

My grandfather Bertie liked to tie a knot in his blue handkerchief.

My father wrote in biro on his palm. I cannot leave the poem alone.

*

Do you remember the pure world? I remember it from being a kid. All was at stake in that place, one moved through it sideways, through forests of time, lost in them, and had to be called back to the moment. Infinities growing in stone, in moss, in the hayshed, the rain, the wind, in the darkness under the cattle grid.

Rilke says of the pure unseparated element – ‘ . . . someone dies and is it.’

*

It’s after two. You are dead by now I hope. Who thought to write that?

There’s no hurry now, no effort, no need to call. You might be only sitting

in your red chair endlessly flicking through the channels.

*

When I asked the doctor, Andrew Black, he said, it could take minutes, it could take hours,

and I see you slumped, not sitting up, propped against some pillows

with your eyes closed. Something in you finally given up defying gravity,

some obedience to objecthood settled in you now and set up home. Set in stone.

Outside on the motorway the headlights of the vehicles are necklaces of diamonds,

double-strung, and alongside them, heading westwards, necklaces of garnets. Dad, I cannot stay in the room with you too long in my mind. It is too hard. I thought

there would be futurity. I thought things would happen. Nothing major. Barbecues.

Why barbecues? God knows. You are walking round Bantry at the Friday market in your shorts

in the rain, your white tube socks pulled tightly up and a bright t-shirt from some Spanish golf trip

tucked into your shorts. By the way, we are even, you and I. No need. Look:

How absolutely still the room is. Outside the widowed sky has grown huge with stars.

The Milky Way meandering like the Ballinderry, though the night has come with work to do.

It sits with you and broods. It wants you to come at your own pace. And at this moment

you might get up and speak clearly to everything, creation, extinction, infinities rising within you.

*

Alastair Laird is dead. Fuckety fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck fuck fuck. My dad is dead. Bad luck. The light breaks and the night breaks and the line breaks and the day is late assembling. Rows of terraced houses are clicking into place. Clouds decelerate and make like everything is normal: the children wanting porridge, voices forcing pattern out of circumstance, pitching rhythmic incident on little grids of expectation, satisfaction, disappointment, and this new awe, and walking to school, at the corner where the halfway house is, leaves animated in a briefest circle by the wind.

Nick Laird

[the-real-tc]

Bad Business Ch. 7: Every Breath You Take

Chapter 7

Every Breath You Take

Shooting Victim Identified

Hudson Times—Print Version

May 3, 2019

Nadir Jutley

Hudson Police have released the identity of the motorist shot yesterday on Range Road 292. 53-year-old Lisa Stillman was found unconscious in her SUV by Hudson veterinarians, Drs. Scott Cardinal and Ty Borden at approximately 12:15 p.m., local time.

Stillman was found to be suffering from two gunshot wounds. She was transported by ambulance to the South Calgary Health Campus where she underwent emergency surgery and is currently listed in critical but stable condition.

Police are asking for the public's assistance in the matter. Anyone who may have witnessed anything suspicious on the road at the time of the shooting is asked to call local police or the RCMP. In particular, authorities hope to speak with an individual riding a motorcycle who may have passed Stillman and might be able to provide further details. Thus far, police have no motive or suspects in the attack.

Hudson Chief of Police James Parker expressed his concern for Stillman, and for the safety of citizens of the town. However, he stressed there is no reason to believe there is any danger to the public at large.

Lisa Stillman is the owner of Fairfield Stables, a renowned thoroughbred racehorse breeding facility in Hudson that was established in 1951 by her late father, Matthew Stillman.

• Email: nadir_jutley

The ringing telephone cut through the silence that Friday morning. Jack pulled himself from the kitchen table. The call display indicated it was from the hospital, causing his heart to jump.

"Hello?" he answered after picking up the receiver. "Yes, this is Jack Bartlett."

He listened while the voice on the other line spoke a few words. Amy and Tim watched him carefully, both on edge.

"Thank you," Jack said once he heard everything the other party had to say. "Good-bye."

"Grandpa?" Amy asked, trying to read his expression. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," Jack answered, his heart exulting and mind spinning with the information he had been longing to hear. "Lisa's awake. She's regained consciousness."

"Oh, Grandpa, that's great news! I'm so happy!" Amy exclaimed. She wrapped her arms around him in happy relief.

"Great news, Jack," Tim said, slapping Jack on the back.

"I've got to get up there," Jack said.

"Of course. I'll take you," Amy said. "Let me just get Lyndy ready. You're still okay to get Lou from the airport, right, Dad?"

"Yeah, sure," Tim said. "You two go on. Tell Lisa I'm happy she's doing better, Jack. God knows what an insufferable bastard you would become if she didn't make it."

Jack just shook his head while a lopsided smile tugged at his mouth. "Shut up, you idiot," he said.

"Just sayin'," Tim quipped, always needing to have the last word.

***

Upon arriving at the hospital, Jack hurriedly returned to the ICU floor. The despair he had felt throughout the sleepless night before had lifted completely. He approached the nurse's desk expectantly. "I'm Jack Bartlett," he announced. "My wife was admitted yesterday. Lisa Stillman."

This nurse, different from the one yesterday, did not have to consult her records.

"Ms. Stillman has been moved from the ICU to another room, Mr. Bartlett."

"You mean she's not here?" Jack asked, disappointed he would be delayed in seeing her.

"No, she's not," the nurse confirmed. "Let me find out for you which floor she's on now, okay?"

A few minutes later, Jack was at last on the correct floor, but he would be disappointed yet again. The nurse on this recovery ward informed him: "She's resting again now, Mr. Bartlett. But you can go sit with her as long as you don't disturb her."

"You go ahead, Grandpa," Amy said while holding onto her sleeping toddler. "Lyndy and I'll wait out here for you for a bit."

Jack patted his granddaughter's shoulder. "Thank you," he said.

***

"Hey, Cowboy..."

Jack jerked his head up at the sound of the thin, wispy voice. Lisa was looking at him through tired, heavy-lidded eyes.

"Lis..." he whispered in awe, thinking he would burst with joy at seeing her conscious again. He had drifted off to a shallow nap while sitting at her bedside thanks to the lack of rest the night before, now all he wanted to do was keep his eyes open to be sure they were not deceiving him.

Jack forced himself not to overwhelm her, so he refrained from peppering her with all the frantic questions that were burning within. He instead sucked in a deep, steadying breath before taking a measured approach. "I am so relieved you woke up. How're you feeling?"

Lisa blinked slowly, as if considering how to answer. "Terrible," she eventually replied, after swallowing a couple times.

"Here, let me get you some water," Jack said quickly, reaching for the cup on the bedside table. He brought the straw to her lips and she drew a quick sip.

"Thanks," she rasped, throat still raw despite taking a drink. He put the cup back after intuiting she was satisfied for the time being.

"Are you in pain?" Jack asked anxiously.

A grimace crossed her face as she nodded in the affirmative. "Head," she muttered. "Arm... and side..."

"I can get the nurse or the doctor," Jack said, already rising up to get someone.

"No," Lisa spoke with more volume. "Don't go... just yet."

"Okay," Jack said, settling back into the chair, brushing her cheek gently to reassure her he was not going anywhere. "I'll just use the call button, then."

"Mm-hmm," she agreed, eyeing Jack as he pressed the device at her side. A few beats of silence passed before she spoke again. "What happened... to me? The doctors haven't told me anything yet... or maybe I was too out of it to remember if they did."

Jack searched her face. The dark circles under her eyes stood in contrast to the frighteningly wan pallor of her skin. "What do you remember?" he asked, hoping to forestall discussion of the trauma she had endured.

She reflected carefully before replying. "I-I was driving to a meeting, wasn't I?"

"Yes," Jack confirmed with an encouraging nod. "You were. Do you remember anything else?"

"I can't quite," she murmured, frowning with the effort of trying to recall the details of that drive. "There was a guy..."

Upon hearing this, Jack stiffened in his seat, pulse quickening. Maybe she would remember. Maybe they would be able to find her shooter and bring him to justice, effectively ending this nightmare. "What 'guy'?"

"On a motorbike," Lisa sighed. "He was trying to pass me on the road. I think he was afraid to risk it... did we have an accident? Did something hit us?"

Jack shook his head.

"Oh, no. Please don't tell me I hit him."

A soft, sad smile formed on his lips at the misery on her face at the thought she might be the one responsible for her current predicament. "No, no," he said to reassure her. "You didn't do anything wrong, Lis."

"Oh. Good." She sighed, blinking in relief to have that fear assuaged. "What, then?"

Jack was spared having to reply when a wiry nurse with short salt-and-pepper hair appeared at the door.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, looking in at the two of them.

"She woke up from her 'nap'," Jack stated.

"Wonderful!" declared the nurse, whose name tag identified her as 'Cheryl'. She strode into the room purposefully, immediately checking Lisa's vitals and asking about her pain levels.

"I have a terrible headache. But... my arm and side... hurt the most," Lisa responded tiredly. "Pain is about a seven or eight out of ten, maybe?"

"Remember there's a tube in your side," Cheryl said, "but I'll get the doctor to see if we can do something about increasing your pain meds to take the edge off—now that you're fully awake."

Lisa nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

"Be right back," the nurse said, smiling at the couple as she departed.

"Do you remember anything else?" Jack prodded when he was sure they were alone again.

"Mm-mm," Lisa mumbled, giving her head a slight negative shake.

Jack could see her lack of recall was frustrating her. He made the decision right then to give her the truth, without any dissimulation.

"Lis," he began slowly, finding it difficult to formulate the words even though he had gone over in his mind a hundred times what he knew about the heinous actions that brought her here. "You went off the road on the way to the meeting. We're not sure exactly what happened or why, but... Someone shot you."

His words struck a chord of distress in her, frazzling her nerves. Her face crumpled in confusion and Jack noticed a perceptible uptick in her heart-rate monitor.

"Shot...?" she uttered fearfully, unable to make sense of this piece of news. "Wh-why? Who would...?"

"We don't know. We were hoping you would be able to tell us something," Jack said, placing a hand over hers in comfort, delicately trying to avoid the I.V. port and lines. "Now, Chief Parker has got people investigating. But it's like I told him: my beautiful wife doesn't have an enemy in the world who would want to do something like this."

"I can't—I don't understand," Lisa said, still not recovered from the shock of Jack's news. "I have no memory of that... I—there must be some mistake..."

"I talked to Chief Parker," Jack said calmly, trying to ground her and bring her some peace of mind. "Like I said, he's got everyone he can looking into this, okay? We're going to catch who did this."

And he'd better pray I don't catch him first, Jack thought to himself.

Lisa sighed and nodded. "Okay."

***

Hudson Police Headquarters

"Chief, the hospital just called," Patterson informed her boss. "Lisa Stillman has regained consciousness."

"That's good news," Jim said. "You and Kavanaugh get up there right away. We need to get her statement about what happened as soon as the doctors will let you speak with her."

"All right," Patterson said. "We're on our way."

***

Lou's hurriedly booked flight from New York was scheduled to arrive early that afternoon at Calgary International Airport. The entire time in the air was spent in dread remembrance of a similar trip years ago. That time, she knew she would be coming home to a dead mother and a comatose sister, the result of an accident that occurred during a crazy rescue mission to save Spartan. Lou wondered what would be awaiting her this time. The shock of hearing that her grandfather's second wife had been shot had still not worn off.

What on earth did you get yourself into, Lisa? Lou questioned silently. This is going to kill Grandpa if you don't make it. I saw what losing Grandma Lyndy did to him, and what it did to him when we lost Mom. So you'd better live. Oh, why is this even happening?

"Dad!" she called out to Tim when she spotted his cowboy-hatted figure waiting for her outside the Arrivals gate.

"Lou, honey," Tim said, giving her a quick hug. "Good news. Lisa woke up. Jack's with her right now."

"Oh, thank goodness!" Lou exclaimed, happy she did not have to ask the question about Lisa's state of health. "I was so worried."

"Yeah, we all were," Tim said as he motioned for her to head to his truck while taking her suitcases. "But it looks like she's going to be okay, so we can probably stop worrying."

"That's a huge relief," Lou said. "Do the police have any idea what happened?"

"The police are clueless," Tim replied gruffly. "No leads except there was 'some guy' on a motorcycle."

"That's too bad," Lou said. "I don't even know what to think about all this."

"Yeah, it's a real mess," Tim said as they reached his truck.

"Dad," Lou began tentatively, biting her lip. "What about Amy? How's she doing?"

"She's better, I think," Tim answered plainly. "She's not as mopey and depressed today, anyway."

"That's good," stated Lou. "I guess things are looking up, then. I don't think this family could take much more, honestly."

"Yeah, it's been rough," Tim said in agreement. "Listen, I've got to stop in at Maggie's on the way home. You mind? It's been overwhelming with everything going on lately."

"You haven't let a couple family crises get in the way of your duties at the diner, have you, Dad?" Lou chided in mock reproach.

"Absolutely not," Tim said. "After all, isn't that why you hired Jen? To make sure things run smoothly while you're away?"

"Yeah, yeah," Lou quipped. "Let's go. I'm tired and I want to call Katie and Peter when I get home so we can arrange for her to come back now that everything is improving."

***

South Calgary Health Campus

"The police are here," Nurse Cheryl announced to Jack and Lisa. "They would like to speak to Ms. Stillman about what happened."

"Don't know how much I can tell them," Lisa said, feeling better now that the pain was back within tolerable levels. "I don't really remember much."

"That's all right. You just do your best, okay?" Jack said encouragingly. "Tell them what you told me, and they'll take it from there."

Lisa nodded and a small sigh escaped her lips. "Okay. I'll try."

Jack stepped out of the room to make way for Detective Kavanaugh and Detective Constable Patterson to enter and to give them some privacy.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Stillman," Kavanaugh said. Both he and Patterson seated themselves so Lisa did not have to strain to look up at them. "I'm sorry we have to meet again under such awful circumstances."

Lisa looked warily at the pair. "Good afternoon," she replied, somewhat guardedly.

"How are you feeling?" asked Patterson.

"Better than I was a couple hours ago. Thank God for good pain meds," Lisa remarked with a sardonic twist of her mouth.

"Good, we're glad to hear that," Patterson said. "Think you can answer our questions about what happened yesterday?"

"I'll try," Lisa replied.

"Thank you," Patterson said kindly. "We appreciate you're willing to talk with us."

"We'd like to go over with you the details—as you can recall them—of yesterday afternoon when you were shot," Kavanaugh said. "Thanks to Drs. Cardinal and Borden, we have some idea, but we're hoping you can fill in the blanks."

"Okay," Lisa said with a slow nod. "What do you want to know?"

"Tell us about the drive in to Calgary," Kavanaugh started. "Did you notice anything strange or unusual during that drive?"

"Yes," Lisa answered after a brief moment of consideration. "Sort of."

"Explain what you mean by 'sort of', please," Kavanaugh said.

"There was someone riding a motorcycle who kept trying to pass," Lisa said.

"Can you describe this person?" asked Kavanaugh.

"Not really," Lisa replied. "The memory of it is hazy right now. I'm pretty sure he was wearing a helmet so I couldn't see his face, and I think he was wearing a black jacket."

"Was there anything else about that jacket that was distinctive? Logos? Patches?"

"No, sorry," Lisa said. "Either I'm not remembering, or there weren't any at all."

"Okay, thanks, Ms. Stillman," said Kavanaugh.

"Do you think you could perhaps tell us what kind of motorcycle he was riding?" Patterson asked.

Lisa shook her head once in the negative. "Honestly, I don't think I could. Sorry. I mean, maybe it was something on the sportier side? My grandson-in-law—that's Dr. Borden—had a Norton, and whatever this guy had didn't look anything like that bike. 'Sleek' is probably a word I'd use, but that is all I could say."

"What about the colour?"

Lisa closed her eyes and tried to remember if she had, in fact, seen anything distinctive about the bike. "Red, maybe?" she finally answered, opening her eyes to look again at Patterson. "I mostly saw it in my mirrors. I can't be positive. I'm sorry."

"All right, thanks for trying," Patterson said, her blue eyes showing a little disappointment. "Tell us instead a little more about your drive to Calgary. Is this something you do on a regular basis? What was your reason for heading there?"

"I belong to a private investors' group. I was heading for a meeting with them."

"Who knew you were going to be attending this meeting?" asked Patterson.

"Well," Lisa began thoughtfully, "besides my husband and our family members at Heartland—maybe a couple of my staff at Fairfield—only the members of the investors' group."

"Is this meeting a regularly scheduled thing?" Patterson asked. "Is there a specific reason your meeting was yesterday?"

"Yes, you see, we've, uh, lost a member recently," Lisa began, sucking in a ragged breath as she remembered Val, wincing slightly at the immediate discomfort in her side this activity brought.

"And who was this member?" asked Kavanaugh.

"The late Val Stanton," Lisa answered. "We were meeting because her son, Jesse, is interested in taking her place in the group. We were going to vote on his membership at this meeting."

This piqued Patterson's interest. "Were all the members keen on Jesse Stanton's admission to your group?"

"Oh, yes," Lisa replied. "It was really just a formality to vote him in. Jesse is fully in charge of Briar Ridge now that Val is gone. He'd like to continue her legacy with the group. Nobody in the group had any problem with that as far as I know."

"When was the last time you heard from Liam Comox?" asked Kavanaugh.

Lisa's brow buckled. "Liam Comox?" she repeated, surprised by the turn this line of questioning had taken. "I haven't seen him in years. Not since I fired him and reported him to the Steward's Office."

Kavanaugh continued: "Has he been in touch with you since? Any phone calls? Threatening letters? Emails?"

"No," Lisa said, wondering how on earth these detectives even knew about her former jockey. "Nothing like that at all."

"Thanks, Ms. Stillman," Kavanaugh said.

Patterson jumped in again. "Ms. Stillman, I'm going to ask a very difficult question now: are you and your husband having any marital issues?"

The shock that registered on her face should have been enough of a clue for the law enforcement officers they had taken the wrong tack, but Lisa responded anyway:

"Most certainly not," she said emphatically.

"I know we touched on this earlier when you spoke to us about Val Stanton's habit of 'flirting' with your husband, but have there been any infidelity issues in the past we should know about, on either side?" Patterson pressed.

"Zero," Lisa said in a clipped tone.

"You and Dan Hartfield were previously married," Kavanaugh stated in a matter-of-fact manner. "Why did that relationship end in divorce?"

"If you're really asking if Jack Bartlett had anything to do with my divorce, the answer is 'no'," Lisa said, trying not to lose her temper. "My relationship with Dan ended because he was a lousy husband and was more interested in what I brought to the table for our business interests. I hadn't even met Jack when I was married to Dan."

"Then would you say your divorce was an amicable one?" asked Patterson.

"Mostly, yes," Lisa replied honestly. "We remained business partners afterwards, and we're still very civil to each other."

"Do you have a will, Ms. Stillman?"

Lisa suspected this question might be coming, but was still taken aback when Det. Kavanaugh asked it.

"Yes, I do," she answered, trying to sound as calm as possible.

"And who's the main beneficiary?"

"My husband, Jack Bartlett."

"How much does he stand to inherit?"

"Everything."

"On paper, you're worth millions in assets, Ms. Stillman," said Patterson. "Let's be frank—"

"Yes, let's, " Lisa said, growing more indignant these officers were insinuating Jack might be the reason she was lying in this hospital bed.

"I want to emphasize right now that you're safe with us, Ms. Stillman, and we can make sure you stay that way if what happened to you is domestic in nature," Patterson said earnestly before asking the next question. "Do you think your husband is behind this attempt on your life?"

"Absolutely not," Lisa stated, her eyes burning like coals. A knot of discomfort bordering on nausea was gathering in the pit of her stomach and her head was starting to pound.

"You seem very confident of that," Kavanaugh said, noting her shift in tone and demeanour. "It has not escaped our notice you're significantly younger than your husband—"

"Look, if you think my husband is some kind of murderous gold-digger," Lisa interrupted tersely, sending both detectives a piercing glare, "let me make something perfectly clear: I am the one who pursued Jack. I am the one who wanted to get married. It took him nearly seven years to ask the right way, but I can assure you he wasn't after my money, and he still isn't. In fact, he is uncomfortable with the notion he'll have to deal with Fairfield if anything happens to me."

"Noted," Kavanaugh commented with a curt nod.

Lisa exhaled in relief the cops were unable to make their suspicions about Jack stick. This respiratory action again resulted in another localized jab of pain in her side.

"Thank you for giving us your honest answers, Ms. Stillman," Patterson said. "Can you think of anyone either in your personal life or your professional life who might want to harm you?"

"None," Lisa said.

"Think carefully, please," Patterson said.

"I'm sorry, I really can't," Lisa responded, losing all patience with this interview. "I just don't think I've ever made someone upset enough to want to do this to me."

Patterson smiled wryly. "All right, thank you for trying. I can see this isn't an easy thing to think about."

"Is that everything, detectives?" Lisa asked, barely hiding her discomfort now. "I'm suddenly feeling really tired and really lousy, and I think my pain meds are starting to wear off."

"We are for now," Kavanaugh said, looking to his partner. "We may have more questions later. Thank you for your cooperation."

"You're welcome," Lisa managed to articulate, though she was now bordering on retching while the headache was beginning to feel like a C-clamp screwed around her skull.

"We wish you a speedy recovery," Patterson said as she and Kavanaugh stood to leave. "If you remember anything else from that day, or if something new occurs to you that you didn't mention, please call us immediately."

"All right," Lisa managed to say.

"You still have our cards?" Kavanaugh asked.

"At my office."

"Here they are again," Kavanaugh said, as the two cops placed them on the bedside table.

"Thanks," Lisa said, not bothering to even look at the contact information as Kavanaugh and Patterson slipped out of the room. All she wanted now was to have Jack with her again and to close her eyes and rest.

They're only doing their jobs, one part of her mind argued. You know they had to ask those questions about Jack. She let out a slow breath in frustrated anger. But Jack would never hurt me! She argued back. But they don't know that, the other side rebutted. Lisa wore a frown as she contemplated this. She hated to think her husband would be the target of a misguided investigation into who had actually tried to end her life. What a complete waste of time and resources if they start hounding Jack. I need to do something about this...

***

Jack watched Kavanaugh and Patterson exit Lisa's room. They're done, he thought in relief.

"I'm heading back in to be with her," he said to Amy. "Thanks for bringing me here. Are you okay to ask Ty to come get you? You don't have to stay, and this is really no place for Lyndy to be for any length of time. I'll be okay to drive myself home later."

"Are you sure?" asked Amy looking at him carefully.

"Positive," Jack replied.

"Okay. I'll call Ty," Amy said, pulling out her cell. "Tell Lisa we're all so happy she's going to be okay."

"I will," said Jack. "'Bye for now. See you later tonight."

He stepped back inside Lisa's room and immediately noticed her low spirits.

"Hey, are you all right?"

"Not really," Lisa said in a low whisper.

"What did those cops say to you?" Jack asked with concern.

"I... I don't really want to talk about that now," Lisa said weakly, her stomach still unsettled and her head still aching. She also intuited Jack would be upset if he heard about the kinds of questions that had been asked of him. He had already been through so much in the past 24 hours, she wanted to spare him.

"Hey, did I tell you it was Ty and Scott who found you out on the road?"

She looked at him in surprise. "No," she uttered, face brightening despite her current miserable state.

Jack nodded. "They were coming back into town. They saw your Porsche and stopped right away. They saved your life, Lis."

"My angels," Lisa whispered. "Please tell them I say 'thank you.'"

"Well, you can tell them yourself when we bust you out of this joint," Jack said with a grin.

Lisa cracked a small smile. "Yes, I suppose I can."

"There's that smile I was hoping to see," Jack murmured happily, brushing his fingertips on her cheek.

"I think I need a nap," Lisa said.

"Then go ahead and have a nap," Jack said. "I'll be right here with you."

"Thanks," Lisa whispered, as her eyes drifted shut again.

Jack simply sat and watched while she dozed, hopeful the worst was behind them.

***

Hudson Police Headquarters

"Lisa Stillman was quite adamant her husband had nothing to do with her shooting," Kavanaugh said during their debrief with Parker of their interview with Lisa.

"She has had no contact from Liam Comox, and she could not name any other potential threats in her life," Patterson added.

"Hmm," Parker hummed with a frown.

"The only other connection we've come up with so far that links Stanton and Stillman is one Dan Hartfield," Patterson said.

"And all three of them belong to some investors' group that was meeting in Calgary yesterday," said Kavanaugh.

A knock on the door brought the conversation to a halt.

"Come in," Parker called.

"Chief," Constable Becket said, opening the door, "there's a man named Dan Hartfield who's demanding to see you."

"Speak of the devil," Kavanaugh muttered under his breath.

"What's this about Hartfield wanting to see me? What's his problem?" Parker asked, irritated at having been interrupted.

"The man's a nervous wreck," Becket responded. "He says he heard about what happened yesterday to Lisa Stillman. He says he thinks his life is in danger, too."

"Oh, does he, now?" Parker said, considering this piece of information. "Did Hartfield provide any proof to support that idea?"

"From what he's told me, he pointed to the fact that all the shooting victims in Hudson so far—Stanton and Stillman—were all part of some private investors' group he happens to belong to," Becket said. "He thinks there might be, and I quote, 'a hit list', and that he thinks he could be next."

"Patterson; Kavanaugh, go have a talk with him," Parker commanded. "See what he has to say for himself and this little investors' group... and why he thinks there might be a 'hit list', as he calls it."

"You got it, Boss," Kavanaugh said, as both he and Patterson made a hasty exit.

***

"Where's Chief Parker?" Dan asked upon seeing Kavanaugh and Patterson enter the room in which he was asked to wait.

"Busy," Kavanaugh said evasively. "We'll take your statement."

Dan scowled. "Okay, fine," he said. "As long as you take this right to him."

"If what you tell us is worth mentioning, we will," Kavanaugh commented dryly. "Now, we understand you have reason to believe your life is in danger?"

"Yes!" Dan exclaimed. "You need to believe me when I tell you someone is out to get the members of an investors' group I belong to. Someone out there obviously has a hit list, and he's already taken out three of us!"

"Three of you?" Patterson asked, surprised by this revelation.

"Yes! Please listen to me," Dan begged. "My life and all our lives in that group could be in danger."

Moved by Dan's palpable sense of fear, Patterson said, "Fine. Tell us everything you can."

Later

"So Hartfield insists Val Stanton and Lisa Stillman were targets because of this investors' group they all belong to?" Parker said during his debriefing with Kavanaugh and Patterson following their interview with Dan Hartfield.

"He also brought up one that was not on our radar because it happened up in Calgary over a year ago, and it was listed as a home invasion-robbery gone wrong," Patterson said. "Husband and wife by the name of Lanny and Paige Barick."

"I remember hearing about that one," said Parker, growing serious. "Get me a list with all names of all those investors, pronto!"

"Hartfield already did. It's right here." Patterson passed a piece of paper to the chief that Dan had provided.

"This is the full list?" asked Parker after reading the contents.

"Affirmative."

"Barick, Stanton, and Stillman have all been hit," Parker said. "Hartfield is convinced he could be next. These other names: Stanley Belmont, Fred Garland, Tanner Gunn, Emma Fitzroy, Jesse Stanton, and Connor Wiebe... If Hartfield thinks someone is offing the members of this group, we have a lot of ground to cover."

"Chief," Patterson said slowly, "when Kavanaugh and I were questioning Stillman at the hospital earlier today, she mentioned the reason she was heading into Calgary that afternoon was to vote on Jesse Stanton's admission into the group."

"You think there's some connection between that event and all the shootings?" Parker asked.

Patterson shrugged. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "Stillman seemed to think Jesse's membership was pretty much a done deal, so maybe not."

"Another point worth mentioning: Hartfield had been romantically involved with Stanton, and he and Stillman used to be married to each other," Kavanaugh said. "He doesn't stand to gain anything if Stillman is out of the picture—nothing we've uncovered yet, anyway."

"Interesting," Parker murmured, wearing a pensive expression. "Think there's a life insurance policy he's kept up all these years?"

"Could be," Kavanaugh responded. "Jesse Stanton seemed to think Hartfield was just as rich as his mother, if not more so. But maybe if we go digging, we'll find Hartfield is strapped for cash. Could be motive to want Stillman out of the way, at least, and this whole 'hit list' thing is a smokescreen."

"It's worth looking into," Parker said. "We know Stillman and Hartfield maintained business ties after they divorced, but this little private investors' group... I want the team to dig a bit into their activity, too. See if we can find any reasons why someone would want to bump off the members, just in case Hartfield isn't just being paranoid."

"Yes, sir," Kavanaugh said. "We're on it."

***

Upon arriving at Maggie's, Tim immediately fielded questions from several of the regulars as to how Lisa was doing. He was able to pass along the happy news she was awake and on the way to recovery in the hospital.

"Oh, my gosh, I'm so glad you came in today, Tim," Jade Virani said in a rush, catching him between taking an order to the kitchen and picking one up. "Small-town gossip is insane. Everyone in here's been talking about what happened to Lisa."

"Well, she's awake now and doing a lot better," Tim said. "So whatever they've been saying can stop."

"You don't get it, Tim," Jade said, eyes shifting around the diner. "Some of your loyal customers are saying some totally dumb sh—uh, things."

"Yeah? Like what?" Tim ventured to ask.

Jade sidled up closer to him and in a conspiratorial whisper said: "Stupid stuff like maybe Jack did it so he could make it rich off Lisa's will."

"That's ridiculous," Tim snapped in a heated tone.

"I know," Jade said, "but it's what some people are saying."

Tim let out a breath in exasperation, also taking a quick glance around at all the patrons sitting at the tables and squeezed into booths.

How can they think Jack could be capable of doing that to Lisa? The thought was preposterous, yet, some of these so-called loyal customers evidently could not resist proposing the worst theories possible.

"Okay, get back to work, Jade," Tim urged. "We're not paying you to stand around. But if you hear anyone else saying they think Jack somehow wanted to get Lisa out of the way, you and the rest of the staff have my permission to deny them service. Better yet, kick 'em out and tell 'em not to come back."

Jade's mouth twisted into a conniving smile. "Can I just spit in their food, instead?" she joked rhetorically, and continued on to the kitchen.

***

That same day, a phone call took place between two people.

"We've got a problem. Lisa Stillman just woke up," the first voice uttered.

"'We', Kemosabe?" the other voice spat in derision, followed by a barrage of profanity. "You absolute idiot! It was foolhardy to go after Stillman when you did, but you got impatient!"

"C'mon, man, you know I'm running out of time. Help me fix this. If it wasn't for me, you would never have had access to—"

"Yeah, yeah, fine," the second voice interjected with annoyance. "But you've just used up all the currency you earned with that one, understand? No more favours. No more unauthorized moves. We lie low now for the next little while, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

"Good. And listen: if those vets become a problem—"

"Don't worry; I'll take care of them," the first voice said.

"I was hoping you'd say that, since you're the reason they might be a problem in the first place!"

***

Later that same afternoon, a new conversation took place between two individuals that would have been of great interest to Chief Parker and his team of investigators. Unfortunately, those law enforcement officers were unaware it was happening, and were therefore unable to act upon it.

"Is your man still in Hudson?"

"Yeah, probably. He says he likes the scenery and he likes bear hunting. I hear there's been some sightings around those parts lately."

"Tell him to forget the freakin' bears. I've got a different quarry for him again—of the human variety. This one's a bit of a clean-up job. I'm counting on your guy to finish it right."

"'Clean-up', eh?"

"Yeah. The first attempt was seriously botched."

"I'm insulted you didn't contact me for the job in the first place."

"Heh. If it had been my call, I would have brought your man in again for this one. But I have a maverick who thought he could take matters into his own hands. Went off, half-cocked, and left me with this mess."

"I see. Give me the details and he'll get it done. "

"The target is currently a patient in the South Calgary Health Campus. Her name is Lisa Stillman. I'll send you a picture, as usual. I really don't care how it's done; your man just needs to make her dead, and he needs to make it happen before she can be discharged. The sooner, the better."

