#my husband is three p- [gunshot]

[buckingham-ashtray]

carl powers victor trevor and john fucking watson

[maiamore]

THREE STRIKES

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 2k

Summary: Joel fucks you in his truck.

Tags: road rage, cockwarming, orgasm denial, husband!joel, public sex, car sex, p in v, unprotected sex, use of the word daddy, grumpy!joel

A/N: swung this out in eight hours through pure adrenaline and proofreading with my homie MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you knew about Joel Miller, it was to never fuck with him when he was on the road.

It wasn’t that he was a bad driver, per se. Joel just had pretty low tolerance with shitty drivers, as evident by the dozens of times he’d changed his horn out in the past couple of months. You learned to sit pretty & let him grumble—being on your merry way as the passenger princess you were, humming along to whatever country station he flipped to.

“Left in the lane up ahead,” you cut in, interrupting Joel’s long-winded rant about the signages being too small. Which of course, his old man vision was probably more of the reason why, not the state's fault. Joel at the same time, refused to use a GPS, a stubborn stance that had already led to him missing an exit earlier. Considering the two of you were now running late to dinner to his younger brother,Tommy, and his wife’s place—you’d been on edge.

Joel glances at you, annoyance flickering across his face. “I know where I’m goin’, sweetheart.”

“Sure,” you replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from the single word.

“Joel!” Your arm whips directly in front of his face to point at the lane he was supposed to be in. He shoots you a sharp look in return, his palm pressing down on the base of the wheel, rotating it clockwise as he finally shifts over. You could tell, just from the tension in his jaw—that you’d hit strike one.

“I was about to,” he countered, his voice defensive.

“Yeah, didn’t seem like it.”

“My signal was on.”

“Oh, great, you announced your signalling intentions five hundred meters away from the lane. Can I please just put the GPS on?” you bit back, exasperated.

“We’ll get there. Quit fussin’.”

You’d slumped back into your seat, attempting to not let it affect you, Joel knew better though. He could tell you were ready to pop up with a “we need to turn here!”—despite your piss poor attempt at behaving for now.

His truck comes to a stop behind a Blue Toyota Yaris—with a slow rumble from the engine. Fingers drumming steadily against the steering wheel to fill the silence. Finally, he breaks the tension. “You plannin’ on sulkin’ all the way there?” 

“I’m not sulking.” You shot back.

Joel raises a brow, giving you a once-over. Gaze flicking to your thighs, clamped together and turned away from him. Well, that’ll do it. His lips twitched like he might’ve smirked. “Mmhm. Sure looks like it.” His voice a smooth drawl.

You turned your head just enough to shoot him a mocking look, trying not to let it show just how much the hum in his response caused a visceral reaction in what went on below. 

Joel’s jaw clenches at that, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

Strike two. 

The light turns green.

With a long, drawn out sigh—Joel eased his boot off the brake, released the clutch and wrapped a firm hand around the gear shift to nudge it into first. The truck rolled forward with its familiar low rumble,  He continued driving without saying a word, his patience teetering on the edge with how he was now holding the steering wheel with a white knuckled grip.

You shift in your seat, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when the click of a tongue snaps your attention back up. “You gotta be shittin’ me.” He breathes out. Gesturing angrily at the Blue Yaris driving way below the speed limit, you couldn’t really fault Joel for this one. You lean backwards, fully prepared to hear the end of it. 

He behaves for a while, but after a few miles, his patience snaps. With a grunt, he slams on the horn and flashed his lights, the sound cutting through the air like a gunshot. 

You groaned internally at his obnoxious habit. Before you could get a word in, the Yaris brake-checks him, sending the both of you careening forward.

Your face lights up in pure and utter amusement. You let out an audible hah! Karma was kind, you supposed, for the Yaris at least. But not for you. Definitely not for you. By the time you turned to look at Joel—

He was already looking your way.

That was three strikes.

“Oh, that’s funny now is it?” He says, with no humour in his tone.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so obnoxious with your honking. Just because you’ve got old people hearing—”

Joel swerves, stopping on the shoulder of the road. You twist your body a little when you feel the lock of your seat belt snapping open with a dull click.

“Up.”

You blinked. “Up where? Onto the dashboard?” You mused at his audacity. His eyes twitch. With a sharp tug of your arm, he attempts to pry you over the console towards his side. “Ow!—Okay, okay!” You huffed, unsteadily sliding over, your ass hitting the honk in the process, sending the both of you jolting.

Joel’s hand tightens around your wrist to pull you snug onto his lap. “Christ, Joel, what the hell?” You tried, effectively shutting up when you felt his very hard erection pressed against you. Your eyes widen, looking at Joel who didn’t have an ounce of embarrassment on his expression.

Clearly, someone liked you being a brat.

“Nothin’ to say now, mouth?” Joel tugs you by the back of your waist, your palms steadying yourself against his shoulders. You bit down on your lips to withhold just how much you enjoyed this “punishment”. With the thin material of your skirt, you’d felt every-single-fucking-thing. And god did it feel good.

So much for putting me in my place. You thought. 

Your heart was already thumping with how the truck was still illegally parked, surely, he wouldn’t fuck you into obedience here now would he? And risk getting arrested? Goody-two-shoes Joel?

Your gaze trails down as Joel snaps his belt buckle off. Nerves frayed in both trepidation and exhilaration. He brings his hand up to his mouth to wet his fingertips before slipping them beneath your skirt. 

You shudder at the motion, feeling his knuckles graze the sensitive skin, legs parting where it was tucked underneath your thighs. A thumb pushes the flimsy fabric of your thong aside, his knuckles grazing your clit. You jumped at the sensation. He gathers the slick to rub against the entrance of your folds before sinking two fingers into you in a go. You groan, tipping your head back at how full you already feel. 

“Fuck the lube, I guess.” He murmurs more so to himself. Lips quirked into a lop-sided grin as he curls his fingers up steadily into your slick pussy. Thrusting in and out. Iiiiin and out. You ground your hips impatiently to take his fingers deeper. Which surprisingly—he lets you. Normally you’d be met with a stern warning to stay still. 

He wasn’t that cruel to you, yet. A rough palm comes up to knead your tits over the pretty blue sundress you had on. You were on the precipice from coming with the adrenaline alone.

But just as you tightened around his fingers, your pussy clenches around….nothing. Your half lidded gaze meets Joel in confusion when he pulls his fingers out. You feel two heavy palms lift your hips, which you oblige without complaint.

“Upsy-daisy.” He grunts, stuffing you to the brim with his cock. The both of you let out a groan in unison. Your hand slams up onto the headrest, your pussy greedily swallowing all eight inches of him up. 

You attempt to plant your palms back onto his knees to ride Joel’s cock when a sturdy palm on your waist stops you, tugging your back towards his chest. You look back at Joel, a brow furrowed.

The truck then whirrrs back to life.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?

Your lips parted in disbelief, you feel the truck swerve back onto the road, the slight jump making his cock nudge deeper into you. A pitiful moan left you. “A-Are you kidding me? You’re driving like this? We’re gonna crash!” You protested. 

“We won’t if you keep your head down.” He emphasizes the down with a hand tugging the back of your neck till’ your cheeks smushed against his shoulders—eyes steadily welling up in tears from the growing ache.

“Wanna be my GPS so badly dontcha’, sugar?” He taunts,“go ‘head. Tell daddy how many miles he has left.”

You grimaced at his tone. You should’ve known punishment wasn’t going to taste sweet. 

Every goddamned dip in the road had you biting back a moan. Weakly, you glanced outside the car windows. “T-Two.” You manage. Eyes fluttered shut with hot tears staining Joel’s flannel. 

Your cunt tightens around Joel’s cock involuntarily. You lift your hips an inch to give yourself the bare minimum stimulation, gasping softly at every single jerk of the truck. 

“You best quit doin’ that if you want daddy to fuck you, baby.” He warns. 

You hiccup, forehead rubbing against Joel’s shoulders pitifully. “Joel…” You whined against his chest. 

“I know, sweetheart. How else are you gonna learn, huh? Testin’ me all damn—...“ He heaves, rocking you upwards until you come slamming down back onto his cock. “—day.” Grunting at the way your pussy grips around him like vice. You let out a stifled cry against his shoulder.

Thighs quivering now at the lack of proper attention to your cunt. 

“I-I’m sorry—…can’t—…Joel.” You begged, lifting your head up to trace the curve of your nose up the scuff of his jaw. 

Joel wasn’t a man of steel for sure, just feeling the wetness of his wife’s tears against his chest was enough for him to give in and fuck her like the pretty little slut she was for him. 

He clenches his jaw. Letting you pepper needy kisses up his neck. “Please…please please—…” 

“Need him, baby.”

The car nearly comes into a screeching halt when Joel stops in front of Tommy’s garage. 

You feel a firm tug at the back of your head. Cheeks flushed visibly. “Poor baby, you need him now do you?” He mutters softly. Joel gazes at you. Your pretty, tear stricken face making his cock throb even harder than he knew possible. 

“Even after you were such a fuckin’ brat?” You shake your head, not daring to move your hips in the slightest, in fear he might deny you. You didn’t think you could endure it any longer. 

“I’m sorry—…M’sorry.” You babbled, not even sure what exactly you were begging for anymore. You just needed something, anything to ease the ache.

With a content smirk, Joel’s hands run down your back in a soothing effort. 

“Keep quiet f’me?” He whispers. 

Your head tips back with a groan when Joel’s cock slams hard in you once, and again. 

And again. And again. 

He steadies your hips with a firm grip, snapping his hips upwards to meet the effort you took to grind your hips back down. Joel leans his head back against the seat. “Shit.” He whispers. 

It was bad enough he held back cumming into your tight little pussy for twenty minutes—but the way you were milking him now had him groaning in pain just to make sure you came before he did. 

“Sweet girl.” He coos. A rough palm sliding upwards to hold your jaw firm, facing him. “C’mon. Can’t come without you.” 

His thumb massages steadily against your clit, giving you the nudge you needed. Your palms shift to grip around his thighs. Arching your back in a way you didn’t know you even could before your entire body tenses. It doesn’t take long after for Joel to grunt with a heaving effort, flooding your pussy with his thick spend. He slides his hand down your throat, cupping around your waist to hold you against him.

The both of you remained there, panting heavily in the wake of what was possibly the best orgasms you’d had since your honeymoon. 

The haze of lust was short lived when the loud sound of Tommy’s garage door opening caught your attention. 

Joel laughs and you do too, he leans in to kiss the valley between your breasts up to your collarbone. You were officially a whole hour and a half late. 

“Think they’ll ever invite us again?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for "Vecna's Bride" by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie's Gothic name should be Edmund, but... I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Chapter warnings: none (but Eddie doesn't appear in this chapter yet... please bear with me)

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - At the Old Oak Tree

Christabel ran.

In the distance, she could hear the shouts and cheers of the hunting party, the excited barking of the dogs, and the occasional gunshots, cracking sharply in the crisp autumn air. She was not far enough. Lifting her heavy wool skirt above her knees, she pushed deeper into the bushes. The dead leaves from years past formed a soft carpet under her feet, muffling the sound of her steps, while the leaves of this year, despite having turned all shades of gold and crimson on the trees, had not yet fallen, so she need not worry about being discovered from their crunch underfoot. She hoped the party was not headed this way. After all her endeavors to snatch a moment alone, she intended to savor it to its fullest.

Christabel Cunningham hadn't had many opportunities to be alone in her twenty-three years on Earth. The only daughter of a wealthy New York businessman, she had been since birth surrounded by nurses and governesses and servants, who took care of her under the watchful eyes of her mother. Her father had died, quite suddenly, of a heart attack, when Christabel was only a child. Christabel did not miss him. To her, he was but a dim, distant figure, always away on business trips, or holed up in his study when at home, hiding from his wife, leaving Christabel to bear the brunt of her mother's nagging. The sole mark he'd left on Christabel's life was her name, given to her by him in a fit of romanticism, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Cunningham, who preferred classic names like Elizabeth or Catherine or Amelia. His death didn't leave much of a void behind.

Her mother, an ambitious and exacting woman, embittered by her failure to have a son and by becoming a widow so young, had poured all her affection and thwarted dreams upon her daughter, smothering the girl with them. She dictated everything Christabel wore and ate and read and play, and all the friends Christabel made and all the parties Christabel attended had to be approved by her. And so Christabel had grown up with her books and her dolls, lonely but never alone.

In truth, she hadn't been allowed to attend a lot of parties. As she grew up and learned more about her father's will, Christabel discovered a more mercenary side to what she'd once thought was her mother's overprotectiveness. As the trustee of her daughter's inheritance, Mrs. Cunningham could enjoy a lavish lifestyle, a townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a summer cottage in Newport, the latest fashion in her wardrobe and the most luxurious dishes on her table. But as soon as Christabel was married, she would be in charge of her own fortune, and Mrs. Cunningham would be left with half of what she was used to. Christabel believed that to prevent this, her mother would have locked her away forever, like Rapunzel in her tower.

But social standing has its advantages. Afraid of the wagging tongues of the town, the whispers behind closed doors that she was keeping her daughter from society to hold on to her money, Mrs. Cunningham had reluctantly allowed Christabel to make her debut when she came of age. Since then, her days had been filled with balls and theater trips in the winter, tennis matches and yacht races in the summer, giggling friends and fawning suitors, still under the watchful eyes of her mother. It was tedious, but Christabel had endured it because it was better than staying at home, surrounding by the dark walls of her room and feeling her mother's disapproving stare on her at all times. Besides, that was what was expected of all the debutantes. Smile, dance, flirt, ride, sketch or sing a little, play a little piano, speak a bit of French, a bit of German, be amusing but not sarcastic, be vivacious but not feisty, be modest but not withdrawn, and hopefully make an advantageous match, and then have daughters and watch them go through the same thing, over and over again.

Christabel knew she would not break free of this cycle. Her whole life she had been taught to do what she was told, to never question, to never put a foot out of line. But as her own, feeble form of rebellion, she made it a point to refuse every proposal she'd ever received—and there had been plenty of them. With her delicate features, dewy skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair, Christabel always turned heads in every room she walked in. It was true that her nose was slightly upturned and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but these flaws were seen as charming, not defective. And if her manners were at times rather listless and uninterested, well, her inheritance could more than make up for it. So a lot of men had fallen in love with her, or at least with her beauty, or with her money, and had proposed, but she had refused them all.

When Mrs. Cunningham found out about these refusals, Christabel always had a believable reason to convince her mother of her decision—the family had an unpleasant reputation, their fortunes were not equal, or the boy himself did not have a promising enough prospect. Mrs. Cunningham was appeased, for a while, but after two seasons and Christabel remained unmarried, she began to grow uneasy and warned her daughter of the perils of spinsterhood.

To all her admonishment, Christabel said nothing. It wasn't that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life, far from it. But unlike other young women, who dreamed of marriage as a celebration of love or even as a way to further their social connections, Christabel saw it as a means to freedom. And none of the men in her circle could give her that freedom she so thirsted. They all grew from the same stocks, the same root. If she married one of them, she would move in the same circle, lead the same life, beating a tired circle from Manhattan to Newport and back again, perhaps with the occasional trip to Europe, but still seeing the same faces, doing the same thing as everybody else, and never be free of her mother.

For that summer season, Christabel had tried to convince her mother to go to London or Paris, or, if they had to stay, then she was secretly hoping—as hateful as it sounded—to catch the eyes of a European aristocrat, many of whom were flocking to America in search of an heiress to restore their family fortune. Europe would be the ultimate escape. However, her mother disliked traveling, and although Christabel's inheritance was sizeable, it was not large enough to draw the attention of an impoverish earl or baronet.

At least her mother had accepted Mrs. Carver's invitation to their summer mansion in Tuxedo Park for two weeks of English-style country party. There were to be riding and shooting and picnics in the woods, all culminating in a costume ball on All Hallows' Eve. They had just come back from Newport, worn out and looking forward to some quiet days to recover before the winter season, so Christabel had been afraid her mother would refuse, knowing her dislike of the outdoors. But an invitation to the exclusive Tuxedo Park was hard to come by, and when Mrs. Cunningham learned the party was thrown for Mrs. Carver's eldest, Jason, who had just come back from Yale, nothing could have kept her away.

Jason Carver. Christabel sighed. All the debutantes were in love with him, though to Christabel, he had always been just a good friend, nothing more. She'd never imagined he would set his sight on her, not when he was always surrounded by so many other girls. So it had come as a complete shock when, after a dinner party at the Carvers' mansion, Jason had asked to speak to her alone in the gazebo overlooking Tuxedo Lake. There, while the moonlight rippled over the water, turning the surface of the lake into a broken mirror, he had taken Christabel's hands in his and, tremblingly, haltingly, asked her to marry him.

For the first time, Christabel had hesitated.

Jason was one of her few childhood friends her mother had approved of, as the Carvers' Manhattan residence was not far from the Cunninghams'. He had always been kind and attentive to her, and unlike some men, she knew he cared not a jot for her inheritance, since the Carvers was one of the richest and most prominent families in the city. A marriage between her and Jason would send her mother to Heaven.

That was the problem, of course. Christabel never wanted to do anything her mother wished.

"If we are to marry, can we live here?" she'd asked. It sounded as though she had accepted him already, but she didn't care. She looked around at the untamed parkland of the mansion, with the woods surrounding it on all sides and the sparkling lake in the distance. It may not be far enough from her mother, but it would be something.

"Of course!" Jason had said, squeezing her hands. "We'll come here for the summer, and—"

"No, you mistook me. I don't mean for the summer. I mean permanently."

Jason had laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. "We can't possibly live here! I have my business in town, and there's nobody here for half of the year anyway. Why would you want to live here?"

Christabel had tried to say that she wanted to live in Tuxedo Park precisely because there was nobody there for half of the year, but one look at Jason and she knew he wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she'd said and withdrawn her hands.

She'd half-hoped Jason would try to get her to change her mind, that he would say they could live anywhere as long as they were together, but he had only shaken his head, said, "It's not meant to be then," bowed, and gone back inside, leaving her alone on the shore of that moonlit lake. Of course. No amount of love could be enough to compel a man to throw away his whole life like that, and even if he had made the offer, she couldn't possibly have accepted such a sacrifice. Perhaps it was for the best.

Still, that hadn't stopped things from being rather tense and awkward between them when they set out for the hunt that morning. Christabel had never enjoyed hunting, but she jumped at any chance to be outdoors, to be able to walk and run and move freely without being criticized for not acting ladylike enough. And another reason—her mother, having no interest in hunting and riding, always stayed behind on such occasions. That morning, though, Christabel could feel Jason's mournful eyes on her whenever she turned. She'd only wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but it was difficult when she was surrounded by the hunting party with their guns and dogs and servants. It was only when they came across a flock of partridges and the others' attention was diverted that she managed to slip into the woods.

Now, as she walked through the trees, Christabel pondered her situation. Would it be so bad, being married to Jason? It would at least let her be mistress of her own life... except that life would still be tied to another's. No, if she simply wanted to claim her inheritance, she would've married the first man that proposed and had done with it. This regret was simply because she had started to feel anxious about her future. Could she go on like this until her mother died? Could she live as a spinster, becoming brittle and bitter in her old age, facing the pity and contempt of others? Christabel felt the old, helpless anger toward her father blaze up inside her once more when she thought about the predicament he'd placed her in. What was the use of ensuring no one could touch her inheritance, if she had to saddle herself to a man to claim it?

She passed through the line of trees and came to a clearing on the side of a hill, gently sloping toward a small glen, where an old oak tree spread its cape of gold leaves over a murmuring brook. It seemed something straight out of a Washington Irving story—all that was missing was a covered bridge. Tucking her skirt into the top of her gaiters, Christabel threw her arms over her head and sprinted down the slope, letting the cool air fill her lungs and clear her head.

Near the bottom of the slope, her skirt slipped out of the gaiters and tangled around her legs. Her ankles twisted under her and sent her tumbling down. She rolled head over heels the last few feet before skidding to a stop right by the oak. Luckily, the hill wasn't steep, and her fall had been more embarrassing than painful. She cursed under her breath. When they received Mrs. Carver's invitation, Christabel had begged and begged her mother to let her have a split skirt for the occasion so she could move about with more ease and perhaps even learn to ride a bicycle, as some of her friends had, but Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that her old riding habit, with its long trailing skirt, would do just fine. Christabel shouldn't do much walking or moving about anyway, Mrs. Cunningham had argued. Men wouldn't be interested in overly energetic girls. And as for riding a bicycle, showing off her legs in those newfangled bloomers, like some common hoyden? Forget about it.

"Are you all right, miss?" a voice said somewhere over her head.

Christabel looked up and saw a pair of blue eyes. A man had stepped out from the other side of the oak tree and was looking down at her. She suddenly became aware that she was sprawled on the ground with her skirt hiked up over her knees. She bolted up and pulled her skirt down, face burning crimson.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she sputtered, struggling to her feet.

Her ankle turned painfully. The man reached out a hand to help her. His grip was firm and strong.

"Thank you." Christabel peered at him more closely. He was dressed for a day out in tweed and stout boots, but with a walking stick, not a gun. "Are you with the Carver hunting party?" she asked, for she did not remember seeing him. He was a little older than Jason and her circle of friends, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, tall, with a fine-boned, elegant-looking face. But what startled her the most was his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky above, fixed upon her with an expression of fascination and interest quite unlike anything she'd received from her suitors. She reached a self-conscious hand to her hair, trying to dislodge any dry leaf that may have gotten stuck there.

"Carver? No, no, I'm a guest of Dr. Brenner."

Christabel's eyebrows shot up. Dr. Brenner was an eccentric who had inherited one of the largest fortunes in New York, but rather than continuing to run the family business, he had devoted his time to studies of the occult and other esoteric sciences. Unlike most of the residents of Tuxedo Park, who only kept their mansions here as holiday homes, he lived in a cottage deep in the woods year round, engaging in all sorts of obscure experiments, never interacting much with his neighbors. They tolerated him out of respect for his family name; some saw him as a harmless old fool and even invited him to some of their parties to show him off to their out-of-town friends, much like the ornamental hermits that the English aristocrats of old often kept on their grounds. Unfortunately, the Carvers were not one of these open-minded people, so Christabel had never met Dr. Brenner. She had to admit that she sometimes felt envious of him and the male privileges that allowed him to give up his family business, but not his wealth, and pursue his true passion. Alas, no such luck for her.

And here was this man, claiming to be a guest of the mysterious doctor! Her curiosity was pique immediately.

"Are you?" she asked, with interest. "I didn't know he ever invited anyone here. You must be a man of science or some sort of scholar, for him to allow you to encroach on his solitude. What is your business with him?" Then she colored again, realizing how intrusive her question was. Usually she never allowed herself to behave so casually with a gentleman, but there was something about this man that freed her from the confines of propriety. Or perhaps it was the scene around them, the wild woods and the open sky that had no use for etiquette. Still, the habits of upbringing were hard to shake off, so she cast her eyes downward and murmured, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all," the man said with a friendly smile. "As a matter of fact, my family came from this area before it was developed, and Dr. Brenner is helping me to research our history. I'm just looking for the ruins of their village."

"Oh. That sounds very interesting."

"And if there's anyone who must be pardoned," the man continued, "it should be me, for I have been so presumptuous in talking to you without so much as an introduction. You must allow me to make amends, Miss—"

"Cunningham. Christabel Cunningham," she said.

"What an unusual and beautiful name." The man looked into the distance. "The lovely lady, Christabel, whom her father loves so well. What makes her in the wood so late, a furlong from the castle gate?" he recited in his rich, musical voice whose reverberation seemed to reach Christabel's very core.

She laughed to hide her blush. "A very fitting quote. Only it's not so very late, and while the Carver mansion is grand, it is far from a castle," she said. "And I'm simply taking a walk, not praying for my betrothed. In fact"—the noise from the hunting party had ceased, and she realized it must be nearly time for luncheon—"I'm just heading back now."

"And alas, I am no Geraldine," the man said. "But may I accompany you anyway?" He extended an arm toward her.

Christabel hesitated, thinking what her mother would say about walking in the woods with a stranger. But surely, there was no harm in it. The hunting party was not so far away, and she could always tell the truth—that she had gotten hurt, and this man was helping her. She took the proffered arm, and they started walking toward the Carver mansion, not following the route Christabel had, but taking the longer way, along the lakeshore, Christabel hobbling to keep up with the man's long strides. There was a dull ache in her ankle, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to complain.

"I see that you are an admirer of Coleridge, like my father," Christabel said.

"Your father must be a man of great taste then."

Her smile disappeared. "I wouldn't know. He died when I was very little." She caught herself again. Why was she telling this man, whom she met not five minutes ago and whose name she still didn't know, all these things about herself?

"Oh, I am so very sorry." The man took off his cap, revealing longish blonde hair that fell over his forehead in soft curls. His eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how difficult it is, losing one's parents. My own parents—" His voice hitched. "They died when I was very young as well. An earthquake, in San Francisco."

Christabel's heart panged with sympathy. "That must be horrible."

Those brilliant blue eyes dimmed for a moment. "It was."

"So you live in San Francisco?"

"I do, yes."

"What is it like?" she asked eagerly. Outside of Newport and occasionally the Catskills, she had never been anywhere. She had never even left the state of New York.

Before the man could answer, she put her weight on the sore ankle by mistake and let out an involuntary yelp. He turned to her, all solicitous concern. "Have you hurt yourself in the fall?" he asked.

"I must have," she replied reluctantly.

Tucking his cap into a pocket, he knelt down, took her ankle in his hand, and gently turned it this way and that. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that won't do." He put one arm around her and the other under her knees, scooping her up easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. "I should have noticed sooner," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right." Christabel was feeling a little dazed. None of her suitors had ever picked her up like that—indeed, none of them ever touched so much as the hem of her skirt without asking for permission first. She found that she didn't mind being handled, didn't mind the lack of permission-seeking. Nestling against his chest, she glanced shyly up at her gallant rescuer. Despite his slender frame, he was carrying her across the uneven terrain with no effort at all. The sun was shining upon his blonde hair, turning it into a gold helmet, and his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. She was glad they were taking the longer route.

But all too soon, the shingled walls of the Carver mansion appeared behind the trees, and the hunting party came into view. Christabel was afraid her rescuer would put her down the moment they came upon the others, but if anything, his hold around her seemed to tighten.

"There you are, Christabel," Jason said, stepping forward. "We were about to send out a search party—" His countenance changed upon seeing her in the arms of the stranger. "What happened?"

"Miss Cunningham had a bit of an accident," the man said. "I happened to come across her and took the liberty of escorting her home."

"How fortunate," Jason said, his voice icy. He all but yanked Christabel out of the other man's arms, as though she was a child, or worse, a doll, a toy to be fought over.

"I'm perfectly all right, Jason," Christabel said, fighting to put her feet on the ground. "It's just a sprain."

Jason relented and put her down. Christabel turned to her rescuer, who was replacing his cap on his hat, preparing to go. "Thank you so much," she said. "I hope I haven't delayed you from your quest."

"It was my pleasure. It's not every day a beautiful lady fell from the sky and landed at your feet, is it?"

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "I still don't know your name."

"Haven't I told you?" He looked confused.

Christabel frowned, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Ah." He tipped his cap at her. "Henry Creel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Creel?"

He flashed her another of his dazzling smiles. "You can count upon it." Then, with a bow in the general direction of the hunting party, who was staring at him, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter 2

As usual, if you want to be tagged, drop me a line! Any likes/reblogs/comments will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

[akwolfgrl]

How sweet it is to be loved by them part 5

Koby followed after Luffy. He knew exactly where he was going and what he was doing. When he managed to climb over the wall, he stood in front of Zoro, Luffy no were in sight.

“Have you seen my friend Luffy?” He asked the alpha in front of him.

“He took off inside the base,”

“What?! Luffy is inside the back! That marine bace right thire!! Oh no, he's to hot headed! Here, let me get you down from there,” Koby began to untie the alpha.

“Oi! If you help me, you'll be killed! They don't care if you're an omega or not!” Zoro growled at him. He didn't use his alpha voice, so Koby was free to ignore him.

“You shouldn't be here! They never should have arrested you in the first place! I can't stand marines like that! They're supposed to serve and protect the people they serve! I'm going to become a real marine one day! Just like Luffy will become the king of the pirates!”

“What!?” Zoro sounded shocked as Koby worked on the knots. “p pirate king! You're joking. You just gotta be. The pirate king!”

“Yah, I thought the same thing. It's a surprise all right. But that's luffy for ya. He's a hundred percent serious!” All of a sudden, he felt a sharp staring pain in his shoulder, like a hot poker.

He found himself falling back, his glasses flying off his face, and he heard a loud popping sound. A gunshot. He had been shot. Was this the end?

“I'm gonna die!!” Koby screamed. “I'm gonna die a fuliaer!”

“Are you okay? You shuld try and run away thire coming,” Zoro warned him, Koby sat up, clutching his shulder.

“No! I've got to set you free as soon as possible before they get here!”

Thires no need to worry about me, I'll be fine. As long as I can make it a month, they will set me free,” Zoro tried to reaasre him. “Now hurry up and get out of here,”

“They won't let you go!! Helempo lied! He was just messing with you! He is gonna kill you in three days!”

“No! That's nonesse! That bastard promised me! We made a deal! If I could survive for a month, he'd let me go free and not kill Ririka and Rika!”

”He never intended to keep his promise! That's why Luffy punched when he found out! Because Helempo was just toying with you!”

“What? No, I should have listened to Curly,”

“Please after I untie you, help Luffy! I won't force you to become a prairie, but he saved my life. I know if you join forces with him, you'll be able to escape this town safely!” Koby begged of the swords men.