"Hmm. The hospital is risky. Too many cameras, too much security, and too many people crawling around. My guy will want extra. Call it 'danger pay'."

"How much extra?"

"Ten grand."

"Done. And when he's through offing Stillman, tell him to stick around Hudson for a little while longer. I have a feeling there might be a couple other loose ends for him to tie up."

"Fine. The more, the merrier!"

***

After contacting Rachel Stillman in Montreal and Peter in Vancouver, Lou was finally able to reach Lisa's aunt, who was currently enjoying a cruise of the Mediterranean. The woman did not mind the late call, and had been anxious for word on her niece's condition.

"Do you need me to come out to Alberta?" Evelyn asked. "I can get off at the next port of call and arrange a flight."

"No, Evelyn, you can stay right where you are for now," Lou said calmly. "Lisa's out of the ICU. There's no need to come rushing back."

"Are you sure?" Evelyn's husky voice was filled with worry.

"I'm sure," Lou said. "We'll call if anything changes."

"All right. Tell her I love her, will you, please, Lou? I hope those doctors and nurses are taking very good care of her."

"I'm sure they are," Lou said. "'Bye for now."

***

With Georgie's excused absence from school, Adam and Wyatt paid a call on their friend, both to get her up to speed on missed schoolwork, and for moral support.

Georgie, however, was interested in neither. Her mind was turned to matters of justice.

"Adam, what's the latest on your father's investigation into what's happened to Lisa?" she asked, as soon as homework was delivered along with the expected but nonetheless welcome words of concern from the boys.

"Sorry, Georgie," Adam said with a slow shake of his head. "My dad can't share details with me about an active case."

"Oh," Georgie said with a disappointed pout.

"But that doesn't mean we can't do some investigating of our own," Adam added.

"What—do we look like the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew to you?" Wyatt quipped.

Georgie made a face; Wyatt took the cue and quieted himself.

"Seriously, though," Adam said, "I have some theories."

"Like?" Georgie asked.

"Like the fact this is the second shooting to happen in Hudson where both victims were women who were in the horse business," Adam said plainly.

"Doesn't prove anything," Wyatt rejoined. "A lot of people in this town are in the horse business. It's, like, all you see around here. I mean, this town is practically built on equine-this and rodeo-that."

"Yeah, but not all of those businesses are as high-end as Briar Ridge and Fairfield," Adam pointed out. "They have some pretty exclusive clients. They're high profile. I've done some preliminary research. Fairfield is pretty famous in horse-racing circles, and not just in Canada. The same goes for Briar Ridge for showjumping."

"You think someone deliberately targeted Val Stanton and Lisa because of their high profiles in the equestrian business?" Georgie asked, stunned at what Adam was suggesting.

Adam calmly responded, "It's possible."

Wyatt snorted. "So, what—you think there's some psycho serial killer out there who's taking out women who train and breed horses for rich people?"

"No," Adam answered in his usual dry manner. "Serial killers tend to stick to a specific modus operandi. The news didn't provide a lot of details, but I've deduced Val Stanton was probably killed by a sniper with a rifle from a significant distance. Lisa Stillman was in her vehicle when she was shot, probably by someone with a handgun, and from close range. Val Stanton was shot once. Lisa Stillman was shot twice. Two completely different methods. It was clearly not the same person."

"Clearly," Wyatt said with a dubious shake of his head.

"Wait," Georgie said slowly, thinking now of the circumstances under which the Briar Ridge owner had died. "When Val was shot, she was riding Herring. Lisa had just lent him to Val so she could see if she wanted to buy him. What if—what if this has to do with Herring?"

"Why would someone kill someone else over a horse?" Wyatt sounded unconvinced.

Adam stared at Georgie. "How valuable is Herring?"

"Oh, I-I don't know," Georgie considered. "But Lisa's horses aren't cheap stock. He could easily be worth one hundred thousand, or more."

"A hundred thousand?!" Wyatt sputtered. "As in dollars? For a horse? You could buy a couple slick new cars for that amount."

"Not only that," Georgie said, looking between her two friends. "Olympic showjumping horses can be worth millions. And that's just the price of the horse. Stud fees is where the real money is for breeders like Lisa."

"'Stud fees'?" Wyatt echoed in confusion.

"You know, horse breeding?" Georgie said, searching his face for signs of comprehension.

"Whoa. People pay for that?" Wyatt exclaimed. "You mean, it doesn't just, like, happen? 'Born free'?"

Georgie rolled her eyes; Adam ignored his pal. "Georgie, what else can you tell me about this horse?"

"Um, not much, really. Lisa planned to have Herring as a hunter-jumper for when she goes on those faux fox hunts they do with the club. Then Val said she might be interested. Lisa's nephew's horse was the sire. I'm sorry; that's all I know." She shook her head while shrugging helplessly.

"See if you can figure anything else out," Adam advised. "There's got to be something special about him. He's still here at Heartland, right?"

"Right," Georgie replied. "We've kept him here since he belongs to Lisa, after all."

"You might want to consider keeping a close eye on him," Adam warned.

"Why? You think someone might try to steal him?" Georgie asked, suddenly uneasy at what Adam seemed to be suggesting.

"Maybe," Adam answered. "Right now, anything is possible, and Herring appears to be the only thing linking Val and Lisa."

***

South Calgary Health Campus

Despite wanting to stay awake, Jack eventually nodded off, emotional, physical, and mental exhaustion taking over. The turmoil of the past 24 hours soon played havoc on his dreamscape as phantom manifestations of Chief Parker and his investigators interrogated him about what happened to Lisa.

"Do you own any firearms?" the dream-Parker asked menacingly.

"A rifle," Jack replied, thinking Parker already knew the answer anyway.

"Does Lisa have a will?"

Jack knew he had to answer honestly. "Yes. Of course she does."

"And who's the beneficiary?" Parker asked.

"Well, I am," Jack replied.

The faces of the dream versions of Kavanaugh and Patterson seemed full of condemnation.

"But... that's all to ensure my—our—grandchildren and great-grandchildren will inherit the Fairfield property and business," Jack said, wanting to make them understand.

"I see," dream-Parker said, writing down notes on a notepad.

"Look, I don't expect to out-live my wife," Jack said, trying to keep his temper in check. "That will she made... she made it when she was worried about a possible health issue a couple years ago. It turned out to be nothing, thank goodness, and heaven knows I don't want to be saddled with a horseracing outfit. Lisa knows that. She was thinking of the kids, not of me."

"Mr. Bartlett, do you own a motorcycle?" Kavanaugh asked.

"No," Jack replied. "But my grandson-in-law does. A Norton." Wait, no, he doesn't, some part of Jack's brain argued. He sold it, remember?

"Mr. Bartlett, you're under arrest for the murder of your wife, Lisa Stillman," Parker said, reaching for a pair of handcuffs.

"Wait!" Jack shouted, fear building up inside him. "I didn't kill her! She's still alive! She's still alive!"

"Jack?"

Jack awoke with a start at the sound of Lisa's voice.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

Jack opened his eyes. Lisa was staring at him with a puzzled expression. "Hmph," he muttered. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You were shouting in your sleep, honey," Lisa said.

Jack grimaced. "Uh, I had a bad dream."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really," he answered, rubbing his face. The fear that had coursed through him when the dream version of Chief Parker was about to arrest him was already receding. "It was just stupid, irrational stuff. Didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's okay," Lisa said with a tired nod and a yawn. Her eyelids flickered shut and she drifted off to sleep again.

Jack sat himself straight up in his chair and resolved to stay awake this time, lest he slip back into another bad dream. Thank God that nightmare is over.

***

Chapter 8: Hunter and the Hunted

[jadelynlace]

Ink Drinker / Modern Vikings AU [Ivar x F!Reader], Chapter 6

catch up here!

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend, and co-worker: you.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

***content warning [PLEASE READ]: this chapter has the after effect of the trauma call, and too many emotions. surgical mentions and medical terminology are in this chapter as well. anything in italics indicates a flash back.

author’s note: I’m so sorry.

 ~

“Floki, why can I be left alone?” Ivar asked.

“Because the last time you were left alone you ended up with fifty thousand milligrams of pain killers in your stomach. Now, come here—do you know this?” Floki replied with his fingers taping the photo copied image.

“I drew that.” Ivar said back.

“Yes, you did. Where do you want it?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You hate your body so much why don’t you cover it in something you like?” 

*

It is sixteen hours that Ivar is in surgery. His world is dark, nothing but, with pierces of noises that he can recall. But trying to decipher them only makes the surroundings dull, caked in black and muffled with a buzz of an unruly bee hive. There are pokes of pain, he remembers the green light, and he remembers the pot hole he swerved to miss. He doesn’t remember how fast he was driving and the second he was over the yellow line made no difference for the sudden beast of a truck to find him. 

Everything below Ivar’s powdered knee caps are reattached. Grueling hours on the table while he’s sewed back together like a monster. Enough time for Hvitserk to get clothes, to get you clothes, to pack a bag for his brother per your request. Even in the presence of clean laundry you can’t take your blues off yet—they’re holding you proper because you just saw Ivar that morning. You two made love in the low morning light, filled with ecstasy, his seed and then he made you eggs with extra hot sauce and hugged you tightly you were sure you stopped breathing. He told you to be safe, baby, like he did at the dawn of each shift and that he would call you when his last appointment was finished, and on his way back from shopping for supplies for the parlor and that you two would make lunch plans. In his speed, his haste to make sure he didn’t miss you before the two tone song of death would sing in the radios, he instead, became the reason it did.  

Your chief shows up when you tell him the nature of the emergency. Pulling additional personnel on for overtime and they take the rig out of service and from your hands. Words don’t spare any differences and although he offers you a hug, when you take it he slips you a piece of paper. 

“Remember the job you’re doing. And the change you’re making.” He whispers in your ear and you look at the folded sheet. It’s a photocopy of a poorly drawn fire truck with an even worse sketched stick figure, and you had scribbled it when you were five. Back when you met chief for the first time because now you hold the same badge number your father once did. 

“If I give you your Dad’s old badge number, are you going to act like a jack ass like him?”

“I can’t make any promises chief.”

“I have a partner in mind for you, you’ll like him. He’s a good kid. A good medic.”

“This good kid got a name?”

“Yeah, Hvitserk. I’ll introduce the two of you.”

This is the call that shapes you as a medic, as a provider, and changes how you see things. This is the call that sends a new person out into the street, whether Ivar lives or not. This is the call that forever holds terror in your heart because he was laying in the back of your ambulance, and that was the one spot you never wanted him to occupy. 

Aslaug walks through the doors and she’s already two tissues deep into a soggy mess. Hugging Hvitserk and hugging you and you wish you were meeting this woman for the first time under any other circumstance. Floki thanks you and you don’t quite know why, even though the words fall heavily and un-calming, he still thanks you. And when the surgeon returns before the four of you, you’re the only one that doesn’t stand. But he calls your name because you know him, he was lab staff that tested you for your certifications and he told you that you’ll make a damn good medic one day. 

“Remember what I said on the day of your exam?” He asks and you nod, puzzled and impatient looks on the other faces. “You are a damn good medic—you both are.” He adds, eyes jumping from yours to your partners. “And it shows on this call, of all of them.” Hvitserk’s shoulder nudges you and you only nudge him back, perhaps little too hard in your delirious state. “Essentially what we did, was replant the lower portion of each leg. Now, given the extent of his injuries and how his body handles such, I don’t have a clear cut answer for you on his overall mobility. He may need to have screws implanted, he may need prosthetics. He’s going to be in the ICU for the next 48 hours for constant monitoring. We’ll have him sedated so his body can focus on what’s at stake. He’ll need physical therapy for a long time, and he’ll likely be disabled for the rest of his life, given again, how his body handles this. It’ll be a long road. But, like I said—you two are damn good medics and that is the one reason his legs were able to be saved. I will let you know when he’s moved to the ICU.”

You look back at your partner and his face is as blank as yours; influx of emotions just ready to dive from the void but your minds are still churning, still processing all of what boomed from the doctor’s mouth. Ivar’s chance at returning to a normal life was resting in your hands and you two gave the best damn efforts and they worked. The countless hours of dissection, wondering if you’re cut out for this career, these responsibilities, hours of trauma and blood and vomit all fizzle away because you now know that you are. And it just took Ivar to prove it.

When your eyes open again there’s a sharp pierce in your temple, scrunching eyes together and slowly moving, your head rises from Floki’s shoulder and the lights in the ICU have dimmed in the late hour. Impressions stood between his nostrils, falling like petals over his cheekbones, bleeding through split brows and pink flowers through the depths of his neck. His chest sinking and fainting with time, there was a moment of deafening silence when you are looking at his body; seemingly so small under the contraptions. The depths of earth, and the worst hell was seeing him lay on this cot. He’s only sedated now, even though Ivar looked of death, he was still alive under the harvest of wires. The words of how “we’re doing all that we can” do not bring any more comfort, they just take Ivar like a wave rapidly back out to sea. And now you understand how your patients, and their families feel when you speak the same phrases to them. The clinical assessments do not stop a rigorous schedule, motoring for the possible failure. The room is kept warm, and every so often when you will yourself to peek in, you can see the sheen of sweat that’s over Ivar’s forehead, dancing across his chest under the stickers, the monitors. The capillary refill on his toes show promise, and when the nurse says that to her doctor, you find yourself attempting the same motions on your thumb nail. Pressing the pink away and making room for the white, and then in a quick release, the pink swarms back. The ultra sound machines reminds you of the new equipment in your rig as it assess arterial blood flow every hour.

IV bags drip, slow and agonize and the change of wrappings, dressings and cleaning of both the limbs and Ivar himself collect. You spend hours watching the fluid levels sink, his eyes flutter, his fingers in his hand dance and you grow cold because you just want to hold him. To lock him in a steel tower and to constantly remind him how strong he is, because you know the longest road will not come from learning to walk. It will come from Ivar trying to find that he is worthy to live on.

Blackness had retired across your cheeks, wrapping a veil of makeup that melted into battle scars and you could not move if your body depended on it. Aslaug sits next to you; she takes her time wiping the makeup off from under your eyes, the soiled mascara and she’s humming to you. She had been telling you how when Ivar was young, she would sing to him and it would calm him down. How she sang to him in the hospital after he tried to overdose, tubes pumping his stomach as she blamed herself for such wrong doing. How Hvitserk blamed himself because he gave no one a warning cry. And how she’s singing to Ivar now, even though he can’t hear it, because it comforts the three of you as a whole. 

When your eyes follow the nurse into the room, you can hear her say something to Ivar and you watch his head turn in confusion. Grogginess and a fog on his brain as she talks to him like it’s a normal conversation; wishing him a good morning, how the weather looks promising for a beautiful day and you wish you had that level of bed side manner. You never get the promising parts of the journey; you get the patients that are coding and in a rush to the life saving team in the hospital. You love the ones who tell you their entire live’s story in the back of the rig on the way to the emergency room, sharing details and calming your mind with how simple, and yet how different every walk of life is. The nurse says something about you, about Hvitserk and Aslaug and Floki, out and waiting and ready to see him when he’s fit. You wave through the glass and there’s the tease of a smirk on Ivar’s face, even in his slightly sedated state. A dastardly, bastard smirk and his hand lifts off the bed slightly, wiggling his fingers back to you. The tears start up again, pounding a sledge hammer through your skull after all of the unruly pressure and messes of crying as your body tries to go numb.

“Where’s my mom?” You hear Ivar say in a voice that muted slightly as the nurse stands in the door way to exit. “Can I see my mom?” And the nurse nods. Aslaug stands and kisses your hair line as she walks into the vicinity, Ivar watching her and you need to back up, you need to walk away from the room, this hall way and this battle. A faint wheeze goes through your chest and Floki catches it first before Hvitserk has a chance to lift his head and open his eyes.

“Let’s walk, dear,” Floki says and his voice is not authoritative but it still demands you to comply as he loops an arm around your shoulder. “Walking can help to clear the mind.” It’s your first time outside in almost three days, and the sunlight burns you like you had been its victim on a sand covered shoreline for one too many hours. The hospital grounds are manicured, they’re neat and arranged with an abundance of flowers and colors in the open air but everything to you still feels so dull and lifeless, pointless and hopeless and walking only churns your thoughts to double, triple in size like a snow ball rolling down a hill. 

You’re finally allowed in to see Ivar and you approach slowly, like touching him will seer you suddenly, stain you with a unremovable pattern and you’ll forever be reminded. His blue eyes are dull and groggy when they open, the nasal cannula wrapping his face and your eyes dance over the scurf collecting on his jaw, and the faint bruising, cuts and scrapes on his skin.

“Hey baby,” His voice rasps and you kneel by the bed, tears already on their journeys to streak your tried skin and Ivar’s needle poked, IV covered arm comes to wipe what he can reach. “You were there, weren’t you?” And you can only nod, eyes still damp and you relish in the touch he gives you only if it’s for a second. “You saved my life, baby,” Ivar finally adds and that makes the whimper start again, the choke of a sob in your throat and he tries to quiet you, slithering a quick noise from his lips and you rest your head against the bed, his hand still on your hair. 

“I drove the ambulance over a hundred miles an hour,” You finally say and they’re the first words you can use to process the trauma you two had lived through together.

“That’s my girl,” Ivar smiles, speaking with a voice that sounds like sandpaper.

“I love you Ivar—no matter what happens, I love you so much,”

“I love you too, Y/N,” Ivar says and his voice is weaker now and he needs rest. “Kiss me before you go?” He says with eyes scanning your face, and you can’t deny that now. Pressing your lips softly against his, your hands cupping his cheek and you hope it’s not the last kiss you’ll ever get from him. “I’m not going anywhere, baby,” Ivar tells you. “I’m afraid. But I’m not going anywhere,” You nod as he speaks, a forehead against his for a second and his hand is still trying to reach on you where he can. This is the man that would pull the tubes and the wires from his chest if he could, if that would make him get closer to you. “You’re stuck with me,” And there’s a faint snicker after his words, weak and drowned out from the normal tone but you’ll take it after not hearing his voice for three days.

“I’m stuck with you,” You say back with a small smile. But it still doesn’t bring enough hope.

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @tgrrose @synnersaint @kataphine

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[spencers-renaissance]

can't un-sing a song that's sung.

Summary: The worst thing about it is that Derek isn’t even surprised when he gets the call.

Tags: drug use, overdose, hurt/comfort, guilty derek & hotch, angst with a hopeful ending, bedside vigils, protective derek & hotch NO MCD

Pairing: Gen (Platonic Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid; Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid)

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Major TWs, obviously. I'm just so angry that no-one did anything about Spencer's addiction in season two, so I decided to punish Derek and Hotch by having the (almost) worst-case scenario come to fruition. Fic inspired by this gifset & title from this poem (v short but v poignant) Fills the 'Overdose' square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card.

The worst thing about it is that Derek isn’t even surprised when he gets the call.

His heart sinks, of course, and his stomach feels like it bottoms out. His chest tightens and he struggles to breathe for a minute and a half, his hands clamming up as his tongue freezes and he can’t find the words to respond to Hotch over the phone. But he isn’t surprised. And that, when it really and truly comes down to it, is exactly where his sins lie.

He races as quickly as he can to the hospital, not obeying the traffic laws by any stretch of the imagination as his hands grip so tightly at the steering wheel that his knuckles turn white and the pattern of the leather; the seams where it's sewn imprint themselves on his palm. His heart pounds rapidly and it’s all he can hear, blood thudding in his ears as the tight knot of anxiety sits heavy in his stomach.

He’s just pulling into the hospital car park when he realises that the last time he felt like this — God, the last time he felt like this was when he first realised Spencer was missing all those months ago. He heaves a dry sob as he abandons his car in a space he hopes is the right one, and slams his palm down hard on the steering wheel once.

He allows himself one more guilt-ridden, heartbroken sob before he forces himself to calm down, doing his best to ignore the tumultuous emotions raging inside him as he shuts the car door behind him and hurries towards the entrance.

It’s hard not to cry when he first locks eyes on Hotch. Seeing his calm, stoic supervisor in a state of utter disarray — red-rimmed eyes, messed up hair, ruffled clothes — somehow makes this all seem a bit too real. Maybe in the car ride over he’d still clung to a small, pathetic bit of hope that this is all a nightmare, that he’ll wake up in a minute and he’ll drive to work and Spencer will already be at his desk, beavering away.

In the harsh lights and bustling noise of the hospital corridor, he knows that’s not going to happen.

They don’t say anything as they stare at one another, both clearly struggling to bite back the raw emotion threatening to spill from their eyes, to unleash itself in a full blown meltdown. Eventually, Hotch sits back down and buries his face in his hands, and Derek joins him on the little two-seater bench.

He doesn’t claim to know much about hospitals or medical care in general, but he knows for damn sure that waiting on a bench outside the ICU is not good, and he’s doing everything in his power to not think about that too hard.

They’ve been sat in stony silence for countless minutes before Derek finally lifts his head, though he still can’t bring himself to look at Hotch again. “Have you called the others?”

Hotch swallows, and Derek can see the tear-tracks trailing down the side of his face out of the corner of his eye. He pretends not to notice them.

“No,” he says, voice unsettlingly shaky. “Only you.”

He decides now is not the time to dwell on that. “Is he— is he going to lose his job?”

The only reason none of them had done anything sooner was because they knew how important this job is to Spencer. And Derek hates with a burning, roaring passion that their hesitation; their cowardly delay, might have cost him his life instead. Just the thought brings another choked sob from his lips, and this time the tears come with it. Before he knows it, his shoulders are shaking violently and all the emotions Derek is struggling to name finally come pouring out, right into Hotch’s lap.

He feels an arm wrap around him and he’s too broken not to lean into it, seeking comfort from the one person in the entire world who can offer it right now. Falling apart in his superior’s arms is not how he saw his Thursday evening going, but he’s too exhausted to care.

By the time he finally pulls away, Hotch is crying too, and they sit a little closer on the bench.

“Spencer won’t lose his job,” he says determinedly, looking Derek in the eyes. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Derek knows that they will have to lie. Papers will be forged and Hotch will be backed into an impossible corner, and he knows that they could lose their jobs if they are ever found out. He doesn’t fucking care. They’ve already failed Spencer in a disgusting, immeasurable, utterly unforgivable way, and he’ll be damned if they ever do that again.

“Good,” he says, and that’s the end of that.

Derek doesn’t understand most of what the doctor tells them, but he doesn’t really care that much for the technicalities anyway. All he cares about is that Spencer had overdosed in the parking garage of his building and was found by a neighbour he doesn’t even know that well. He cares that a damn near stranger was there for Spencer when he wasn’t, and he cares that Hotch was called as his emergency contact, and as such, Derek can finally step up. He can walk into his room and hold his hand and tell him that he’s here now, and he’s not leaving again.

He cares that Spencer is going to be okay.

He’s still asleep when they’re finally allowed to take their seats by his bedside, and Derek tries very hard not to cry at the sight of him, but it isn’t easy. There’s still a bluish tint to his fingernails, and he looks pale and clammy under the oxygen mask. Medicine drips slowly into the line connected to the cannula in the crook of his elbow, and the heart rate echoing out from the monitors is still alarmingly quick.

The evidence of Derek’s failings is staring him right in the face, and it’s hard not to turn away, but he refuses to let himself. He has a lot to make up to Spencer, but he can damn well start by sitting with him here in his darkest hour.

“We all knew.”

Derek looks up from Spencer’s hand to meet Hotch’s eyes. “Yeah.”

“We all knew, and we didn’t do anything about it.” The guilt in Hotch’s voice is momentous enough to rival Derek’s own, and it hurts to hear. Derek failed Spencer as a colleague and a friend-maybe-something-more, but Hotch failed him as a father figure.

He feels tears well up in his eyes again and he does his best to swallow them back down. “Emily did.”

A violent sob tears itself out of Hotch’s lungs, and it’s so loud that Derek almost flinches. “And isn’t that just so much worse? She barely knows him! I met him at lunch with Gideon when he was nineteen, I’ve known him for seven years! Before all of this went down, he almost called me ‘dad’. And I sat back and watched him suffer with both the PTSD of being kidnapped and the fucking heroin addiction he developed because of that bastard, and I did nothing!”

Derek’s at a loss as he watches Hotch break down in front of him, his voice breaking as he shouts, tears streaming down his face as he dissolves into sobs.

“He’s never gonna forgive me. Nor should he. I can’t stand myself right now.”

A little uncertain of the right thing to do, Derek stands up and crosses to the other side of the bed and wraps his arms around Hotch like he did for him only hours earlier. “We all fucked up,” he agrees, “but we’ll get through this. We might never forgive ourselves, but we can always do better. We can do right by Spencer as he recovers, we can help him get clean, help him keep his job, remind him of how loved he is. We can’t abandon that duty just because we failed at doing it before.”

Hotch sits back up and wipes at his eyes furiously, casting his eyes on Spencer. He reaches a hand out and brushes it through his short but untamed curls tenderly, his thumb caressing his eyebrow and forehead gently.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I won’t fail him again.”

Both Derek and Hotch spring into action as soon as Spencer stirs, waking up slowly through the layers of sleep until he’s staring at both of them with a look of terrified uncomprehension in his eyes.

“Hey,” Hotch says softly, hand moving to cup the side of his face. “You’re alright, you’re safe. You’re in the hospital with me and Derek, and everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Spencer slowly looks around the room as the realisation of what’s going on slowly dawns on him, and soon the anxiety is replaced with abject horror and to Derek’s dismay, he immediately starts to cry.

“Hey, hey, pretty boy,” he murmurs as soothingly as he can, following Hotch’s suit and tangling his fingers in Spencer’s hair. “Don’t worry about anything right now, okay? Hotch and I are gonna fix everything right up, and we’re gonna help you. We’re gonna help you like we should’ve helped you before.”

He hates that he loses his composure slightly at the end, but Spencer relaxes slightly so he takes it as a win.

“You can go back to sleep now, Spencer,” Hotch says gently, spotting the signs of exhaustion easily. “We’re gonna stay right here with you, okay? We’ll be here when you wake up.”

When he does finally awaken again, he explains through tears and strangled breaths that he didn’t mean to, that he wasn’t trying to die, he was just so tired and in so much pain that he hadn’t calculated the dosage right.

Hotch and Derek calmly explain that they’re not judging him, and that they’re going to help him through the hospital’s rehab program. Spencer refuses their apologies but they repeat them anyway, trying not to show just how much they hate themselves as they do.

They rope Penelope in, and she helps them make sure Spencer keeps his job, but otherwise their team is entirely oblivious to their chaotic and regret-filled Saturday night spent in George Washington University Hospital.

Most of all, though, Derek does absolutely everything in his power to make sure Spencer is happy, no matter how torn-up and scarred he might feel when he goes home to his own apartment. It isn’t much compared to his property business and his coveted role at the FBI’s behavioural analysis unit, but to Derek it’s his most important and worthy mission in life.

And if that spirals into something more, well. Maybe that’s just one good thing to come out of that small, stuffy, heartbreak-riddled ICU room.

taglist: @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

[ffakc]

If I Only Had a Heart - a Denny Duquette story

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes and I may have thrown in a few lines from Grey’s Anatomy, which again, are all Shonda’s! This was inspired by my own real life job as a barista at a hospital and seeing the coffee cart on Grey’s. Hope y’all enjoy the fluffy goodness!

I stroke my boyfriend’s hair and kiss his forehead. His eyelids were heavy and the monitor beeped rhythmically. It was the first time since before being diagnosed that his heart was beating properly. I run my fingers over his stubbly cheek.

“You’re done, Denny. You’re done. You’ve got a new heart, baby,” I rub his hand, tears welling up in my eyes. Denny grimaces in his deep slumber. A large tube was jammed down his throat. I had just sat through the longest eight hours of my life, all I wanted was to hear Denny say, “I love you.”

“He did amazing, Mrs. Duquette,” Dr. Stevens stands in the doorway, massaging hand sanitizer into her hands.

“Why do you have to eating that when I’m NPO?” Denny teases.

“Mmm. Lo mein and honey walnut shrimp,” I wave the chopsticks in his face.

“Get fucked,” my boyfriend laughs.

“Language, Dennison,” Dr. Burke smiles as he places his stethoscope on my boyfriend’s hairy chest.

“Uh oh, full name. Look’s like Dad’s mad at me! Will you hand me my bag, doll face?” I grab Denny’s black backpack. “Let me see, let me see. Where did I put it?”

“What are looking for?” Denny ignores me, continuing to rifle through his belongings. “Ah,” he smiles at me, “There it is.” He drops his bag to the side of the bed and opens a small velvet box.

“What is that? Denny Duquette, you’ve done lost your ever loving mind!” I imitate his vaguely southern twang. He laughs heartily.

“You sound like my mother.”

“You’re crazy,” I kiss his ice cold lips.

“Crazy for you. Will you marry me?” Denny sighs, wheezing slightly, he always got short of breath when he was emotional. He gasps for air as a single tear falls from his eyelashes.

“Baby, breathe,” I giggle, cupping his cheek in my hand, “Of course I’ll marry you!”

“Hey, he’s okay!” Dr. Stevens rubs my shoulder. “I know all the equipment hooked up to him looks really scary, but it’s to monitor his condition. He doesn’t need machines to be kept alive anymore,” the gorgeous blonde woman smiles reassuringly.

“No more battery packs?” I grin through the tears.

“No more battery packs. He’ll wake up here in the next few hours. The restraints are so he doesn’t freak out and try to pull his breathing tube out, which will come out this time tomorrow. He’ll be in the ICU for the next week, and then we’ll transfer him to the cardiac treatment unit. Here, I have something for you. Well, it’s really for Denny’s recovery,” Dr. Stevens hands me a heart shaped pillow with a permanent marker for me to sign. “It helps with the pain from the incision and his sternum being cracked. Coughing or sneezing can feel like breaking a bone.” I wince at the thought and open the marker.

“My darling Denny, I love you more than words can explain. I can’t wait to call you my ‘husband’ when you get out of here. You’re mine, baby. Forever and ever.”

***

Denny opened the door to our cozy, one bedroom apartment.

“Home at last! Thank GOD!” he smiles, “It sure smells like home,” he inhales the sweet aroma of candles and a savory roast I had made in the slow cooker to welcome him home after a full month of recovering at Seattle Grace. He wraps his arms around me. I tilt my head up and kiss my boyfriend.

“I forgot how tall you are,” I smile.

“I know,” he whispers and strokes my hair. I run my fingers over the long, healing scar on his chest. His shirt was unbuttoned slightly to allow his skin to breathe after being bandaged for so long. He rocks me back and forth. I begin to shed a few tears. “What’s wrong, sweet girl?”

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” I cry into his flannel shirt.

“Do what, baby? What’s wrong? I’m okay now!” Denny chuckles and kisses my forehead.

“Scare the shit out of me. I thought I was going to lose you,” I wipe away the wetness on my cheeks.

“I know, honey. I was scared too. Every single day, I was wondering if this would be the day I close my eyes and don’t wake up. You know how much I hate hospitals.”

“I know you do. I can’t imagine my life without you, honey.”

“And I feel the same. Heaven would be nice, but I wouldn’t be able to take you with me. But it’s over now. I have a new lease on life. I get to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you,” Denny squeezes me close.

“I love you, Denny.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” a coy smile crosses his lips. I kiss him, tugging at his soft brunette locks.

“Yeah?”

“Dr. Burke cleared me for physical activity,” he raises his eyebrows with his signature charming smirk that made me fall head over heels that fateful day in the Seattle Grace coffee shop.

“Hello there,” a gravelly voice speaks up. I glance up from my morning temperature logs and stock lists. “Are you open?” A tall, insanely handsome, dark haired man stands before me. A warm smile graces his tanned face. He has two black straps affixed to his chest over his slim fitted t shirt.

“Of course! I mean, yes, hi!” I stammer over my words, making a fool of myself in front of. My face reddens as I grab a marker.

“Hi!” he chuckles, matching my goofy tone. I can hardly think straight.

“What can I get for you?” I ask politely.

“I’ve never been here before actually. Nice place you’ve got-“

“Hey Denny!” Dr. Burke pops up behind the man.

“Hey, Dr. Burke! You caught me, I needed a little pick me up,” the man now named Denny winked at me.

“No judgment here, sir. Contrary to popular belief, people with heart failure CAN drink caffeine,” he holds up two slender fingers, “Just two shots of espresso with a Splenda, please.”

“You get your coffee, it’s on me today,” Denny says. Dr. Burke’s pager beeps loudly.

“That’s very kind of you!” he glances at the pager. “Gotta run! See you next month!” the doctor chugs the shots quickly and tosses the cup in the trash.

“Now, where were we?” Denny says. “Oh yeah, I’m Denny, you’ll probably be seeing a lot of me in the coming months because my heart is failing me,” he jokes.

“Hi Denny! I’m (name). It’s nice to meet you! You said your heart is failing you, hm?” I’m glad it wasn’t too busy, because I wanted to look into those hazel eyes for hours.

“Sure is. See these straps? They’re attached to a battery pack running this ol’ ticker. I used to be a ranch hand before I became a weak, sick bastard. Anyway, sorry, you didn’t ask for my life story.”

“Don’t apologize,” I grin. “I hear people’s stories all the time at this job. Kind of comes with working in a hospital, I guess,” I shrug, “What sounds good today, hon?”

“‘Hon’? Oh my, I didn’t know we were on that level yet! I’ve never been here before actually. What do you recommend?”

“Well, I’m pretty simple. This time of year, I really like a dark roast with some cream and a smidge of peppermint. But when I’m feeling like treating myself, I love a white mocha, iced with no whipped cream is my personal preference.” Denny cocks an eyebrow. Warmth gathers between my thighs.

“What if I did an iced white mocha with peppermint? That sounds like a candy cane in a cup! Let’s do a large, because why not?”

“Alright, so with Dr. Burke’s order, your total is $6.17. I gave you an employee discount, because I do what I want,” I tease.

“Hell yeah you do. Here, sweet girl. Keep the change,” he hands me a $20. I whipped around and begin preparing his beverage. Denny bit his lower lip as he looked me up and down. I grabbed the marker with a smirk and did something I’ve always wanted to do.

“There you go! I hope you enjoy that!” his hand grazes mine as he grabs the cup. He shoves a straw in and takes a sip.

“Wow, that’s tasty! What’s this? 406- Oh, you sly dog. I guess I’ll text you later, pretty little thing,” he blows me a kiss. I have a feeling this man and I are going to get along swimmingly.

“Did he now?” Denny begins sucking my neck and moaning in my ear. A shiver courses through my body as he cups my breasts in his massive hands. I missed my boyfriend’s touch. “Mmm, babe. Your hands are warm.”

“I forgot what it feels like to have a normal body temperature,” Denny chuckles, “Oh man, my blood’s pumpin’ in the right direction now, that’s for sure,” he gestures downwards. “Now, go put on that outfit that Daddy loves so much,” he gives my backside a light squeeze and I scamper to the bedroom. I slip out of my sweatpants and my boyfriend’s t-shirt. The smell of his cologne lingered on the fabric, giving me comfort on those nights I had to sleep alone. I put on Denny’s favorite crimson and black teddy and add a quick spritz of perfume.

“Alright, baby. I’m ready,” I call out to the living room. Denny kicks off his boots and ambled into the bedroom with a wide smile.

“Baby doll,” Denny clicks his tongue.

“You like?”

“Oh god,” he clutches his chest, “You’re going to make Daddy’s heart stop and it’s brand new,” he laughs. He pulls me down onto the bed with him and kisses me all over.

“I love you,” I moan.

“And I love you, Mrs. Duquette.”

***

“Oh baby! Oh god, baby girl, Daddy loves you so much,” Denny rasps.

“Oh Daddy, yes! Mmm, Denny, I’ve missed you so much. It’s been so long,” I whine. Denny digs his fingernails into my hips as his eyes roll back. He finishes inside me.

“You feel too damn good,” he moans against my neck. “I didn’t last very long,” he chuckles. I smile and trace my hand over his abdomen as I breathe heavily, my whole lower body pulsating with pleasure. Denny pulls out gently and lays next to me. He wraps his strong arms around me.

“It’s so nice to feel your heart race and it’s not atrial fibrillation!” I giggle excitedly.

“Say it again,” Denny smirks.

“Fibrillation,” I dance my fingers over his scar.

“You sure sound sexy when you talk medical to me.” I bury my face in his lush chest hair.

“I never want to let you go,” my voice is barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to. You’re going to be my wife remember?” he kisses my forehead and pets my hair.

“I absolutely cannot wait.” Denny rubs my engagement ring sweetly.

@iluvneganandjamie @negans-attagirl @jdmbbycakes

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 38)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34, Lewis POV 5, Mystery POV 2, Lewis POV 6

Part 39: here

...

VIVI POV

Vivi’s never spent much time in hospital or medical clinics- the perks of having a doctor for a father-and now she’s had the opportunity she can confirm that she hates it. She hates the off white walls, the artificial light, and faint smell of bleach. Hates how claustrophobic and stuffy the corridors feel despite having so little in them. Hates the stupid cheap picture prints of supposedly uplifting scenes spaced along the walls. Mostly, she hates how the nurses and orderlies rush around, always busy, while she’s stuck with only her thoughts for company.

"I just wish you’d told me something was wrong…or that something bad was happening. I would have helped…”

No response. Arthur maintains his silence. With both her friends unconscious, she’s had plenty of time to ruminate on the past few days, trying to fit together a version of events that made sense. Vivi slumps forward, tapping her foot to let out excess energy, leaning towards Arthur. He’s a chalky white colour and his hair is limp, spread across the pillow framing his equally pale face, but his expression is peaceful so that’s something.  It was better than seeing Arthur's face all twisted, grinning at Lewis like he wanted to rip his friend apart. It was better than seeing the panicked defeat  on his face moments before he lost consciousness and she was left sitting in two growing puddles of blood.

No.

She can't think about that. All she could do now is try and understand.  Upset, Vivi fiddles with her phone, flipping through applications, trying to distract herself from the silence and monotony. She deliberately ignores her growing collection of missed calls and texts from her family. The only two people she wants to hear from are in no position to contact her.

“Something was bothering you long before all this…” 

She pauses in her tapping, reaching forward so her hand ends up hovering over Arthur’s, uncertain.  Unfortunately, even when knowing about the body snatcher and Mystery’s kitsune form, she still doesn’t know why Arthur had started acting weird. All this crap and she’s still in the dark. 

“Was that asshole Micky threatening you?”

Lewis had mentioned Arthur getting into an altercation with the guy. Was that Micky’s motivation or had the body snatcher already been targeting Arthur before that? Sure, the creature had said it wasn’t involved in Arthur’s initial behaviour change, but she wasn’t about to just trust it.  

“When did you become such a convincing liar?” Silence follows her question and she switches her phone on and off, mind elsewhere.

‘Don’t you want to know why Arthur’s been acting so out of character?

Like someone’s flipped a switch on his personality

… not quite himself…’

The bastard parasite made it sound like Arthur had been possessed long before the it got involved. She physically shakes her head, trying to dislodge the taunt, resuming her restless tapping. Mystery had confirmed that Arthur was no longer possessed…and Arthur's eyes had been their usual golden colour right up until that night outside the diner.  He couldn’t have been possessed before that. Mystery would have mentioned it…right? 

“Maybe I’m just that gullible...”

Not like she has a great track record. That day,  when the weird behaviour had started, Lewis had picked up on it almost immediately but she’d just dismissed it as a mood swing. Her parents and dog had lied to her all her life and she was only now just figuring it out after having the truth shoved in her face. It stung. 

“I can’t even sniff out the truth when it’s right under my nose,” she mutters, glancing up at the clock hanging over a silent television set. It had been around this time yesterday that a nurse had come past, pressuring her to leave. The first thing she was doing when Arthur awoke was force him to sign her up as a medical proxy so she didn’t have to hang out in the 24/7 emergency waiting room until visiting hours recommenced.  

Disheartened, Vivi stands, making her way out of the room, scooping up the small pile of disposable coffee cups and food wrappers to dump in the trash on her way out. Both Lewis’s parents and been by to check on Arthur several times, bringing her cups of tea and snacks so she wouldn’t accidentally stave.

She hesitates at the door, glancing back at Arthur.

“I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”

She supposes she should be grateful that Arthur has a room all to himself and she doesn’t have to worry about disturbing other patients with her muttering. Lewis is sharing his room with three other people. That fact that those three other people were unconscious and unlikely to wake up didn't make it comfortable. She slinks down the hall, leaving Arthur behind. 

The door to Lewis’s room is dull grey like every other door in the place. It has been left open, allowing her to hover and peek into the room without being spotted by Lewis’s parents. Only his mom and sisters are present. They’re talking in lowered voices, impossible to make out against the general ambience of the hospital in the background. Gingerly, she backs up. He throat tightens. It doesn’t look like Lewis is awake and she didn’t want to bother the family. The small space around the bed was crowded enough.

“Vivi?”

She jumps at the second voice, twisting quickly and almost knocking two styrofoam cups of steaming liquid from Nicholas Pepper’s hands. Luckily, Lewis’s dad has the foresight to draw back a step.

She winces, pulling away from the door to cross her arms.

“Sorry…I’m a bit jumpy.”

Worry floods the older man’s face and she quickly moves to deflect the incoming question about her wellbeing.

“How’s Lewis?”

A long sigh.

“…Still comatose, but his brain activity is steadily increasing, which I’m told is a good sign, so there’s hope that he’ll wake up. We’re waiting for word on a proper recovery time-frame.”

“Oh.” She winces again, “That’s....”

What exactly is she supposed to say to that? She swallows, words suck.

“…better than yesterday…” Nicholas finishes her sentence for her with a reassuring smile.

She clears her throat, “Sorry I haven’t been by to see him sooner…it’s just…” Lewis had his whole family visiting in shifts and Arthur had no one. It definitely wasn't because seeing Lewis unconscious made her unbearably miserable.

“I’m sure Lewis would understand.”

Yeah, he would. Lewis was great like that. Vivi begins to retreat backwards. If she spends too much time thinking about Lewis she’ll get all teary again.

“We’ve decided temporarily rent an apartment not far from here.  It’s small, and a bit crowded, especially with the girls, but there’s always room for one more.”  

Vivi nods stiffly, continuing to shuffle backwards, moving around an unused monitor stand blocking part of the hallway. “Um, thanks but…I’ve got something to do…I need to check on Mystery…”

“I hope you’ve eaten more in the last 12 hours than that role I gave you at lunch.”

She grimaces. “I have…” There were vending machines right next to the emergency centre and a 24-hour coffee shop across the road. Nicholas gives her an evaluative stare, and Vivi is reminded that Lewis had have gotten his people skills from somewhere.

“We’ll probably be eating in about two hours, depending on how helpful the girls are feeling and what the general mood is,” A careful pause,  “I hope you’ll drop by at least.”

“I’ll think about it.”  

She turns in the opposite direction, hurrying away.

“I’ll text you the address…”

The hospital flashes by in a blur of pastel and she rushes past the ugly plastic chairs in the foyer near the reception desk. Outside the temperature is cooling but not uncomfortable. She quickly rubs her eyes, breathing in, focusing on the fresh unscented air. The heat is still radiating from the sun-soaked pavement means she barely needs Lewis’s oversized jacket to keep warm. A quick scan of the slowly emptying street has her spotting the recognisable shape of Mystery. The dog weaves around the scattered pedestrians, trotting in her direction. She stamps down her guilt, melancholy, and frustration to focus on the matter at hand.

/Vivi./ Mystery scans her and gives her a lopsided concerned squint. /You look…./

"Don't start..." She scowls, daring him to comment on her appearance.

/Hmmm…/ Mystery pauses, instead asking, /How are Arthur and Lewis?/

“No change…and Uncle Lance is still in the ICU in case you’re wondering,” she answers stiffly, trying to ignore the odd looks several pedestrians throw her way.  Hastily, she starts walking towards her truck and out of sight, holding her phone up so she doesn’t look like a complete loony talking to Mystery.

Mystery follows behind without prompting. She had parked in almost the same spot as last time so she wouldn’t have to worry about spending a fortune on parking tickets while she waits uselessly for hours on end.

/I see…I suppose the fact that no one is worse off is good news./

“No,” she retorts, spinning to glare at Mystery. “Good news is everyone waking up. Good news is Lewis not in a coma or Lance being released. None of this is good.”

/I only meant it was good that death is no longer imminent./ Mystery adds. In her mind, his sentence sounds carefully worded. He is eyeing her with something akin to care or concern. A couple walking past in business attire give alarmed looks upon the outburst.

“What?” She snaps at them. The busybodies continue past, giving her a wide berth. She watches them go before breathing out in frustration. All that time spent sitting silently in the hospital has given her a lot of restless energy.  

“Come on. We’ll talk in the truck.”

The rest on the short trip is spent in silence.

“What did you find out at the police station,” She asks once they're safely inside the truck cab, isolated from the general public. Mystery jumps in to sit beside her, eyeing her, one part concern one part thoughtful. Vivi leans across the seat to close the door and seal them inside.

/If you agree to rest and eat, I will tell you what I have found./

She scowls, frustration growing, “Are you trying to con me into a deal.”

/No. I am being completely transparent./ Mystery huffs, /As humans are unaffected by such dealings, this is purely a show of my goodwill./

“You’re doing this now?”

/Yes. You still harbour resentment towards me. Understandable. However, I would not form something as significant as an oath if I did not truly care about your wellbeing. Please./

Vivi glares some more but Mystery remains unmoved. Deals consisted of an offer, an amendment from the second party, then acceptance by the original offeror. It was a three-step process that humans weren’t supernaturally bound or required to follow, though it was poor form to break one. So...

“Fine…I’ll try and get a good night’s sleep and maybe eat. Happy?” She amends stubbornly, waiting to see if Mystery will accept the somewhat crappy revision. Mystery just snorts, amused and vaguely approving.

/Very well. I accept./

Mystery’s eyes flash ever so subtly and Vivi feels a tingle run up her arm. She exhales, rubbing her eyes. If there’s one thing she’s learnt over the past few days it’s that someone can both care and lie at the same time so she’ll take Mystery’s ‘goodwill’ with a grain of salt.

“So…What did you find out?” She repeats.

/As instructed, I spent the day, approximately nine hours, shadowing the human called Anderson around his place of work./

“And…”

/He appears busy, most of his time was spent sitting at a desk or in discussion with other humans, with topics ranging from various crimes in the city to social plans. The only mention of Arthur and Lance, referred to as the Kingsman casefile I believe, was a phone call confirming the existence of an abandoned vehicle removed from St Peter’s two-hour parking lot two nights ago. They plan to seize this vehicle as evidence for the case./ Mystery finishes his recount with a curious head tilt like he’s unsure whether the information is relevant. That makes two of them.  

“What does that have to do with anything,” She mutters. It had been two full days since their confrontation with the body snatcher at the Pepper’s diner and Lance’s admittance to the hospital so the vehicle had been abandoned the same day.

“You don’t think it’s Arthur’s van do you…did they mention what sort of vehicle it was?”

/No, that was not mentioned./

“If it is the van, then how did Arthur get to the diner?”

/These parasitic creatures are often limited to the capabilities of their hosts. It would have had to have used a form of human transport./

She crosses her arms, tapping her foot against the break-peddle, trying to fit the mysterious vehicle into her mental timeline of events.

First, the body snatcher arrives in Tempo in possession of Micky who threatens Arthur for some unknown reason, causing Arthur’s odd behaviour. Two weeks later, her, Lewis and Arthur leave Tempo on their road trip and the body snatcher attacks and possesses Lance the same night. Next, Lance is moved to the hospital in an ambulance before contacting Arthur. Arthur leaves her and Lewis, rushing to his Uncle’s side where the body snatcher is waiting to possess him. Once Arthur is possessed, the body snatcher attacks his Uncle and leaves the hospital, heading to the diner. Finally, her and Lewis arrive at the hospital just in time to save Lance.

There are lots of discrepancies in her timeline like: Where had the body snatcher come from? Micky had mentioned the old mines up west, was that related? Why attack Arthur? Surely this wasn’t all because Arthur had insulted his motorcycle? At what point had Micky been possessed? She and Lewis had arrived at the hospital several hours behind Arthur but were still in time to save Lance? 

These discrepances aside, she’s pretty confident that she has the barebones of a usable timeline.  If the vehicle referetd to by the police is Arthur’s van, then she might have to rethink things though.

“There isn’t anything else?” She asks again just to be sure.

/As I said, this human was busy with many activities and most of his work was completed electronically./

“Figures.” Aggravated, she takes a breath and tries to think logically. “Where’s the vehicle now?”

/That was not mentioned./

Well, this place wasn’t huge, how many car impounds could there be near the hospital? She pulls out her phone, connecting to the internet. There are two new missed calls from her dad and one from her mom. She ignores them.

“I got it. There are only two impounds nearish to the town centre. We’ll check the closest one first,” She pulls on her seatbelt, twisting so she can reverse safely out of the park. She’s definitely getting better at handling the small flatbed truck. When compared to driving in pitch black, rain pouring down and tears messing up her vision, this city driving was laughably easy.

/…and then will you rest?/

“Yeah, sure, after this.” At least this is something to occupy her mind. After spending the whole day circling through the same facts and replaying every scenario, it’s good to have something new think about.  

The first car compound is pretty small, with four of its six-car spots occupied and none containing Arthur’s van. A chain-link fence cordons it off from the footpath. It’s nothing special. There’s not even any barbed wire atop the fence.  Vivi makes sure she doesn’t park close enough to appear on any of the visible security cameras near the entrance. The two-story office building adjacent to the yard appears closed and Vivi eyes the darkened windows as she exits the truck, shoving her hands into her jacket pocket. The temperature has dropped in the last hour.

“Hey Mystery, your illusions, they, like, bend light or something right?” In the dim twilight, she doesn’t have to worry as much about appearing crazy when talking to Mystery. Not that there are many people around this area to notice her.

/They act as an intangible layer between myself and others./

She pauses to stare at Mystery, mulling over the description, “Remind me to teach you some real sciencey terminology because you’re explanations are kind of vague.” Arthur would help with that too…when he woke up…if he woke up.

“Do you think they’ll work on cameras?”

/I believe so. I had no problems while spying today and I saw multiple recording devices about the building./

“Good enough for me I guess. Can you stop people from seeing me while I climb over this?”

/Yes, but I will need to be quiet close to you. My range in this form is only five feet./

She picks him up, trying not to feel too uncomfortable. She has made a deliberate effort to keep a physical distance from Mystery and resist any inclination to pat or hold him. It just feels wrong. Weird. 

Awkwardly, she lets Mystery balance between her shoulder blades, freeing her arms to climb. “You’re not going to fall are you?” She’d never have trusted a dog to do this.

He shuffles about and she can feel his paws twitch as he adjusts his position in time with her movements.

/I will not fall./ He confirms. Once Mystery is secure, she heaves herself onto the fence and, when no one comes running out to stop her, scrambles the rest of the way up and over. Mystery hangs close to her legs as they walk across the lot and she has to concentrate so she doesn't accidentally trip over him.

None of the cars stand out, even upon closer inspection. She circles the small space and wonders what she is looking for. If Arthur were here, he’d probably know. Arthur actually paid attention to these sorts of details.

/This one has a familiar scent./ Mystery speaks as she carefully examines each vehicle in turn.

“You recognise the car? From where?” She re-examines it, but can’t find a match. It’s a pretty generic looking car, old, a bit run down. A standard vehicle for a town like Tempo so it could be anyone's.

/I am unsure. The scent is muddied with human chemicals./

If she had access to the police database she’d be able to search up its number plates. Exasperated, she walks forward to try the handle. The car is old enough not to have automated locks so it’s worth a shot.  She hesitates briefly to cover her hand with a sleeve so she doesn’t leave any fingerprints, wondering if she’s being too paranoid.

 It’s locked. What a shock. However, upon circling the car she finds one of the back windows half-open. Peering in, the interior is a mess with several old flannel shirts, take away containers and miscellaneous nik-nacks strewn about.

“Here.” She picks Mystery up from under the armpits, holding him out to the opening, “Can you smell anything else inside.”

The dog spends a moment breathing deeply, head moving around and positioning at different angles. Around them, wind rattles pits of discarded scrap metal, pushing around several empty plastic bags. The street lamps on the main road flicker on as the natural light dims.

/It is recognisable./ Mystery finally confirms, /I believe I may have come across this human at Arthur’s residence./

“…like a customer?”

/No. It is too distinct to be a customer. I would have had to have met this human several times to remember it./

“…But you don’t know who it is?”

/Unfortunately, I am not in the habit of cataloguing the smells of random humans./ Mystery responds, apologetic.

“This has to be the vehicle the police referred to…what are the odds of you recognising it if it isn’t?” Vivi mummers, glaring at the car again before retreating back over the fence. With the night quickly approaching there is not enough light to see any further details without pulling out her phone to use as its flashlight.

Back in the truck, she taps a finger on the dashboard, mulling over what she’s learnt. How many other people frequented Kingsman Mechanics that Mystery would have met more than once? Aside from her and Lewis’s families. 

“Lance had those two mechanic guys help out when Arthur was away or busy. I think their names where…Derrick….no…Darrel and Oliver or something. They’re the only ones who regularly visit the workshop. You think the car belongs to one of them?”

Mystery shrugs.  

They drive to the second car impound to do some more snooping. It’s the same as the first place, only this time Mystery doesn’t recognise any of the vehicles present. Stumped, Vivi finds herself back where she’d started, sitting and thinking, trying to come up within something that made sense. 

It wasn’t impossible that one of Lance’s employees had accompanied and/or driven Lance to the hospital on the day of the body snatcher’s first attack. If only she had their phone numbers, but no, she’d rarely talked to either of them. If Lewis were here, he would have had the numbers saved for sure. Lewis had everyone’s phone number. Lewis wasn’t here though. He was in a coma. Arthur was still unconscious. It was just her and random bits and pieces of information.

This is the same problem she’d run into when chasing after Arthur. Not enough information. She doesn’t know what to do and she doesn’t even have Lewis to distract her. Vivi grips her head, tasselling her hair, trying to hold back a sudden wave of panic. What if she’s too late again. What if she can’t figure this out in time. She’ll be too late to do anything and both Lewis and Arthur would suffer for it.

Why is she always one step behind?

/Vivi?/ A light prodding draws her attention. /You really should rest...It will make this investigation easier./

Mystery had his paw on her arm, eyes shining with more concern and emotion then she’s ever seen the dog openly display.

“I’m fine…” She pulls away and rubs her eyes, leaning back to stare at the roof, trying to regain composure. “It’s just…I’m always a step behind…If I knew more, if people would just tell me things... I’d be able to figure this out….” before something went terribly wrong, she adds silently.

“If I’d known more to begin with, I could have helped from the start.”  That’s what she’ll keep telling herself at least…

/The decision to withhold information would not have come from a place of malice…/ The soft-spoken reassurance only serves to reignite her resentment.

“So, just because they thought they were doing the right thing, it’s okay.” At this point, she’s not sure if she’s referring to her parents, Mystery or Arthur.

Mystery glances away, uncomfortable. Even now, she’s pretty sure Mystery’s holding back despite everything. She exhales again, trying to smother her emotions. She’d already run through this argument with Mystery and the whole thing is pointless. She can’t stop people lying to her. The only thing to do now was to be more aware of possible deception in the future.

“Say the car belonged to either Darrel or Oliver,” She pushes through her upset and back to the issue at hand. The more she thinks about the lies, the muddier her mind becomes, and the worse she feels. It’s better to just stay proactive and not obsess over everything people may or may not be keeping from her.

“Why just abandon it at the hospital? It can’t be a coincidence.”

She starts the engine, flipping on the heating to chase away the growing chill in the air.

/… where are we going?/

“Arthur’s van is still unaccounted for, meaning he probably drove it to the Pepper’s diner. If the cops haven’t found it then it’ll still be there somewhere.” She’s somewhat annoyed at herself  for not thinking to look for the van sooner. 

When Mystery shoots her a look of enquiry she elaborates, “Maybe there’ll be more of a clue regarding what happened in the van. If there is another person involved then that parasite-asshole might have killed or hurt them…It would explain the abandoned car and why the police care about it.”

It’s all speculation, but what else can she do at this point.

‘This is why leaving hosts alive backfires,’

The parasite bastard had said something like that right before getting Arthur shot …There were implications behind a statement like that. She hopes she’s wrong, the last thing she wants is for Arthur to get caught up in a murder investigation.

Mystery’s eyes darken and he lets off a low growl. /It is plausible…these creatures do take pride in spreading chaos. The one inhabiting Arthur was particularly…malicious./

She tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

Part 39: here

[screamingatanemptyroom]

The Super Villains’ Daughter Part 4

HERE IT IS GUYS! I ENDED THE STORY!!!! The last part to the story of Erica and Henry/Jarrod. I really hope you guys like it. 

For those who haven’t read the earlier parts/need to refresh: 

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 

ERICA

“Are you still bleeding?”  My mother looked down at me with a disapproving expression.

I met her gaze without expression. I was only twelve but I knew what would happen if I spoke back. Seeming satisfied with my lack of reaction she dropped a package into my lap.

Confused, I opened it with one hand, the other clutching a rag against my thigh which had been slashed open during fighting practice. I knew that direct pressure was my only chance at slowing down the bleeding.

It wasn’t like they were going to take me to a hospital.

To my surprise the package contained a few objects: antiseptic, sutures, and a small book with pictures explaining how to close wounds. I looked back up at my mother, not wanting to voice the question I wanted to ask.

“You have thirty minutes to sew up your wounds before we move on to poisons.” Her voice was flat, her eyes making it clear what would happen if I didn’t.

I looked down again, my eyes watering at the size of the needle. This was going to hurt.

“You will not receive any local anesthetics or narcotics to numb the pain. “ My mother continued, noting my less than enthusiastic reaction. “Pain leads to strength, seeking relief from pain is weakness. Remember that.”

She walked away, leaving me to stare daggers into her back.

One day.

One day I would take her down. Take them both down.

Sighing quietly to myself, I grabbed the kit, and prepared to sew on my thigh.

I woke up gasping in a strange room, my hand automatically reaching for the gun under my pillow, and meeting nothing but air. I struck out, my hand hitting a chest that was more like a brick wall. Panicked, I reared back to attack again.

“It’s okay, Erica! It’s me!” A familiar voice settled me enough to pause, to study my surroundings. We were in a large, open apartment, brightly lit. I was on a couch with someone sitting beside me, grasping my ankle.

It was Henry.  I let out a small sigh of relief.

“What are you doing?” He had a jar of ointment on the table beside him, was applying it to my leg.

“You had a burn from the trap that they… from the electrified floor. The captain said you wouldn’t want to go to the hospital, so when the field doctor cleared you I brought you back to my apartment.”

He seemed uncomfortable, letting go of my leg and gently placing it back on the couch.

“I would have brought you to your place so you could be in familiar surroundings but I obviously don’t know where you live and I didn’t know what else to do…Crap.” He hit his forehead. “I’m making a mess out of this.”

“What’s in the ointment.”

“It’s nothing dangerous!” He was quick to defend himself, although I really was only asking out of curiosity rather than suspicion. “It’s a pain relieving ointment for the light burns.  I didn’t want you to be hurting when you woke up!”

His open face along with his simple explanation startled me. When was the last time someone had tried to keep me from hurting, tried to take pain away instead of causing it? It didn’t take long for me to remember. It was back when we were kids and still thought we were brother and sister.

Henry always did worry whenever I got hurt.

I sat up, testing my arms and legs, mildly surprised that I felt no discomfort with the movement despite the burns from my parents’ trap.

Pain leads to strength, seeking relief from pain is weakness.

My mother’s words mocked me, but they were quickly pushed to the back of my mind with his next question.

“They said you poisoned yourself?”

I sucked in a breath, only now remembering what my parents had said before I lost consciousness.

She shouldn’t have much longer.

“They were lying right?” Henry’s face was pale, his gaze nervously looking me over as if expecting me to fall over any minute. “You aren’t dying from a poison, that was just a trick, right?”

I stared down at my hands. “What else did they tell you?”

I couldn’t remember anything after telling them I would rather die. They wouldn’t have stopped there.

“Please, Erica, please tell me they were lying.” There were tears in his eyes, but I ignored them.

“What did they want in exchange for the antidote?”

“…” His face turned blank, he avoided my gaze.

“Hen…Jarrod. What. Did. They. Want?”

A long sigh escaped him. “I wish our lives had been different.” He reached out, grabbing my unresisting hands in his own, turning them over. His thumbs rubbed across my forearms, where multiple scars from years of fighting and torture crisscrossed. “I wish I had never left. Wish I had suffered with you sometimes.”

“Jarrod…”

“Wish I had taken you with me, more.” He looked up at the ceiling, and then closed his eyes, tears escaping from the shut lids. “Wish I hadn’t been a self-centered prick who wanted to be strong before I came back. Wish I had saved you, or died trying.”

“Jarrod…”

He let go of my hands, hid his face behind his own, but tears continued to fall. “No one deserves what you’ve gone through. No one deserves to live a long happy life more than you.”

My vision blurred. Was I crying too?

“Henry…”

“You were my sister, my protector, my other half. You meant everything… still mean everything to me.” He stood up, and walked towards the door. “I won’t let you die. Not while I’m still breathing.”

I tried to call out one last time, but he was already gone.

HENRY/JARROD

I left her behind, my mind racing, feeling strangely calm despite the emotions that had threatened to overwhelm me just moments before.

I wasn’t going to fail her again.

But to pull it off, I needed a few things.

The anti-super power technology her parents wanted. A location. And to see the Captain.

First, the anti-super weapon. I sighed quietly, turning towards the Hero Assistance Unit Headquarters. 

Fortunately, being a hero had its perks. I knew a guy.

“Hey Jarrod!” 

Greg was practically jumping up and down with excitement, his hands clutching a black briefcase. “I’m so glad you called, I was worried after that raid I did went south that you wouldn’t want my help ever again!”

The raid? My forehead wrinkled as I tried to puzzle that out briefly, before realizing that I had given him a location of a base as part of Erica’s plot to unmask the mole. I thought we had contacted everyone else the next morning to clarify that the “raid” was off… but I guessed we missed someone.

Had he gone to a supervillain base all by himself?

Shrugging mentally, I decided not to ask further.

“Did you bring what I asked?”

“Of course, Jarrod! What else is the HAU for if not to assist heroes like yourself?” His groveling set my teeth on edge, made worse by what I knew he had tried to do to Erica. Of course, the moment he had tried to touch her she had put him in the ICU.

I smiled at the thought, and Greg beamed back at me, thinking I was happy about his words.

“Here it is!” He opened up the briefcase in his hands. “The Anti-super power gun! VSU had been working on the technology for a while now, but HAU took over since the VSU is just small time agents anyways.” He snorted loudly, apparently forgetting that he had once been part of the Villain Suppression Unit and had been kicked out for sexual harassment.

I checked the weapon, a sleek, silver appearing gun. The muzzle was oddly shaped. “Does it shoot bullets?”

“Nope! It shoots a dart, that injects the anti-super power serum.” He pointed to the small box of ammo. “It is made to look almost exactly like the HAU stun dart weapon, so you need to be careful..” He laughed loudly. “Don’t want to accidentally shoot someone with one of these puppies instead of a stun dart or something.”

I looked at the dart closely, with a morbid fascination. “Is there an antidote for the anti-super power serum?”

“They’ve been working on it, but no luck so far!” Greg paused, seeming slightly uncomfortable for the first time. “Hey, Jarrod? What are you going to use this for? I can take it out of the HAU because I’m on the security team, but it needs to be back in 24 hours.”

I snapped the briefcase closed, smiling brightly. “No worries. That’s plenty of time.”

Leaving him behind, my hand tightly clutching the handle of the briefcase, I moved on, a plan forming in my mind.

I had the weapon.

All I needed was a way to contact the Shadow Couple.

Which meant I needed to have a little talk with my younger brother.

 “What do you want?” 