“That's enough! The two of you have betrayed Lieutenant Morgan! You will die here and now!” Lines of men and guns all pointed at the two of them stood in the way of thire freedom.

“Not on my watch!” A different voice came from behind the men as a familiar blonde omega began to kick at the marines.

If Roronoa Zoro was a demon, his husband was an angel. His blond hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and the sun had come out to shine brightly and created a halo around his head. The way he was kicking the marines' guns from their hands and to the ground, he could be nothing other than an avenging angel. Koby wanted to be as strong as the other omega.

[nerdywriter65]

You're Safe Here (Married!Klaine Fanfiction)

Hello! Scarlett here, I've been posting irregularly on ao3 for a couple months now, but figured I'd start cross-posting over here as well, so here's one of my favorite little Klaine fluff piece, I hope you all enjoy it!

Trigger warnings for g/ns, and p/nic att/cks

Blaine knew it was stupid.

He was twenty three. He'd been living in New York since he was nineteen. He was used to the sounds of the city.

He was pretty sure he'd never get over the sounds of gun shots.

Kurt was sound asleep next to him, snuggled up next to him, with an arm thrown lazily across his chest. Blaine wondered if Kurt could feel how fast Blaine's heart was racing. It was fine, he was fine. The gun senior year hadn't even been someone trying to shoot anyone, he knew that. Why were the sounds bothering him so much more tonight? It didn't make any sense.

A gust of wind blew through the apartment, and then he realized what it was. They'd left the window open, deciding to use the cool evening air to keep the room comfortable, opposed to the air conditioner. It had worked, both of them were comfortably wrapped in their comforter, proving that the room was cold enough, but the window being left open meant the sounds were all louder.

Blaine's breathing stopped when he heard another, unmistakable gun shot. Not only were there gun shots, but those shots meant someone died, and he couldn't do anything. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, but instead of helping, all it did was make it easier for him to picture every terrible thing going on in the streets below them. Every image wasn't of being stuck in the choir room, knees pulled to his chest as he had the worst panic attacks of his life, back to back, without anyone there to help. No, every image he saw was finding Kurt, dead and bloodied, evidence of bullets across his beautiful skin. He remembered seeing Kurt in the hospital, all those years ago when he got beat up. He remembered getting the call like it was yesterday. Every time he got a call from an unknown number he felt like vomiting, because he feared it was someone telling him that his beautiful husband was dead.

Since all those years ago, they'd been married, and had moved to a supposedly safer part of New York, and he knew all the gunshots he heard weren't from outside their apartment. They could've been miles away, but especially at night the sound traveled easily. He knew that. But he also knew that it wasn't a terribly unlikely thing for Kurt to get shot on the way home.

He was going to be sick. Kurt had rolled over, no longer touching Blaine, so he carefully crawled out from under the covers, careful not to wake his husband. Kurt didn't need to deal with his trauma from when he was eighteen. As soon as he stood he realized throwing up wasn't a thought, but a reality. He stumbled to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet as he threw up, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't breathe, his chest hurt. Everything hurt. Was this was a heart attack felt like? He couldn't breathe in between painful dry heaves, and that was just making him gag even more. Everything ached, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, tears were streaming down his cheeks. He didn't know when he managed to stop throwing up, but the small victory that was barely made it to his awareness.

And then Kurt's beautiful voice cut through the blinding pain that was consuming him.

"Blaine?" he asked, his voice slightly rough from just waking up. Guilt washed over Blaine as it occurred to him that he'd woken his husband up. Kurt had an early day the next day, he didn't need Blaine getting in the way of his sleep.

"Sorry," Blaine choked out, trying to compose himself in some way, "sorry, I'm sorry,"

"Shhh," Kurt said in response, falling to his knees next to Blaine, and taking his hands in both of his, "are you going to throw up again?" he asked, and Blaine considered for a moment, but shook his head. He'd thrown up all he'd eaten that day, and the nausea was mostly gone.

"I need you to breathe, okay? I know it hurts, but you can breathe. If you breathe everything else will hurt less, okay?" and Blaine was so grateful for the man sitting next to him, his deep blue eyes so kind and loving as they looked into his. Blaine couldn't bring himself to reply as he took shaky breaths in and out, squeezing Kurt's hands as though his life depended on it.

"There you go, you're going to be okay. You're safe, I promise," and Kurt wrapped his arms tightly around him, and Blaine all but melted into Kurt's chest, sobbing into his shoulder. When his breathing had somewhat calmed, and he felt somewhat in control of himself again, he pulled away slightly, once again feeling guilty for waking Kurt.

"Hey, don't feel bad for waking me up," Kurt said, before Blaine could apologize, and despite his guilt, Blaine felt his heart soar at how much this man truly knew him.

"I'm still sorry," Blaine said, his voice raw from throwing up.

"I'm your husband, it's my job to help you when something is wrong," Kurt replied, simply. Blaine let himself relax back into Kurt's arms momentarily.

"How about you brush your teeth, to get rid of the taste, and I'll go make some tea, and then we can sit and talk for a while?" Kurt suggested, and Blaine was quiet for a long moment.

"Would you stay here while I brush my teeth?" he asked, and Kurt nodded instantly.

"Of course," he said, and he stood, offering Blaine his hand. Blaine took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Kurt stood next to the sink, patiently as Blaine brushed his teeth, and washed his mouth out with mouth wash. When he'd finished, Kurt took his hand, and lead him to the kitchen. Blaine hovered next to his husband as Kurt filled the kettle with water, and set it on the stove to boil.

"What kind of tea would you like?" Kurt asked, selecting a tea bag for himself.

"Whatever you're having," Blaine replied, and Kurt pulled a second tea bag from the tea box, before turning to the cupboard and glancing over the mugs they had. Kurt selected his favorite one, one that Blaine had bought for him for their first wedding anniversary. It wasn't particularly fancy, just a white mug, that was decorated with red and yellow flowers. Blaine had bought it, because red and yellow flowers had always been their thing, red for love, and yellow for friendship. Kurt studied the cabinet a moment longer, before selecting another fairly simple mug, this one with a yellow warbler drawing being the main design. Kurt set both mugs on the counter, ripping open the tea bags with his teeth, something he'd always done, but Blaine had never understood why. He knew each individual detail of what his husband was doing didn't matter, but paying attention to them always seemed to calm Blaine down. The kettle wasn't boiling yet, but Kurt seemed to think it was warm enough, as he poured the steaming water into each mug, holding the tea bag string with his finger so that the tea bag didn't get pulled all the way into the mug. He spooned sugar into each mug, two spoonfuls into his, and four into Blaine's.

"Here," Kurt said, pressing the warm mug into Blaine's hands. Blaine expected it to be almost painfully hot, but it was pleasantly warm instead.

"Thank you," Blaine said, and Kurt smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Blaine's cheek as he walked past, from the kitchen, to the couch in their makeshift living room. Blaine following, sitting next to his lover, and resting his head against Kurt's shoulder.

"What happened?" Kurt asked softly, no anger or judgement in his voice, just interest.

"There were gunshots," Blaine said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh, baby," Kurt said, wrapping his free arm around Blaine's shoulders, "you should've woken me up,"

"You have work early tomorrow," Blaine explained, and Kurt shook his head.

"That doesn't matter. If something is wrong, Blaine, I want you to wake me up, okay? I don't want you to have to go through that sort of thing alone," And Blaine sighed, setting his mug on the coffee table as he rubbed his face with his now free hands.

"I just hate feeling like I can't handle things. I'm twenty three, Kurt. I know we've both started thinking about kids, how am I supposed to be a father if I can't handle my own shit myself?" Blaine asked, and he felt tears pricking in his eyes once again.

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt breathed, his own tea placed on the coffee table beside Blaine's, reaching and pulled Blaine's hands from where they were nervously running through his hair, instead squeezing them tight in his own hands, "your trauma doesn't mean you'll be any less of a father," Blaine didn't have an answer for that, he instead let himself fall back into Kurt's arms.

"I couldn't stop picturing you getting shot," Blaine admitted, and Kurt just held him tighter.

"I'm okay. We're safe here, Blaine," and Blaine's breathing was still shaky as tears rolled down his cheeks, but in that moment, wrapped in Kurt's arms, he truly felt safe.

"I love you," he said after a long moment, and Kurt rubbed his back softly.

"I love you too, Blaine. So much," and Kurt pushed him away just enough to see his face, wiping his tears away before leaning in to kiss him. Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt's neck, kissing him back, gently.

"How about we go back to bed?" Kurt suggested, and Blaine nodded slowly.

"Can we... can we close the window?" Blaine asked, and Kurt didn't even question it.

"Absolutely," and when they'd both stood from the couch, Kurt reached for Blaine's hand again as they walked to the bedroom. Kurt closed the window, before following Blaine to the bed, crawling in next to him, and rolling so they were facing each other, their legs tangled together, and arms wrapped around each other.

"I love you," Blaine breathed once again, nuzzling into Kurt's neck.

"I love you too," was Kurt's breathy response. Blaine's panic and fear was completely gone as he relaxed in Kurt's arms. They were both safe, and that's all he needed. 

[themonarchisliterate]

current names of wips in my ff folder (ships at the bottom lol)

and she's dancing like she's never danced before

being beloved does not exclude you from being an idiot

how i wish you could *touch* me (bring it in)

i guess they really are scared on enjolras in charge

ineffable? you're effable as eff!

once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and three times is shame for six thousand years

R you my soulmate ;) get out

swimming swimming in the swimming p- *gunshot*

who the hell is ALFRED

why are you in the ER AGAIN?

Help choosing what to write would be swell!

(answer key in order of appearance - harumichi, babet x montparnasse, akiangel, enjoltaire, ineffable husbands, ineffable bureaucracy, enjolatire (again), harumichi (...again), Alfred living his best life, and Griddlehark.)

[killerandhealerqueen]

*slides delicious wontons over the desk* I got a plot bunny that’s escaped and gone feral headcanon bunny, please help

Okay so we see that Jiang Yuelou is a protector, particularly when he thinks Chen Yuzhi is in danger, but what I want to see is some scenario (wayyy past the interrogation) where somehow there’s like a shootout or hostage situation and Jin Dacheng rescues Chen Yuzhi and all three of them kinda process that. Idk *Marge Simpson voice* I just think it would be neat

*casually takes wontons* Hmm, yes, this is an acceptable payment. I'll catch that bunny for you

Chen Yuzhi, Jin Dacheng, and Jiang Yuelou didn't get along

Jiang Yuelou and Jin Dacheng have never really gotten along but then after the whole...arrest Chen Yuzhi then interrogate him by fucking flogging him incident...they have been very...chilly to each other

However there were times where Jiang Yuelou had to admit that Jin Dacheng wasn't...so bad

Like once when Chen Yuzhi was coming back from a house call and was heading to his clinic, a shootout breaks out in the marketplace as two gangs decide that that's the perfect place to have a shootout: a crowded marketplace full of people

Chen Yuzhi, the dumbass, decides to go and help anyone who has been hurt in the crossfire, dragging them out of harms way or patching up a wound

Of course at some point, Chen Yuzhi somehow finds himself with the barrel of a gun pointed in his face, causing him to freeze in fear, just as another gunshot rings out and the person holding the gun collapses on the street, dead

Chen Yuzhi frowns but before he can even wonder what's happening, he's grabbed by the back of his collar and yanked away from the firefight and shoved into his clinic

As he stumbles back into his clinic, he looks at his savior and his eyes widen in shock

"Jin Dacheng?!"

Jin Dacheng huffs

"What is it with you and always somehow managing to be right in the middle of danger?"

Chen Yuzhi blinks before he shakes his head

"You saved me?"

Jin Dacheng gives him a look

"Of course I did"

Chen Yuzhi shakes his head again

"But why?"

Jin Dacheng gives him another look

"Have you met your husband?"

Chen Yuzhi pauses before he hums; Jiang Yuelou is far scarier than any gang in Jing City

Jin Dacheng then huffs

"If I didn't save your ass, my ass would be six feet in the ground and I, quite frankly, like the idea of being alive"

He then points at Chen Yuzhi

"Stay here and don't fucking move. If I see your ass in the street, I might let you get shot"

Chen Yuzhi rolls his eyes before he looks at Jin Dacheng

"If you can, send some of the not so injured people here. I'll do my best to take a look at them"

Jin Dacheng nods before he turns and heads back out into the streets to tell some of his officers about Chen Yuzhi's suggestion while Chen Yuzhi quickly slips on his doctor's coat, gloves, and a mask, heading upstairs to get some supplies

While Jin Dacheng and the other officers are taking care of the gangs, Chen Yuzhi is doing his best to treat the injured, bandaging scrapes and wounds, doing quick and simple surgeries if there are wounds that call for it, basically doing anything he can to help

When the police finally are able to arrest the gangsters and take then away, Chen Yuzhi pokes his head out of his clinic and notices Jin Dacheng clutching at his shoulder, wincing in pain

"Jin Dacheng!"

Jin Dacheng looks over at him and frowns as he motions for him to come inside. Jin Dacheng sighs but does as he's told and walks over to Chen Yuzhi's clinic, stepping inside

Chen Yuzhi then steps over to him and smacks his hand away

"Let me see"

Jin Dacheng huffs and removes his hand so that Chen Yuzhi can see that he's been grazed and that the wound is bleeding. Chen Yuzhi then grabs him by the non-injured arm and drags him over to one of his chairs, sitting him down before pointing at him

"Remove your shirt"

Jin Dacheng looks at him, scandalized, and Chen Yuzhi gives him a look

"You want your wound to get infected so that you can't potentially use your arm anymore?"

Jin Dacheng's eyes widen and he quickly removes his police uniform top, leaving him in just his white tank top. Chen Yuzhi hums before he gets his cotton balls and iodine and begins to clean the wound, just as Jiang Yuelou comes bursting into the clinic

"Chen Yuzhi!"

Chen Yuzhi and Jin Dacheng look over at him with wide eyes as he storms over to Chen Yuzhi and looks him over

"Are you hurt? I heard about the shooting in the marketplace...you're not hurt are you?"

Chen Yuzhi looks at him before he smiles and shakes his head

"I'm fine, Yuelou"

Jiang Yuelou then looks over at Jin Dacheng and frowns

"What are you doing here?"

Chen Yuzhi glances over at Jin Dacheng befoer he smiles slightly

"Oh, Vice-Commissioner Jin saved me"

Jiang Yuelou pauses, a little dumbfounded, before he looks at Jin Dacheng

"You did?"

Jin Dacheng nods

"Can't let your precious doctor get hurt, now can we? I'd rather take a bullet from a gangster than from you, thanks"

Jiang Yuelou smirks before he claps Jin Dacheng on the back, making him hiss and Chen Yuzhi look at him with wide eyes

"Jiang Yuelou!"