My brother looked tired, as he eyed me with suspicion. We were in a private visiting room, another perk to being a super-hero. I guess even with Michael’s powers of invisibility and speed they didn’t think he could get past me to escape.

Which worked for me. I wanted the privacy.

“I’ve given up on asking you why you never helped Erica, a little girl who was suffering.” I sighed as I leaned back in my chair. “At first I thought maybe you were scared. You didn’t want to tell me my ‘sister’ was being hurt. I even thought that maybe the Shadow Couple captured you as a child and forced you to work on their side.”

“…” Michael warily said nothing. I continued on as if talking to myself.

“But then, I thought back to all our ‘training fights’ before I regained my powers. Back to how mom and dad treated you like glass once I was stronger than you. How I was ‘the weakling’ when I couldn’t beat you, but I was ‘a bully’ once I could… All of that started to make sense, and I came to a conclusion.”

I leaned forward, a slight smile on my face.

“You are a coward. A coward who enjoys watching people weaker than you suffer.”

“ You son of a…” Michael’s face contorted with rage, he reached towards me, only to break off on a squeal of pain as I grabbed his hand in my own. I squeezed until the bones started fracturing into multiple pieces.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? It hurt me when you broke my bones too. All those ‘training accidents’ when we were kids. You were quite a sadistic little bastard.”

Michael tried to pull his hand away, his face pale and sweating with the pain.

“I forgive you though. We were kids. Our parents enabled you, taught you to bully the weak and cower before the strong. A strange lesson for a super hero, but I don’t really think any of family qualify for a term like ‘hero.’”

“If you forgive me, then let go…” He forced the words out with a groan of agony.

I tightened my hand instead, feeling a few more satisfying cracks. “I forgive you for what you did to me. What you did to Erica on the other hand…”

“PLEASE!”

“I’ll stop when you tell me how to contact the Shadow Couple.”  I grinned as he shook his head slightly and shifted my grip to hold more of his hand. “Otherwise I’ll break every bone in your hand one by one, and then move onto the next. You’re in with a hero, no one will even bother to check on you. We can be here for a very, very long time.”

My smile turned bitter as he quickly spit out a number that would reach them.

“See, that wasn’t so hard.”

I fired my weapon under the table.

He leaned forward with a groan as the dart struck Michael in the stomach.

“What did you…?”

I quickly put the weapon back in the hidden holster under my pant leg. Slightly dismayed but relieved at how easily I had snuck it past security, I leaned over the table, reaching out to remove the dart and stored that as well.

“That was the ‘anti-super power weapon’ the Shadow Couple is looking for.” I smiled. “I thought I would test it out before handing it over.

Michael shook his head. “ARE YOU CRAZY! You can’t give them technology like this! They’ll destroy everything!”

I raised an eyebrow. “So its okay for you to help them for money, but not okay for me to help them to save someone’s life?”

“Save… “ He trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “You’re doing it for that bit…” I pushed the table lightly, and it flew into his stomach, cutting off his words.

“Don’t worry about the world, brother dearest. You have much bigger problems.” I stood up, straightening out my jacket with a casual motion.

“I’ve arranged for you to be transferred.”

Michael mouthed a single word. Where.

“Blood Row.” I smiled as his eyes grew wide.

Blood Row. The most notorious layer of prison for the worst kind of criminals. The kind that hated heroes the most.

“Don’t worry, they are well aware that you were working for the Shadow Couple… and betrayed them to get a better deal. You should fit in nicely there. Especially now that your powers are gone.”

I turned towards the door and knocked, waiting for it to open.

“Wait!” His voice cracked on the word. I turned back towards him with a small hint of curiosity.

“Blood row is… death sentence… please… I’m your brother.” He was struggling to talk after the blow from the table but he pushed on, his face desperate.

I watched him silently for a few moments.  “Sorry, I’ve come to the realization that despite being a superhero, I’m not all powerful. I can only protect one person. And she deserves it a hell of a lot more than you.”

The door opened, and I walked out.

“WAAAIT!”

I didn’t turn back again.

ERICA

“Where is he?!” I slammed my fists on the Captain’s desk.

He raised an eyebrow, looking up at me with a sarcastic grin. “Hello to you too.”

“Cut the crap, Captain.” I was not in the mood to joke. “I’ve been following Hen… Jarrod’s tracks all day. He stopped by the HAU, picked something up. He stopped by the prison and saw his brother, and then he came here. What did he tell you?”

“Would you believe it if I said he didn’t tell me anything?”

“No.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I wouldn’t either.” He looked me in the eye. “He told me the truth. About the poison.”

I sank down into a nearby chair. “Crap.”

“Yeah.” He glared at me. “Were you ever going to tell me that you were dying?”

I shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Great.”

“At least I’m honest.”

“In some ways, I guess.” He leaned back, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “Is this why you’ve been so desperate to put away as many villains as possible these last few years?”

I waved a hand dismissively. “We can pick apart my psychological motivations at a later date. I want to know where he is right now.”

“I don’t know.” He held up a finger, stopping me before I could argue. “And that IS the truth. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going, wouldn’t risk his plan going off course.”

My stomach dropped. “What is his plan?”

“Here.” He handed me a letter. “Everything he told me should be in here.”

I opened it with trembling fingers, scanning over the contents quickly before tearing it in half.

“We have to stop him.”

“It’s too late.” The captain sighed. “By the time he had come to talk to me, he had already sealed his fate. There was nothing I could do but let him try to save you.”

I laughed, but it sounded more like a sob as it caught in my chest. “It won’t work. They’ll kill him.”

He nodded. “They might.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Because I couldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He shrugged. “Maybe so. He and I happen to agree on something, though.”

“What?”

“That you’re worth saving.”

I stood up, my feet unsteady. “And if I tell you I’m not going to let him die?”

He clapped my shoulder, handing me a tracking device. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I walked out of the office, one thought and one thought only dominating my mind.

I would save him.

HENRY/ JARROD

“That didn’t take long.” The woman I had once thought was my mother smiled with the slightest hint of exasperation.

I didn’t smile back. I simply clutched the black case tighter. “She doesn’t have long. I wouldn’t waste time.”

“Honestly,” The man sighed, turning to his wife. “If we’d known it was so easy to get a hold of this technology… I feel like we wasted years of planning.”

She patted his shoulder. “It’s fine dear, what matters is that we win in the end.”

Turning on a device in her hand, her smile widened when it beeped and flashed green. “You didn’t lie and came alone. I’m impressed.”

I shrugged. “I won’t risk her not getting the antidote.”

“Indeed. Then I assume you brought the anti-super power device?”

I nodded, holding up the briefcase. “Here.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You open it.”

I set the case on the ground, opening the lid to reveal the dart gun and ammo.

He smiled. “Looks good so far.” He sighed. “Take the gun out slowly and hand it to me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think I trapped the case?”

“I trust no one.”

“I won’t risk Erica not getting the antidote.”

“So you’ve said. Take out the weapon. Slowly.”

I lifted the weapon by the muzzle, pointing it at myself and handing it handle first to the man. He grasped it, his hand tightening around it with a satisfied expression.

“And the ammo next.”

I lifted the case of darts, handing it to the woman. She lifted one out, studying it closely. “Such a powerful little weapon, in such a little dart.”

“Will you give her the antidote now?” My voice sounded weak, defeated.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not so fast. How do we know you didn’t give us something fake?” She handed it to her husband who loaded the dart into the gun.

“I didn’t…”

“I know, I know… you wouldn’t risk her not getting the antidote, blah blah blah.” The man pointed the gun at me with a smile. “Only one way to find out.”

The dart hit my arm. I pulled it out with a groan. They both studied me a moment.

“Did it work?”

“How could we tell? It’s not like there would be a flash of light or something to say he’s lost his powers.”

The woman chuckled. “I have an idea.”

I fell to the ground, A knife in my left chest.

“Nice throw, Honey!”

“Thanks!” She stepped closer, looking at me closely. Reaching down, she slowly pulled the knife out. “It’s not specially coated like the anti-super darts. If he still had his powers it shouldn’t have penetrated his skin so easily.”

“He lost his powers?” The man whistled. “What a fool. He gave us exactly what we asked for.”

I curled up in a ball on the ground, my hands clutching the bleeding wound in my chest. I was having trouble breathing, was my lung collapsed?

“An-Antidote…”

The man rolled his eyes. “So persistent. But we did make a promise.” Pressing a button on his belt, a screen behind him turned on. It was live security camera footage, showing the front lobby of the VSU. A man dropped a package off at the front desk dressed as a courier, before turning and walking out with a quick wink to the camera. “There. The antidote is delivered to her doorstep. Beyond our reach.” He smiled. “Congratulations. You saved her. Just like you wanted.”

The woman leaned over me, using her foot to turn me onto my back. “Want to know a real kicker of a secret though?” Her grin was vicious. “We would have saved her either way.”

“Of course.”

“We love our daughter.”

“She’s to inherit the family business after all.”

“Hopefully she’ll be more inclined with you having betrayed her.”

“And dead.” The man laughed. “Don’t forget he’ll be very much dead by the time she finds him.”

They both pull out knives, one clean, one already slick with my blood, and moved forward.

“Fast or slow?”

“Better be fast, we have work to do with this special weapon.” He patted the dart gun at his side.

... 

It was done.

I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh, so hard that I started coughing up blood.  

The woman paused, disconcerted. “What’s so funny?”

“You think you have the anti-super power weapon.” I chuckled, spitting to clear my mouth before continuing. “You think I would betray her?”

The man shook his head. “You’ve obviously lost your powers, don’t lie to us.”

I grinned, feeling a wet pool start to form beneath me. “Shot myself with the REAL anti-super weapon before I came. You only have blanks.”

The woman’s face contorted as she reared back, kicking me. “YOU’RE LYING!”

“Even an idiot like me knew you would test out the weapon. My bet was that your first target would be me.” I leaned back my head on the ground, exhausted. “Turns out I was right.”

“So we gave up the antidote for nothing?” The man sighed. “Well, we were going to cure her anyways.”

“How disappointing.”

“Let’s kill him anyways before we leave, so we haven’t wasted the trip.” She leaned over with her knife… I closed my eyes, resigned. 

“HOLD IT!” 

A loud voice called out. A familiar voice.  My eyes shot open again.

“Erica…”“SWEETIE!” 

The woman called out as the same time as me, opening her eyes wide. “How long have you been there?”

She stepped forward, her armor and weapons gleaming in the florescent lighting of the villains hideout. “Not long.”

“You missed it, dear. We mailed the antidote to the VSU! You’re saved!”

The man shook his head. “But your dear old brother betrayed you.” He lifted the dart gun in his hand. “Gave us anti-super technology.”

I looked over at Erica, wondering if she had seen my letter. She met my eyes briefly, and then looked up. “Is that so?”

“Yes of course. What a disappointment he is. So weak.” The woman reached out to touch her. “You should join us, dear. You belong with your family.”

Erica smiled. “You’re right. I do.”

With that, she kicked her mother across the room.

BAM! She hit a wall of computers, sliding to the floor with a groan.

The man sighed. “You never learn.”

“No.” Erica’s smile only grew wider. “You two are the ones who never learn. Falling for the same trick twice.”

“What do you...?” Mid-sentence, the two collapsed on the ground, unable to stand or move. I sighed with relief as Erica stepped closer, helping me to my feet.

“You’re an idiot.”

“That poison took longer than I thought.”

She glanced at her parents with a sigh. “The same poison I used all those years ago. I can’t believe the Captain let you have the only sample. Where did you put it? On the dart gun?”

I grinned. “No, on the darts. I didn’t want to touch it myself.”

“You would have died if I hadn’t made it on time.”

I started to laugh, and then groaned as the action aggravated the wound in my chest. “I guess I owe you another coffee for saving my life.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She walked towards the Shadow Couple, her feet slowing as she neared them. I wasn’t sure what she was about to do, but unsurprisingly, I found i didn’t care.

“I won’t say anything, no matter what.” I meant it. She could hurt them; kill them. After what they had done to her, I would look the other way.

She grinned at me. “Good to know I’m a bad influence on you.” Leaning over, she injected something in each of their arms.

“It’s a capsule.” She informed them seriously. “Contains a deadly poison. Set only to release if I press a button.”

“….” They stared at her in shock.

“Don’t worry, I won’t push it… as long as you stay nicely in prison where you belong. Understand what will happen if you escape again?”

She spread her hands helplessly, then turned to grab me as I swayed on my feet, almost falling.

“Let’s get you to the hospital.”

“What about…” I tilted my head towards the temporarily paralyzed couple.

“My team’s got it. They’re just cleaning up the rest of the gang I took out on my way in.”

“Did I ever tell you that you’re a total badass?”

She smiled. “Oh, don’t worry, I know.”

The VSU streamed in, packing away the shadow couple as the world started spinning around me.

“Could you stay awake, Henry?” Her voice was slightly panicked. “I can’t carry you alone.”

“Sorry I guess I’m a deadweight…” I started to apologize and then the world faded into darkness.

ERICA

“Why did you want to talk to me?” I asked, sipping on the office coffee and then setting it down, making a face at the bitter taste.

The captain sighed loudly. “For once in your life, would it kill you to treat me with the respect due a superior officer?”

I considered it carefully. “Yes. It might actually kill me.”

“I should fire you.” He grumbled.

“You won’t.”

“You’re right, I won’t. Dammit.”

Shaking his head slowly, he leaned back in his chair. “I called you in here because you’re being assigned a new partner.”

SLAM!

I had been in the process of putting my feet up on his desk, and they slammed down on the floor as I sat up in shock. “Wait! I’m working with the HAU liaison, remember?”

“I remember, even if you’ve conveniently forgotten that you were the one who protested loudly and frequently about ‘babysitting a tights-wearing goodie two shoes.’ As you so eloquently put it.”

“Still, you overruled my objections and teamed us up. So I can’t have a new partner.” I smirked.

“You have to, since the liaison position has been terminated. “

“No. No, Henry is the liaison.”

The Captain frowned. “Jarrod was the liaison. He has since resigned. You are working with VSU’s newest recruit.”

I blinked in shock. Why hadn’t he told me? I had been to the hospital every day while he recovered, but he had been discharged two weeks ago, and hadn’t contacted me since. Just as I was starting to plan all sorts of vaguely sinister plans for getting back at him for quitting being the liaison without telling me, a knock at the door caught my attention.

“That must be your new partner now.” The captain gestured towards the door. “Could you let him in? His hands are probably full.”

What did that mean? I groaned and stood up, making sure my face had been configured into my best glare before opening the door. But as i saw who stood behind it, my jaw dropped.

“Henry.”

He stood in the doorway, precariously balancing three coffees in his hands. “Erica” Henry grinned, the expression causing me to smile back unconsciously. “A little help?”

He handed me a cup, holding the other two more securely with a sigh of relief. “That one’s yours. Black, sugar, no cream.”  He placed another one on the desk. “Captain. Triple espresso, and don’t you dare tell your wife I’m getting this for you. She’s terrifying.”

The captain drained the steaming hot coffee in one gulp, as if daring it to try to burn his mouth. “Almost strong enough.”

“And my perfectly normal drink.” He sipped at it quietly, I noticed he kept a lid on it.

“You ordered extra sprinkles again, didn’t you?”

“No comment.” We laughed.

As we all sat down, I studied him carefully. “So you’re the new recruit to the VSU?”

“That’s right.”

“What about hero work?”

He shrugged helplessly. “Well, for now, I’m powerless, thanks to the anti-super power serum. They’re working on an antidote, but who knows if or when I’ll get my powers back.”

I glared at him. “It’s all your fault you lost your powers.”

“Worth it.” He was unrepentant.  “But until then, I’d like to work where I could do the most good.” He held out a hand. “As the partner of the best agent the VSU’s got.”

The captain snorted quietly, but I ignored him. Instead, I studied the hand in front of me, thinking back to a time he had made a similar gesture in this office and had been ignored.

I had grown up learning to never trust anyone, especially heroes.

But looking at the idiot who risked his life just to get an antidote for me, I thought that I might be ready for something new.

I might be ready to have someone watching my back.

I reached out, and took his hand, shaking it firmly. Henry’s face lit up with a bright happy smile.

“Let’s do it.”

“Good. Now sit down!” The captain yelled, obviously uncomfortable with the emotion in the room. “I have your next assignment, and I would appreciate it if you could do it without remodeling the villain lair using the unconscious bodies of the henchmen like last time… not that I’m naming names… Erica.”

Laughing, we took down the information, and headed out of the VSU headquarters, walking side by side.

Teammates.

Partners.

Family. 

[mvssmallow]

Cloudy With A Chance

Chapter 30 Part IV: …of bloodlines.

Masterlist

Soundtrack for this chapter: The Luckiest 

Barely two weeks into the new year and he’s almost over it already. His dad makes it out of the ICU but then spends another week in rehab because of the residual numbness in his hand and big holes in his memory from the brain hypoxia. There were moderate changes to his dad’s personality too, it waxes and wanes depending on the day but at least that unpredictability is something they were all used to.

Hanbyul deals with everything better than expected. She was scared of the IV lines and cardiac monitors for the first few days but by the end of the week, she’d taken to hospital life like a duck to water. It was unexpected but he’s relieved, feeling maybe slightly guilty for ever underestimating her resilience.

He deals with things as best as he can: with fake resolve on the surface but anxiety deep down in his gut. His mom carries on with quiet eloquence and a bulletproof grace that he just didn’t inherit.

They stop allowing Jiwon to come, despite his protests, because the BeatBox schedules started early and even though it was only preliminary meetings to discuss concepts and finalise the recording team, he didn’t want Jiwon to miss any of it. Jiwon’s life had to move forward. One of them had to have the better future. They had fought over it but eventually, Jiwon surrendered when he realised that maybe this wasn’t the best time for Hanbyul to meet a strange new face.

And really.

It’s fine.

It’s okay.

He waits for the World to come crashing down again but it doesn’t.

Things settle down.

They get into a routine.

They wake up, pick a cereal, he nags Jiwon to add fruit, Jiwon nags him to eat more, they call a truce and leave separately, only reuniting again at the end of the day for a late supper unless he’s having it with his family or Jiwon has a dinner meeting with BeatBox.

But it’s good.

It’s good.

He’s thankful his dad survived with only a few residual deficits. He’s grateful there’s still a chance to prove himself, to fix the family, to show his parents that Jiwon’s existence doesn’t mean the end of any dreams they had for him. Yeah, there’s nothing like the threat of death to help you sort out your priorities. When you almost died, surely having a gay son is now the Second Worst Thing in the world. Surely.

“When are you back at work?” His dad’s question cuts through his inner thoughts.

“Oh, um next week.”

“Why do you insist on doing that job Hanbin? At least negotiate a raise. You’ve been there for years.”

It’s a Thursday. His old dad was back. But this time, instead of arguing and defending himself, he finds he can’t exactly disagree.

“Maybe I will, I’ll think about when I get back.”

“Good.”

The answer seems to satisfy his dad for now. It’s weird not to argue, like hearing a new language or eating something you’ve never tried before. This must be what it’s like to have a normal conversation with your parents. If only it was always like this.

“What did you get up to on your break from work? Don’t tell me you’ve been here the whole time?”

He shakes his head even though it’s the truth. “We did a few things but we just like staying home mostly.”

It’s only after the words leave his mouth that he realises his mistake.

We.

Not I.

Or she.

Or me.

We.

Post stroke or not, his dad doesn’t miss it.

“We? Who is this we?” The question is directed at him but his dad turns to his mom, confused. “Do you know anything about this? Did he get engaged while I’ve been under? Or is this another hole in my memory?”

“I’m not engaged dad.” He says with a weary sigh because some things never change.

“Oh. So who is this We you’re talking about? Not Hyungwon’s daughter is it? She seems a little bit bland for you Hanbin. Bit low on the IQ front.”

The irony of their conversation makes him want to laugh out loud. “No, dad. It’s not Eunji. She’s nice though. I thought you liked her.”

“I said nothing of the sort.” His dad sniffs. “So who is it? What’s her name?”

He looks cautiously at his mother but all she does is give him a small shrug, neither of them knowing how to broach the topic at a time like this.

“Um, it’s Jiwon. Kim Jiwon.”

He gets the name out. Then holds his breath.

His dad looks squarely into his eyes, intense as he is during a board meeting or the business end of a long scolding session. For a few seconds he thinks that this might be it, this might be the time that his dad remembers who Kim Jiwon might be…

…but he doesn’t.

“Kim Jiwon? Oh. Like that actress your mother likes. What show was it…..we watched it but I can’t remember it now. What was it again?” His dad asks, face grimacing in frustration when he can’t find the memory he is searching for.

The doctors had told them to let his dad try to remember things on his own but that’s easier said than done, the reality of it is watching a brilliant mind fighting itself because there are so many holes in its memory. They let it go for too long today and his dad is already sitting forward in bed, distressed by something that seems so trivial.

“What’s that show? You’ve both watched it! What is it? What is it?!! What’s the show?! You watched it!”

His mom places a tentative hand on his dad’s shoulder, alleviating some of the distress but not the deep frustrated frown.

“Yes, I watched it.” His mom says patiently and gently. “It was Descendants of the Sun.”

“Oh! Descendants of the Sun!” His dad says victoriously, relief spreading on his face as the tension leaves his shoulders is one fast swoop. “Has she come to visit here?”

“The actress?”

“No, silly boy. Not that Kim Jiwon, your Kim Jiwon.”

Your Kim Jiwon.

It’s only a small thing, and he knows it’s because his dad’s personality and mind are both a little erratic right now, but it makes him smile anyway.

“No, Jiwon hasn’t come to visit you yet. We weren’t sure if you’d be okay with it.”

“What does she do?”

“Jiwon….is a musician.” He replies, trying to keep his panicked nausea at bay.

“A musician? Still committed to those starving artist types are you?” His dad asks with a resigned sigh. “Maybe your mother and I should set you-”

“No, dad. Not again! Those don’t work. They think I’m too weird.”

“Weird? Who said that? Which ones?”

And so it goes, back and forth, for days on end. Some days his dad remembers Jiwon and some days he doesn’t. Some days he is questioned about his orientation, some days he isn’t. It’s all over the place.

Some days they talk business and his mom has to repeat her speech about how a deputy manager has been assigned to his dad’s position now but the company are prepared to accept him back once he’s well. It won’t be the same job anymore though. He still remembers the first time they had to break the bad news; his dad took it badly, lashing out, ranting furiously, wanting to make bitter phone calls “to those ungrateful bastards” but after awhile, a long long while, anger eventually gave way to a reluctant kind of acceptance.

It happened sooner than he expected. His old dad, pre-heart attack, would’ve made those bitter phone calls and threatening demands. His new dad, post-heart attack, was a walking contradiction: less angry but also more blunt. Complete acceptance of the whole situation hasn’t happened yet but progress is progress and they’ll take any small victory at this point.

Maybe there’s a special place in hell for him for thinking this way; as if he’s happy that his dad suffered a major neurological event that changed some aspects of his personality. His dad was the same but different. They all had to show more patience but somehow, everything was also a whole lot easier to deal with.

The last few weeks is the most time he’s spent with his family, especially his dad, for years. It’s the most they’ve talked without arguing. In the worst of settings, it’s the happiest he’s seen his sister in a long time and he knows that’s because they’ve haven’t really been a family like this since he moved out of home.

So yeah, he’s probably going to hell and satan will ask him why he’s okay with the fact that his dad suffered two major health events on the same day. He’s going to hell and he’ll just reply that there’s a price to pay for everything. This was the Universes way of recalibrating their family and of forcibly stopping his dad from killing himself due to overworking and bad dieting. It’s the Universe’s way of forcing the entire family to glue itself together again.

Ahh yeah, nothing like the threat of death to sort out your priorities.

He’ll go to hell for this and he doesn’t care. It might be worth it. If the entire family is happier, was it really all a bad thing?

“You’re in a good mood today, things going pretty well with your dad huh?” Jiwon asks later in bed. It’s nearly midnight, he stayed up answering work emails as Jiwon abandoned his BeatBox homework to read the rest of Life of Pi.

“Yeah, they’re alright. He’s better and the physio was happy with him this afternoon. He’s got a bit of minor weakness in a few fingers but it’s nothing he can’t deal with.”

“Oh, good. That’s good.” Jiwon says with a grin. “What about…”

“His head?”

“Yeah.”

He sends the last email to Donghyuk then slides his laptop onto the bedside table to shut down.

“Well. He’s a little erratic, some days he’s the same dad I had growing up, some days his behaviour is completely different. There are huge holes in his memory but sometimes he can remember ridiculous details about the most specific things. He doesn’t remember you but he’s remembering your name now.”

“My name?”

“Yeah, Kim Jiwon from Descendants of the Sun.” He replies with a sheepish smile that slowly fades into a frown. “I….I didn’t tell him you were a guy. I didn’t know how to and I didn’t know if it’d set him off, so-”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Well, it’s not really.” He says with a sigh. “I told myself that the whole near-death thing was a wake-up call. That I should stop being so scared of him but he’s just gone through rehab, so now I don’t know if it’s selfish or-”

“It’s not. You dating a dude is not exactly gonna help his recovery. He literally just got over his heart attack.”

“Yeah I know but it’s like I keep waiting to introduce you to him and it never happens.”

Jiwon pats his leg under the blanket, eyes already back on the book. “It’ll happen when it happens. Don’t worry so much about that.”

He flops down on his pillow in a frustrated and dramatic huff. The sudden puff of air ruffling Jiwon’s hair and a few pages on Life of Pi.

“Why are you so chill about this? Doesn’t it bother you that my dad still doesn’t really know you?”

Jiwon sighs, dog-ears the page he’s reading then drops the book onto their bedside table. That’s his chance to snuggle right up against one of those hard muscled arms, hiding his face in the sleeve of Jiwon’s t-shirt until some firm fingers coaxes his jaw away.

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m fine with it. Don’t worry about us, worry about your dad. We’ll meet when the time is right.”

The fingers against his jaw slacken and move up his cheek in a soft gentle caress. Sometimes Jiwon’s sweet, rational pragmatism infuriates him, it’s in a good way but it’s still infuriating.

He pushes the hand away and buries his face back against Jiwon’s arm. “You’re supposed to be irrational with me! How am I supposed to be pissed off when you’re being all nice and chill? It’s annoying.”

Jiwon rolls his eyes. “Oh you want me to be irrational with you? Okay, how’s this: I can’t believe I still haven’t met your dad! I can’t believe he hates me! I can’t believe he hates the gays. How will we move on from this? I guess we’ll just pretend I’m a girl forever and be miserable until we die.”

He kicks at Jiwon’s ankles but he’s laughing too. “Don’t make fun of my problems!”

“You’re laughing!”

“I’m not!” He giggles.

“Come here, loser.” Jiwon says, enveloping him so completely and securely in those strong arms that it feels like the World will never touch him. “You’re a big ridiculous baby with big ridiculous problems.”

There’s a wet kiss on his cheek that makes him squirm.

“You are the most pessimistic person I know. You didn’t think we’d work out and we did. You thought your mom would hate me and she doesn’t. You thought your dad wouldn’t make it and he did.”

“What’s your point?”

Jiwon kisses his other cheek. “My point is that whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. I mean, if nothing else works out, what we got so far is pretty good don’t you think?”

He looks up at the earnest face above him. There are replies that float around his mind and his mouth opens and closes so many times that Jiwon gives him a curious look. In the end, he just hooks a finger into the collar of Jiwon’s t-shirt and tugs it downwards so their lips are just touching.

“Yeah, this is pretty good.”

****

“I just realised something else.” Hanbin says at breakfast the next day.

“What?”

“You still haven’t met Hanbyul either.”

“There’s plenty of time for that, let your old man settle at home first.” He says, going back to his berry waffles.

“Maybe we should have a dinner and you can meet them both at the same-”

“No.”

“Why not!” Hanbin cries indignantly.

He doesn’t like to do it a lot but sometimes he just has to put his foot down.

“Hanbin. Baby. I love you. I do. But I’m not meeting them when your dad has barely gotten out of hospital. It’s too much and too soon. You know it. This should be a time for you and your family.”

“Not 3 months ago and you said that you were my family so-”

He gives Hanbin a withering look. “Are you really calling me out on a technicality? Really?”

Hanbin has the decency to hide sheepishly behind his morning cup of tea. “I’m just saying that I don’t want to waste any more time. Who knows how long we’ve got with him. Did you know the that chances of having another heart attack is-”

“Not this again. It’s too early for this.” He groans, looking at the clock on the wall and getting up to wash their plates and mug. He doesn’t exactly respond to Hanbin’s morning rants, because it’s almost identical to the one yesterday and the one last week, but he knows not to interrupt either.

Hanbin follows him from room to room and they fall into a rhythm getting ready beside each other.

“Maybe we can take Hanbyul out for lunch or something. So she’s not around my parents when she meets you. She’ll probably act more like herself without them hovering.” Hanbin muses at the sink as they brush their teeth.

“Uh-huh.” He responds casually, sometimes it’s just easier to agree and let Hanbin talk it all out. He read that in a book once.

“It’ll be good for her to do something besides being in the hospital.”

“Yeah.”

“And maybe when dad’s better, you can come over. Then at least we’ll know if he likes you or not.”

“Sure thing.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

He laughs and ruffles Hanbin’s hair on the way out of the bathroom. “Always.”

They kiss at the front door and he’s glad that the ribs under his fingers don’t stick out as much as they did before and the bony hips are a little less bony now.

“He’s coming home today so I’ll be having dinner at the house again.” Hanbin says when they pull away. “What time do you think you’ll be done tonight?”

He adjusts the zipper on his jacket and shrugs. “It’s another long ass meeting about my demos so it might run late. I’ll get dinner with the team, don’t worry about it.”

“One day, we should actually have dinner with each other. Last time I checked, you were still my boyfriend.” Hanbin says, fixing the collar of his jacket with a soft dimple smile. That one gets him every single time.

“Whatever you want baby.” He smiles, leaning in for another kiss that they definitely don’t have time for. It’s always like this, he knows. He gets into certain moods where he can’t let Hanbin go.

“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

“No.” He replies right into Hanbin’s mouth.

There’s a laugh right back into his and then it’s followed by a soft push against his chest. “Go to work. I’ll see you tonight.”

“But I could just see you right now.” He murmurs against Hanbin’s ear and can feel the way the smaller body shivers against him. It’s not so one-sided after all.

“Okay, no!” Hanbin replies in exasperation. “We really don’t have time for that.”

He’s not proud to say that he might have pouted and whined like a kicked puppy but it’s been so long since they’ve done anything remotely nasty and he’s been so patient. He wonders if his wounded puppy look still works on Hanbin but as soon as he turns it on, there’s a hand pushing his face away.

“Don’t even try it! You are not screwing up your career again because you want to get laid.”

“My career will be fine.” He says, dragging Hanbin’s body even closer. “It can wait.”

Hanbin grabs his wrist and holds up the Winnie The Pooh watch. “No it can’t. Winnie says it’s 5 past 8. You have to drive through peak hour traffic.”

He groans dramatically in frustration because it always seems to make Hanbin laugh. “Fine! Fine! I’ll go to my meeting but I just want you to know that I’ll probably be hard and thinking about your mouth-”

“Oh my god! Get out!” Hanbin screeches and laughs at the same time. “Get out of here!”

He doesn’t actually make it that far outside the door before a hand grabs his jacket and pulls him back with surprising strength. Before he can think, Hanbin’s mouth is on him again. It’s not really a kiss, it’s more like a punch in the face; deep, insistent, hard and fast. It’s the kind of kiss that knocks the air out of him. It’s the kind of kiss where he can taste everything Hanbin wants to say.

Listen to yourself, you’re a godamm poet at 8 in the morning.

When Hanbin lets him go, they’re both a little breathless and pink in the face.

“Have a good day at work?” Hanbin says, voice quieter and a little shy all the sudden. It’s something he’ll never understand; how Hanbin can go from this sweet awkward guy to a hungry animal. It gives him whiplash every time.

“Yeah, I will. You have a good day too okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye loser.”

“Bye Bambi.”

There’s a bright laugh and two deep dimples on Hanbin’s face.

He’s lucky. He knows he is. Even if nothing else works out, this is enough. More than enough. It was enough from the day they got together. It’s these kinds of thoughts that always gets him out of bed in the morning when he really doesn’t want to. And it’s these kinds of thoughts that makes him want to succeed and work hard at his new career. It’s these kinds of thoughts that makes him want to be a better person.

“So. The team likes the Trap-Rap from the demo tape.” Tablo says as soon as the BeatBox meeting starts. “It’s a bit rough and raw but it’s different. The backing needs some work but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. I’ve got some ideas on how to clean it up.”

Jin is sitting beside him, sipping on his coffee and watching everything with eagle-eye vigilance. He used to find it so off-putting and claustrophobic but now, after a Japan trip and countless meetings, he barely notices it. Jin might be the world’s smallest bulldog but man, he’s grateful the bulldog is in his corner.

“The Bonnie and Clyde revision is what management want you to release first, it’s more typical and radio friendly so it’ll be easier to promote. Needs some work with the verses though and we need to rethink some of the lyrics.”

“Okay.” He nods, even though he’s always been proud of those verses and getting him to change the lyrics will probably end up in an argument. He wrote some of those lyrics for Hanbin, BeatBox can change the lyrics over his dead body.  

“As for the Beethoven,” Tablo starts ominously, “We’re not really sure what to do with that one. Personally, I like it. I think it has a lot of potential and the sampling and looping is refreshing and different. Management think it’s a bit of a gamble. I know it’s something of a love song, maybe we can make it a B side or something to rework and release later once you get some traction in the industry.”

He opens his mouth to ask a question, but then realising how rude it must sound, closes it quickly again. Jin raises an eyebrow. That guy never misses anything.

“What it is?”

“Nothing….it’s just that, well. I don’t mean to offend anyone but if BeatBox is an independent label then why are the releases controlled by GlobalKore’s management?”

Tablo sighs and Jin closes his eyes briefly before answering. “Because you’re still a rookie. GlobalKore controls all new releases but as long as we can demonstrate that we’re making feasible business decisions with our artists after debut they’ll get off our backs about the creative side of things.”

Feasible business decisions?

Those words have no place in music at all but at the same time he tells himself to stop being so naive. Of course it has its place. Music is a business. He is in the music business. And it’s all a necessary evil. You need both aspects to survive, as much as he’d like see it differently. His first advance paycheck won’t be for another fortnight but that money has to come from somewhere and he needs to be smart about what he says or else he’s gonna lose more than just one paycheck. There’s a game to play. That’s what Hanbin had said so it’s probably the right thing to do.

“Well, I’d rather save Beethoven till later. Till the album.” He says, voice uneven because he has no idea how decisions like these really get made and if he has any say in it at all. “I think I kinda agree about Bonnie and Clyde. That’s my most developed track and the easiest to perform live. So yeah, I don’t really have a problem with that being the first release.”

He feels completely out of his depth, not knowing if he should be this frank or not. God, where was Hanbin when you needed him.

“Excellent!” Tablo exclaims suddenly, reaching over to thump his back heartily a few times. “Glad we don’t have to spend the next 2 hours convincing you of the game plan. So we’ll go ahead with Bonnie and Clyde as the title track and the Trap-Rap as a B side. Save Beethoven and the rest for the album. Doc McKinney won’t be free until the later half of the year anyhow.”

He nods. Jin nods.

That’s good, right?

That everyone agrees?

Is everyone supposed to agree? Is it supposed to be this straight forward?

Jin must sense his unease and reaches over to tell him that he can speak up at any time because BeatBox “aren’t really in the business of keeping unhappy artists on their roster.”

He takes the advice, chiming in whenever he can but holding back that 1% that might get him fired. The rest of the meeting isn’t as difficult now that they’ve made clear decisions on what they’re all doing. They begin to discuss aspects of the song, what to change, what to keep. They like some of the lyrics but not everything. He asks them if he can look at it again and “revise” the rhymes. There will have to be a compromise, he can see it coming, but he doesn’t really want to argue about it today. Not when everything was going so well.

The rest of the day is spent going through his proposed schedule for the year. It’s long, tedious and incredibly boring. They barely need his input but as Jin puts it sympathetically, “legally you have to sit there and agree to it.”

It’s past 8pm by the time they wrap up another day, this time with pizza because they all suddenly had a hankering for cheese. There’s only one item left on the agenda: contract negotiations. He saw it written there and wondered why there needed to be negotiations at all. Hanbin had read and gone through the requests already. The contract had already been signed.

He swallows the lump in his throat as Jin opens his mouth to speak.  

“One last thing Jiwon, GlobalKore decided to revise your contract. There are minor changes to the terms and touring obligations. I marked out the changes but I suggest you take the time to go through it all just to be sure.”

There are yellow Post-It notes sticking out of the familiar looking contract document. He tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut but what if they make him tour forever after all? Maybe 7 months ago it would’ve sounded like the dream job but well, his life is different now and he needs to think about that.

“Don’t look so pale Jiwon.” Jin says reassuringly. “It’s nothing you can’t handle. Go through it with someone, a lawyer if you need to, and we’ll talk more next Tuesday. I want you to be happy about it. Nobody puts in their best work under duress.”

He trusts Jin to manage him but BeatBox is still part to GlobalKore and at the end of the day, Jin still works for them. The financial backing and power of GlobalKore can’t be denied. The creative meddling and scheduling conflicts are slightly harder to get used to.

He comes home to an empty apartment, knowing that Hanbin will probably stay late to help settle his dad back home. The revised contract feels heavy in his hands, maybe heavier than it did before, but he knows that’s just some crazy psychology messing with his head.

There are proposed changes to the touring section. He will be expected to participate in group tours as part of promotions. It’s just around South Korea so that’s not so bad. There are some changes to his album cuts and the percentages he’ll take. Those revisions are a little harder to make sense of so he’ll have to go through it all with Hanbin at some point this weekend.

He spends the rest of the night going through the Bonnie and Clyde rap lyrics, giving up some time after 10pm because no, he doesn’t want to change anything at all. Why do compromises have to come from him and not Management?

Hanbin comes home just before 10:30pm, looking exhausted but smiling. That’s always a good sign.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Hanbin flops down next to him on the couch and snuggles against his arm. “Good day?”

“Yeah, pretty good.” He replies, cradling Hanbin’s head so he can place a kiss against his temple. “Gonna start recording soon.”

“Really? Already?”

“Yeah, they got this crazy schedule planned and they want to get the music recorded early.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess.” Hanbin muses, before sitting upright again, lines of concern on his face now. “It’s so weird that it’s starting so soon.”

“I know.”

He can feel it, the beginnings of Hanbin’s anxieties rolling in like a storm in the distance. But he knows how to handle these things by now. He read about that in a book too.

“So hey, how was your day? Your dad settle at home okay?”

There’s subtle waves of worry on Hanbin’s face but at the change in topic, they’re abruptly diverted and transform into a hopeful smile. It’ll only be a temporary fix, he knows this, but temporary fixes get them through the day.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. He’s doing fine. Complained a lot about the fact we’ve only got salt-reduced soy sauce in the house and substitute butter. I just hope he doesn’t drive mom and Hanbyul crazy.”

“Salt-reduced soy sauce is not real soy sauce and fake butter sounds nasty.”

Hanbin turns to him with a look of betrayal. “Don’t you start with that! Whose side are you on? You sound just like him.”

“I do not.”

“You do!”

“Whatever.”

“Anyways, he asked about you today. Well, the girl Kim Jiwon he thinks I’m dating.” Hanbin says with a weary sigh. “I haven’t told him yet and now it’s too late to correct him and I knew I should’ve just done it the first time he got it wrong.”

“Well, it’s not like you lied.” He points out, trying to be helpful. “You just didn’t correct him. Maybe I don’t like pronouns? You never know.”

Hanbin shoots him the same withering look that he remembers giving this morning. “If I’m not allowed to catch you out on a technicality then you can’t use that either.”

“It’s all gonna turn out fine.” He declares.

“You always just say that.” Hanbin grumbles. “Do you even believe it?”

“One of us should.” He stands up and hold his hand out. “So are you gonna mope out here or come shower with me?”

Hanbin’s misery fades at the suggestion, a small smirk taking it’s place and eventually he lets himself be lead to the bathroom. “Are we saving water again?”

“Yep.”

“You just like the economics of it right?”

He laughs, spinning Hanbin around to pin him against the wall. “Yeah I love the economics of saving water. The hot wet naked guy is okay too I guess.”

“Oh really? Just okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, I wouldn’t write a song for him or anything but he’s alright.”

Hanbin leans forward to kiss him. “But you did write a song for me.”

“Yeah I did and they’re gonna release it one day.”

Hanbin’s eyes widen like well, like Bambi in headlights. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” He kisses the prominent nose in front of him, then each dimpled cheek. Bambi is still there when he looks up again. “Why are you so shocked? What do you think I write about? Cars, money and girls?”

“And getting gold teeth.”

“And you.”

“You need more hobbies.” Hanbin says gravely.

It always makes him laugh, the way their weird conversations go but he doesn’t mind being the punchline if it means his neurotically anxious boyfriend gets through the day in one piece.

“Come on.” He says, letting go to Hanbin’s wrists. “Shower time. Then sleep. I’m so fucking tired.”

Hanbin eyes the Winnie The Pooh watch on his wrist before taking it off. “Winnie says it’s 1050 pm. You’re officially geriatric if you’re ready for bed now.”

“We’ve been up since 7am. I don’t care what you wanna call me. Sleep is more important than life right now.” He says, leaning into the shower to turn on the water. “Sleep is more important that you right now. Don’t mess with my sleep.”

He moves to take off his shirt and jeans and by the time he turns back, Hanbin is already shouldering past him into the shower. It’s a little cold but he finds himself just standing there watching the warm streams of water run down Hanbin’s skin, from his long neck down past the Pi tattoo on his chest and over all the ridges of his ribs.

Yep, saving water is the best idea he’s had all day.

“Stop staring like a creep and get in here.”

When he says this is the best idea, he really means that it’s the worst idea. Maybe they take turns washing their hair and rinsing out the conditioner but when it comes time for the rest of it, he realises that they’re not going to be saving water at all.  

He scrubs Hanbin’s back, listening to the soft satisfied noises and trying not to let it get to him. No such luck because he’s got a primitive brain when he’s tired. All the noises get to him. In one specific place.

“Here, turn around. I’ll do your back.” Hanbin says.

Firm fingers knead the tension out of his muscles and fuck, it feels so amazing. Why don’t they do this every night? They’ve wasted so many showers not doing this.

“You are so good at that.” He murmurs, mostly to himself but Hanbin hears it in the small confines of their bathroom. “That’s so nice.”

“Better than sleep?”

“Nothing’s better than sleep.” He replies, just to be annoying.

The hands on shoulders slide down the front of his chest, not stopping until they rest on the lowest groove of his hip. He’s already half hard from all the noises Hanbin was making before but by the time those fingers curl around him, he just gives up trying to restrain himself.

“What about this?” Hanbin says softly into his ear. “Is this better than sleep?”

“Mhhhhhmmm, maybe…”He replies, already leaning back into the body behind him and just wanting to focus on how Hanbin’s fingers glide slowly up and down the length of his cock.

It’s too slow and too perfect, slightly tighter grip than usual, which is how he likes it. He wants Hanbin to go faster but at the same time, he doesn’t want it to end.

“Wait, wait…I wanna see you.” He gasps, turning around and wasting no time connecting their mouths in a rush of heat, spit and water. Hanbin whines against him, tongue sliding so heavily against his that a growl escapes from somewhere deep in his throat. There’s a surprised gasp when he takes Hanbin into his hand and starts stroking at the same time.

“Cum with me, I want to hear you.” He says against Hanbin’s swollen lips.

The slick and wet sounds echoes even louder in their bathroom and soon there are no words, just water hitting the tiles, skin on skin and desperate whimpers next to his own heavy breathing.

Hanbin cums first, all long drawn out moans and teeth digging into his bottom lip. He loves that sounds, it goes straight to this cock and a few seconds later, he spills over Hanbin’s fingers with a blissful laugh.

“Ah, fuck.”

It’s silent after that, just breathing and water again. He presses tiny kisses against a wet shoulder and waits for them both to come down from the high.

“You know this was a total waste of water right?” Hanbin says eventually, now leaning heavily against his body like a dead weight.

“Worth it.” He shrugs, feeling lethargic and floaty at the same time.

Hanbin hums some kind of sleepy response and yawns. “I’m tired.”

“Me too. Waters getting cold. Let’s get you outta here and into bed.” He nudges at the body slumped all over him and it takes about three attempts before Hanbin grumbles, rinses the mess off and makes his way out of the shower.

They dry off quickly and don’t bother to get dressed before crashing into bed. He’s two seconds from falling asleep when Hanbin reaches over and touches his arm.

“You’re right though, sleep is more important than everything.”

He chuckles into the pillow. “Night, Bambi.”

“Night, Loser.”

****

It’s a Saturday the next day. Thank God.

There’s a chill beyond the sheets but underneath it he’s warm, toasty and never wants to leave. It takes him a few moments to realise that: he’s awake, it’s probably early and his phone is buzzing at him. The panic kicks in a few seconds later.

“Mom? What is it? Is something wrong?”

Jiwon shifts beside him, waking up at the worried tone in his voice.

“No, no. Everything’s fine.” She reassures him. “Sorry that I woke you so early but can you pick Hanbyul up from her classes this afternoon? My car is still getting serviced and dad’s car suddenly decided not to start this morning. Mrs Lee next door was kind enough to drive her there.”

He breathes out the anxiety.

“Yeah yeah, I can pick her up.” He replies, rubbing Jiwon’s arm softly to let him know everything’s okay and to go back to sleep. “You could’ve called me earlier. I could’ve taken her this morning.”

“We were already late. She went with the Lee kids, you remember them? The really noisy ones who do taekwondo.” His mom says with a chuckle. It’s good to hear her laugh now and he tries not to think of how long it’s been.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen them for awhile.” He smiles into the phone. He hated those kids growing up, they were always so loud with their backyard basketball and soccer games. He’s not exactly proud to admit that he refused to return one of their balls that flew over the fence but in his defence, he was 14 and trying to study for a science test dammit.

It’s good that Hanbyul has kids her own age to hang out with in the neighbourhood though. And he never actually failed a single test at school so those Lee kids can be forgiven.

“It’s only temporary. The garage says it won’t take more than 2 days.”

“Wait, so you have no car right now? What happened to dad’s? Why didn’t Lexus give you a rental?

“I didn’t take it though because we had your father’s car. I have no idea why it didn’t start this morning. I’m waiting for the weekend mechanics to open so they can take a look at it.”

“Well, you need to have a car, just in case something happens. Do you want to just take mine?”

“What are you going to drive?”

“We’ve got Jiwon’s car. It’s fine.”

He misses his mom’s replies because there’s a persistent tap against his arm. Jiwon looks at him blearily, not fully asleep but not fully awake either.

“Does she want me to come look at it?”

“What?”

“They got a car that’s not working? Want me to look at it?”

He can hear his mom saying his name through the phone.

“No mom, I’m still here. Sorry. Um….Jiwon wants to know if you want him to come over to look at dad’s car? Figure out what’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, that’s right. He was a mechanic in a previous life wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. So do you want him to? I mean, we don’t have to say anything to dad if you think it’s too soon…” He trails off, feeling guilty Jiwon has to hear that when he just offered to help his parents out.

“Well, it would be helpful, as long as it won’t inconvenience him?”

“It’s fine mom. We’ll come over after breakfast?”

“Alright. I’ll prepare you father.” His mom chuckles again, the nerves can be heard in her voice but well, if they’re all going to finally meet, it’s a good thing that she’s already half on Jiwon’s side. “See you soon.”

“Okay, bye.”

He drops his phone back on the bedside table and sighs into the pillow.

“So, we going over there?” Jiwon asks, voice still rough from sleep.

“Yes.” He mumbles into the sheets. “Do you feel like meeting my dad today?”

“Sure, why not.” Jiwon replies with faux over-enthusiasm. “I’ll fix his car and he’ll tell me to fix the gay and leave you the hell alone”

He looks over but Jiwon isn’t angry. He’s smiling dopily, still not fully awake yet. Some higher being put this guy on the Earth just for him. He knows it. People like this don’t exist in real life.

“What if he does though? What if he remembers everything about my fight with him? What if he still hates that I’m gay? What if-”

“Are you planning on breaking up with me?” Jiwon interrupts.

“What? No?”

“Good. Then don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with it like we deal with everything else, I guess.” Jiwon replies with a yawn, eyes already closing again. “Can I sleep for 5 more minutes though?”

I love you.

I love you and that’s all.

He leans down to press a kiss against Jiwon’s cheek. “Yeah, I’ll wake you up in half an hour.”

****

He doesn’t breathe the whole time they’re at his parent’s house.

His dad’s memory might be glitchy but his brain was functioning as usual.

It was fine at first; they pull up, his mom handed over the car keys and they leave Jiwon to try and work out what was wrong with his dad’s C200. It’s nice watching Jiwon work again, not just with music and lyrics but physically and with his hands. A small part of him misses the time when they were just writer-Hanbin and mechanic-Jiwon, that’s the first Jiwon he fell in love with and no matter where Jiwon ends up, nothing will ever change that fact.

His dad shuffles out after awhile wearing his thick dressing gown even though there’s only a slight breeze, it’s no doubt enforced by the vigilant woman beside him.

His heart is in his throat as he watches the two men talk to each other.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, good…good morning Mr Kim, sir.” Jiwon stutters, nervously bowing too many times for good measure.

“You’re the mechanic?”

“Um, yes sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jiwon.”

“Alright, so Jiwon, what do you think is wrong with it today?”

There’s no recognition in his dad’s face but then again, why would there be? He’s never met Jiwon. The only thing that might trigger anything is the name but there’s not much of a reaction after that either. He can see Jiwon trying to school his nervous face and can only shrug helplessly whenever those eyes flick his way. What can he even do anyway? Anything he says will make it worse.

But he underestimates Jiwon’s abilities.

He overhypes him and underestimates him at the same time.

“Well, um. I think it’s just a dead battery because one of your doors doesn’t lock properly anymore. I’ve seen it happen with similar models before.” Jiwon says, voice more confident when he can talk about something he’s well versed in. “The central locking doesn’t work on the passenger side door so it’s sending out alerts on your dashboard and that really draining your battery every time.”

“Oh.” His dad nods, clearly expecting something more convoluted and harder to understand. “Can you fix it?”

Jiwon wipes his hands on his jeans and nods. “I can recharge your battery now but the central locking is going to take a few hours. I don’t have all the right equipment with me today if you want a full check up, it’ll be better to take your car to the garage for that.”

And then.

Weirdly enough.

That’s that.

There’s some hesitation but eventually, Jiwon rolls up his sleeves (revealing all the tattoos with it) and recharges the battery. Then he’s kneeling somewhere under the steering wheel to poke at some wiring, hair a bit of a mess, face dead serious in concentration and teeth biting that pouty bottom lip.

There he is. The teenage dream.

Mechanic-Jiwon is everything he’s ever had a crush on, past, present and probably future.

There’s a tug on his sleeve which drags him back to reality, it’s his mom’s subtle way of trying to lead him inside the house but there’s no way he’s leaving Jiwon and his dad out here unsupervised. She sighs and lets him be.

It’s surreal watching the scene in front of him: both of the men in his life are now standing in front of the car, the hood is propped open and for whatever reason, his dad is asking Jiwon so many questions about oil changes, unleaded petrol and grit in the carburettors. He has no idea what any of it means but at least Jiwon does. Thank God he does.

“No Mr Kim. Spending the extra money on that isn’t worth it. Personally, I think you’re just paying for a brand name with no added benefits. My garage used to fit the generic brands and they’re still holding on after 3-4 years. The engine is where your money should be going if you want longevity and performance.”

“I knew it! We’ve been swindled for years!” His dad mutters bitterly, looking every bit like a cartoon in his bright orange dressing gown.

His mom comes back out and rolls her eyes when she notices that he hasn’t moved from the position she left him in before. “Come help me with the morning snacks, Hanbin. You can leave them for five minutes.”

“No, I really can’t.”

“Darling, you’re going to have to trust him at some point.”

“It’s not Jiwon I can’t trust. It’s dad.”

“Hanbin.”

It’s that stern Mom-Voice. He hates that voice. It almost always works. Dammit.

“Alright alright….” He grumbles, rising from the planter box and following his mom back inside the house. He looks over his shoulder, Jiwon has a smear of grease across his check and his dad still looks ridiculous in his orange dressing gown. But they’re not arguing, so there’s that.

There’s coffee to prepare, some fresh fruit and a yellow cake he’s never seen his mom make before.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a semolina cake. The nurses gave me the recipe. It’s a little healthier than regular cake but it’s still a cake so your father will hopefully complain less.”

“Is he allowed to drink coffee?”

“It’s decaf.”

He laughs. “He’s going to hate the next few months isn’t he?”

His mom purses her lips, clearly in restraint. “He will just have to deal with it won’t he? He’s had his chance. Now he eats healthy and he’ll learn that fruit won’t kill him.”

He doesn’t believe it but if there’s anyone who can sort out his dad, it’s her.

There’s a comfortable silence as they gather the plates and cups but he notices his mom is watching him closely out the corner of her eyes.

“What?”

“He’s….a nice boy. I’m not sure about those tattoos though.”

Warmth explodes inside his chest, it’s followed quickly by the feeling of overwhelming pride and then, finally, relief. Long overdue relief. The smile on his mom’s face might be a little strained but it’s a smile and it’s a compliment and at the end of the day, those are the facts. He knew she tolerated Jiwon but he never expected her to like him, not for a long time anyway.

“He must really care about you to do this.” His mom says with a serious but soft expression.

“Do what?”

“Meet your father unprepared.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, Mom.” He replies, not missing the irony of his statement at all.

“You know what your father is like. He wants facts and honesty and 10 year management plans. He’ll see through anyone remotely fake.”

He frowns deeply and stares at the floor. “I don’t think he realises who Jiwon is yet.”

“Oh, you didn’t introduce them?”

“No, I didn’t have the chance.”

That’s a lie. He did but he paused for so long that his dad just shuffled past and ignored the silence.

“I don’t even know what to say.” He mutters miserably. “I can’t just drop the bomb on him now. What if he gets another heart attack?”

“Oh rubbish!” His mom scoffs daintily. “There’s no need to treat him with kid gloves Hanbin. You keep forgetting who he is and what he’s been through in his business life. He might not remember all of it but he’s dealt with much worse than all this.”

He blinks at his mom, finding it surreal that they were even having this conversation at all. He never thought he’d get here. Ever.

“So. Do you think I should tell him? About me and Jiwon?”

“I can’t make that decision for you.” His mom replies. “But I might suggest that you just let it happen naturally. If it comes out in conversation then so be it. He’ll come to whichever conclusion he will. Some things are out of your hands and you’ve got to learn to deal with it”

He sighs and stares even harder at the floor.

“Oh, don’t look so pale. Have faith in him, Hanbin. In them.” His mom squeezes his shoulder before picking up a tray and motioning him to do the same. “Come on, it’s time to give Jiwon a break now.”

It’s weird. Strange. Bizaare. Completely uncomfortable. One minute they’re pouring decaf coffee and the next, he realises that they’re all sitting around the planter boxes and eating healthy cake. There’s small talk but it’s mostly his dad grilling Jiwon about all the other ways luxury car garages scam people into paying for things they don’t need. For a few blissful moments he thinks this is probably what it’d be like if his dad ever accepted his relationship with Jiwon. Maybe they could be this kind of family one day and sit around other tables, drinking fake coffee and eating fake cake…but with the truth all out in the open.

It’d be nice.

It is nice.

He wishes it could last longer but they need to leave to pick up Hanbyul. His dad’s car might be working now but he insists on doing his big brother duties. So caught up in the weird events of the day, he hadn’t actually prepared for how they were going to say goodbye.

“We better get going-” He starts, dusting off his pants and motioning Jiwon towards their car.

“Wait a minute, what do we owe you Jiwon? Do you take cheque or-”

“Oh it’s okay, Mr Kim. It’s fine.” Jiwon stammers uncomfortably, realising that this is the part where the truth might actually come out.

“What do you mean it’s fine? Of course we’ll pay you! Don’t be silly.”

“It’s really okay. I’m happy to help out.”

There’s a tense silence as his dad looks between them. “Help out?”

“Don’t worry about it, dad. I’ll take care of it.” He interjects quickly, unable to hold back any longer.

“But this is ridiculous.” His dad turns to his mom, confused as ever and not used to having mechanics giving him a discount. “What’s he talking about?”

It can’t come out like this. Not now. It feels forced and wrong. Jiwon and his mom were right and all he can think to do is send her pleading looks to help bail them out of this awkward situation.

“Let Hanbin sort this out.” His mom says, already gently guiding his dad back inside. “They’ve got to go pick up Hanbyul anyhow. You know how she is when she has to wait too long.”

“Right right.” His dad nods, skepticism still all over his face but not arguing (a miracle in itself). “Well, thank you for your help then Jiwon. My wife and I appreciate you coming over.”

“It’s no trouble Mr Kim.”

“Okay, we really need to get going now.” He says, hurrying things along. There are too many opportunities for questions and they’re pathetically unprepared.

Safely inside Jiwon’s BMW, they just sit in silence for a few moments.

“That was…..”

“…weird.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Well, I stopped breathing 2 hours ago.”

Jiwon laughs and starts the engine. “Let’s get outta here. They might be watching from the windows.”

“Getting paranoid?”  

“Yeah, been hanging around this cute neurotic guy for too long.”

It’s not until they’re driving out the neighbourhood that he can finally relax. He knows it must be the same for Jiwon too because the further they get from his parent’s house, the less tense those shoulders are.

“You think he knows?”

“No. I mean, he’ll probably call me later wondering why we came and left in the same car. Or why your name rings a bell. But hey, then again, he didn’t threaten to kill you so he probably still thinks you’re just Jiwon the Friendly Mechanic.”

“Can I say something crazy?”

“What?”

“Maybe we don’t tell him? About you and me, I mean.” Jiwon says cautiously. “He doesn’t hate me as the mechanic. So there’s no real rush to just tell him I’m sleeping with his son right?”

He groans at the choice of words. “Can you not say it like that, geez!”

“How do you want me to say it?” Jiwon cackles. “Hey nice to meet you. I’m banging your only son.”

“Jiwon!” He cringes, blushing bright red instantly.

“You’re fucking adorable! Why are you even blushing?” Jiwon laughs, reaching over to poke at his dimple.

“Just don’t ever say that to them! Or to anyone!”

“Fine fine.” Jiwon smiles, “What about if I just say, “Hi Mr and Mrs Kim, I’m Jiwon and I love you son”. Is that better?”

“NO! That’s even worse!” He scowls.

“How is that worse?!”

“I don’t know! But it’s the same!”

“Oh my god.”

“Stop talking. Just drive.” He pleads.

“Oh hey.” Jiwon says suddenly after a moment, “I’m gonna meet your sister today.”

They’ve been so distracted with his dad they they completely forgot to prepare for that.

Oh.

God.

No.

“Geez, don’t look so sad. Maybe I’ll win her over with my cool big brother jokes. You never know.”

He shakes his head in misery again. This is too much stress for one day and he’s going to get a headache any second now.

“Just don’t….freak her out too much. And don’t get too touchy with me. I don’t really want her telling dad anything.”

As soon as he says it, he feels guilty. Who does he think he is to instruct Jiwon like this? Why does he care? He said he wouldn’t care anymore. Life is short. People can be gay. Who cares?

But he does.

He can’t help it.

“Sorry. I just mean….I’d rather we tell him about us. I don’t want you to keep pretend you’re something you’re not. That’s not how I meant that.” He says. “It’s just that she’s a kid. She’ll say anything and everything to my parents and it might come out all wrong.”

“I know, baby. I get it. It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” He says quietly.

It’s not okay. It won’t be okay until the truth is all out in the open. He just has to hang on till then.

“You wanna go with the roommate story?”

He shakes his head, staring out the window instead of looking inward. “No. Just tell her we’re friends and you’re a mechanic. Maybe she’ll think it’s cool. I mean, she kinda already likes you because of what you got her from Japan.”

“Okay.” Jiwon shrugs, looking frustratingly unbothered by the events of the day.  

“Okay.” He echoes, feeling like he’s about to have a stroke of his own.

Hanbyul has dance in the morning, followed by Saturday school for maths and English. It’s a lot for a 9 year old but he remembers his childhood Saturdays in classrooms too. The only saving grace was the piano lessons afterwards.

When they pull into the parking lot of the school, his anxiety surges up his chest. The whole place was filled with mom and dads in SUVs and family sized sedans. Jiwon’s black BMW isn’t anything to be embarrassed about but it does stick out like a sore thumb. Even if they could sneak into the corner parking spot, the growl and grunt of the engine has everyone turning to look at them.

Jiwon laughs at the curious and mildly disapproving glances, clearly used to the way his car announces his arrival.

“They probably think we’re here to rob them or sell drugs.”

He’s supposed to be nervous but suddenly the thought of Jiwon robbing anyone just makes him chuckle under his breath.

“I’ll go get her.” He says.

“I’ll try not to steal anything.” Jiwon replies.

There are kids everywhere. All sizes, all ages, all really really loud and shrill. There’s a small area near the front entrance where the parents gather to wait and gossip. He wonders if anyone is talking about him.

He waves to a few familiar faces that he recognises from before but it’s a little strange every time he’s standing there. A good kind of strange but strange nonetheless. There’s always a small flicker of paternal pride, of curiosity and wishful thinking that maybe one day he’ll be standing right here picking up his own kids from Saturday school and gossiping with other parents about school fees and unfair soccer referees.

Well. Maybe one day.

He spots his sister, walking out with her spikey backpack, ballet bun neatly pinned on the top of her head and chatting to a few similar looking girls. Seeing her with friends makes him smile, at least she still has some.

When she finally sees him across the parking lot, standing next to all the other parents, her face lights up and there’s a quick “bye guys!” to her friends before she’s running towards him, looking closer to 5 years old than her actual 9.

“Hanbin! Are you picking me up today!?” His sister half-yells in excitement.

“Yep.” He replies, hugging her with one arm because God forbid he embarrasses her by being too affectionate. “Had a good day, Peanut?”

“It was okay. I hate maths.” Hanbyul grimaces.

“Who doesn’t?” He says, patting her sympathetically on the back. “Hey, listen. I’ve got a friend with me. He’s here with his car actually-”

“The big loud one?”

“Oh. You heard that huh?”

Hanbyul rolls her eyes at him in dramatic disappointment. “Everybody heard it, Hanbin! Minhyung said it was a street racing car but he’s stupid.”

“Minhyung? The kid next door? Thought you liked him?”

“NO!” Hanbyul glares at him venomously. “Minhyung is dumb.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Sorry. You hate him, got it.”

“Is he driving us home?” His sister asks, motioning towards the familiar dirty blonde leaning against the black shiny BMW.

His mouth goes dry. The other parents are definitely seeing and talking about them now. Part of him cares too much what they think. The other part of him doesn’t give a shit because Jiwon….well, when his hair is messy like that and he’s in a loose shirt which engine oil stains on it, just casually leaning against the car, Jiwon is still his Teenage Dream, the type of guy he never thought he’d ever have a chance with.

Hanbyul is pulling at his sleeve now, eyes wide with curiousity. “Hanbin?”

“Yeah yeah, that’s him. Be nice to him okay?” He says in a rushed breath. There must’ve been something on his face and in his voice because his sister doesn’t argue or give him a snotty reply, she just nods and holds his hand like she used to when she was a toddler.

Jiwon breaks out into a grin when he sees them approaching. They should’ve prepared for this. Why didn’t they prepare for this?

Calm down, Hanbin. Calm down.

“Okay, Peanut. This is my friend Jiwon. He’s the one that got you your backpack from Japan.” He says. “Jiwon, this is my sister, Hanbyul.”

“Hey, how are you. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Jiwon says, lifting his hand to do an awkward wave that he’s never seen Jiwon do once in the last 8 months.