Jiang Yuelou smiles at his husband's scolding tone before he looks at Jin Dacheng, who was still getting treated by Chen Yuzhi, and hums. Maybe Jin Dacheng's not so bad...maybe. Jury's still out

[writingsbychlo]

someone to come home to | soldier!mitch rapp

word count; 9341

summary; mitch has spent his life looking for family, and finding one in the army, but now, he wants to settle down with you.

notes; this is just a super sweet fic, an idea I got while at work, my mind got to wandering and it came up with this. 

warnings; reference to death, reference to gunshot wounds, reference to bombings, mentions of war, mentions of injury, that’s about it? I think we’re all good. minor references to PTSD.

With a relieved breath, Mitch flopped back down onto the mattress with his things dumped on, the other men seeing to have far more energy around him, and he was happy to sink into the bed that was already more padded than the one he’d been on for the last six months, his tour finally coming to a close as he let his mind wander to the even softer mattress that was waiting for him when he got home. 

His deployment was finished, the set of tours he’d been given were over, a sign-up sheet for another batch still sitting in his pack, waiting for his answer on whether hew as re-enlisting, and he couldn’t even bring himself to think about that right now. His feet were aching from the boots on his feet, and he was still covered in dust and dried mud, some splotches of blood on his ripped clothing, patched up in the field, and Mitch had decided that if he didn’t see another green piece of clothing in his entire life, he would be perfectly happy with that. 

He could hear everyone else shuffling around them, hear the bag dropped onto the bunk below his as the metal frame shook, and the leg hanging down over the edge was smacked roughly, eliciting a groan from him as the man below snickered to himself. 

“Fuck you, Hurley.”

“Get your leg out of my space, and we won’t have a problem, will we?” He teased, and he hauled the limb up onto the mattress, the effort being far more than it should have been, and the room quietened down a little as those men around him began to filter out of the room, the volume dropping considerably as all their excitement was dragged away to the showers. They were freshening up and washing off, ready to spend the night at the nearest bar and strip club they could find, inevitably going to be dragging themselves through their debriefing meetings tomorrow and sleeping off a hangover on the train home. 

Mitch didn’t have the luxury of sleeping on his ride home, because he was far too hopped up on the anticipation and anxiety of seeing you again. Six whole months had passed by, and four years since he’d met you, one fateful night at an army family charity ball, a pretty dress flowing right down to your feet, and you’d let him buy you a drink and tuck the flower from his suit pocket into your hair. 

You were supposed to be just some fun for the night, but then you’d spent the entire night talking, and then he’d spent the entire rest of the week he was home with you by his side, and somehow, you had become his everything. It wasn’t just his unit going home, as far as he was aware, there were at least three other units all going home too, his being the last to arrive for the train that would be leaving tomorrow, and he was grateful to be the last, because he couldn't imagine having to wait a week for the others, being so close to you and yet still so far. 

Mitch wasn’t interested in strip clubs and bars, he didn’t care about getting drunk or lap-dances, he just wanted to go home, and see you. He didn’t even want to unpack his bag, he was more than happy to simply lay there until he fell asleep, waiting for the morning to roll around.

“You aren’t going out with the rest?”

He tipped his head to the side, peeling his eyes open, unsure of when they’d even closed, a yawn pulled at his lips. Not even bothering to cover it, he simply shook his head, Stan leaning his arms on the edge of the upper-bunk bed, and Mitch propped himself up to look at his friend.

“Why not?”

“I have a girl waiting for me at home.” He mumbled, and Stan raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, so do half of the other lads.”

“Maybe, but are half of the other lads about to propose?” He scoffed, toeing the pocket of his bag that was still sitting by the end of the bed, and Stan reached over, a handful of letters coming out and he opened the top one up, pulling out the piece of paper that was folded up inside, a few pages of a ring brochure torn out, some circled, before one had been clearly chosen, stamped letters from the official company to accompany the ones handwritten on dirty paper form Mitch. “I spent the last six months writing with a company back home, getting a ring sorted out. They had it delivered here, I’m going to go pick it up when I have my shower, it’s waiting at communal.”

“That’s great, kid. What’s she like?”

He grinned, feeling heat rise to his cheeks, and he was certain that Stan was going to regret asking the question, because the second he had opened his mouth, he couldn't stop the words. There was so much to say about you, about how much he loved you, and about how much you meant to him. You made him feel as though he had a purpose with you, he had joined the army because he had nothing, no family or parents, and so he’d found a family wherever he could get it. Ten years later, he was looking at the opportunity of making his own family with you, and so he certainly wasn’t going to risk it. 

Stan was tough on him, he was the unofficial leader of the group, and while he was strict and mean, sometimes even a little bit of a bully, he was like the father Mitch had lost, taking him on and giving him someone to talk to when he really needed it, as well as someone to look up to. He knew Stan cared for him as much as he cared for Stan, and so he almost felt like he was seeking approval form him to be able to get married. 

“I want you to meet her when we get back.”

“I’d love to, but only if you shower first. You stink, and I’m not going anywhere near you while you smell like a massacre in a gym.” Mitch’s face screwed up, lifting his shirt to his nose, the salty stench of sweat and the coppery smell of blood and ammunition filling his nose, and he backed away from the material, nodding in agreement. 

“Fair enough.”

A hot shower would definitely help, he knew it to be true, and the call of hot steam and water was almost enough to make his head spin with joy, having been washing himself off with cold or lukewarm water for the past half a year, and so he shoved all the letters back into the front pocket. Rifling through for his cleanest set of clothes, he was taking them with him as he swiped his only towel, deciding it was still fresh enough, and he could wash properly when he got home, before groaning upon jumping down, his feet screaming out in disapproval at being in use once again.

The shower may be calling to him at this moment, but your face was flashing behind his eyes every time he closed them, calling him home to you. 

The train ride had been only a few hours, and yet he’d felt like years, watching the scenery flash by as he moved from town to town before getting home. There was a ring in his bag that felt like it was going to burn right through the pocket, shining metal and a pretty diamond in the specifications he was sure were right, convinced he had remembered that the ring of his mother’s that he wore on his pinky was the same size you wore on your ring finger. The camo-gear felt too much, like it was too heavy now that he was no longer in a battlefield, the jacket stifling and the pants too baggy, the boots squeezing his feet and pinching angrily, the same way it always felt when he was finally allowing his guard to come down and to let himself relax, and he rested his head on the window, feeling the vibrations shooting through the cart as he 

He was nervous to say the least, especially when he finally saw the station coming into view, the train beginning to slow down, and then the daylight was gone, encased by tunnels as darkness flashed by him for only as second, before artificial light took over. The men around him were waking one another up as they came about, and he rubbed over his face, trying to wake himself up a little more. Shaking himself off, the nerves he was filled with were replaced with excitement and joy, catching sights of the crowded platforms that were teeming with girlfriends, children, husbands and family of everyone who was waiting for a loved one to return. 

It was busier than usual, all the extra groups he was accompanying making it harder for him to spot you, and he was out of his seat in a flash, bag scooped up in his arms and he was patting his pockets down for his phone, the device he still felt unfamiliar using again after all this time, but finding a text from you saying you were wearing a blue dress and standing under the ‘Arrivals’ sign, and that was all he needed. 

He barely felt the ground between his feet, or the bump of shoulders against his, nothing seeming to matter as he weaved through the bodies, eyes fixed on the sign he could see, waiting until it was clear enough for him to catch sight of you. He watched as other’s reunited, tears and happy shouts filling the air, making sure not to trip over any dropped bags as they were discarded to allow simple embraces, and his breath hitched in his throat as he finally saw you. 

Every time he went away he intended to take a picture of you with him, and every time you were together, the pair of you were so busy that he always forget to take one, and so he was only ever left with his memories to keep him company, and they did nothing to the sight of you he got every time he returned. Bright smiled and sparkling eyes, hair that whipped around you face as you dashed towards him, before you were finally in his arms.

Your body collided with his own, his bag hitting the floor with a dull thud, and his arms were sealed so tightly around you that he worried whether you could even breathe, but you were clinging to him just as tightly, and everything in his world seemed to slot back into place. Jagged corners and broken shards were coming together, piecing back into something beautiful and worthy, all because of you. The smell of your perfume, and the mango and coconut shampoo you loved so much, the way you clung to him as your body pressed up to his, he couldn't help the way his legs shook a little feeling entirely weak just getting to be home again. 

“You’re home.”

He nodded, sniffling back his own tears at the sound of your cracking voice, but it was no use, because he was crying by the time he pulled away, letting out a seek laugh and wiping the water away from your cheeks as you stared up at him.

“You’re home.”

“I’m home, baby.” His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you in close enough for him to be able to rest his forehead to your own, a fresh wave of tears spilling from his eyes when you leaned into him, rubbing the tip o your nose against his. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You whispered, letting him hear you say the words, a happy sigh leaving him as his heart burst in his chest, and his lips were on your own. A sweet, and slow kiss, needy as his mouth moved against your own slowly, and his hands held you face tightly as your own gripped at his shirt, before slipping to his waist so his body could press to yours. 

He couldn't get any closer, and yet it still wasn’t close enough. He needed to be wrapped up in you, to have every part of you with every part of him. He needed to never let you go, and yet he had to pull back from breath at some point. He barely gassed, his head tipping to the side and hands manoeuvring your face, before your mouths were crashing together once again, a whimper from you silencing in his mouth as wet cheeks slid together. 

His skins as stinging from the salt, and his lungs burning, lips raw and swollen and yet he couldn't stop; he just needed to know you were there, that you were in his arms once again. He needed to confirm it to himself, that h could go home that night with you in his arms, the weight on his chest being that of your body curled up to him and not a rifle sitting across his body, that the coolness in the room would be the breeze from the fan in the corner and not from the harsh winds that would bite at him when he slept outside. 

Life was buzzing on around you both, bodies bumping into you occasionally, and he was forced to part from you, no matter how much he wished he didn’t the sight of your red swollen lips and wide eyes being something that was burned into his memories, and he dropped one hand, the thumb of the other stills stroking over your skin slowly. 

“I missed you.” You whispered, and he nodded his head, returning the sentiment in quiet words, before pressing his lips to your forehead, and ducking down until they were resting together, noses brushing as you shared the air between you both. “You’re all scratched up, and bruised.”

You were pouting a little, and he cringed, automatically, bringing his hand up to rub at the still somewhat fresh scar on his shoulder. It hasn’t been too serious, though and out of the other side, patched up in the field and scabbed over before he’d made it back to anywhere that could do real surgery, but he hadn't lost any function, and he’d been lucky enough that it hadn't been his preferred arm, pink raised flesh in a small circle on both sides to show the injury for the rest of his life. “If that bothers you, then you’re definitely not going to like what happened or my shoulder?”

You raised your brows a little at him, and he dropped the edge of his jacket, letting you push the vest aside, and a gasp leaving you as you ran your finger lightly over the puffy flesh. “Does it still hurt?” He shook his head, watching as you leaned in to place a kiss to the skin, eyes watering a little, before tugging his jacket back up and adjusting his collar, swallowing thickly as you tried to control your emotions.

“Are we going back to your place or a hotel?”

“I actually have other plans for us, I sold my place a couple of months back.”

“You sold it?” You hadn't mentioned anything about it in your letters, and he dipped down to grab his bag, his hand finding your arm, fingers dancing along your skin until your fingers were lacing with his own, and he lifted the back of your hand up to his mouth to press kisses to your knuckles as he waited for your explanation. 

“I wanted to move home. My dad’s farm is getting out of control, and I want to take care of it, do it back up.”

He knew about your dad, a man who was in the army too, hence the family dance you’d been at when he’d met you, and he could imagine that it would certainly be in a little disrepair by now. He could only nod, the idea of leaving a quaint little farm life with you instead of a dangerous life of being shot at and wounded for months on end sounded perfect, your face lighting up at his agreement and approval. 

“You sure that’s okay? We can get a hotel, if that’s what you want.”

He pulled you back in closer to him, pecking your lips gently, your body melting a little under his touch, and he felt like he swooned every time you physically reacted to his touch. “I think that sounds perfect, kitten, I can’t wait to see it.”

He was more than excited, because should you say yes to the question that was itching in the back of his throat to be asked, then he would be awarded that life too, he’d get to spend his days with you in the farmhouse, a simple life that he longed for with everything he had. 

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah, we’re just waiting for my dad!” His brows pulled together, panic once again filling him as he looked up and over your shoulder into the rest of the station, but you were looking over his shoulder into the crowds of soldiers and families still meeting up, and he felt like ice was flooding through his veins. He knew your dad was in the army too, but he’d never asked which battalion or station, and the thought that it may be someone from one of the other units he had worked with lately made him anxious. 

Your arms released him, you face lighting up once again, before you were swerving around his body, and he turned to watch you go, before you were taking an older man into your embrace, a body and face he couldn’t fail to recognise, and he felt like his throat was closing up as you were wrapped up into him. He had to check whether he was actually shaking with nerves, glad he was able to still himself when Stan pulled away, catching his eye and sending him a simple nod, clearly not having put the pieces together himself yet, and he hated the way that that the man h so admired stared at him, face morphing into shock when you came back over to him, slipping your fingers between his.

He couldn't even bring himself to curl his hand back around you own, fear striking through him as Stan came to stand before him, bag bumping roughly against his leg and he flinched, but held steady, and he had to remind himself to take a deep breath. “My daughter is the girls you’re-” In love with. Spent almost an hour telling me about last night. Coming home to. Going to propose to. “-dating?”

He felt like he could at least let out the breath he was holding as the surprise he had was yet to be ruined, and he finally gained a little composure, wrapping his fingers around your own and giving the man a stiff nod, suddenly feeling like he was back on deployment and taking orders, his gaze dropping down to the ground as he cleared his throat. 

“You guys didn’t work that out?”

There was a little smile on your lips, and they both turned to look at you, a little shock evident on their faces, and you raised your brows at them both in a slightly challenging way, only making you look more adorable to him. It’s in moments like this that he would have liked to kiss you, or tell you how cute you are, but under the eyes of a man he looked up to like a father, who really was your father, he felt like he couldn’t breathe without scrutiny.

“No, we didn’t. Since you go by your mother’s last name, and Rapp simply refers to you as ‘his girl’, we didn’t exactly have a lot to work with.” He couldn't pick up on any emotion in his tone like he normally could, and it only made him feel more nervous, yet you didn’t seem to sense the overbearing tension hanging over the two men, simply telling them to grab their bags as you reached into your pocket for the car keys, jingling them in their faces as you began to rattle off about the cleaning you’d done to get it ready for their return, and the lasagne you’d made, waiting to be set off in the oven as soon as you all got home.

He opted for the backseat, loading his bags into the trunk and slinking into the car, seating behind your seat in hopes that it would stop you being able to see him when you glanced in the mirrors, hiding his internal panic as he stared out of the windows, trying to think over just how he was going to handle the situation. Luckily for him, you were more than happy to just chat with your father, because he hadn't been able to follow any of the conversations you were having. After all, his mind was spinning far too quickly as he tried to work out how his friend and mentor was feeling.