To his surprise, his sister mirrors the action and waves back. “Hi.”

“I like your backpack.” Jiwon winks. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Hanbyul is selective in who she will talk to. She’s always been that way since she learned her words and he knows it’s due to the way his own behaviour rubbed off on her growing up. It surprises him that Jiwon gets a reply at all.

“Minhyung said it was spikey so I could put rocks in it and use it as a weapon.” Hanbyul blurts out.

He’s vaguely horrified but Jiwon just laughs. “Who’s Minhyung? Is he your friend? He sounds a bit crazy.”

“He’s SO crazy!” His sister confirms melodramatically. “And he’s NOT my friend!”

“Oh. Okay. Sorry, he’s not your friend.” Jiwon apologises, serious but amused. “Hey, thanks for picking out my watch. How did you know I liked Winnie the Pooh?”

“I like Winnie the Pooh too!”

As soon as Jiwon pulls up his shirt sleeves to reveal the watch, his sister’s eyes double in size. It’s all the ink and colours across Jiwon’s skin that’s shocking to a 9 year old who has probably never seen a tattoo up close before.

“How come you have a tiger drawing?” Hanbyul asks, finger hovering hesitantly over the inky lines on Jiwon’s skin, probably wanting to check if it’ll rub off like a pen mark or if it was there permanently.

“It’s a famous tiger. You should ask your brother to tell you the story one day.”

Shyness takes over and his sister withdraws her hand but he can tell by the wistful look on her face that Jiwon and his tattoos are going to be an endless source of fascination for her.

“It’s cool.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

“Minhyung said he will get drawings too but I think he’s lying.”

“He’s probably a bit too young to get them right now.” Jiwon says in Minhyung’s defence.

“He said he wants to get a Pokemon drawing but that’s lame.”

Jiwon pretends to be offended. “Pokemon are cool though! Pikachu, Evee and Charizard…”

“…and Jigglypuff!”

“Yeah, can’t forget about that guy.” Jiwon laughs.  

He looks at them like they’ve both gone crazy. They’re really going to bond over Winnie the Pooh and Pokemon? Really? What the hell was going on here?

“Come on, let’s get you home.” He says, interrupting the ridiculous conversation.

Jiwon moves to open the back cardoor with a dramatic gesture. “Lady first.”

He can tell by the way his sister giggles that she’s completely won over already. Jesus. His sister rarely opens up to anyone new and this must be some kind of record. Maybe he should be more worried about how good Jiwon is with charming everyone. What if it’s even worse when he’s famous?

“Woah, your car is cool!” Hanbyul gushes in awe. “Jiwon’s car is better than yours, Hanbin.”

“Thanks Peanut.” He replies flatly. “Maybe you can get Jiwon to drive you everywhere then.”

“Yeah!”

“Oh my god.” He mutters under his breath. “I think she just demoted me.”

“Everyone in your family loves my car. Admit it.” Jiwon smirks. “Worked on you too, don’t forget.”

“Yeah Yeah. Just shut up and drive.” He mutters, unable to hide the small smile that sneaks across his face.

The Beast wakes up with another deep menacing growl and he knows Jiwon did that on purpose because Hanbyul’s face is wildly enthusiastic in the rear view mirror.

Everyone in the parking lot is looking at them now.

His parents will hear about this.

So much for being careful and discreet. There’s a small voice inside his head that wants to nag Jiwon for being so reckless and ostentatious and drawing attention to them but his sister is bouncing in her seat and giggling every time Jiwon accelerates on the freeway. If this is what it takes for her to be happy, then who is he to get pissed off about it?

And she is definitely happier now. It just makes him feel more guilty about all those times when he came to the house to visit and she would hide in the corner, a withdrawn and quiet shell of a girl, because all the adults in her life were arguing with each other for the hundredth time.

He’s deep inside his head but he vaguely registers the animated conversation between Jiwon and his sister. Something about Pikachu, chocolate waffles, this poor Minhyung kid and if she could come over to see their apartment. Jiwon is patient with her. It makes him feel warm and so completely….grateful right now.

When they drop Hanbyul off at home, she hugs him quickly and throws a chirpy “Bye Jiwon!” in their direction before running inside. Their mom is at the front door, slightly surprised by Hanbyul’s cheerfulness.

“Did you buy her ice-cream?” She asks him with a quirk of an eyebrow.

He shakes his head with the same amount of disbelief. “No, I think she just really likes Jiwon.”

“Maybe she’ll be able to sway your father.”

“Maybe.”

There’s some shuffling and soon enough, his dad joins them at the front door with a notepad in his hand.

“Oh is he still out there?”

“Who? Jiwon?”

“Yes, I need to ask him about your mother’s Lexus.”

He gives his dad a confused look. “What? Why? Isn’t it getting serviced right now?”

“They could be ripping us off. I want to know if the recommendations they gave were legitimately or a scam.” His dad replies earnestly and shuffles further out the door and down the driveway towards Jiwon’s BMW.

He watches for a few seconds before turning back to his mom. “What just happened?”

“Perhaps you underestimated him.” His mom replies.

“Who? Dad?”

She shakes her head. “No. Jiwon.”

He watches the scene unfold; his dad shaking Jiwon’s hand, showing him the list on the notepad, pointing to something on the BMW and talking animately about it. Jiwon keeps looking over to him in some silent pleading, “What do I do?!”

But Kim Hanbin is useless. Again. Frozen in his spot and only offering a weak shrug when Jiwon looks at him very pointedly again.

I don’t know what to do.

Eventually, they watch both men walk up the driveway. They’re not exactly arguing, so there’s that, but it does nothing to calm his nerves. When they’re all inside the house, he pulls Jiwon back, whispering a panicked, “What the hell happened?!”

“He told me to stay for lunch.” Jiwon whispers back, a little shellshocked and mystified. “What do we do?!”

He squeezes his eyes shut. The migraine should be hitting any second now. “Just…..just….don’t say anything about us yet. I was thinking….that maybe you’re right. He likes you as a Jiwon the Mechanic so-”

“-so we’ll just pretend we’re friends?”

“Yeah. Let’s just go with that.” He nods, relieved that they’re on the same page about this.

Jiwon looks up and down the empty corridor before lean forward to give him the lightest of kisses on his lips. “Ready?”

He shakes his head.”No.”

“Do it anyway?”

“Yeah.”

****

He’s having lunch with Hanbin’s parents and sister.

It’s unexpected and nerve wracking and just plain weird.

Hanbin’s dad doesn’t actually hate him but then again, he’s probably still Jiwon-The-Friendly-Mechanic-Who-Will-Save-You-From-Scams. Who wouldn’t like that guy?

Hanbin’s mom is sort of nice to him. And Hanbyul, well, she insisted on sitting next to him and asking him 20 questions about Pokemon Go!

It felt too easy. So easy that he’s just waiting for it all to come to a car crash stop any minute now. It’s crazy that he’s been optimistic his whole life but when it comes to Hanbin’s family, all his doubts and insecurities just come out of the woodwork.

It’s easy because it’s a lie.

As he passes the black bean noodles around the table, he can’t help wondering how different this would all be if Hanbin’s dad knew what about the relationship or Hanbyul realised that her brother was gay. What then?

“How long have you been a mechanic Jiwon? You seem to know an awful lot about luxury cars.” Hanbin’s dad asks, regarding him with a look that’s half way between interest and interview. He’s met plenty of parents before and there’s always a point where they stop looking at him like he’s a threat. It’s the moment when they let their guard down and (sometimes relunctantly) allow him to date their son or daughter. But he’s not exactly sure what’s going to happen here.

“Uh, it’s been about 5 years.” He replies truthfully. “I used to work on a lot of the luxury models.”

“Used to? What is your area of expertise now?”

“Uhmm, I like vintage cars actually and some of the Japanese custom builds. They’re more interesting.”

Hanbin’s dad nods a few times and hums like it all makes sense. He has no idea of anyone around the table knows what the hell he’s talking about. He glances quickly in Hanbin’s direction and frowns at how pale and green his boyfriend looks.

Jesus, his anxiety must be off the charts right now.

Right on cue, a hand lands on his leg under the table. He squeezes it tight, knowing they both understand each other.

For the entire day, Hanbin’s dad has never once been suspicious of ‘Mechanic Jiwon’ and his intention. He hasn’t been threatened or treated as something dangerous that has to disappear. But right now, as scrutinising eyes focus on him, he’s wondering if his insanely good luck is finally running out.

“So, how do you know Hanbin?”

The fingers on his leg dig painfully into the flesh. Hanbin is freaking out, maybe not on the outside but definitely in his head. He’s got to fix this and steer the conversation somewhere safer somehow…

“We’re-”

“-he fixed my car.” Hanbin interjects suddenly, voice too loud and too sharp. “We started hanging out after that.”

Hanbyul barely reacts and continues to eat, completely unfazed by the elephant sized drama that’s playing out in front of her.

Hanbin’s mom keeps her poker face but he catches the way those eyes widen with for a split second, as if expecting an entirely different lie.

They must all be holding their breaths because there’s a collective rush of relief when Hanbin’s dad finally speaks again.

“That ridiculous Nissan? Haven’t you thought about upgrading it by now?”

He smiles, not really because anything is funny, but because he’s so fucking relieved for some reason.

“That car is a lost cause.” He says then, earning him a chuckle or two. Well, it’s better than nothing.

“You said you used to work on luxury cars. Have you moved to specialised models or have you moved on from cars altogether?”

There it is. He almost wants to laugh at the question because he was waiting for it, waiting for the moment when Hanbin’s dad would throw him the most perceptive of questions, the stroke and heart attack clearly didn’t do as much damage as everybody thought.

It’s funny really, the way he’s sitting around a table having lunch with all the people that shaped Hanbin. He can see exactly where all his genes and personality came from. He can see how all three of them shaped the guy he’s crazy about. He can’t hate anyone that important, no matter how difficult things have been or will get.

And with that thought, or maybe it’s the misjudged sense of security, he suddenly feels brazen and brave. He suddenly wants to tell the truth but well, he doesn’t want two heart attacks on his hands so he goes for something slightly less reckless.

“I still remember how to fix cars but um, well, lately I’ve been getting into recording music.”

The hand on his leg freezes in shock then digs into his skin again. Okay, so it was still a reckless thing to say. If it all goes to shit, he’ll never hear the end of it but something inside his heart told him to take the gamble.

“Recording music? Like a recording artist or hobby?” Hanbin’s dad asks, always cutting right to the chase.  

“Recording artist.” He can feel Hanbin’s tense stare on his face probably screaming, “shut the hell up!” in silence. But it’s too late to back down now.

“Which company have you signed with? Who represents them?”

Business questions. This is what he wanted. Hanbin had told him that business questions were always somehow neutral grounds for them, even in the heat of an argument.

“It’s BeatBox, a subsidary of GlobalKore. The legal team is from Lee and Koh.”

“Have you signed a contract? Did you get Hanbin to read it?”

“I signed one but they recently revised it so I-”

Hanbin’s dad ignores him for a moment, turning to focus on his son instead.

“Have you read it yet? Make sure you read it. Revisions are almost never a good sign. You know that.” The stern order has Hanbin bristling beside him, the claw on his leg more painful as the seconds tick by before leaving altogether.

“I’ll read it when we get home.” Hanbin replies through gritted teeth. “He only got the revision yesterday.”

Well, shit. He’s mad.  

It’s kinda justified. He forgot to tell Hanbin about the new contract revision. It’s still sitting on the kitchen table.

“Maybe you should bring it over here, Jiwon. I’ll go through it. You’ve saved me some scam money today, the least I can do is return the favour.”

Hanbin exhales beside him. “Dad, I can read it when I get home. It’s fine.”

There’s a (unfairly) disappointed look thrown in Hanbin’s direction, it’s dismissive and patronising and everything he hates in a parent.

“If you had read it properly the first time, maybe there wouldn’t have been a need to revise it.”

Oh. Shit.

No, no no. This is not where this conversation should be going.

“Actually, Mr Kim, the revision is just mainly because I said I wanted to tour as early as possible.” He lies. “The first contract was fine.”

He’s not really sure if anybody is convinced, he’s never been good at lying, and he’s praying to every God who might be listening right now to do him a real solid and salvage this situation.

“Hmm. Well, have Hanbin read it anyway. He might be wasting his potential at that magazine but he’s always had a talent for business law.”

“I will.” He replies. “He’s been a big help with all this.”

“Well, he enjoys the arts.” Hanbin’s dad continues. “I’m not entirely sure whose genetics is responsible for that. It’s definitely not mine. He always used to complain that business ruins art but I say-”

“-it’s a necessary evil.” He finishes.

The table is silent, stunned. It takes him a few seconds to process the nauseating fact that he and Hanbin’s dad just said the exact same thing in unison.

Fuck.

So this must be what Hanbin’s mom meant.

Maybe she was right.

And Hanbin is looking at him like he’s gone crazy now.

“Come now, that’s enough shop talk.” She announces, motioning them all to eat. “Hanbyul wants to say something about school today.”

‘Grateful’ doesn’t begin to explain what he feels towards Hanbin’s mom right at that moment. Sometimes, in his delusions, he thinks she might kinda approve of him. Maybe. A little.

Lunch drags on and on but it’s mostly filled with Hanbyul telling them all kinds of stories that nobody really understands but everybody listens to anyway. He’s beginning to think she has some kind of weird personal vendetta against this poor Minhyung kid from next door.

He fields questions about his tattoos, his career, his car, his family. Nobody asks him about his real relationship with Hanbin but once or twice, when he looked up, Hanbin’s dad was looking straight at his face.

He’s gotta know. How can he not know?

Hanbin is quiet but at some point there’s a hand on his leg again, hopefully to tell him he’s forgiven for being so reckless. All in all, he doesn’t mind any of it. It’s not the worst time he’s ever had. It’s about 101% better than he thought the first in-laws meeting would go.

Fuck. In Laws?! Did I just say that….

Don’t freak out Jiwon, don’t freak out.

It’s 2:30pm when they say all their awkward goodbyes. He doesn’t realise how tense he’d been holding his shoulders until they’re in his car, cruising on the freeway home, that he can finally, finally, let out the longest sigh. Hanbin is silent again, preferring just to sit there and stare out the window.  

“Hey? You okay?” He asks quietly.

Hanbin nods but doesn’t turn to look at him. “Yeah.”

“It didn’t go that badly?”

Hanbin shoots him a dirty look, as if to say, “Are you kidding me?”

He sighs apologetically. “I know I know but you’re always going on about not being scared of saying anything so I kinda thought I should just say it. And if he hates me then he hates me.”

“That’s so not the point.” Hanbin grumbles.

“But it worked out okay didn’t it? Isn’t that what matters?”

Hanbin squeezes his eyes shut in frustration but after a few simmering moments, he nods again. “I know.”

“Sorry I didn’t check it with you first….”

"No….you’re right.” Hanbin concededs, “You needed to say what you did because if it was up to me, we’d be waiting for another 2 years.”

“I think we should just let him believe what he wants to. Maybe he hates scammers more than he hates the gays. At least the gays won’t rob him blind.”

Hanbin laughs despite himself.

“You never know!” He says, they’re at a red light and he can’t help reaching over to run his hand through the soft dark strands of hair. “Maybe this year is gonna surprise you.”

Hanbin captures his fingers and hold them between his smaller hands. “I just want….”

“What do you want, baby?”

“I just want to go home now.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The light turns green and the BMW lets out a menancing growl before speeding ahead.

****

Skin.

Tanned and warm and smooth under his fingertips. It’s perfect skin, interrupted by swirls and lines of dark ink which probably all have a story behind them. It’s embarrassing that he doesn’t even know half of it.

It’s only 9pm and they’ve already showered and gotten into bed like the boring couple they’ve turned into. He secretly loves it, this quiet life. It won’t last much longer, especially now that BeatBox has Jiwon on a tight schedule, but at least the weekends were still free (for now). He has to savour it, remember it, lock all the good memories away in his head and heart incase one day, it won’t be there anymore.

Jiwon is laying on his stomach, re-reading the last chapter of Life of Pi with furrowed brows and confusion on his face.

He tries not to sprawl all over that broad back but how can you not? When it’s right there, unobstructed by a shirt, and flexing every time Jiwon shifts to turn a page. He settles besides the bigger body, fingers lightly tracing over all the inky lines.

There’s small dark cross at the base of Jiwon’s neck, it’s small and almost discreet, a total contradiction to the circular religious words in the centre of Jiwon’s upper back.

Hate Only Sin. Fear Only God.

He traces around the words causing the muscles of Jiwon’s back to shift and flex like shadows and valleys in the Grand Canyon.

“Why did you get this one?” He asks.

Jiwon turns a page but pauses to look over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“This tattoo,” He says, tapping on the religious ink, “why did you get it?”

“Ah, I got that with my dad and brother. They liked it and I kinda went along with it.” Jiwon shrugs at the end and goes back to reading his book.

“Do you really fear God?” His voice sounds weird and he wonders why that is. Maybe he’s still scared of the answer, having never really been very religious at all. It’s a little hard going to Sunday Mass when everything and everyone there makes you feel like a dirty, guilty sinner.

“No. Not really.” Jiwon replies after a long pause. “That tattoo is really about my family and trying to stay clean and not being scared of anything. I mean, there are way worse things to be scared of right now.”

“Like what?”

“Like, if this rap thing doesn’t go that well and I fuck up our future. Or if your dad changes his mind about me. Or….if you change your mind about us.”

Jiwon is still holding the book open in front of him but he’s not reading anything on the page anymore.

“None of those things will happen.” He replies firmly and with as much conviction as he can dreg up at at time like this. “Thought you didn’t care what my dad thought?”

“I kinda don’t but I know you do. So kinda gotta care a bit.” Jiwon chuckles before dropping his book on the bedside table and rolling over onto his back. “What’s with all the tattoo questions right now?”

He sprawls over Jiwon’s abdomen and shrugs. “We just never talk about it. Every time I can see them it’s always too serious or well, we’re kinda…”

“-fucking?” Jiwon smirks.

He rolls his eyes. “You are so uncultured.”

Jiwon laughs and ruffles his hair. “I read Life of Pi for you! I’m getting cultured! What more do you want, geez?!”

“Do you like it? The book?” He asks with a grin. “Because you’ve got like 2 pages left right?”

“No, I finished it last night. I just had to re-read the ending again.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Did you like it?”

“You want the honest answer?”

He grins again. “Yeah.”

“It’s so fucking weird.” Jiwon grimaces. “Like, the idea of it and what he’s trying to say is better than the actual story? I got so annoyed reading it.”

He kisses the hard wall of Jiwon’s abdominal muscles and laughs, relieved and a little (okay, a lot) proud.

“What’s funny?” Jiwon asks, confused and irritated that he’s being laughed at for getting a book wrong again.

“I don’t really like that book either.” He says, giving Jiwon a big cheeky smile. “What you just said about it is what I think of it too. It’s a good concept and a bad read.”

Jiwon eyes narrow at him and the hands on his shoulder are now pushing him off, like their proximity is suddenly so offensive. “What?!!! You don’t even like it?! Why did you give it to me? Why did you make me read it!?”

“I didn’t make you read it!” He cackles loudly, thinking how good it feels just to laugh like this. “You decided to read it all by yourself!”

“I read it for you!” Jiwon yells back, just as loud. “You said it was gonna tell me about Richard Parker and he’s hardly even in it. It’s bullshit.”

He stops laugh long enough to try and sprawl all over Jiwon’s chest again. “But you did learn about him right?”

Jiwon lays down beside him, head snuggled into his lap in a show of rare and oddly childlike vulnerability. The dirty blonde hair between his fingers is getting so long now and he knows he will miss it when it gets cut.

“Yeah I did. I know why you wanted me to read it though.”

“Why’s that?”

“To figure out why you got your tattoo, right?”

He smiles to himself. “What did you figure out?”

“It was to see if I’d get through the book too right? Even though it’s bad?” Jiwon laughs. “My tiger is Richard Parker. You’re Pi. The tiger isn’t real though is he? Pi made him real but he made Pi sane for long enough to survive the shipwreck.”

Jiwon pauses then, looking up at him with wide earnest eyes. “Is that right? Because if it isn’t then I don’t know what the hell I just read.”

“Yeah, it’s right.” He says softly, awed that Jiwon figured something out so fast, something that took him months to rationalise himself. He cards his fingers through Jiwon’s soft messy hair again, still wondering how any of this was even happening.

“Why did you say you got Pi for the number then?”

“I got it for both reasons.” He says, feeling vulnerable but somehow, not scared about telling the truth. “They’re both about you anyway. You just wanted me to say it.”

Jiwon’s arms come to hug his waist snuggly. “Yeah maybe.”

He can feel the way Jiwon smiles against his skin. He loves that he knows it’s a smile without even looking. He loves that he can say some of these things now.

But…there still are so many other things he wishes he could tell Jiwon. Like wanting to cry when he read that quote in the Japanese notebook. Does Jiwon realise that it’s just a more eloquent summary of Life of Pi?

And how does he tell Jiwon that he’s never taken anyone home to meet his parents before? That today was one of the best days he’s ever had?  Maybe he was nervous and quiet but he just doesn’t know how to say “I’m so glad you’re in my life” in words so he’s writing it all down on paper. Does he tell Jiwon about that?

He knows what he won’t tell Jiwon though. How he used to drive down to the coast every day for a week, just to stand on the cliff and stare into the ocean. Maybe he thought about Richard Parker keeping Pi sane in that split second before he wanted to throw himself into the cold waters. No, Jiwon can never know about that one.

“Do you ever think about what you’d get if I didn’t have Richard Parker on my arm?”

“I’d still get Pi for you. Or you know, your name on my butt.”

“That’s like the nicest fucking thing anyone has ever said about me.” Jiwon laughs and then, without warning, his t-shirt is pulled up and there’s a sloppy wet kiss across his stomach that has him shrieking and scrambling across the bed.

“Argh! Don’t do that! It’s ticklish!”

Jiwon just looks at him coolly. “I know.”

“I hate you.” He sulks.

“Nah, you love me.”

His face heats up again. “You’re annoying.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jiwon shrugs. “So. You wanna get naked now?”

“What? No!”

“Why not?”

“Because! We were having a moment and now you want to just…”

“-fuck?”

“Can’t you be serious for like 5 seconds?!”

Jiwon rolls them over and hugs him from behind, close enough to press his body and his hard cock rightthere.

“Sorry baby. Finish what you were saying.” Jiwon apologises, lips grazing his ear and sending shivers down his spine. That bastard.

“The one time I try to tell you things and you’re thinking about this.” He scowls, not really angry about anything, just thrown off by all the emotions whizzing around his body.

“Uh-huh. Keep going then.” Jiwon encourages in that low gravelly voice that he has never once been able to keep calm over. The hardness grinding against his ass is not helping. At all.

“Well, it’s just that….that…”

“…that what baby?” Jiwon turns his voice all honeyed and mellow, almost silky against his ear. He grinding back, he knows it, it’s almost involuntary, the way his body responds to Jiwon’s existence.

“That….”

He’s so hard now.

Damm this guy.

“Argh! You are so annoying!” He says, pushing the other body away.

“Sorry…” Jiwon says with a smirk.

“You’re not sorry.” He says, hating Jiwon’s arrogance as much as he loves the way it also turns him on.

“I am!”

“What do you want to do to me huh?” He asks, grinding back so hard towards the body behind him that Jiwon makes a noise he’s sure he’s never heard before. “What do you want?”

“Jesus…stop for a second..”Jiwon screws his eyes shut, as if the answer and possibilities are too much to imagine. It must get too overwhelming because there are large hands holding his hips still now and Jiwon is breathing heavily.

“What’s wrong?” He asks innocently. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

Jiwon growls, flipping them over and throwing him back down against the sheets. “You. Are. So. Bad.”

The wet kisses against his neck always make him giggle at the start but the further down they go, the louder his moans get.

“Come on, just do whatever you want Jiwon….just do it…..I don’t care…..” He babbles absentmindedly, lost in the sensation of Jiwon’s mouth on his skin and the hot hard body press down on his. It makes him feel small, precious, wanted….loved.

The kissing stops abruptly then and Jiwon looks at him, worry flitting across his face for a split second. “Wait a sec. Wait a sec. Promise me something?”

“What?”

“Be careful who you say that to. Don’t just say that to anyone.”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Say what?”

“That you don’t care what they do to you. There are really fucked up people out there who won’t stop when you want them to.”

Oh.

“I won’t say it to anyone else. It’s just you….it’s just you.” He whispers breathlessly, pulling Jiwon’s head down for a deep and slow kiss, the type that makes his toes curl and stomach drop.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He says against Jiwon’s lips, pausing long enough to look into the worried eyes. “It’s just you. I want you. I trust you.”

He’s swallowed back into Jiwon’s mouth with it’s hot tongue and mellow earthy taste. His t-shirt and boxers land on the floor somewhere next to Jiwon’s shorts and he’s turned onto this stomach.

“Tell me to stop. If you don’t want it, just tell me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

There’s a part of him that doesn’t really understand why Jiwon was so worried now. It’s not their first time together, far from it, and even when they get rough (mostly because he asked for it), he’s never once been scared of getting hurt.

Jiwon can be gentle and frustratingly tender with his touches, like the way he is now, just trailing kisses down his spine and kneading his skin softly like they had all the time in the World and everything outside their window was irrelevant.

Sometimes everything is rushed, like a chaotic storm of skin and hands and spit, but sometimes, like right now, everything feels like it happens in slow motion and he doesn’t want any of it to stop.

It starts with a firm hand massaging the skin of his inner thigh before easing them apart, the fingers inching closer and closer towards that spot that makes him whimpers and pleads for more, his legs spreads on their own because whenever they do this, he wants everything.

“Stay still for me okay?” Jiwon says all the sudden, voice hushed but no less commanding.

There’s a flush rising up his chest because he know Jiwon likes looking. He feels exposed, always has and probably always will, no matter how much he wants it. But the silence and waiting stretches on and on….

“Jiwon? Stop looking. Can you just-ughhhhhhh…..” He scrambles up the bed, shocked by the sensation of the heavy warm tongue pressing against his ass. “Oh my god….”

Hands grab at his ankles, gently coaxing him back down the bed until he can feel Jiwon breathing against his skin. He hears his pulse thumping loudly in his ears and the nervous anticipation in the pit of his stomach but as soon as the wetness of a tongue glides across his ass hole again, he slumps down into the sheets, speechless, overwhelmed and a little high.

“Relax babe.” Jiwon murmurs against his skin.

"Okay…okay….” He’s whimpering desperate into the sheets now, hands clenching and unclenching in the sheets, fighting between wanting to get away because it’s Too Much and wanting more more more.  

Jiwon pauses to kiss the soft skin of his inner thigh. “You gonna be a good boy for me today?”

Oh Fuck.

He hates it when Jiwon talks to him like this.

It makes him go crazy and they both know it.

“Answer me, baby.”

“Yes….yes….”

“Okay, turn over. You’re gonna watch me eat you out.”

“What?” He asks, mind reeling and breathless.

There’s a pillow wedged underneath his hips and a hand that pushes him down onto his back.

“Watch me.”

It makes him blush again, the way Jiwon is looking at him and lowering that mouth right down between his legs. The first first glide of tongue across his entrance sends a thousands nerve signals to his brain, like fireworks bursting and setting him on fire over and over again.

“Ahh fuck….I can’t….I can’t….” He cries out, wanting it all to stop but wanting it to never stop.

Fingers dig into his thigh now, lifting his leg up slighting and spreading him out even more. The new angle is even better. He’s moaning all kinds of disgusting words and sounds now, it makes Jiwon smile because he thinks he can feel the way the corners of his mouth curls up against his skin.

But they need to stop.

He’s going to cum in 30 seconds if they keep doing this.

He pushes weakly at Jiwon’s shoulder, almost unable to get his words out.

“Stop, stop. You’re gonna make me cum too fast.”

Jiwon laughs, gets one last taste before lowering his leg back onto the bed. “So you like that huh?”

“Yeah…” It’s the only reply he can manage because the rest of his energy is spent on trying not to cum at the mere thought of Jiwon’s tongue in his ass next time.

“Wanna do the other stuff?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Be back in a second.”

He’s stares into space and waits until Jiwon comes back to kneel between his legs again, only sighing in relief when he hears a plastic cap being flicked open and then, finally, the more familiar pressure of slick fingers instead.

“Mmmmmmmm.”

“That better?”

“Yeah, that’s so good.”

There’s another kiss against his other thigh as Jiwon adds another finger and then another one. He misses being stretched out like this, just laying on his back and taking all of Jiwon’s fingers, one by one, until he’s just a loud imcomprehensible, demanding mess again.

This is true bliss. He can’t even hear his own thoughts anymore, just the sound of his own whimpering and begging mixed in with Jiwon’s sympathetic groans.

“Fuck, you should see yourself.” Jiwon says in awe. “One day I’m gonna get to all five in.”

“I’m ready….it’s enough…..”

“No, babe. Just a bit more so you can fit me.”

“No! I’m ready now!”

He protests with all the swear words he knows but being in this position, he can’t even reach for any part of Jiwon to grab onto, there’s just sheets and pillows.

“You always think you’re ready when you’re not.” Jiwon teases with an amused chuckle. “Begging for it when you’re still tight around a few fingers.”

“Jiwon…” He moans, repeating it over and over. ‘..please…please…Jiwon now…”

“No. We haven’t done this in weeks. You think I’m gonna rush it? Not a chance baby. You’re gonna fuck my fingers until I tell you you’re ready.”

He hates and loves it when Jiwon gets into these moods because those fingers feel amazing but after 5 long minutes he gets restless and twitchy and closer towards being too sensitive.

“Jiwon….now…” He pants, breathing loudly and shakily. “It’s too much….do it now!”

“No. Five more minutes.”

“NO! NOW! DO IT NOW!” He cries out, “I will never talk to you again if you don’t-”

There’s another kiss against his thighs and a soft laugh as Jiwon shifts and withdraws his fingers, one by one.

“So many threats but you’re still gonna spread your legs for me, aren’t you?”

He does it automatically anyway, self consciousness a distant memory now that he can feel the head of a hard cock against his ass hole.

“Want some dick baby?”

“Yes.”

“How you gonna ask for it?”

“Please fuck me….fuck me….I want you in me….” He pleads, muscles tense and aching from the frustration of having all this delayed for so long. He feels like he’s been wound up too tightly now and if Jiwon draws this out any longer, he’s going to either explode or break something.

“You sound so fucking hot like that.” Jiwon groans, pressing forward just a little bit more, it’s not enough to push inside but just enough to make his toes curl. “Say it again.”

He spreads his legs even further apart and reaches down to feel how much Jiwon’s fingers already stretched him out. It’s not that tight but then again, his fingers are a lot smaller.

“Oh fuck. If you keep doing that, I’m gonna blow my entire load on our sheets.”

“Mmmm,” He lets two of his fingers slip inside, just to be mean. “Then fuck me. I want it. Get in here…”

He stretches himself out a little more and that’s really all it takes for Jiwon to growl at him and push in before he has time to pull out his fingers.

“Ahhh ahhhhh wait-”

“No babe, leave them there, fuck…..fuck!” Jiwon says in a strained voice, holding his wrist in place so he can feel the slide of a hard wet cock along his fingers and all the way inside. If it wasn’t a tight fit before, it’s almost unbearable now, but in that same way his tattoo aches a little….it’s a good kind of ache, a good kind of fullness, a good kind of dirty.

“Ahhhhh babe….babe….yeah, fuck…fuck!”

But they can’t go on like this, he’s going to go insane. He pulls his fingers out and collapses heavily against the sheets, just wanting to feel and remember everything.

He loves all the disgusting sounds they make together, that wet slick noise every time Jiwon pulls out and then slams all the way back in, the low rumble and grunts coming from the back of Jiwon’s throat and the way he just wants to cry out, long and loud and without caring if anyone hears it.

Jiwon smacks his hand away when he tries to stroke himself, leaning down to snarl in his ear. “No hands. You’re gonna cum when I tell you to.”

Jiwon leans down now, licking across his Pi tattoo, hard enough to hurt but soft enough that he wants more. But then, without any warning, Jiwon thrusts back into him so hard that he inches up the bed and has to get dragged back down. There’s no more slow and steady pace, when Jiwon starts grunting like an animal and tensing all his muscles into tight knots, he knows he’s in for something uncontrollable.

The build up is always long and drawn out but the sprint towards the finish line is always a blur. He’s always dizzy, mind spinning out of control and body screaming for release as it free falls down a cliff somewhere.

“Let me cum….let me cum…..” He begs, voice now wrecked and scratchy.

Jiwon’s hands grip at his bony hips to pull him even further into his thrusts and the rhythm gets to the point where he just feels like a rag doll being fucked without mercy.

“Let me…let me!” He cries out again, the tension in his balls aching more and more.

“I love it when you beg.” Jiwon whispers hoarsely against his ear, the gravelly timbre of it goes right to his dick. “Cum in my hand, baby.”

He barely registers the firm grip of Jiwon’s hand before he completely lets go and surrenders to his own piercing release. What happens after that, Jiwon will tell him later.

He thinks he remembers watching Jiwon licking the cum off his hand as he slows the thrusting down to something slow and deep, knowing how oversensitive and prickly his skin always feels afterwards.

“You taste so good, baby. You gonna let me eat you out properly next time?”

“Uh-huh….” He murmurs, just agreeing and trying not to go crazy from the pleasure that’s slowly turning into pain.

“You want me to cum in you again?”

“Yeah, do it. Do it inside me.” He slurs, feeling high and out of sorts.

It always amazes him that Jiwon always cums with a growl instead of a shout. There’s always bites against his neck and the scrape of teeth when he gets careless. And then, there’s always that sudden warm wetness inside him, only this time it he can feel it against his fingers too.

“Mmmmmmmmmmm.”

He loves it. All of it. No matter how oversensitive he gets. He loves it when Jiwon demands all of his thoughts and energy and channels everything into one singular animalistic focus where nothing else matters.

“Holy shit.” Jiwon laughs and slumps down next to him on the bed, breathing heavily. “Holy shit, babe….”

“We need another shower.” He says, squirming and sweaty. “We’re wasting so much water this week.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“No!” He replies defensively. “I’m also kinda thinking about how badly I need to wash these sheets.”

“Hanbin….shut up..”

“Okay.”

“Love you though.” Jiwon slurs, foot nudging at his ankle lazily.

“Love you too.” He kicks back.

“Even if you made me read that fucking book.”

He rolls over and laughs into the pillow. It’s not even that funny but for whatever reason, he just can’t stop laughing at how ridiculously everything turned out.

Yeah.

Maybe we’re going to be okay.

Maybe.

[queenlayla]

Nothing here is really in order.  My brain is so scattered right now.  Id like to write down what has happened the past few days before writing about her progress.  The 3 days I spent with Layla in the hospital were awful.  I would go home for a few hours to sleep, shower and play with Willow for a bit.  I don't think I slept anymore than 4 hours each night.  My heart was constantly racing and I would wake up in a panic thinking I had to get over to Layla right away.  The vet staff was nice enough to set up a pad for me in the corner with a blanket.  It was freezing in there!  At one point one of the vet’s ( I think the surgery vet if that’s even a thing ) came over and gave me a bean bag chair to sit on.  Complete game changer!  I could sleep in that chair if I had to.  I was definitely in the way sometimes as there was another cat above Layla named Chloe that was also in an ICU room.  But the staff made it work and were always very nice to me.  During these few days I could not tell you what day it was or which vet told me what information or anyone’s name really.  But I can tell you it was very chaotic there.  When I first arrived at the hospital, shortly after Layla had been revived through CPR and other drugs, there was a dog on the table next to us with a prolapsed vagina.  Excuse me if Ive gotten that term incorrect.  The dog’s vagina was literally on the table and they were stuffing it back inside of her.  Joe was with me at the time and my parent’s quickly followed in after us.   My Dad yelled at the vet on duty and said “did you kill her?”.  The veterinarian obviously answered no and said she had no idea why that happened to Layla because everything seemed normal.  I could throw up just thinking about it.  Layla was on the table on her side covered in urine.  She looked like she was run over by a truck but without the blood.  And the stupid masks that you have to wear to top the whole situation off!!!!! FUCK YOU COVID.  I just wanted to kiss her little face. So instead I rubbed her ears and around her eyes since I know she really likes that.  Layla is such a picky girl and mama knows don't touch the belly don't touch my feet and we’re all good.  After while they transferred her to the iCU room where I sat next to her.  Let me say it was a mess in there.  There were caps, garbage, some syringes and just random crap all over the floor.  It was so busy that night.  Im pretty sure Chloe, the cat above Layla, went into cardiac arrest also during her stay with them.  Im not sure if she received the same gas that Layla did as I could not see the far over in the room.  There was also another dog that I believe they were trying to intubate when all the sudden I hear “uh oh whats that looks like a foreign body flip him over get the tube out” and then you hear a splat on the floor of some kind of chunky liquid that came out after they intubated.  Again, couldn't see what it was but that dog also went into cardiac arrest and I believe passed away.  Im a little confused on this part because the woman at the front desk told me they were able to save all 3 animals that went into cardiac arrest but I did not see this little guy go back to his cage at all.   They of course could have another cage in a room elsewhere in the building.  Yes, they do the best they can and no one intentionally hurts the animals there.  HOWEVER, at least 10 hours after Layla was switched over to her ICU room her previous cage was still labeled as Layla Hunt.  There was another cat in there at the time and everyone continued to call the cat in there Layla Hunt.  Well I knew Layla was sitting right next to me but why didn’t the staff know that?  Isn't this an EMERGENCY CLINIC?!   So if that cat started to have a seizure or some kind of emergency situation they would initially think it was Layla Hunt and maybe treat her differently than they would if they actually knew who the cat was!  They did figure it out eventually but come on guys isn't there a better way?  I understand understaffing happens and they did have to call in 4 additional staff the night that Layla went into cardiac arrest. But if you're the only emergency clinic that is open in the area on a holiday weekend don't you think you would be a little more staffed? The more I sat there the more I thought something bad happened to Layla.  They were probably so overwhelmed and just wanted to get Layla out of there.  So they probably gassed her, like the other cat I saw in a box being gassed, and forgot about her for a little too long.  They also should have checked with me if I had any previous vet records from her.  They would have seen in her 2018 records that she had a slight heart murmur and they should have approached her treatment differently.  Im going to quote a good friend of mine who is an amazing vet tech; “Gassing down animals is an old school type practice. It’s not the safest especially in older animals because they’re more sensitive to gas. Injectable sedation is preferred and much safer. Like anesthesia for her wasn’t even needed if they have injectable drugs that could sedate her. A majority of injectable drugs can be reversed as well in case any adverse reaction occurs. You can’t really take away isoflurane from the system if you’ve given too much either. And if she received too much isoflurane gas it definitely could’ve fucked with her brain function. It’s like being in a gas chamber and suffocating until you’re unconscious/sedated versus being given a drug that will let you slowly drift to a sedative state with oxygenation monitoring”. HOW DISGUSTING!  LAZY STUPID BASTARDS. Oh and did I mention how I didn't have to pay for any of the treatment other than what I initially brought her in for? They knew they were in the wrong.  They were tired of handling her because she was so aggressive so they did the quick thing instead of the right thing.  I don't even know if she's going to pull through at this point.  Its not even about the blindness yet its about her struggling to eat and go to the bathroom first which I don't even know how to handle!  How am I going to go to work on Monday? Thank you for your kindness VEG but you need to rethink the way you practice emergency care for cats because you really missed the mark on this one.  

[asflowersfade]

Ficlet: Godmother

A what-if MacGyver story. What if Matty were Mac’s godmother? And what if the Organization were actually after his dad (for reasons as of yet unknown)? A coda to ep 209. Matty’s POV.

Matty takes the company jet to New York. 

After all, it’s been her plan that landed Mac in the hospital, so the least she can do is provide a comfortable transport home once he’s well enough to be moved to a facility in LA, that is. Besides, the local cops are giving her first crack at their captured terrorists before they hand them over to the FBI so she has to move fast.

But even though speed is of the essence here, the first place she goes to after her plane lands in New York, is the hospital. Nothing’s more important than the safety and wellbeing of her people. Nothing.

Jack and Cage are camped out in the waiting room of the ICU, curled up asleep in chairs and covered with blankets that some sympathetic soul provided. Matty passes them by with a small smile on her lips but she lets them sleep, at least for now. They both deserve a little rest after the day they had.

Matty stops at the nurses station and once she explains who she is, the tall brunette there allows her to go in - after a brief consultation with the doctor over the phone - but with a stern warning that it’ll have to be only a few minutes, not longer. She makes it very clear that the patient’s recovery and not the visitor’s status is her main concern here. Matty respects that.

And then, in the dimly lit hallway leading up to Mac’s room, she sees him.

Matty’s heart skips a beat and she quickly looks around, afraid that someone else might’ve spotted him. But everything’s quiet and peaceful - or as quiet and peaceful as a hospital can be at any given hour, even so late at night.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers harshly when she walks up to him.

Dressed in a doctor’s coat, he’s standing at an observation window. It’s set high into the wall so that Matty barely sees in, she still spots Mac, though, lying asleep in his hospital bed, surrounded by blinking machines and dripping IVs and with an oxygen mask on his face to ease the strain on his lungs.

“You know why I’m here,” the man responds softly without taking his eyes off Mac.

Yes, she knows. And she understands, she really does. Still, that doesn’t make this stunt any less stupid. They will suspect that he’ll come here, Matty’s sure of it, and they’ll send someone to intercept him. They’ll know he won’t be able to stay away, considering… considering it’s his son lying in there, recovering from a deadly gas poisoning.

Matty shakes her head. “You shouldn’t have come. Not after everything we’ve done to keep you hidden! It wasn’t worth the risk!”

This time, he glances down at her and his eyes - so very blue, as blue as Mac’s  - blaze with anger. “It wasn’t worth the risk? My son almost died, Matilda! What would you know about it?”

She straightens up and snaps back, still quietly, “I would know everything about it! I was with your wife when that boy in there” --she stabs her finger in the direction of Mac’s hospital room-- “was born. Me! I was the first one to hold him in my arms. I’m his goddamn godmother!”

He deflates a little and opens his mouth to say something but she’s on a roll now. She’s been pushing her own fears and frustration aside for far too long to keep quiet any longer. “It was me who got him safely out of Afghanistan! It was me who secured him a job at DXS! And after Thornton was revealed as a mole, working for your enemies? I called in every favor I could to get her position and make sure that the Organization would never, ever get so close to him again!”

“Matilda--” he tries but she cuts him off again.

“We’re friends and I’ll always have your back, you know that. But I haven’t gone through all that trouble just for you, you hear me?” Matty states. “I love your boy as if he were my own and it breaks my heart every damn day that I can’t tell him any of it because it might put him danger. Because if the Organization found out who he’s to me, they would get rid of me to get to him - and through him to you. And if I’m gone, who’ll look out for him then, huh?”

“Matilda,” he repeats and bends down to put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re right and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, alright? I’m gonna go in a minute, I just needed to see him with my own two eyes. I needed to see that he was okay. Because all this hiding and running... that I left him, made him feel abandoned--” He pauses and swallows hard. “I’ve done all of that to keep him safe. And if he died while I was--” His voice breaks.

She moves to hug him and he drops to his knees to hug her back, hard. She can feel him shaking and all her anger dissipates. She knows that nobody’s suffered more because of the situation they found themselves in than Mac’s father.

“I’ll do my best to protect him, you have my word,” Matty whispers into her friend’s ear. “From the Organization and from everybody else out there.”

He nods and then he pulls back, smiling a little, though his eyes look a little too shiny. “That’s what fairy godmothers do, don’t they?”

Matty pinches him. “You cheeky bastard,” she chides. “Now go before someone sees you. I’ll let you know how Mac is the usual way. And no more spying on him from afar - I know you do it. How else would you know what happened and be here before me? Stop it. You want to keep your son safe? Then stay off the radar.”

Nodding reluctantly, he gets up. He looks through the observation window once more and watches his son sleep for a while longer before he turns and leaves, whispering, “Goodbye, Matilda.”

“Goodbye, MacGyver,” she replies and stares after him.

Only when he’s truly gone does Matty go inside Mac’s room to sit with the boy, just for a moment, before the nurse comes in and asks her to leave.

“Sleep well, Blondie,” Matty whispers and touches his hand gently, careful not to wake him. “And don’t worry, I’ll look out for you.”

[derekmsheen]

The Death Of Michael Sheen PT. 2

About ten minutes into an article about Guantanamo, my dad opened his eyes and looked at me. He swallowed and licked his lips, trying to bring moisture back to his mouth in an attempt to communicate. I just sat, stunned, as he struggled to speak.

“I love you, Joshua…I miss you, son.” He smiled weakly, before his eyes dulled closed. I set down the magazine and walked slowly backwards into the hallway, still staring at the place my dad was, just a second ago.

I waved a nurse over and told her about the miracle I just witnessed and soon the room was filled with physicians and nurses, all of them busily looking at charts and vital signs.

Later that evening he would wake up one last time, while my uncle watched over him, and told his brother “Please kill me. I am in so much pain, Robert. Please end this.”

The next morning he called all of us and asked us to meet him at the hospital, where he shared my father’s last spoken message and told us that they have decided to take him off life-support.

It wasn’t hard for all of us to agree that it was the right thing to do, but it still left a dull ache in my stomach.

I had never before had a reason to contemplate the depths of that kind of loss and over the next few days it began to consume me.

I suddenly had so many regrets.

Everything was so final and the thought that I could not change the course of our relationship now, suddenly became amplified. I felt truly alone and wasn’t really sure why? I mean, we’d never gotten along; he had taken advantage of me so many times. Left me in the wind, put his own needs before mine and was generally a selfish bastard. But right now I felt prepared to bargain and I would have given anything to have just two more minutes with him. To tell him I was sorry for not forgiving him, for not just accepting what he was and loving that.

For being so obstinate. For thinking that there had to be more and holding our relationship hostage until whatever my expectations were, magically appeared.

I suddenly realized that it was me who made all of this so difficult and the remorse washed over me like a tidal wave.

This was where my mind was and it might help explain what I did next...

My cousin Lisa grabbed me and hugged me so hard she pushed all the wind from my lungs. Her face was damp with tears, “I’m so sorry D. At least Uncle Mike isn’t in pain anymore. He’s in a better place” she said as she tried to manage a smile. I immediately thought he probably wasn’t anyplace or if he was in a place, it probably wasn’t a very pleasant place. I feel like my uncle read my thoughts, because he spoke up right away, “Derek, I want you to know your grandmother and I prayed with him, before he passed. He was very peaceful when he left us.”

Then he added “They haven’t transferred him yet. We thought you might want a few minutes to say goodbye. He’s still in his room.”

Without even thinking, I said ‘yes’.

Up until the moment the elevator doors opened on the floor of ICU, I hadn’t really felt anything. I was more numb and dull than sad. My mind was a chaotic jumble of rationalizations, distant memories and resentment while I tried to reveal nothing to my family that could be interpreted as grief or weakness. I hadn’t noticed just how passive and controlled I had become around my own family. I had the cool, calm exterior of a veteran serial killer.

One of my father’s doctors approached me and extended his hand, “You must be the son?” His voice was gentle yet masculine and I instantly thought he could host a sports radio talk show, if medicine failed him.

I shook his hand and said “Thank you, yes, I’m Michael’s son”.

He replied “I’m sorry for your loss. If you’d like a moment alone with him, we haven’t moved him yet.”

I nodded and whispered “Yes please” and I followed him down the hall, towards my father’s room. The shades on the observation window were drawn closed and he grabbed the door’s handle and slowly opened the door for me, then followed in behind me. The room seemed to be a different color now. More greenish, the lighting seemed less harsh like they had a dimmer switch installed to help set the mood. The room was so quiet without all of the machines buzzing and pumping and beeping, it was almost unnerving. On the single cot lay my father’s body, in repose. He was dressed in a clean hospital gown and the sheet was drawn down to his waist. His eyes were closed (probably postmortem, while they were dressing him and getting him ready for viewing). The doctor gently put his hand on my shoulder and told me they would let me have about ten minutes alone with him to say goodbye and that I could lock the door from the inside, and keep the shades drawn if I wanted some privacy. Then he turned and left the room as I stood at the foot of the small bed, staring at the lifeless body where my dad used to be.

That familiar feeling was coming over me, the one right before you cry. Where your stomach starts to burn, your breathing becomes shallow and the muscles in your face start to contort even as your body protests. The tears dampened my cheeks as I stood still and wept, while my body shook in heaving sobs. I managed to get some control over my grief and pulled a chair close to the bed, sat down and with some hesitation, reached for my father’s hand. It was cool and heavy and offered no resistance to being held. It felt alien, like skin filled with wet sand.

I squeezed it, told him I loved him and that I wished we could have been closer. I apologized for not making it easier for him and as the tears began to dry up I also told him how mad I was at him for missing so much of my life. Then I sat in silence for a few moments, still holding his hand.

I looked at his face, the skin was now turning a jaundiced yellow and I remembered reading how this was caused by the blood pooling in his back and neck, due the lack of circulation. In just a little while total rigor would set in and his hand would no longer be limp and heavy, it would probably feel like a mannequin’s hand, or so I assumed.

Suddenly, I was filled with a sense of hopelessness as the thought occurred to me that there weren’t many pictures of us together. Actually, there were a couple: one or two from when I was a baby, when he’d come to visit us at his parents house. These were taken right before he would go to prison and miss the rest of my childhood. In one picture he’s holding me, I’m around six months old. He looks so genuinely happy and the smile on his face was one of sheer joy. In the other, he is laying on the carpet with me, watching me crawl towards something and he looks so riveted by the action.

He looks like my father, the way I always wished I could remember him.

One other photo was taken at his girlfriend, Cathy’s, birthday party. We’re both laughing and my hair is long. I feel like it was taken in 1995-96.

The last photo is from the Christmas he was allowed to come home, just before he went into a coma. He’s in a motorized wheelchair as the halo holds his head up. It’s me, my Uncle, my sister and grandmother and he is smiling.

That was it. There was no other record of he and I together and a wave of loneliness washed over me. I found myself letting go of his hand as I got up from the chair and moved across the room to the door. I locked it and then double checked the handle to make absolutely sure it would not open. Then I walked back over to the bed and looked down at Michael. My mind was rushing through a series of fundamental and ethical arguments as I climbed on the bed with him. I pulled my phone from my pocket and flipped it open. I pushed the button with the picture of the camera and the screen now showed me mine and my dad’s face.

‘Just one picture for me’ I told myself, ‘just something for when I feel sad or alone’ I began to rationalize as I aimed the camera and made sure the flash was off.

I pushed the button a second time and heard the fake shutter sound that alerted you a picture had been taken. I looked at the screen to confirm and there I saw my face next to his. Something didn’t look right.

I took a second photo and this time I tried to smile a little, not too much. I didn’t want it to appear that I was happy, just peaceful.

On the third photo I decided to move his arm up and put it around my shoulders.

By the fifth and sixth photos I had turned his head to face me and I closed my eyes too, so we both looked like we were blinking when the photo was taken.

I took one last photo of us holding hands and then I cried one last time, in my father’s arms.

I tried to put everything back the way I had found it, including the way he was posed. I made sure to pull all the wrinkles out of the sheet and make it look crisp again.

Then I whispered in his ear “Goodbye dad. I love you.”

I walked to the door, unlocked it and made my way back out into the hall. My hand was in the pocket where my phone was hiding and I was clutching, making sure it stayed in my pocket while I attempted to make eye contact with my family and appear like a normal, healthy grieving son and not the ghoul I had just become.

My uncle told me they would be getting together the next day to start working on arrangements for the service and he would call me when they settled on a date. I hugged them all, told them I loved them and we all made our way back down to the elevators without saying another word. Once I reached the parking garage, I sat in my car and pulled out my phone. I flipped open the lid and the last picture I took filled to tiny screen of the Nokia. It was just me holding my father’s right hand, while his left arm cradled my neck and head. Then I closed the phone, satisfied, and drove home.

I told my wife about sitting with dad and she held me while I wept on her shoulder. I wanted so badly to share what I did, but no matter how hard I tried, I could not find a sane explanation for what I’d done. It would just be my secret.

That night, after she went to sleep, I went back downstairs and opened my phone. I scrolled back and forth through the series of photos while listening to Cat Stevens and wondered how long I could hold onto them before I cracked.

My father’s funeral took place on a Thursday and Alanya came with me. We drove to the same church where we had my grandfather’s funeral. It was a standard Catholic church with a font of holy water and a big wooden cross with a suffering Christ nailed to it, on the wall facing all the pews. It was a brief service as my dad didn’t really have many actual friends that weren’t either currently serving time or who felt comfortable being at a public event where there might be undercover officers, posing as mourners.

My Uncle Robert delivered the eulogy and as he shared I sat and thumbed through my photos. Before he reached the end, I’d decided to hit ‘Delete’.

‘Are You Sure?’ my phone prompted.

I wasn’t, but I hit ‘YES’ before I could stop myself. A feeling of emptiness washed over me as I realized I couldn’t take it back, but eventually it calmed. I knew I’d done the right thing, even if I regretted it.

I was designated a pallbearer, along with my cousin David, my uncle and two church members I had never met. There was something so final about closing the door of the hearse and watching it drive away to the crematorium.

That was it. I now belonged to the dead parent club.

At the reception, I had to fake my way through plenty of “sorry for your loss”’s and “he was such a good mans” and lots of hugs from people I assume were only there to help fill seats at the church’s request and were now being rewarded with free cold cuts and a veggie tray for their trouble. Alanya stayed close and we tried to make each other laugh by pointing out mourners and giving them a backstory about how they knew my dad.

“Over there, by the fresh fruit, that’s Jerry. He worked at the passport office and helped my dad get a fake driver’s license.”

Stifled laughter.

“Oh, her? Why that’s Sandy Oglethorpe. She was the only female guard when your dad was in juvey. She’s retired now, but she always had high hopes for him.”

We made our goodbyes and once in the car I felt compelled to tell her, but I hesitated and before I knew it she’d driven us to a Rainforest Cafe, where I proceeded to get day drunk on rum.

I miss my dad and I’m glad I chose to remember him when his skin was pink and I wasn’t in the commission of a crime.

Also, did you know that the Rainforest Cafe is the best place to go when dealing with grief? It’s true. There’s no way to process loss when surrounded by animatronic gorillas

[thehappiestandunluckiest]

The day of the accident.

I drove to the hospital because I knew they wouldn’t be in the right mind frame to be behind a wheel. We drove towards Portimão when we got the call that he would be airlifted to Faro. This was bad. My stomach engulfed itself, I stayed calm, I always do in the eyes of uncertainty and fear.

“Oh fuck”, my dad cracked. I raced to Faro. We waited, and waited, for 3 hours but it went by so fast and so long simultaneously.

My mum got called in by the nurse in charge, I could hear her wailing, she came out crying, my dad embraced her, “they think he’s paralysed”. So not just a trapped nerve huh?

Shit. I had already been through this with Antonio, I don't really remember these in-between moments, you know those moments that happen between the chaotic life-altering moments. 

To be honest I feel sick just reliving this in my head, writing this up is making me feel sick, it was sickening, I felt sick then and I feel sick now.

We had uber eats KFC earlier in the day as we hadn't eaten. It was sh#t, we haven’t ate KFC since.

We heard the helicopter fly overhead, the chopping, the air whooshing, it was deafening but also awakening. Half of me dying to see him the other half dreading it. I stared up into the sky, the neon yellow metal device hovering above us in the sky. Everyone was watching it land, I got kind of territorial, why were they watching him, don't stare, he’s ours. This is crazy, absolutely bonkers.

 The ambulance collected him from the chopper to the paediatrics block. He was covered in blocks supporting his spine. I was scared to look, my mum went straight to his side, my dad behind her, I kept my space, I didn't want him to be overwhelmed. But if you know him, you know that he doesn’t get overwhelmed, he takes everything in his stride. The doctors and nurses were switching shifts so the room was packed with doctors and nurses, a sea of blue and white scrubs. 

From here its a bit of a blur. 

My mum went with him to the operating room, my dad and I took the general entrance to the waiting room. My mum met us there.

 We waited.

It was suppost to be a 2-hour operation he went in at 10pm he was wheeled to ICU at 4am, we saw him leave with the ICU directors. The operation went very well but they said there was no hope for his legs and little hope for his hands. My dad broke down, he just cracked and left. My mum and I thanked the surgeon, she was amazing and so calm but we could tell she was hurting, she seemed genuinely hurt by having to tell us this news. My mum and I stayed strong and collected. I never cry in front of them because I know it will make them cry, they needed me to be strong, so that’s what I was. 

My dad was outside pacing. He drove us home. I don't really remember anything else. I slept maybe 2 hours, I felt guilty that I even slept at all. I got out of bed at 11am, I didn't want to be the first one up. I got out of bed and had a shower, I got into the boiling water, and broke down. I suffer from anxiety attacks. Always when I am alone, usually in my room and normally at night. It took a while for the wave of anxiety to drain from my body, it still is there, that big wave of anxiety was my first attack, and it never washed away, it has stayed with me ever since, and it lingers in the crevices of my mind, but eventually, it drained enough that I could move, I wasn’t frozen anymore.

I put on some clothes, I forgot to wear a bra, if anyone noticed I didn't, and I didn't care. I can’t remember a lot from those days, my phone didn’t stop buzzing. I had turned into my family secretary. 

We stood one by one over his motionless body talking to him. The sand still in his hair, eyelashes, skin covered in dried sea salt. His hair looked amazing, so did his skin, the little bastard wouldn’t have shut up if he could’ve seen how good he looked. We got called to have a meeting with the surgeon and the ICU director. The surgeon was kind and hopeful saying he young, you never know, the director was an older lady, colder but I guess that’s the nature of the job, she said he’d be lucky if he got to breathe by himself again. My parents broke down but only a little as to try and hold themselves together. We spent another couple of hours with him alternating.

The next 3 days were a lot of the same. They gave him the medicine to wake him up from the induced coma that should’ve taken 20 minutes, it took him 3 days.... it was agony. I had my pre-operation appointment during those 3 days, I didn’t have time to think about my own operation, it was hard. He woke up eventually, he was scared, we were scared, we hadn't eaten in days. He had tubes in all his orifices. But the light started to shine again.

E. L. Wilson

[hotd-redscar]

Ch2- The Spring of The Dead

Lingual Legend

“sample text” – normal conversation

‘sample text’ – thoughts of a character

*sample text* - sound effect

-- Insert Text --  - Time lapses

// Insert Text // - To be continued

Ch.2: The Black Spring

-- Tokonosu Daiichi High, Present time –

Luka look at the gate in front of him, which stands before him like a barrier preventing him from getting to his class. There has got to be a way to sneak in without anyone noticing.

Suddenly a guard walks up to gate to look around as Luka immediately moves to cover by the compound walls. There’s no use convincing the guard to open the gate, he knows the guard from his previous encounters that he doesn’t care about anything other than sitting at the little guard house next to the gate. The man had shooed off students before, even if they were just a few minutes tardy after he closes the gates. If he sees him now, he might attract the attention of the school’s principal which would make sneaking more complicated. The less people see him, the better.

Luka carefully backs off as the guard turns away, probably having seen him out of the corner of the eye before. The walls around the gate aren’t that high, probably only 7 to 8 feet tall as Luka is 6’2” feet tall, but problem is when he gets inside as the area is wide open and there’s a lot of windows exposing the front lawn. There’s no way to get past from the front gate walls without getting noticed. Additionally, there’s are 4 guards that patrol the school but fortunately, Luka is familiar with all of them and their set routines. While this guy at the front gate reads newspaper while no one’s watching, the 2nd guard who patrols the mid-section of the school lawn may come around and prompt him to also get up and stare at the gate. Then the 2nd goes back into the school front lawn, he sticks up behind the tree to watch something on his phone while no one watches him and only goes back when the 3rd guard who comes through the wing connecting the main building to the gym hall. The 3rd guy is the most vigilant but his patrol root is much longer and extends to the Gym hall and back through the wing. The 4th Guard patrols the opposite side in a similar manner but he always sits on a mini transformer box behind the school’s field storage shed smoking cigarettes when no one’s watching, and only pretends to walks around the school’s track field fence and swimming pool when the Vice-principal comes around to check. Also this bastard likes to peep into the pool’s shower room and stares at the pool when there’s girls around.

Luka makes up a plan in which he’ll make a move right now as the 2nd guard is returning back to his position close to the lawn and garden. The 3rd guard is probably standing at the Wing right now but he would go back once the 2nd returns. 4th isn’t even worth mentioning but even he would spot Luka if he turns around to a sudden noise. Luka moves along the wall adjacent to the right side of the school wing where the insolent 4th guard is. He steps back about 2 meters as he looks around for others who might be walking on the road. Nobody, there nobody on the street and it seems awfully quiet today. Isn’t this Tuesday? No matter, Luka wastes no time as he bursts into a short sprint and using all the momentum from the sprint, He applies a counter force with his foot against the wall while he jumps, and hooking his hands onto the ledge of the wall top at the same time. He makes sure his weight is balanced during the pivot as he reaches over the wall to the other side. He lands on the ground, bracing his knees and ankles to bend forward as it transfers the force to the ground rather than stopping on his ankles. Once he landed on the inside of the school. He rushes to a nearby tree and thicket and lies down belly flat as the 2nd guard goes back to his position. Up on the 2nd floor’s window the school’s vice-p can be seen walking across the classroom hallway.

‘Good this means that he is still occupied with his other duties. I can make a break for it now.’

Soon, the 3rd Guard turns away going back to the school gym, while the 2nd Guard soon looks away from Luka’s position and turns towards the tree while he fiddles with his smartphone. Luka quietly got up without disturbing the local vegetation and crouch walks away one foot ahead at a time while keeping his feet close to the ground to avoid making loud noises. He does so well coordinated that he reaches the right wall of the school in only a matter of seconds. He rushes straight along the side of the wall before he hides behind a corner wall which extrudes from the main building as he looks out to see the guard standing where he is expected to be, at the edge of the track and field fence. The entrance into the back of main school building is just right around the corner, past the section walling off the shower room. The guard seem to be standing idly smoking near the fence and seems to not move from there. Luka realizes this chance as he sneaks past the corner and quickly enters through the door. Now inside the building, Luka has to reach the second floor from the current ground floor if he wishes to reach class before they start the attendance registration. Luka rushes up to the 2nd floor, passing the other classrooms where teachers were already starting with their registration. He only hopes that he’ll make it in time.

-- Inside Class 2C --

The students are all settled down as they chattered about to each other, some of their conversations involve the tests from yesterday, some talk about their plans for club activities after school and some talked about the incident yesterday with the Russian student and rumors about him beating up Furukawa’s gang, hence the reason why none of them came to school today.

“Hey, you heard? About the rumors of a fight yesterday at the roof?”

“Un, I think I heard abit about it, something to do with a Russian with a scar on his face. You know anything more about it?”

“Yeah! I heard that the Russian beat up all of Furukawa’s friends and himself! I also heard that they are at home instead of the hospital since their injuries weren’t bad enough but it made them unsuitable for walking to school due to severe muscle pains.”

“That’s crazy! Nobody would dare go up against Furukawa! No one who did up until this point came out of it without being sent to the hospital’s ICU! Just who is this Russian guy?”

“Do you get it? He’s actually in our class!”

“Heh?!! Seriously?! This dude he’s in our class!?”

“Yeah, I heard rumors from our school’s unofficial Facebook group that the guy is actually an adult who’s just a year older than us and apparently skipped a grade in middle school at his home country due to a fight. He also might have been affiliated with gangsters before.”

“Ehh, that’s scary….how come our school accepts people like him?”

“Yeah, but still I’m glad that Furukawa is gone for now. I would rather have a bad guy who won’t attack unless provoked than a bad guy who goes around looking for people to beat up. Good thing I’m not on his bad side.”