It was all a little overwhelming, the relaxed and loving welcome home that he’d been dreaming of felt shattered, the same stiffness in his body and worried twisting in his gut that he usually held when pushing the front lines was back, but his head was spinning in confusion, giving him an entirely new kind of paralysing fear. He had training for his work in the army, he knew what to do, textbooks and drill routines memorised from cover to cover, every piece of information from every course was burned into his memory like the lyrics to a favourite song, but there had never been any training regarding ‘what to do when you somehow manage to have the bad luck of falling head over heels in love with the daughter of one of the scariest men you’ve ever met, but she is the one™ and you cannot give her up under any circumstances’, or the shortened name of ‘how to survive being a dumbass: 101’. He must’ve been sick that day. 

The farm didn’t look nearly as bad as he’d expected when they arrived, the outside paint was flaking a little and some of the fences were broken, but you had seemed to have been clearing out, a large pickup truck in the back piled high with a waterproof cover pulled over it, and the light on the front garden was turned on as the light began to fade, blue skies dulling to a pastel purple. He took his time, letting you press a kiss to his cheek when he said he’d get the bags from the back, so that you could go inside and set the food off on a slow cook, giving him a chance to move the ring from his bag to his pocket, and take a second to calm himself down, before following you both inside. 

Stan was quick to take the bags, taking them away to the laundry room in claims of not wanting to be sitting around the stench of them, and your hands found his, eyes searching his own in a look he recognised well, trying to work him out and puzzle together what was wrong, and as the two of you were alone again, he let himself relax. You pulled him along towards the stairs, through the corridors and up to the stairs, before pushing open the door to a room that had more pink decorating the walls than he thought possible, a real eyesore is a he was being honest, and you clearly knew it too, if the giggles you let out were anything to go by.

“Welcome to where I grew up. Half the time, anyway. When I wasn’t with my mum.”

He took it all in, all the things that made you up now, having roots here, and he could recognise each and every one of them, his lips flicking up at the corners in the first real smile he’d had since the revelation at the train station. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress squeaking a little underneath him, and he shifted to finally pull his boots off of his feet, flexing his toes out and letting a groan leave his lips, feeling the tight leather finally free his foot up. 

You chuckled, kneeling behind him on the bed and leaning over his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek, to which he pushing up into the action, his body resting back against your own as your hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his chest, rubbing gently as you went to ease knotted muscles, and Mitch felt his eyes flutter shut as he allowed himself to let his worries slip away for a moment.

He wanted out of the army outfits, and the smell of dirt that he felt was ingrained in his skin, and he wanted into something comfortable, the clothes he’d left at your house having already found a place in the pink and white set of draws, he was sure. 

“I’m going to get it all changed up before next time, it hasn’t been changed since I was a kid and got my own place, but since I’m moving home..” You trailed off, and he knew where you were going with it, picking up your hand and kissing along it, up you are until he was tugging you round to sit across his lap, and able to move his lips over your cheek. “I can show you some ideas I have over the next few days, you can help me decide how to decorate this place.” 

“I’d love that.” 

You nuzzled into his cheek, and he could hear your father moving around in the kitchen below, but right now it was just the two of you, and he squeezed you in closer to him in order to soak up every single moment that the two of you were having together. It may not have been how he wanted it to go, but as he settled into it a little more, it became more and more perfect with every moment. 

There was a hand weaving through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, and he felt the rumbling feeling of satisfaction deep in his chest when you scratched lightly through the locks and kissed at the side of his mouth. 

“Your hair is so long.”

“Been a busy few weeks, I didn’t have time to get anyone to cut it for me.” Mitch twisted his head, catching your lips with his and you let out a delicate sound into his mouth when he did. You twisted around, your hand slipping down to the base o his neck to hold on tightly, and he realised that this was exactly a life he could get used to, just kissing you and living a simple life on a farm in the middle of nowhere, because he just wanted peace, and quiet, and a family.

“Can I cut it for you?”

You were looking up at him now, weaving your fingers through his hair as you grinned a little, eyes pleading with him to say yes. “I’ll leave my hair wet when I get out of the shower, and you can cut it after I shave this off.” He scratched at his face, your lips pressing over his stubbled jaw once his fingers had moved. 

You hopped up out of his lap, kicking his boots out of the way and into the corner of the room when he was up, before moving over to the drawers and tapping at the top two drawers. “Put all your stuff in here, and there are towels in a rack in the bathroom. The water tank is massive, so don’t worry about the water going cold. I’ll set a chair out and find my hair scissors.”

He reached out, pulling your lips back to his for a final kiss, and you grinned into his lips. 

“Down the hall, on the left.”

He nodded, watching as you slipped off your shoes, pulling on a pair of slipped in place, and he ducked his head to hide your smile. He looked back fondly on the days when the two of you would stumble out of the elevator and into a hotel room, barely getting dressed for the first two or three days he was home, and unable to keep your hands off of one another, but he loved this so much more.

He loved being domestic with you, and watching you go about your day, and getting to spend hours on end with you sitting in his lap and talking to him about paint samples and whether you wanted a modern or classic cottage feel to your home, and it all felt like he dream. Coming home to someone who met him at the train station in pretty blue sundresses who made lasagne and cut his hair, and kissed his scars when he got hurt, he loved it all, but he didn’t want it anymore.

He patted down his pockets, taking the box he’d so carefully concealed from you and hiding it in the bottom drawer of the bedside table, alongside some old textbooks and what he was certain was a Nintendo DS, a few game cartridges beside it. 

Grabbing a spare set of clothes from the drawer and heading to the bathroom, he flicked at the lock on the door, sealing it up before switching on the shower, running the water with his hand underneath it as he adjusted the temperature, a tired smile finding his face as he stepped up and into the tub, the shock at not having to rush through making him feel like time was actually slowing down.

His legs dropped out from underneath him, and he sunk down into the basin of the tub, his hands running through his hair and his legs pulled up so that he could drop his head down, feeling the water thrashing down onto his back. After what felt like hours of simply soaking in the heat, he reached out for the sponge, the shelf above him wobbling a little as he snatched up a bottle of shower gel too, and the fruity smell that came out from the second he lathered up and scrubbed down his skin made him feel like he was floating, a stark contrast to the medical-scented bar of soap that he was given on deployment. 

He took a shower that was at least four times the limited length he got every time he was on duty, and had to physically drag himself off of the floor when he was done, absolutely certain that Stan was going to want to wash up too. Sealing a towel around his waist, he stepped into the mirror, smearing the steam away from it, and checking out the mess of facial hair dotted along his jaw and upper lip, all the way down to his chin. 

He liked his stubble, liked the feel of it on his face and the way it protected his skin every time he scratched at his jaw anxiously. Instead of taking it all off, he smeared cream around the edges of his face and neck, gathering the cream up in the area that had grown out of control and searching for a razor, finding a packet of disposable ones set out, and he snatched the wrapper and covering from it, and running it along his skin. He trimmed his beard back gently with a pair of small scissors, patting his skin down and feeling more like himself as he slicked back the length of hair, suddenly feeling like he was gaining a little more of himself back with every action. With a baggy and soft cotton t-shirt, and a pair of worn old grey sweats, he shook himself down, bare feet wandering over the wooden floors as he scooped up his old clothes and used towel, dumping them into the laundry basket in the bedroom, and making his way downstairs. 

Showering had made him feel like he was rinsing the stress and fears out of his life, and yet there was still the slight twisting and anxiety in his gut as he approached the downstairs of the house. You had a wooden chair set up on the porch outside, warmth of the day still flowing through the Virginia Country house, and Stan was standing in the kitchen, a bottle of beer raised to his lips as he flicked through the paper sitting on the counter, a pen in his other hand and the crossword half-completed.

You were all set up, sitting on the porch swing with a book in your hand as you swung slowly, one foot on the ground to push you, and he made his way over to you, your head snapping up when the door creaked a little. He rubbed his hands on his pants, settling down into a chair, your feet padding across the wood and hands smoothing a towel around his shoulders, letting him tip his head back to look up at you as you combed his hair back and out of his face. 

“How short do you want it?”

“How short do you want it to be, sweetheart?” You grinned, tugging at it a little and leaning down to press an upside-down kiss to his lips, before evaluating the hair in your hands. 

“How about the length it was when we met? Longer on the top but shorter on the sides, and you can gel it up when we go out.” You pushed a hand through his hair, before smirking at him a little, running a finger over the freshly trimmed stubble. “You look hot.”

“You look beautiful, kitten.” 

You snorted at his joke, his heart fluttering at the sound of it as he looked up at you, closing his eyes as he felt you begin to comb his hair into sections. “You’re staring up my nose and at my double chin, I definitely don’t look beautiful. But, I will accept your compliment anyway.”

“You should, because I love you no matter what, even if I can see right up into your brain.”

You slapped at his arm lightly, causing a laugh to leave him, before he could feel you beginning to trim and snip at his hair, pieces of it falling down across his skin and fluttering away to the floor. It didn’t take nearly as long as he thought it would, and you apologised throughout the entire process, somehow switching between confidence in yourself and being sure you were fucking it up, telling him how great you thought it looked, before telling him that if he hated you wouldn't be mad. Worst case scenario, it came out awfully and the two of you had to shave his head back down to the buzzcut he had in freshman year, but there was no call for that yet, and so he waited patiently as you worked on his head.

He knew it was coming to an end when you were buzzing at the back of his neck with an electric razor, his chin perched on his hands as he leaned forwards, staring out across the Virginia countryside at a sight he would love to wake up to and drink his coffee upon watching for every day in the rest of his life, and he could only hope that you would say yes to him, and grant him a life he so dreamed of, with a loving wife by his side and a peaceful job that brought him nothing buts serenity. 

When you were done, you rounded to the front of him, one hand holding a mirror behind your back and the other cupping his cheek, leaning down to kiss him more firmly than you had before. His lips parted for you, a soft moan falling from his and your tongue peeked out to play with his, and yet he couldn't quite chase away that feeling of dread, the crashing realisation that the kitchen had an open plan wall space, and that Stan could see directly out through the clear door straight to you both made him snap back.

Your brows were furrowed as you looked at him, pink cheeks taking place he was sure, and he offered you a smile that you didn’t return as you instead pursed your lips, but seemed to let it go. You held up a mirror for him, silently waiting for his approval as he took it in, brushing his fingers along the now dry hair, and shaking his head a little to free it of the chopped off but trapped pieces. 

“You like it?”

“I love it, it looks great. In a week or so, when we’re feeling up it, we can go into town and get it neatened up, but I think you did an awesome job.” You finally game him another grin, and he waited for the kiss that usually followed when you smiled at him like that, but you never moved, hands clasped in front of you and you rolled a little on the balls of your feet. 

“Well, I’ll go and check on the lasagne then.”

He knew it was a result of his actions, but he still felt saddened, especially when you slipped by him without even pressing your lips to his cheek either, and he sighed at his nerves. He was going to ask you to marry him, whether Stan approved of it or not, and just because the person who was arguably the closest person he had to daily beside you may not like it, he still loved you with everything he had, he just needed time to process it, but he hated that it was hurting you in the meantime.

By the time he’d swept up all the leftover hair with a garden brush and brought the towels and the chair back inside, you were serving up three plates, the meat and pasta calling out to him, and Mitch couldn't quite remember that last he’d had a home-cooked meal, a plate placed in front of him that he could barely resist. The fresh bottle of beer placed in front of him by Stan felt like a peace offering of sorts, and a smile was given in return, nods of heads seeming like the olive branch was accepted, and yet the heavyweight in his stomach still existed. 

He made an effort to tune into the dinner conversation, though, and to listen to what was being said, and to chip in at times. It mostly consisted of you complaining about the troubles you’d been through when getting the place ready, and your encounter with a spider you swore was the size of your fist dropping down out of one of the ceiling corners at you, and that you’d cried while smacking it wit a brush until certain it was dead, both him and Stan getting a kick out of it as you pouted in your seat. 

You also told him about the plans you had, Stan’s eyes flicking over to him every time you mentioned them going back out on deployment, and he felt like his throat was getting tighter and tighter each time, making it harder to swallow his food, or even breath, and the ring upstairs felt as though it was screaming out to him, to pop the question and just get it done so that his wonder would be known.

He helped you wash up, your hip bumping against his as you laughed and joked, letting him dry the pots as he handed them to stand who put them away, before you were wiping your hands dry, left standing with the two of them in silence, as the conversation seemed to run out. He could feel your eyes on him, but his own were locked with your father’s a staredown that seemed to say everything there was that hung in the air between them, and you patted his arm, before squeezing through, mumbling about going for a bath before heading upstairs, and leaving the two of them alone.

The contest only lasted a few seconds longer, before Stan was making his way back to the table collapsing down into the chair and picking the paper back up, staring at it with a burning gaze, and he crossed his arms over his chest in what was more like a protective armour tan a dominating stance.

“I’m still going to marry her.”

“If she says yes.” Stan huffed, and he wiped a hand over his face, swallowing down his emotions and taking the other seat opposite him. 

“I know you don’t think I’m good enough for her, but I love your daughter with everything I have, and I’m still going to ask her to spend the rest of her life with me, because that’s what I want, with her.”

He finally earned the rest to a simple glance, the newspaper falling flat with a hustle of papers, as Stan took a long swing of the drink, eyes narrowing at him as he set it down. “What makes you think that I think you’re not good enough for her? Putting words in my mouth now, Rapp?” 

“No, those are your words.” Hurley raised his eyebrows a little bit, prompting an explanation from him, and Mitch leaned back in his seat. “Just over three years ago. You told me your daughter had started seeing someone, I asked you if you liked the guy, and you said no. You said you hadn't met him yet, but that he wasn’t good enough for your daughter, you just knew it.”

Stan’s lips flicked up at the sides as he remembered the comment, a low chuckle falling from him. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t find it as funny now that I know it’s me.” Stan studied him for a moment, and Mitch shrugged, deciding that whether Stan was going to give his approval or not, there was a chance they’d be family own day, and so he should know why he was in the army in the first place. “Your daughter is all I have, she’s my everything. I had no one when I joined up, I was seventeen when enlisted, my parents were dead and I was just another kid coming up through the system with nothing to show for it, and so I looked for a family wherever I could get it. The army offered that for a while, made me feel less alone, and useful. But then I met (Y/N), and everything seemed to change, and my focus shifted on finding a family to just getting to come home to her, so whether you like it or not, I love her.”

The silence that fell over them both when he finished speaking felt more deafening than the bombs and bullets he’d been forced to listen go off for the last few months, and he had to physically force himself to stop the tapping of his leg that happened every time he got jittery. “You love her?”

“I do.”

“You know, she has a history of dating some pretty bad guys. At first, I think she genuinely didn’t know any better, of course, she was in high school, and so I grounded her. Then, I think she started dating bad guys to spite me and her mom when he broke up. When I heard she was dating someone new, I just assumed it was another guy who was going to break her heart.” Mitch kind of wished he had his own beer at this moment, or maybe a full bottle of rum, anything to take the stinging edge off of this conversation. “Are you going to do that? Are you going to up and leave her?”