Kenichi overhears the chat about his friend among his classmates. Luka has become quite a bit infamous after his exploits yesterday in defeating one of the most feared school gangs in the school district. There’s even talks about the possibility of him taking over the school as a new gang leader which is utter nonsense to Kenichi. Luka isn’t that type of a person, he just wants to live like a normal high schooler and he went through so much just to keep that status quo.

Kenichi worries that his friend might never come back to school since he seems to be later than usual, when he has always arrived before anyone to class, reading textbooks on his own desk. Kenichi feels he’s going to miss one of “the most down to earth” person he has met at school and it’s his fault that led Luka to quit school.

“Kiritsu!” class rep commands as the teacher arrives.

“Ohiyougozaimasu! Sensei!”

The teacher puts down a stack of textbook and files as he took out an attendance sheet from one of them.

“Okay class, raise your hand and reply when I call out your name. Tatsuo…”

“Hai!”

“Misato.” “Hai!”

The teacher continues to call out names as it seems very unlikely that Luka would come to class, possibly never again. Kenichi clenches his teeth as the next name is at Luka’s assigned table.

“Serugievu (セルゲイエフ)……, Serugievu (セルゲイエフ)? Hmm…”

Kenichi grimaces a little as he realizes his suspicions. He friend is never going to come to school again.

*Krraat*

He hears a soft sliding of the door behind the standing students. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a person crouches into the class room trying his best to not make any noise. This person has an unmistakable light blue hair as Kenichi realizes who that is.

“LUKA!” Kenichi shouts as the class heard that name they too turned back to look at Luka who just almost to his seat. Luka stops and slowly turns to his right  to see everyone staring at him.

“Hey is that the guy you mentioned earlier. He’s got a scar and European looks.”

“Yeah, no doubt. That’s the guy who beat Furukawa.”

“Ahhhh!!!”

The whole class was thrown into disarray as the teacher tries to keep the commotion down but to no avail as entire class moves towards the back to see the no. 1 badass of the school.

“Hey Hey! Is it true that you defeated Furukawa!? Please tell us more!”

“Are you free during lunchbreak? You won’t mind if we invite you to sit next to us?! Maybe you would talk about how you beat Furukawa’s ass?”

“Hi, Serugievu-san. Can I please have your contact? I would like to take you to a good place where we can eat. Is it not okay?... (//▽//)”

“Iyaaa! I’ll make it even better! I’ll bring you to a nightclub that my dad co-owns and I’ll let you have all the privileges and spoils of the VIP room where you can get all the drinks you want, and….I’ll let you have some privacy with me. I don’t mind even without some rubber.”

“Dude! How would you like to join our Karate club?! I promise it’ll be great time! I’ll let you even take a senior role since you are a year older than us!”

“Nonono, don’t listen to that guy! Join our Boxing club! We can help you nurture your skills to it’s full potential! In Fact we’ll even make you our next club president if our votes are in your favor!”

“Why won’t you join the School Disciplinary Committee and teach more bastards like Furukawa to not mess with the school rules?! You look like a great candidate.”

Rather than feel glad about himself, Luka sense there being more responsibility in him from now on as the whole class is all over him, maybe even the entire school too.

‘Haha, I wish but if I took up either martial arts. I don’t think any of you would be coming to school next day. So I must refuse. The same goes for the Disciplinary Committee, I don’t think you guys would like what I do once I get my hands on a poor delinquent, assuming I even wanted to.’

‘What the heck?! Nightclubs?! Privacy?! Without Rubber?! Are you out of your mind kid?! I haven’t even graduated from school yet to find a proper job to take care of 2 extra mouths to feed! Do you even realized what you are saying?! Even so, I’ll think twice about the nightclub since I already had enough trouble sleeping night with all the crappy techno songs they play down there!’

The teacher slams his textbook to the table to signal the class to settle down. The whole classroom went quiet and everyone got back to their seat. Fuming, the teacher only said one sentence.

“Serugievu, get out. You disrupted the class, and you are late. You are not allowed in until after break. Out now.”

Sighing, Luka walks out of the class. Just as he left the room, Kenichi also got up and follows him.

“Mr. Mikazuki! Sit down! You are hereby at risk of receiving similar punishment as Mr.Serugievu!”

“Go on Sensei, I’m fine with it.”

“You__! Hey! Get back!”

Too late, Kenichi too walks out of the classroom, as he takes his bag with him and walks up behind Luka. Luka seems to just pass through the hallway, possibly wanting to go downstairs.

“Hey! Are you already leaving school?! Everyone was excited to see you know?!”

“Yeah, what about it? They are just feel the gust of the moment. Everything will subside once this semester is over. They’ll all just forget about what happened yesterday.”

“Come’ On! They like you! You can now have a great school life that you always wanted, yeah?”

“Maybe, but it’s not meant to be like this. I said peace not tumult.”

“Well fine, you’ll see soon enough.”

Luka knew this excitement will be gone in the coming months as people find new stuff to gossip about. What he did yesterday wasn’t to make himself popular or to be noticed, it was to protect his friend. No matter what he does Kenichi wouldn’t understand it since he doesn’t know pain.

“So where are you going now?”

“Just want to go to the school garden and wait till Lunch Break. It’s much quieter there.”

“Mind If I follow you?”

“No, you should go back to class and probably apologize to sensei. I just want some privacy.”

With one look on Luka’s face, Kenichi understands that and recognizes that his friend does need some down time to himself. Besides, Kenichi already caused enough trouble to his friend.

“Okay, but if you need anything just come call me in class. I’ll see you at break. Take care buddy.”

“You too, Kenichi.”

Kenichi walks back to class as Luka walks downstairs to the garden. As he walked to the garden, he notices a pile of wooden sticks and metal pipes, probably from a previous renovation project, as well as a saw, a nail gun and a hammer just in case. There’s also a pair of pliers and a long cord of wiring for the electricity. He walks through the right door leading to the gym and heads to the green patch with several sakura trees. He sets down his bag near one of them, sitting down before he taking out a textbook from his bag so he can read for the remainder of the period. Next to the garden, a large field is setup for the Track and Field exercises. In truth, the field is used for many things besides running such as shot puts, high jumps and special sport events during the sports festival. On the tracks, a group of first year girls in their tracksuits can be seen partaking in their PE sessions, where they had to perform a lap run around the 200 m wide track ring. One girl can be seen 2 meters ahead of the others, as her long braided honeycomb blonde hair tied down at the end by a large elastic nylon ribbon trails along her back. She reaches the finish line 3 meters ahead of her classmates as they panted while she gave away only a few puffs from her chest seemingly managing her breaths well. She then turns to side and sees Luka as she runs towards him while waving.

“Hey! How do you think it was? Heh? I’m pretty fast right? Sensei says I finished in just shy below the school track team record. Just 5 seconds shy above the school’s record of, 2:10 mins!”

Luka could only nod his head at her since he doesn’t know what else to say. In fact, that was actually him who set the record just a year before during the school’s sports festival. He was the third contestant representing his class’s long distance running team and took the finish line just shy 0.5 meters ahead of the other contestants although he held back since he knew he could run a lot longer than them. He knew it wouldn’t be worth mentioning otherwise.

“Uh huh. Well done.”

“Huh?! Is that all you got to say, Mr. fish-face?! You must be so busy with your work that you can’t even look at other people’s accomplishments! How shut-in are you?”

“Uhm, I’m reading my textbooks. That doesn’t count as work, it’s called investment in personal worth. I don't need to achieve anything to prove myself.”

“Hah! So if you do have anything to prove yourself, how are you going to get a job if you can’t impress then?!”

“Kid, you don’t know.”

“What did you say?!”

The students from her class look on at the two having their arguments as they gullibly think they are a couple, blinded by their delusional shoujo ai fantasies.

“Hiyahhh!! Look it’s Kiriyama-san and that Russian student who beat up Furukawa and took her as his bride to be!”

“Ohh, I’m so jealous of Hotori-chan. Hogging that boy all for herself.”

“Yeah, imagine…. having an older foreigner boyfriend who knows how to respect ladies and protect them from imminent danger. If only I’m as lucky as her!”

Luka could hear all the shrieks and giggles from her classmates as he knows well now that his peaceful serenity is now compromised by anybody who has heard about him or what he did since yesterday. A normal high school life will surely be missed.

“*Sigh* I’m going to pack up now. Catch you around kid.”

“I’m NOT A KID! *MOUGUUU*!!”

As Hotori pouts girlish tantrums from behind, Luka faintly smiles to himself. Remembering his own childhood, that had been whisked away from him long ago. Laughter and giggles resound within his heart as a nostalgic memory of the past as he knew of a man who held him up in his huge yet gentle arms, laughing together.

Suddenly out of the tranquil peaceful morning, shouts came ringing out from the front gate of the school as Luka immediately runs towards it by instinct.

“Hey! Where are you going?!”

Seeing Luka run off suddenly, Hotori follows him suit. As he arrives at the front of the school, just 80 meters away from him, he sees the source of the commotion as three guards are trying to stop two men from banging at the gate.

“HEY! GET OUT OF THERE! THIS IS A SCHOOL! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED IN HERE UNLESS YOU ARE PERMITTED TO DO SO!”

“THIS IS THE LAST WARNING! IF YOU DO NOT MOVE AWAY I WILL CALL THE POLICE AND INFORM OF ATTEMPTED INTRUSION! AND IF YOU CONTINUE TO PERSIST, I WILL BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF YOU!”

The men held their batons tight to their grip as they prepare to attack the two intruders. Look closely, Luka recognizes the shirts the two figures were wearing! It’s the same delivery men he encountered on the way to school! They look much more pale black now as well the absence of pupils in their eyes, and there’s blood on their shirts which doesn’t seem to belong to them and it looks brighter compared to the blood he saw in the delivery truck. The way the two men move looks different as they seem to sway their arms around in an uncoordinated fashion as they banged their head against the gate.

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE!?” Another voice called out as a man approaches the scene from the Main Building. It’s the vice-principal.

“Who are these people? Why are they here at the front gate? Get them out of here at this instance!”

“Yes sir!”

‘Bloodshot eyes, white eyes. Grey skin, blackened skin….limp arms... NO! Don’t tell me!’

Luka having analyzed the situation, sees the guard prepare to open the gate realizes what might happen next.

“DO NOT OPEN THE GATE! THEY AREN’T NORMAL! DO NOT OPEN THE GATE!”

Luka yell from the top of his lungs but it was too late.

One of the guards opens flipped the latch and slides the gate open while the others walk up to the two figures to handcuff them.

However, just as soon as the gate wasn’t obstructing blocking their path the two supposed delivery men grabbed the guard and forced him to the ground, causing others to stare in shock as they bit into his face and tore his entire scalp apart exposing the skull.

“URRRRAGGGGGHHH! H__HEL__P!!! *GURGLE*”

He was done for as blood pooled around and the creature proceeded to tear open his chest and eat his still beating heart.

Hotori is shocked at the sight of the bizarre gruesome killing as she witnesses it unfold before her.

“What is that man doing to the guard? Why is he eating him?!”

The other one lunges to attack the second guard, who is still in shock. It bit him in the neck and tore out his tendons and the main artery causing blood to spray in all directions.

“AHH! AAAHH!! AHHH!! AAAAAAAAHH__________!! BLUURRRGGHH___!!!”

The 3rd guard and the vice-principal having realized what just happened, run back to the school in a hurry forgetting to close the gate in a panic.

Hotori continues to blurt out words in fear as her hands and knees start to shake.

Luka continues to observe the two creatures turn away from their prey after 3 seconds as the “prey” started to convulse in a seizure, uncontrollably spraying out blood before they got back up with the same white eyes as the 2 creatures that were once delivery men. At that moment, only one thing came to Luka’s mind and he knew what it means.

‘Protocol PSR-ZZ88 “Black Moth”’

He looks around his surroundings to find a weapon and sees a baton dropped by the fleeing guard, he grabs it before grabbing Hotori’s hand and immediately dashing inside the school’s Main Block. He then slides the glass door close before he quickly slams the bolt on the glass door shut to lock it in place.

“What was that!?”

“Hotori! Go around this floor and warn everyone about outside! Tell to lock their windows and the doors! Put up anything to block the openings”

“I-I saw_”

“THERE’S NO TIME FOR THIS! PLEASE JUST GO TELL EVERYONE IN YOUR CLASSES! I’LL GO TO MINE!”

Without another word, Luka rushes upstairs at a lightning pace while Hotori tries to recollect herself.

‘He’s right, there’s no time for this! I’ve got to warn the others fast!’

Hotori runs to the nearest class and starts shouting, “There’s a killing at school! Shut your windows! Block them up!”

Luka too started yelling into classrooms on the second floor with a sharp voice telling them, “SHUT YOUR WINDOWS! STOP EVERYTHING AND STAY INSIDE!”

The pair goes around telling everyone to shut the doors and blockade while a mysterious horde of shambling dead people who came back to life approaches from the south side of the school. Luka realizing the pace of the growing “them” as he call it, he runs into his classroom.

“THERE’S A KILLING SPREE OUTSIDE! STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND STAY INSIDE!”

The entire class 2-C stares at Luka as soon as his voice let out into the room. Kenichi stands up surprised by his sudden appearance in the room. But Luka doesn’t stop there, he was on to the next classroom.

“THERE’S A KILLER OUTSIDE! STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND STAY INSIDE!”

He kept going as Kenichi runs outside too, only to see horde of “Them” emerging from the school’s front gate. Upon seeing the grotesque looks and the sickly movements of their limbs, he too realized something’s not right. Inoue runs out of her class after Luka interrupted her lessons.

“Hey Ken-chi what’s going on?! I heard Luka come into my class to stop doing things!”

Inoue turns to look outside the window and sees a horde of “them” approaching.

“What are those people?! They look like corpses!”

“I don’t know either Inoue but Luka seems very worried, I’ve never seen him like that before.”

“President Inoue!”

Yoshijima, the head the disciplinary committee runs up to Inoue and Kenichi looking confused as much as they are.

“I’m going to follow him!”

“Hey wait!”

Inoue chases after Kenichi and so does Yoshijima.

Luka runs the 3rd floor to reach a small room next to the principal’s office. A blare of microphone static rang out of the school’s PA system as a voice starts to speak.

“Everyone, there has been an incident outside the school. Please remain calm in your seats and follow your teacher’s instru_Hey who let!*POOF*__”

“Everyone! This is not a drill! I repeat this is not a drill! There has killing spree happening within the school right now! Do NOT let a single one with White eyes into the building! Shut your windows! Block them with anything! Stay Alert! Anyone outside, Gym and the Field, GET INSIDE NOW!”

The man in the PA broadcast room, the principal stares furiously at Luka as he forced his way inside.

“You! Young man, need to stay out! This is adult’s work!”

“Yeah?! Then you’re going to be walking around like a d***less greasy f***ball if you don’t tell them that they need to start lining up and prepare for an evacuation.”

In Japan, saying “d***” or “p****” or associating a person to a sex organ is the rudest form of insult that even hot-headed politicians would avoid. Having never heard a student swear like that to a teacher, not even the most delinquent child at school would do. The principal is fuming.

“Why you…! GET OUT! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU IN THIS SCHOOL EVER AGAIN!”

“Mr.Principal!”

“Oh! Mrs. Matsumoto, please stay in your classroom for your own safety.”

“I want an explanation on what is happening here!”

“Well, you see Mrs. Matsumoto_”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on! The school is about to be overrun with infected fleshing eating monsters if we don’t do something right now to get everyone inside!”

“HYAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

“Get away from me!”

Screams can be heard coming from the field as Luka realizes that the student who were outside are now running around and will die soon if he doesn’t run down there and tell them to get inside. Luka goes down the stairs gliding along the rails as he hurries to the first floor.

Inoue looks at the principal with a serious look on her face, the Principal listens to her.

“If this is true and he’s not lying, tell the entire teaching faculty to stop the lessons and get someone to go assist with locking the doors shut after everyone is taken in! Understood?!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

The principal with a new set of directives, tells the student to stop their lessons and requests the student council member, disciplinary committee and the faculty to assist with locking and barricading the door to the school with anything heavy they could find.

“I’m going down there to assist the council members! I will send someone up to relay a message if necessary!”

“I’m also going to get all the disciplinary committee members together! We need to find as many heavy things as we can to blockade!”

“I’ll go down a help Luka.” Kenichi said before he chased down the flight of stairs after him.

Luka gets to the first floor and grabs a lead pipe before he runs towards the south entrance of the school to let the students outside into the building. He quickly reaches the doors to the entrance and swings it wide open, before he yells at the student who are now struggling to get away from the horde just behind them. There are already a few dead or dying while being eaten alive.

“HURRY GET INSIDE! DON’T LOOK BACK!”

Kenichi catches up to Luka as he sees the chaos before him.

“Ken! Guard the doors! Take that stick lying just outside the entrance!”

Ken spots a 3 inch wide wooden staff, probably used for the field. He grabs it, gets outside the door and prepares to push ‘them’ away.

The students who were running on the tracks got inside first before the students who were previously playing baseball in another side of the field gets inside as well but some with bite marks. Luka immediately bars them from getting inside and knocks them out in the face with the baton, punching straight into their foreheads with the hard end hopefully long enough so they don’t witness themselves getting eaten. A few of the zombies got close from the side and Kenichi shoves them away as he spots them.

“No! Don’t shove them! Hit them right in the head! They won’t stop till they get you!”

Kenichi in the heat of the moment obeys Luka’s command, positions his staff vertically towards them and hits them in the head.

*splat*

The head cracked open and it fell but another is approaching. Kenichi couldn’t move a movement before Luka delivers a swift and powerful kick to the middle of its chest sending it falling head first into the raised boundary of the door platform. ‘splat’ the back of the head cracked open, spilling gore all across the platform and the ground just outside.

“AHHHH!!!” One of the students was caught by one them but as it does so Luka responded with lightning fast reflexes dashes over and hits the arm grabbing onto the boy with a sharp and powerful baton strike. The pressure point on the elbow was targeted and it managed to break loose. It seemed to even break its bones.

*CRACK* ”Oh god!” the freed kid runs inside as Luka delivers another strike to its head as it prepared to bite him, specifically in the center top of the head with the tip of the baton. He manages to crack open the top of the cranium and shoves the thick baton deep into the brain before kicking the body down.

Soon, all the student were inside as Luka gestures Kenichi to get inside the building too.

“Kenichi! Everyone’s inside! Get in!”

“What about these guys?!”

“Don’t take them in! Leave them!”

“BUT_!”

“LEAVE THEM! GET IN!”

Kenichi reluctantly complies and Luka closes the doors after that but suddenly one got inside. It tries to grab Kenichi but Luka immediately kicks its leg causing it to fall flat on the floor before he stomps on its head while trying to get up, delivering a sharp blow to it.

*SPLECH* It stopped moving as shards of the skull scattered. Luka pushes a lead pipe through the door handles before the undead outside started banging onto the door. Then, he took a small breath before he continued to the front entrance of the school. By now, there’s ‘them’ all over the glass as they try to get inside but a few of the student council members were taking tables from the first year classrooms and stacking them on top one another upside down. Luka rushes over to them as he tries to bring more chairs and tables, one in each hand. Kenichi rushes over too and started bringing in chairs from the classroom where students and teachers inside also tries to barricade the windows with their books and tables too. Then, there’s also the west wing where there’s a door leading towards the open walkway to the gym, hopefully Inoue and the Big dude from the Disciplinary Committee got it covered. Just as he was saying, Inoue and big guy, Yoshijima runs over to the main entrance of the school.

“The gym had only a few people in it, just a few maintenance staff and a guard. They managed to get into the main building.”

“That’s great! Then that means everyone’s safe, for now.”

Luka continues to concentrate on his task while he heard out Inoue as he brings more chairs and tables. Then he asks her,

“Let’s check the windows while we are at this. Make sure each class managed to block all windows.”

Right behind Inoue, Hotori catches up to them at the main entrance, looking a bit exhausted going around yelling and helping people put up things to block the windows.

“Luka! I’ve checked all the classes on this floor and everything seems to be looking fine.”

Luka nods at Hotori as he continues shifting tables around, trying to form a small secondary barricade between the static shoe lockers.

“Un, but even then, you should double check if the things used were stable enough and shifting the weight towards the window rather than just being beside it_”

“AHHHH!!”

The cry came from one of the classrooms down the hallway. Kenichi being the closest rush into the classroom and finds two of the undead inside as they bit into one of the students and were tearing open his stomach to eat his intestines. Luka runs right by Kenichi and quickly kicks it off the student and bludgeons the dead straight into its eye socket with his baton while Kenichi swings his staff, bashing it into the back of the other’s head splaying blood everywhere. Students besides him whimpered as the teacher too was shaken by it. Luka immediately uses a board and duct tape beside him to plaster it onto the window before he runs outside, grabs a nail gun he found earlier and quickly punches nails into each end of the board. Then he pushes a chair with a lot of books to lean against the window. The bitten student starts to convulse as he prepares to turn into one of them.

“I-It__hurts! Please……kill me!”

The boy begged for a swift end as he feels his energy draining away. Luka complies and just as he raises his baton, Kenichi yell at him.

“What are you doing?! Luka, stop this! Why do you want to kill him?!”

“He begged for it, is that yours to decide over his life? Do you even realized by now what’s happening to this place?”

“I don’t care about that! I don’t know, maybe it’s just rabies, maybe there’s cure_!”

“How can you be so sure?! What if there isn’t a cure? God forbid it takes years of research to even find one! Even then, even by then, there’s only chances of a vaccine that would never work!”

Suddenly, the bitten student stopped bleeding and seems to drop dead, before his eyes open wide with white pupils.

“RRAAAGGHH!” The turned kid tries to get up but is pinned down by Luka as it tries to sink its teeth into Luka’s foot. The students around him were afraid and started crying while the teacher simply froze where he is, taking no action. The rest in the hallway and the classrooms class rooms peers into the glass, looking at Luka as he presses down on the undead student. Inoue and Yoshijima could only look on as they too didn’t know how to deal with such an incident. Hotori puts her hand over her mouth as she looks at the supposedly dead student that is still alive despite its vital organs having been torn apart.

The two boys, Hiiro and Youji snuck down to the first floor after they heard the loud crashing downstairs and went see what’s going on. But it’s not only just them, a number of student from the third year floor also came down to check on the noise as more student gather around the classroom.

“Damn, one of those things tried to get inside! Did you saw what those two guys inside did?! They just smashed their heads open!”

“Have they gone mad?! Are they also going to kill that kid too?!”

Youji looks shocked to see the dead student moving around like it came out of a horror film.

“This is ***** sick! What is that?!”

Hiiro tips his glasses and remember seeing something similar in a survival horror game.

“It looks like something you would expect from.”

“But that’s just a game! This is real! How can you be so sure that it is a ‘zombie’?!”

“It… just looks like it. It’s got white eyes. The guy probably turned into one of them.”

“Stop kidding around, Hiiro!”

“I’m not kidding.”

Youji turns to Hiiro and notices Hiiro face, looking more serious than usual.

“He has to kill it.”

Youji shocked at his friend’s conclusion, argues with Hiiro.

“What!? Did the stress broke your head too, Hiiro?! Look, that’s a person! He’s just sick!_”

“But he has died and returned! Even you would know that too don’t you, Youji! A living person would not survive having their bellies ripped open!”

Youji looks at Hiiro with frustration and anxiety, but he looks again at the zombie, at the damage done to its body and realizes what Hiiro says is true. No one would survive that sort of damage to their vital organs.

Luka sensing the frightened stares of the students, looks around him while he clears his throat. There’s a lot of student looking at him right now, in the classroom and from the outside hall they look at him anticipating to what he’s doing to do next. Luka thinks carefully about how to deal with this situation, because if he kills this thing right now, everyone would panic and think that he’s the murderer. This would stop the school from functioning and many more students will die. Then, he finally understands what he has to say.

“Do you see this? Take a good look, everyone. This kid used to be just like us, he may have parents who cared about him and entrusted him with a bright future. He may have a girlfriend who cares about him, he might have a “teacher”_”

Luka turns towards the teacher in the corner of the room as he shivers at the sight of the student.

“who had expected a lot from him and probably wanted him to succeed.”

The undead student tries to get up again but Luka stomps back down relentlessly holding down on it.

“This boy, was like us, but just what if…., what if his parents saw him like in this form? Their son…, turned into a mindless murderer that seeks out flesh and in doing so becoming one of ‘them’.”

Luka points out to the barricaded windows at the dead leaning against the windows having heard the commotion in the room as they try to get inside. Their eyes have no pupils as they could only sense the people inside the building through hearing the sounds.

“’THEM’! The kind which can’t see any colors of the world because they are blind! ‘Them’ that walks around hearing things but never know what it is only to hit dead ends as they pathetically search for it! ‘Them’ that can no longer taste good food because their tongues stopped working and the only thing they ate is flesh that stinks of iron and ammonia! ‘Them’ that can never smell fragrant flowers and good food that their mothers cooked for them heart fully, only to smell raw meat off the bones of a dying prey. ‘Them’ that no longer knows what it feels like to have emotions as their hearts stopped working.”

He then points his baton aimed at the undead kid’s face.

“This is who he is now and it is YOUR fault that you let him turn this way. He begged to be killed knowing what would become of him and now that he is one of ‘Them’ he is trapped inside this tomb which was his own body. His face will haunt those who know him and force them to a breaking point of no return, when those who cared about him stops caring about the world. When people stop caring about one another…, that is when we all become like ‘Them’. Prisoners of our own bodies, forever.”

The students look down to floor as they try to emphasize what Luka meant when he relates the boy to ‘them’.

“But those of us, who live will continue to have memories within us. Those memories no matter how cruel they are, are a part of ourselves. We don’t run away from it, we accept it for what it is. The ability to see, hear, smell, taste and the ability to feel emotions; those are what constitutes as our memory, and within them, the spirits of those who died continue to live on as memories of these events take are taking place right here, and right now.”

Luka raises his eyes and looks at everyone including those down the hallway. After being ascertain that at least 3/4 of the school can hear him. Then he says the last part,

“From now on, if you find someone who has succumbed to this disease whether it’s friend or family. You do not hesitate to take them out, to lay them to rest, to kill them. They would’ve wanted you do it, so they don’t suffer anymore. Their memories will survive as long as you live. Make their deaths not be in vain, for giving yourself up is what will make their deaths meaningless! Live for their sake, live so you can tell your own kids what they were like when they were alive. Keep moving on so that there’s a better chance of you living! Keep moving forward!”

Luka finally, swings his baton into the skull of the undead student as swiftly as possible, giving it a peaceful escape from this world.

“If you tell me that’s not good enough of a reason. Then I don’t know.”

Students fell quiet for a moment but then one of them spoke.

“He’s right. We have to live! And we fight for it!”

“Yeah, I can’t die here like this! If I die at least I’ll go out fighting whatever ‘them’ are!”

“If we end up like that kid, then there’s no one left to remember him! We have to fight for his sake too!”

“OHHHHHH!!!”

Kenichi, Inoue and Yoshijima could only stand before Luka in astonishment after what seems to be a powerful speech even in such desperate times. The students in the classroom and the hallway cried out as it boosted their morale.

“Luka, you are really….”

Kenichi stops short of arguing with Luka as he realizes what Luka’s saying now is true, more than ever. They have to fight if they wish to live, and for the sake of their own families too. To at least die fighting rather than to surrender to ‘them’ outside.

Luka knew what he had to say because these students have never experienced such traumatic things in a time of desperation whereas Luka was very intimate with all this. He knew that they will have to face their worst fears and accept the present as it is. Sooner or later they will have to survive in a world full of death and gave them a reason to fight for and to survive. He felt as if he’s an older brother looking after kids who never knew what it is like to live a life filled with constant danger and pressure over their morals.

Hotori looks with into Luka’s face and sees his eyes. They were the same eyes he had when he fought on the school roof with Furukawa. She senses that same emotion emitting from his face right now, the face of absolute determination. She smiles knowing she wasn’t wrong about him and maybe underneath that façade, there’s truly a person who cares about others.

As the students of Tokonosu Daiichi High were vitalized with the new found source of morale, the crowd of zombies outside the school compound continues to ram against the doors and windows as they sense noise emanating from within. Luka knows that they have to find a way to escape soon before their little barricade eventually falls to ‘them’, and knowing that he has managed to secure to cooperation of the school and the student, he now has a plan in mind. One which will require a combined effort.

‘Let’s begin, our breakout phase!’

-- To Be Continued –

Next- Ch2. Breakout of the Dead

Afterword

In this chapter, the protagonist does something very unexpected. I made sure that in this fan story the protagonist wouldn't simply take someone he knows and runs away from school. Though it is understandable coming from the original story's protagonist Takashi, since he's human. Luka on the other hand was familiar with the scenario in some way and he was trained to deal with such a situation and many others like such. This will be further explained in the next chapter's flashback as to why he knows about 'them' in the first place. The mysterious "Protocol PSR-ZZ88 'Black Moth'". Thank you for reading and I hope to see in the next chapter!

Spearmann66

[ravynfyre]

March 28, 2012, I got a phone call from the bitch married to my father. apparently, he had collapsed while on the phone with her. he was living in an apartment, while she got the house, because she had recently had him arrested for domestic assault. not entirely sure why she bothered to send anyone over to his apartment to check on him, but she did, and that person found my father unresponsive on the floor. he was rushed to the hospital. over the next two weeks, I would come down for a few days, then go home for a few, before coming back again, while the docs ran test after test and he got handed from one icu doc to another. he was, at least, awake for most of my visits, including for his birthday. but none of the tests were telling anyone anything. at least, until the brain scans finally came back. two spots on his frontal lobes, but they appeared to be infection, not cancer. treatment plans were made - between the bouts of drama, which included that bitch just... Up and leaving without saying a word one day, and claiming that she would never be back and that dad was "my problem now". it was a rocky couple of weeks, as I played marriage counselor, because he needed her and loved her, and I bit my tongue on all the horrible, shitty ass things she did and said to me, about him, about me, about my sister... while I tried to swallow my pride and keep her at least talking to him so he would not give up. at the end of those few weeks, when the docs strategized his new treatment plans, and she was back, with plans to drop the bogus order of protection and bring him back home, at least until the infection was fully treated and he was back on his feet, dad lay there in ICU and asked me to not come back down anymore. he was a proud man, and didn't like me seeing him in the hospital. he asked me to stay home and deal with my own injury, at the time, and he promised that he would have me come down again when he was all better. he died on june 17th, 2012. father's day. it hadn't been an infection after all. it had been glioblastoma - brain cancer. the worst kind of brain cancer. from the day I walked out of the ICU in Paducah KY, to june 17th, that bitch did everything she could to keep my father from me. she intercepted calls, disabled his cell phone, destroyed answering machine messages, blocked emails, and threw out letters. the three times that he managed to answer the phone before she could stop him, and thus actually let me speak to him, she made sure to yell loudly, so that I would overhear, that he had shit himself again, or some other humiliating thing. the last time I spoke to him, she had managed to convince him that I was out to get them both, or something, and he told me, "maybe you just shouldn't call here ever again. yeah. don't call back. I don't want to talk to you again." I replied, "fine. I won't." and I didn't. she didn't even have the human decency to call and tell me that he had died a couple weeks later. she called my nephew, and told him to tell his mother. when I got the text from my sister and called the bitch, the bitch made sure to remind me that if I showed up in her *county*, that she would have me arrested, then she hung up on me. ( her next door neighbor was the mayor, and the guy across the street was the sheriff. yes, I did and still do believe that she would have the power to get that done.) the only other time I ever managed to exchange words with her, was because she wanted me to know that she was disposing of his ashes in the compost heap in the woods behind their house, despite the grave plot waiting next to my mother in my hometown. it's been five years. I know that hate is a hot coal that you grip in your fist, while expecting the other person to get burned... but I still hate her. I hate her more than I hate the bastards who raped me when I was a child. I hate her for taking away my dad.... but I hate myself more, for letting our last words to each other be words of anger and hate. I miss you dad. I'm sorry I wasn't the person I should have been.