“Sir, she’d have to break my heart to get rid of me, and I’d still love her then.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He hummed, before picking up his paper, mumbling to himself as he searched around for his pen, before finding it placed behind his ear, going back to figuring out the crossword from a newspaper that was days old, and he could just search the answers up online, but that wasn’t what mattered right now.

“That sounded an awful lot like a blessing.”

“Well, of course, it was.” Stan grouched, before lowing his paper a little to peer over the top. “You’re committed, and you care, and I’ve known you for years. You’re a good man, Mitch, exactly the kind of person I want for my little girl to be with, and it’s even better that I already know you, I don’t have to do the intimidating dad act. You already know I could shoot you with pinpoint accuracy from a hundred metres away.”

He smirked at the end of his sentence, but with his nerves gone, Mitch was able to read the older man’s body language once again, laughing both at the joke, and to himself as he watched Stan get frustrated and fold the paper back up, tucking it under his arm and patting Mitch on the shoulder. He felt as though he may die of relief, feeling the calmness wash over him in euphoric waves so strong he felt high, and he covered his face with his hands, sighing to himself quietly for a second, having been worrying over nothing.

“I’m going to the pub in town, I’ll be back in the early hours. I have some friends who owe me some drinks.”

He simply waved him off, watching out of the window as Stan wandered out to the pickup truck, peeping at the contents underneath the tarp, and scoffing before lifting the edge up. He pulled back out what could only be described as one of the most hideous, eighties-style lamps that he had ever seen, hiding it in the barn before covering it back up and setting off on his journey. He contemplated telling you about the retrieved piece of hideous furniture, but Mitch had just won a really big battle, so if Stan wanted the ugly lamp then he could have the ugly lamp.

You were singing to yourself, the sound of your feet on the floor telling him that you were finished in the bath, and only a second later, water was draining away, audibly through the pipes, and he placed himself down on the edge of the bed as he waited for you, now nervous for entirely new reasons. 

It took a few minutes before you arrived, your hair neatly combed and skin clean of makeup, a baggy shirt and a pair of leggings covering you, and Mitch swore you looked just as beautiful right now as you did when he’d first met you, all dressed up with red lips and a ball gown and a gorgeous up-do in your hair. You jumped a little upon seeing him, but gave him a soft smile, making your way to your dresser and searching around or some cream, before applying it to your face delicately. 

“Your dad went out, said he was going for some drinks with his friends. Apparently, he’s owed some drinks.” You seemed to know just who, laughing to yourself in the mirror as you worked on your skin, and he fidgeted a little with his hands, watching you go. “Can we talk, though? It’s pretty important, and we have a little while to ourselves, so I figured now was a good time.”

You stilled your movements, before nodding slowly, turning in your chair to talk to him. “Are we breaking up?”

“Hold on, what?”

“If you don’t want to be with me anymore, that’s okay, but I’d rather you just tell me than try and hint at it, or get me to do it.” You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze leaving his own, looking down at the floor, and continuing on before he had a chance to figure out what to say. 

“What makes you think I want that?”

“You’ve been acting weird all day, ever since you got off the train. You used to be so excited to see me, and you’ve barely spoken to me all night, and you don’t want to kiss me anymore, so I feel like you want to break up with me.” He felt stunned, but was crossing the room before he could stop himself. With own hand on the edge of the dresser and the other on your cheek, he pulled your mouth up to meet his own, a fiery kiss that made everything inside of him burst open in fireworks when you squeaked with shock, lips frozen against his own as he tried to tempt you into kissing him back and you eventually caved. 

Your lips meshed with his own, sweet kisses that had you lifting your hands up to hold his face in return, before you were standing, shaky legs pushing you to meet him, your bodies pressing together and he snaked an arm around your waist to hold you close. He didn’t want to let you go, he didn’t want you to ever think that he would, and he certainly never wanted you to doubt his love for you again. “I don’t want to break up with you, kitten, I want to marry you.”

“What?” You were still a little breathless when he spoke the words, but he shook his head, laughing lightly before pulling you away and sitting you down on the edge of the bed, before reaching over to the drawer in which he had a ring hidden away. 

Producing the little velvet box, he found himself down on one knee, holding it up to you and grinning at the look on your face. “I love you, so much. You have given me everything I never thought I’d get in life. I don’t want to go back to the army, and I don’t want to be away from you anymore. When I signed up, and I had nothing to live for, and so serving - and ultimately dying - for my country seemed like a good way to go about my life, but then you walked in. With your pretty eyes and your jokes and your inability to let me just have a fling. You were supposed to be temporary, and now I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who asked me if I wanted to get breakfast with you the following morning.” You sniffed back some tears, laughing at the memory yourself, and he nodded his head bushing a little as he did. 

“Because I knew from the moment you first kissed me that I needed more from you.” He wiped at his own cheeks, before reaching up to you, and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I promise you, I’m never going to want to stop kissing you, or loving you. I don’t want to go back to the army. I want to live here, on this farm, with you. I want to do it up, and live our lives, and I don’t want to go away anymore. I want to have kids, and ride pickup trucks, and maybe a farm cat, and I want to reconstruct the broken fireplace downstairs because there’s a fern in it, baby, why have you got a fern in the fireplace?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, laughing at him as you sunk down onto the floor before him, and he kneeled there carefully, waiting for your reply. “It’s broken! It was ugly just sitting there empty!”

“I’ll fix it for you. For us. If you’ll have me. I love you so much, kitten, and I want to know, if you’ll do me the honour of marrying me?”

“In what world would I say no?” You whispered, before your arms were around his neck, his back meeting the carpet as you kissed him with such force that the two of you rolled backwards, and he could barely kiss you for the grin on his face. “I would love to marry you, Mitch Rapp.”

He pushed the ring onto your finger, twisting it a little as you admired it. It was a perfect fit, and he internally congratulated himself on having gotten it right, his hands finding your hips and slipping underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin slowly, watching as you tried to compose yourself, and he couldn't remember a time before this that he’d ever been happier. “Don’t leave me. Not ever.”

“Why would I ever want to leave my handsome soldier, hm?”

“Handsome farmer, now.” He teased, picking you up underneath your thighs as you shrieked at the movement, clinging to him tightly, before your back was meeting the mattress, and you were pulling him back down into another kiss. 

You were asleep when Mitch heard the door open and close once again, the locks being flicked and he paused in his movements, running his fingers up and down your bare back slowly, his head tipping to the side as he listened out. It was clearly your father, shoes being kicked off and low sighs sounding or as he moved around, glasses from the cabinet clinking before the tap was running, and he figured that Stan was getting a glass of water, trying to get himself ready for bed in the late hour. 

Your hand was still splayed across his chest beside your face, ring twinkling in the light coming in through the windows, and with a groan, he shifted himself out of the bed, watching as you shuffled around a little your hand catching onto him before he went, pouted lips pulling him back down for a quick kiss, before you were pulling a pillow in close to your body instead and replacing him with the cushion as you drifted back off. 

Tugging his sweats back on, h swiped his short from the floor, trying to get it the right way out before leaving the room, and finally succeeding, the material taking place on his body only a second later. He pulled shut the blinds, and placed a kiss to your temple, before adjusting the blankets over your body and leaving the room, bedroom door clicking shut quietly behind him. 

Stan was already anticipating his arrival, staring at the staircase as he came down them, and he got another glass, filling it with water and silently offering it to Mitch has he leaned against the counter. 

“Did you ask her?” He simply nodded, rubbing at the back of his neck and mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’ in return for the drink taking a long sip of it as Stan stared at him, before letting out an exaggerated sigh as he decided to press further, and a blush crawled along Mitch’s neck. “Well? What did she say?”

“She said yes.” He rubbed at the spot on his own finger where a ring would soon be, and the other man gave him was possibly the brightest smile he’d ever seen him hold, before clinking the two glasses of water together in a ‘cheers’ motion. Only a second later, he was being pulled into his embrace, water glasses discarded, and Mitch felt tears spring to his eyes as he clung onto Stan just as tightly, the act of fatherly affection being something he had so sorely missed, and definitely something he could get used to. When they pulled back, he tried not to show the effect it had on him, but Stan overlooked it if he did see it, gripping his shoulder and squeezing comfortingly instead. 

“Welcome to the family, kid.”

[vostara]

love me like you hurt me - p.2

we make mistakes, we leave them by the door

pairing: Rafe Adler x Original Female Character x Samuel Drake

blurb: “But once, I think I loved you.”

word count: 14.9k+

title inspiration: I Run to You - MISSIO

The second (and final) part of the series. I’ve very much loved the process of writing this story and I adore Sabina and her interactions with Rafe and Sam. You can expect to see more of her in the future, since I have spin-off/sequel one-shots planned. I don’t know when they’ll be released, but they’re coming.

This work is cross-posted on Ao3.

01 | 02 ... series masterlist

February 2001

A month ago, Sabina packed her duffle bag and left Scotland on the first flight that she could book. She flew to England, then took a train to France. Swung her way through Switzerland, Italy, and Austria, before finding herself here.

Germany.

Sitting on a bench inside of a tiny museum, Sabina stares at the painting displayed on the wall. Before her is a sea of lavender. Plants are angled towards the right, leaning with an invisible breeze. In the center is a young woman, dressed in a high-collared white dress. And in her lap is a toddler, waving around a bundle of flowers.

From her peripheral vision, she watches as a man joins her on the bench. His hand twitches, and he reaches out for her, tempted to brush his fingers against her own. Instead, he drops his hands into his lap and turns to look at the painting.

“You found me,” Sabina says.

The man remains silent.

“How?”

“It’s not important,” he says.

Finally, she turns her head to look at him, turns to look at Rafe. “You paid someone.”

“Actually,” he shakes his head. “I asked Nate.”

“I didn’t tell him where I was going.”

“No, but he made a startlingly educated guess.”

Sabina hums. “I don’t suppose he came here with you, did he?”

“Nate left,” he sighs.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m pretty sure he hates you.” She reaches for the ring on her finger, fiddling with the sapphire gemstone. “When did he leave?”

“About a week after you did.”

“So,” Sabina says, “there really is nothing at the cathedral, then?”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Rafe responds.

“We’ve spent weeks looking. Weeks digging holes, turning over every single pebble. There’s nothing there,” she says. “No clue. No treasure. No sign that anything associated with Avery has ever existed there.”

“There has to be something there.”

“But there isn’t,” Sabina directs her attention back to the painting. “Maybe it’s time to let it go. Let the treasure disappear into obscurity.”

“Why are you giving up?”

“Why would you care?” Sabina counters. “You’ve got the cathedral, all of the clues. If you find the treasure on your own, you get all of the profit. A hefty sum to add on top of your hefty inheritance.”

Rafe clenches a fist.

“Sam was the Avery expert,” she continues. “Without him and without Nate… I just don’t see the point in continuing. Their knowledge about this is leagues above my own. The truth is that I was probably just tagging along for the ride.”

“I am sorry, you know,” Rafe says, “about Sam. His… it wasn’t part of the plan.”

“It all feels surreal,” Sabina admits. “Like I’m wandering through a terrible dream. I feel like I’m going to wake up, any minute now, and he’ll be there to greet me with a horrible cup of coffee and stale croissants.”

“Were you two…”

“Together?”

Rafe averts his gaze to the tile floor.

“No,” she says. “Not quite. We were… complicated. He was never really good at commitment—neither of us were, really.” Sabina sighs, “Maybe it’s due to our similar upbringings. We both grew up without our parents. Stability is a luxury that we haven’t quite experienced yet.”

“What happened to them? Your parents?”

With a slight tilt of her head, Sabina mulls over her response. “When you spoke to Nate,” she says, “did he specify exactly where I would be in the museum?”

Rafe takes a moment to think. “He did, yeah.”

“The first time I came here, I was with Sam,” she says. “It was raining outside, so we popped in to escape from the cold. And when I saw it,” she nods her head towards the painting, “I couldn’t pull my eyes away. Sam joked that he would steal it for me one day. Though, knowing Sam, he was probably being serious.”

She stands and takes a few steps closer to the painting, her face glowing from the faintest hint of a smile. “Mother and Daughter Pick Flowers, such an original title. Artist: Jean-Jacques Pierre de la Sablonnière, a French painter. It was quite well-known that he hated men. In fact, he refused to paint them. Claimed that they were vile creatures. It is believed that when the Duke, Prince Louis Amilcar François d’Orléans, attempted to commission him for a painting, he laughed his face and danced on his way out of the villa. Of course, the Duke was upset, embarrassed. He stormed into his garden and shouted for his guards. And poor Monsieur de la Sablonnière was found dead, stabbed through the heart, just three days later.”

She turns around to look at Rafe, whom is still sitting on the bench. “I don’t remember my parents,” she says, walking back towards him. “I was a child when they died. Old enough to remember them, sure, but I can’t remember people if they barely had a presence in my life. What I do remember is this painting. A replica was hung in the living room, above a neglected fireplace full of dust. I wanted to be the little girl in the painting, to also have the joy of sitting in a sunny field, picking flowers with my mother. It’s a bit said, you know, that I don’t remember my mother’s face, but I remember my nanny.”

Sabina sits down on the bench, inches away from Rafe. “My parents were murdered,” she says. “After months of being away, they had finally come home. I was so happy. Even though I had grown out of bedtime stories, my father read one to me. And when he was finished, I begged him to read another and another. I think I was afraid that he would never read me one again. We stayed awake, long after my bedtime, but neither of us cared.

“My mother died first. We heard her screams, her pleas for help. Heard her begging the the intruders to stop. My father picked me up, carried me into his study, and hid me in a secret space beneath the floorboards.” Sabina unclasps the gold chain around her neck and places the medallion in Rafe’s hands. “He gave that to me. Told me to keep it safe, hidden. I don’t really remember what happened after that. Sometimes, in my nightmares, I recall the sound of a gunshot. Of papers being pushed, scattered. Cabinets crashing against the floor. I see blood seeping through the cracks in the floor. I feel it dripping down onto my face, onto my hands.”

Sabina exhales, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I don’t know who, specifically, killed them; they were never caught. But since then, I’ve spent an alarming amount of time running away from people who wish to murder me. Whatever my parents found, whatever that medallion is, it’s worth something. The boys and I speculate that it’s related to Avery’s treasure, but we’ve been unsuccessful with our attempts to solve the puzzle.”

“Sabina,” Rafe says, “let’s work together.”

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

“Tell me,” Rafe looks down at the medallion, brushing his thumb over the etched symbols. “Do you still want to find Avery’s treasure?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then come with me.”

“I can’t—not without Sam—”

He reaches out towards Sabina and wraps his fingers around her hand. “You don’t need the Drakes, Sabina. You’re more intelligent than you think you are.”

“Why are you looking for this?” She asks. “What could you possibly gain? It can’t be the money, you already have that.”

“Curiosity,” he says. “Boredom, maybe.”

“Treasure hunting: an unusual cure for boredom.”

Rafe chuckles.

“I want to be equals,” Sabina says. “We split the treasure, fifty-fifty.”

“Hey, I’m the one footing the bill for—”

“Fifty-fifty. Take it, or I walk.”

“Deal,” Rafe says.

December 2015

A few years ago, Sabina figured out that life with Rafe is easier if she avoids the topic of Nathan Drake. Though her husband would never admit it, it was clear that feelings of rage, frustration, and jealousy were building up inside of him. He hated what Nate had accomplished on his own, hated what he had accomplished without him. And Nate’s current involvement with Avery’s treasure hasn’t helped. In fact, spending the past few weeks chasing after him had skyrocketed Rafe’s anger, making her husband almost unbearable to be around.

After Scotland, they followed Nate here, to Madagascar.

Drowning beneath the burning sunlight and stifling humidity, Sabina does her best to keep herself calm, composed. So far she has been successful in convincing Rafe and Nadine not to murder Nate at first sight, but as the promise of finding treasure draws closer, their patience is beginning to wan. Currently, the trio are driving in a jeep through one of the cities, providing a much appreciated gust of wind to cool down their sweaty bodies.

Rafe pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number. A few moments later, he laughs. “Here I am, I’m calling what I thought was Sullivan’s phone… and look who picks up,” he says. “How you been, Nate?”

Her ears perk up at the name.

“I wish,” Rafe chuckles. “That only would’ve cost me a few shots of rum, right? No, no, I had to pay top dollar to find you guys.”

Sabina frowns. Just how much money has Rafe invested into this not-so-friendly competition? He must be more on edge than she had assumed.

“…you pulled off some clever moves there,” he says. “But in the end, all that matters is who gets to Avery’s treasure first.”

A brief pause.

“Hey, Nate, you know I’m always game,” Rafe responds. “But my partner,” he turns his head slightly, to glance over at Nadine, “well, she prefers to… mitigate unnecessary risks.”

Sabina tenses and her eyes flicker over to Nadine, but she ignores her gaze.

“Look, Nate. I’m gonna make you a one-time offer here,” he continues. “You drop everything. Go home, live your life… and I’m willing to forgive and forget. For old time’s sake.”

Nadine looks over at the man, as he listens to Nate’s response.

“Okay,” Rafe shrugs. “‘Pro Deus quod licentia.’ For God and liberty.” He smiles, “These are nice pictures, Nate. Good composition.”

A feeling of dread punches Sabina in the stomach. She leans forward in her seat and grabs onto her husband’s shoulder.

“You stole my cross!” Rafe says. “Listen, Nate, if you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’ll accept my offer. What’s it going to be?”

“Rafe,” Sabina says, jostling his arm.

He ignores her.

“Well, Nate, one more thing—Nate!”

A pause.

“You… you do realize that your phones are equipped with GPS, right?” He asks. “I’ll see you soon, buddy.” He ends the call, finally turning to look at her. “What?”

“What did you do?” She asks.

“Honey, don’t worry about it.”

“Rafe—”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“What is wrong with you?” Sabina yells. “This is—this is absolutely crazy!”

“Sabina,” Rafe says. “I need you to calm down.”

“Me?” She laughs. “You need me to calm down? Have you listened to yourself once in the past few weeks? Hell, the past few years? Everything is Drake this! Drake that! God, maybe you should’ve married him, huh? He’s all you ever talk about. Too bad you’re sending people to go fucking murder him!”

“I am not going to do this with you right now.”

“Is this why you hired Shoreline?” Sabina says. “So you could get rid of anyone that stands between you and that treasure?”

Rafe doesn’t respond.

“When this is over, I’m done.”

“Sabina—”

“No, I am sick of this. You aren’t the person I married. You aren’t even the person from five years ago.”

“Sabina—”

“Shut up,” she says. “Just… shut up.”

September 2001

Sabina fiddles with her emerald green satin dress. It was something that would have cost her a small fortune, more than triple the rent of her tiny overpriced apartment, but Rafe had insisted on getting it for her.

This is ridiculous, she had said. It’s just a dress.

Really, it’s nothing. Rafe said, waving away her protests. If you want to blend in, you’re going to need to dress the part.

I can’t ask you to pay for this.

You don’t need to ask, he chuckles. I’m telling you that I’ll pay.

But I’ll only ever wear this dress like once, maybe twice.

That would be a real shame. You look really beautiful in it.

The comment had shut Sabina up, bringing forth a light blush to stain her cheeks.

I know that this doesn’t seem like pocket change to you, Rafe said, but it is. And even if it wasn’t, this dress would be worth the price.

“Sabina,” a voice calls. A hand reaches out for her own, intertwining their fingers between hers. “Relax,” they say, “the more you twitch, the more attention you’ll bring to us.”

She sighs, looking at Rafe. She squeezes Rafe’s hand, as she glances around the room.

The pair were at an exclusive, membership-only bar. A hotspot for filthy rich assholes, those that are usually linked to shady business deals and other questionable methods of income. Sabina felt out of place, standing amongst the elite of wealthy society. While these people sweetened a cup of tea with liquid gold, she was one to ration a bottle of honey.

“Maybe I should go,” she says. “I feel like everyone can tell that I don’t belong here.”

“Nonsense,” Rafe says. “Everyone knows that you’re here with me; they all watched us walk in together.”

“Every time I exhale, someone looks at me like I’m tainting the air.”

“Ignore them.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she huffs. “Nobody is looking at you like you’re trash that someone dragged in from the street.”

Rafe chuckles. “They’re curious about you.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone believes I’m a gold digger that’s playing you.”

“Come on,” he says, tugging at her hand. He begins to lead her out of the bar.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“But the seller—Rafe—he could be here any moment.”

“He can wait five minutes,” he says. “You look like you’re about to suffocate.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Sabina.”

She sighs, but stops her struggle.

Rafe leads her up a short flight of stairs and then outside, onto a balcony. The late night air of Germany chills her arms, triggering a layer of fresh goosebumps. But she ignores the cold when her mind becomes focused on the view in front of her. The balcony overlooks a vast forest of pine trees, illuminated by the silver-blue haze of moonlight.

Sabina takes in a deep inhale of the crisp air.

“What’s bothering you?” Rafe asks.

“What?” She turns to look at him. “Nothing. Nothing, really.”

“Wow,” he takes a step closer to her, placing his hands on the iron railing. “You didn’t even try to sound convincing with that response.”

“I’m fine.”

“The key to a good partnership is communication,” Rafe says. “So, communicate. Talk to me, huh?”

“I feel like I’m wasting your time,” Sabina admits.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“And your money,” she continues.

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I can’t solve the medallion?” Sabina grips onto the railing in front of her. “Can’t solve the puzzle or figure out whatever piece I need in order to even attempt solving it. Or what if it’s broken? What if it was part of something else and that something is long gone? Rafe, I’ve barely contributed anything in the past year.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but Sabina interrupts him.

“We’ve hardly made any progress,” she says. “Maybe I’m holding us back, leading us in the wrong directions. God, I keep turning those fucking rings. As if it’s going to make a difference and one day I’ll magically line it up correctly and everything with click into place. But it hasn’t happened… and I’m not sure if it will.”

“You’re not wrong,” Rafe says. “We’ve been circling the same set of clues for longer than either of us would like to. But that doesn’t mean we should give up altogether.”

“I think we should part ways,” Sabina says.

His eyes widen.

“We started off as business partners, but let’s be honest. We’re hardly fifty-fifty. You’re footing the bill for everything,” she says. “Our trips. Our purchases. Our bribes. You’ve even started paying my bills, covering my living expenses. We can’t be equals if the contributions aren’t equal. You give everything, but I have nothing to give in return.”

“If you think I’m mad about the money, you’re mistaken. I’ve told you before, money isn’t a problem.”

“You keep saying that!” Sabina runs a hand through her hair, ruining the perfect curls. “I appreciate the help, I really do, but I feel like I’ve become far too indebted to you. If we don’t find Avery’s treasure, I’ll never be able to pay you back for everything.”

“You don’t need to pay me back,” he says.

“Rafe—”

“I don’t financially support you because I want you to feel like you’re in my debt,” he says. He reaches out for her hand, but freezes, unsure. “I do it because I believe in you.”

“You’re sucking up to me,” she smiles.

“I do it because I need you,” Rafe gently wraps his fingers around her arm, turning her to face him. “I want you to be in this with me.”

Sabina blinks, confused by the hint of longing in his voice.

“I care for you, Sabina. I’m in love with you,” he says.

She freezes, processing his words.

“You’re not a burden to me. You’re brilliant, one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever met. And despite every terrible that that has happened to you, you still manage to show kindness. You are caring, protective of those close to you.” Rafe pauses, taking a breath. “When we were in Columbia, when you almost—”

Died. 

The pair had gone to the country just a couple of months prior to investigate a cave with a potential lead. While examining the markings carved into the stone, Sabina had set off a trap, triggering an explosion. Rubble had fallen down near the exit, blocking her inside and separating her from Rafe. Moments later the cave was flooding. Desperate, Rafe and Sabina pushed and pulled at the debris, trying to make a big enough hole for her to slip through. As her lungs began to fill up with the water, she started to lose consciousness. Rafe had managed to pull her through a gap, just before she had blacked out completely.

“I realized how much you mean to me,” Rafe continues. “I want a life with you.”

Without a moment to waste, Sabina grips onto Rafe’s tie and pulls him closer. She presses her lips against his, overwhelmed, but attempting to convey all of her emotions in the act. Sabina moves her hands to rest one against his neck. The other travels to the back of his head, allowing her fingers to clutch onto the short strands of his hair.

He wanted her.

He loved her.

And in this moment, he needed her, with or without the treasure.

Rafe pulls her into his arms, flush against his body. His nails dig into the satin, longing to instead feel the bare flesh beneath the fabric. His kiss is eager, desperate, intense, yet too gentle at the same time. Sabina can sense that he wants to feel more of her and it’s something that she’ll happily give.

December 2015

The sound of splitting wood and crashing debris echoes in the rainforest, originating from Nadine’s last known location. Rafe and a couple of the Shoreline mercenaries were hot on her heels, rushing to get to the Nate before he could slip away again. Trailing behind, Sabina struggles to keep up with the men, but her short legs can only do so much.

“…forget about her! We gotta get out of here before they—”

The man’s voice comes to abrupt stop when Rafe runs out of the ruined buildings of Libertalia and into the open. Rafe raises a gun, pointing it at the men in front of him. The two mercenaries follow suite, also aiming their weapons at the targets.

“Shit. Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the man says, alarmed. “Everybody just… just calm down, okay?”

Nearly gasping for air, Sabina approaches the exit.

“Well, this is interesting,” Rafe says. “Nate. Samuel.”

Sabina halts, frozen by the name. Samuel? Who the hell is—

“Put your guns down!” A new voice yells. “All of you.”

Samuel?

The old sapphire ring on her right hand feels heavy on her finger. For years she hadn’t noticed the jewelry, burying away its significance in her life. Now it was the only thing her buzzing brain could focus on.

“No,” her husband responds.

“Rafe, this guy’s on edge,” Nadine says.

“Oh, don’t worry about him, Nadine.” Rafe takes a small step forward. “These guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood. It’s just not their style.”

“You willing to bet her life on that?” One of the men says.

With shaky steps, Sabina steps into the clearing. Her eyes focused on Shoreline’s targets. There, she sees Nate, looking exhausted and worried. He’s covered in dirt, dust, and droplets of sweat. To his left is Nadine: held hostage, gun to her head. And there, holding the gun, is a familiar, but aged, face. The face of a dead man, of a man that she hasn’t seen in fifteen years. A man that she had shed countless tears for, before she had forced herself to lock away her memories of him, to bury him deep, deep in the back of her mind.

“Sam?” The name is whispered through her lips, ignored by everyone.

“Go ahead then,” Rafe says. “Shoot her.”

“Sam,” Nate warns.

“I die, you both die,” Nadine says.

“So be it,” Sam hisses into her ear. “Not another step!”

“You mean… like this?” Rafe takes another step forward.

“Sam, put the gun down!” Nate says.

“I warned you.”

“Do it!” Rafe taunts.

Nadine shouts, “Rafe!”

Just as Sam’s finger begins to press down on the trigger, Nate rushes towards him. He shoves the gun upwards, away from Nadine. 

The sound of a gunshot rings in the air. 

And Nadine uses the opportunity to slam her elbow back into Sam’s stomach, allowing her to slip away from his hold.

“Wait!” Sabina screams, running towards the Drakes.

Nate holds the gun up in the air. “It’s done!”

“Hold your fire!” Rafe turns to yell at the mercenaries, holding up his arms. “Don’t shoot!”

Sabina rushes to Sam’s side. He’s hunched over, stunned from Nadine’s blow. “Oh, my god,” she says. “Sam?”

The man lifts his head to look at her. “Bina? What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” She asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Nate, put the gun down,” Rafe says. “Sabina, what are you doing?”

She ignores him.

Nadine picks up the gun. “Don’t worry, Nadine. It’s not their style,” she quotes, walking passed Rafe.

“What can I say?” Rafe replies. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“I don’t understand—I thought—Sam—”

“It’s complicated, but I’m here,” he responds. He lifts his right hand to brush the back of his fingertips against her cheek. “I missed you.”

“Sam—”

“Jesus, will somebody go get her?” Rafe addresses the mercenaries.

The man to Rafe’s right approaches Sabina, gun still trained on Sam. He grabs onto her arm, attempting to pull her away from the older Drake.

“Don’t touch her!” Sam yells. But when the mercenary points the barrel of the gun directly into his face, Sam stops protesting.

Rafe steps forward, approaching the Drakes. “Samuel. You okay?” He reaches forward to brush off some of the dust on the man’s shoulders. “I guess you knew this moment was coming, huh?” Rafe slams his handgun across Sam’s face, knocking him down onto the ground.

“Hey!” Nate says. “C’mon, man. You got us. Take it easy.”

Rafe reaches for Sabina, pulling her away from the mercenary. With a firm grip on her arm, he positions her to stand slightly behind himself.

“C’mon now,” Nate says. “You’re a businessman. Let’s just… work out a deal.”

“Oh, a deal,” Rafe says. “Oh, yeah, I’d love to hear what you have in mind.” He takes a step forward, pulling Sabina with him, and then kicks Sam in the face.

“Rafe!” Sabina snaps.

“Oh, you can go ahead,” Rafe says to Nate. “I’m listening.”

“Alright, just… alright,” Nate leans down to help Sam stand back up. “Look, you wanna find Avery’s treasure? We’ll help you find it.”

“And in exchange, I let you live?”

“Yeah,” Nate hesitates. “That and a small cut.”

Rafe laughs. “The gauchos on this guy.”

“Just enough to get him freedom, okay?”

“His freedom?”

“Nathan—” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Nate interrupts. “He did hard time. Our time. And the guy who broke him out, Hector Alcazar, he owes him a lot of money.”

“Whoa, what the hell are you talking about, Nate?” Rafe says. “Hector Alcazar died in a shootout in Argentina like six months ago. I’m the one that got Samuel out.”

Sabina frowns, confused, and turns her head to look at her husband.

Nate looks over at Sam, before turning his attention back to Rafe. “What?”

“Oh,” a look of realization shines on Rafe’s features. “Wow. What did he tell you? Sam, what kind of story did you cook up? Alcazar? Really? You lied? You lied to your baby brother?”

“We’re wasting time,” Nadine says.

“Just a second,” Rafe responds. “Thing is, Nate, I never stopped looking for Avery’s treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends,” he chuckles, “you know? And then I heard that our dear ol’ Samuel Drake, an authority on Avery—is alive and somewhat well. There was no breakout. I bribed the prison warden and your brother waltzed right out the front gate. He spent the last two years tracking down the second Saint Dismas cross. And you know what? He did it all with me.”

Sabina opens her mouth to speak, “Two years—”

“No,” Nate says.

“Oh, yeah.”

“No, that’s bullshit!”

“Oh, Sam?” Rafe turns his direction towards the man. “Care to refute?”

He sighs. “Nate…”

“Aw, Sam… Ah, Jesus, no, no…”

Sam takes a step closer to his brother. “Listen, Avery’s treasure was ours,” he says. “It was always ours.”

“No!” Nate yells. “I left my life for you!”

“Hey, look, look, Nate,” Rafe says, laughing. “If it’s any consolation, he duped me, too. He pulled a Houdini on me. He brought you and that old man back into the mix. And I cannot lie, Sam, that really pissed me off. But you know… all behind us now.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Sam says.

“You do? Last I checked we’re all a bunch of thieves, digging around where we shouldn’t.”

Nadine approaches the bickering men, “Rafe.”

“What?”

“One way or another, end it,” she says. “Or I will.”

Rafe nods. “Well, you heard the lady,” he says, aiming his gun at Sam.

“Wait,” Sabina says. “Don’t—”

“Hey,” Nate says. “You miss one clue and you can kiss that treasure goodbye. You said it yourself: you keep running into dead ends. Why don’t you face it, Rafe. You need us.”

“Rafe, put the gun down,” Sabina says.

He ignores her, eyes focused on the Drake brothers. “Yeah, you’re right,” Rafe says, lowering the gun. He pauses for a moment, before continuing, “You’re half right. I just need Sam.” Rafe raises the gun again, pointing it at Nate.

Sabina pulls her arm out of Rafe’s grip and rushes forward to stand in front of the Drakes. “Don’t,” she yells.

“Honey,” Rafe sighs. “I need you to step out of the way.”

Sabina shakes her head. She holds her arms out to her sides, as if her small frame could shield the two men. “I can’t do that,” she says.

“Bina,” Sam reaches for her shoulder.

“Don’t even think about touching my wife,” Rafe says, aiming the gun at him.

“Put the gun down!” Sabina says.

“You’re really going to defend them,” her husband scoffs. “You’re picking these two assholes over me, your husband?”

“It’s not about picking sides,” Sabina says. “And why should I side with you anyway? You’ve known Sam has been alive, all of this time? And you didn’t think to tell me? Why? Why would you do that?”

“It’s complicated,” he says.

“Then explain it to me.”

“You talk in your sleep,” Rafe sighs and lowers the gun.

“Okay? So?”

“You say all sorts of things, you know,” Rafe takes a cautious step forward. “You reenact your memories, your nightmares. You relive all of those traumatic moments that you keep buried. You’ve screamed about your parents, screamed about the night of their murder. And you cry about… him,” he says, glancing at Sam. “You regret Panama, regret not pushing harder at looking for an alternative plan. You regret not telling me what he meant to you.”

“I—”

“But one day you stopped,” Rafe says. “I didn’t tell you about Sam because I thought that you had finally finished grieving his death. I didn’t want you to go through that all over again.”

Sabina relaxes her arms. “How dare you make that choice for me,” she says.

“It’s not like he ever bothered to search for you. He didn’t even tell his own brother he was alive,” Rafe says. “What makes you think that he would’ve bothered to see you, Sabina? If he had never betrayed me, we wouldn’t all be here right now. Not like this. You might have gone the rest of your life believing that Sam had died in that prison.”

Sabina swallows a lump in her throat. Her heartbeat is racing, pounding against her chest. She angles her body to look at Sam.

He avoids her gaze, turning his eyes down towards the ground.

An admission of guilt?

Rafe takes another step forward. “I lied to you, I’ll admit that.” He extends a hand in her direction. “But I didn’t do it out of malice. Step away from them, honey. We can find the treasure. We will find the treasure.”

“I don’t care about that,” she says. “You lied to me.”

“I never did it with the intention of hurting you,” Rafe says. “But I promise you that I won’t make that mistake again.”

“How can I trust you?”

"We’re partners, remember? Not just for this treasure, but in life.”

“Please,” Sabina says. “Don’t hurt them.”

“Everything is going to be okay, honey.”

Hesitant, Sabina reaches forward, placing her hand on top of Rafe’s open palm. 

“Bina, don’t,” Sam says.

Rafe steps closer to his wife, pulling her into a tight hug. “That’s my girl,” he says, eyes focused on Sam.

Sabina digs her nails into the back of his shirt and buries her face into his chest.

With one arm wrapped around his wife, Rafe aims his gun at Nate. “Back to business then.”

“Wait,” Sabina tries to pull herself out of his hold, but Rafe’s grip is firm. “You promised—”

“Wait now,” Nate says. “You’re making a mistake, you got—”

“Rafe, don’t!” Sam steps forward, partially blocking Nate. “Rafe, don’t, don’t, listen I—”

Ignoring their pleas, Rafe fires the gun. The shot misses Nate, but hits Sam in his left arm. The impact of the bullet sends him stumbling backwards, causing him to bump into Nate. Less than a moment later, Nate disappears, falling off the edge of the cliff.

“Nathan!” Sam yells.

Rafe turns to look at Nadine and the mercenaries. “Take him,” he orders.

February 2002

A morning glow peaks in through the curtains, illuminating the couple tangled beneath the bedsheets. Sabina whines at the touch of light and hides her face beneath the covers. Beside her, Rafe shifts, awoken by the movement. His hand brushes against Sabina’s naked back, fingers trailing along the curve of her spine.

“Good morning,” he says.

“No,” Sabina mumbles, “go back to sleep.” She buries her face into his chest.

Rafe chuckles. “You know that I’d love to do that.”

“Don’t argue. Just sleep.”

He places a hand on top of the one Sabina is laying on his chest. Rubs his thumb across the tops of her fingers. “But I have business meetings I can’t postpone any further,” he says.

“Give me the handcuffs,” she says. “I’ll chain you to the bed.”

“Are you sure?” Rafe pushes the cover away from her face. “You seem to enjoy wearing them more than I do.”

  “I’m not the one who plans on leaving.”

He cups her cheek and pulls her into a kiss. “If I keep postponing, they’ll walk away completely.”

“Fine,” Sabina pouts.

Rafe recaptures her lips. He grabs onto her hips and coerces her to lay down on her back. When he moves to hover above her, Sabina wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him against her body.

“You know that I love you, right?” Rafe says.

Sabina nods, pulling him in for another kiss.

But he pulls away, choosing instead to look at her flushed cheeks. Rafe smiles and brushes the loose strands of hair away from her face. He rolls off of her and opens the drawer in the beside table.

Sabina sits up in the bed, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

Rafe turns back towards her. “Marry me,” he says, holding up a small black velvet box.

She blinks up at him, processing the words that are swimming around in her discombobulated head. “What did you say?”

As he takes a nervous breath, he pulls back the lid of the box. “Will you marry me?”

Sabina’s eyes focus on the object inside, a ring. 

A pear-shaped diamond, set on a sleek white gold band. 

“You want… to marry me?”

“I do,” Rafe frowns. He’s hurt, confused by her response. “I love you. There’s no one in the world I would rather be with.”

Sabina reaches for the box, pulling it out of Rafe’s hand. “But the treasure,” she says, “we haven’t found Avery’s treasure yet. What if we never find it? Would you still want to be with me?”

“Yes,” he responds. “I don’t want to marry the treasure. I want to marry you.”

“Okay,” she whispers. Sabina sniffles, overwhelmed by emotion. But there’s a twinkle in her watering eyes and a small smile on her swollen lips. “Yes,” she says. “Yes!” She throws herself onto Rafe, knocking him down onto the bed, and peppers him with feverish, giddy kisses.

December 2015

The moment Sam had revealed where the treasure was, still on Avery’s ship, Rafe gathered together some of the Shoreline men. Using the distraction, Sabina approaches the mercenary that has been assigned to keep an eye on the Drake brother.

“Jonas, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

She tilts her head in Sam’s direction. “If you let me speak with him alone, I’ll wire five thousand dollars into your bank account.”

He pauses, mulling over the offer. “Gotta be honest with ya, I’m not sure if dealing with your husband’s temper is worth that price.”

“Ten thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sure,” Sabina shrugs. “It’s his money anyway.”

“Try to be quick about it, yeah?” Jonas steps out of the way, allowing her to slip inside of the small alcove.

Hearing the approaching footsteps, Sam looks up at his guest. His hands are bound, tied tightly with rope. The gunshot wound in his arm is bandaged, but splotches of blood have seeped through the gauze. He sighs, leaning back against the stone wall. “Bina,” he greets.

“Hey, Sam,” she says. She sits down on the floor, away from his reach. “So… I’m not sure on how to go about this discussion. My kind-of-ex-boyfriend coming back from the dead isn’t a scenario that I was ever prepared for.”

“Listen, I—”

“Were you going to tell me?” She interrupts. “Were you ever going to let me know that you were still alive?”

He sighs. “I thought about you, all the time. But I didn’t think that I was ever gonna get out of there. And then, when I did, well, Rafe was the one pulling those strings. Thirteen years had gone by. I figured that you had already moved on.”

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” Sabina admits. “I did get married—”

Sam laughs, a cynical chuckle. “You sure did, huh? Married Rafe. Could’ve picked anyone in the whole world, but you picked him.”

“I don’t have to justify my actions to you,” she says. “What was I supposed to do? Dwell on you for the rest of my life? Stay single, alone forever? I thought you were dead. How could you have expected me to wait for someone who wasn’t coming back?”

“You didn’t have to pick him,” Sam mutters.

“I didn’t have to, but I did! I wanted him. And I knew that he wanted me.” Sabina pauses, using the moment to calm herself down. “‘After we find the treasure, run away with me.’ That was your pseudo-proposal, word for word.”

“I remember,” he says.

“When Rafe asked me to marry him, there was no caveat,” she says. “He simply wanted me. It wasn’t all or nothing. I wasn’t part of a package deal.”

Sam frowns. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you were.”

“Sam,” Sabina shakes her head. “If you had never gotten trapped in that prison, if you had made it out of Panama with Rafe and Nate, do you really think that we would still be together?”

“I—I don’t know,” he says. “I’d like to think that we would be.”

“I think you would’ve left me,” Sabina says.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“For two decades, all you’ve thought about is that treasure. You didn’t even tell Nate that you were alive. You kept him in the dark, then you lied to him. If tracking down your brother isn’t one of the first things you do once you’ve gained your freedom, then where am I on that list?”

“Things were complicated.”

“Not nearly as complicated as you pretend them to be,” she says. “You’re just a selfish asshole. You don’t care that you’ve hurt people, betrayed them, let them down.” Sabina sits up on her knees and reaches for the back pocket of her pants. She pulls out a pocket knife and flips it open.

“Hey,” Sam says, doing his best to inch away from her. “Bina, I know you’re upset. But you don’t need to do this.”

She wraps her fingers around his bound hands and pulls him towards her. “I’m such an idiot,” she mutters. Sabina saws her knife through the rope, breaking the binds.

“What—”

“I love Rafe, I do,” she says. “But once, I think I loved you. I cared about you, at least. I might be a bit pissed off at you right now, but I won’t stand by while Rafe holds you captive. Just get out of here.”

Sam holds onto her hands and leans towards her. “Come with me,” he says.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

“You know what kind of man he is,” he says. “You deserve better.”

Sabina shakes her head, frowning. “I’m not sure if you’re much better.” She pulls herself away from him. “None of us are who we used to be. Rafe and I have our problems, but when we work, we work. I won’t deny that things have been a bit strained, lately. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t fix our marriage. I won’t throw all of this away for you. Not anymore.”

Sam nods his head, a grimace on his lips.

“Just so you, I’m glad you’re alive,” Sabina says.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

“I know,” she says. “Okay,” Sabina stands up. “Right. I need you to punch me or something.”

“What?” Sam says, also moving to stand up.

“Well, we need to stage your escape,” she says.

“Can’t I just walk out of here?”

“I paid off the guard. It’ll look suspicious if you disappear after I leave.”

“I’m not going to punch you,” Sam says.

“Just punch me! Then take out the guard.”

“Bina—”

“Sam,” she hisses. “For once in your life, just listen to me. We don’t need to argue about everything.”

“Oh, my god,” he groans. “Why does your plan involve me punching you in the face?”

“What—I never told you to punch my face.”

“Jesus Christ—”

“Is that where you wanted to punch me?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Maybe I should punch you in the fucking face,” Sabina says, taking a step towards him.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on,” Sam says, holding his hands up in front of him. “I’m just saying that—”

“Oi,” a voice interrupts.

Sam and Sabina turn to look at the entrance.

Jonas the Mercenary stands there, gun pointed in Sam’s direction. “What’s going on here? You untie him?”

“Jonas,” Sabina says. Her eyes flicker over to Sam, before focusing again on the mercenary. “Thank god you’re here! Samuel was… threatening me. Said that he would kill me if I didn’t cut the rope.”

“That so?” He takes a few steps forward. “Guess we should tie him back up.”

“Right,” she agrees.

“Go stand by the door,” he says. “I’ll bind him.”

Sabina throws one last glance at Sam, before heading towards the exit. Just as she walks passed the mercenary, she slams her foot into the back of his knee, knocking him off-balance. Sam rushes forward and pulls the assault rifle out of Jonas’ hands. Using the grip of the gun, he slams it across the man’s face, leaving him dazed and gasping on the ground. For good measure, Sam hits the mercenary again, breaking his nose.

“Go,” Sabina says.

Sam looks at her, opens his mouth to tell her something.

“Go! Get out of here.”

“Thank you,” he says. Without another moment to spare, Sam sprints out of the alcove.

Sabina gives him a head start. She waits for thirty seconds, before making her move. Clutching a fake bruise on her side, she stumbles out of the alcove, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Help! I need help! Rafe!”

A couple of mercenaries run towards her. “What’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know,” she says, gasping for air. “It all happened so fast—oh, my god, Jonas—Jonas is in there.”

“Sabina?” Rafe says, running towards her. “Honey, what happened?”

“Sam! He—he escaped!”

He directs his gaze to the mercenaries. “Find him,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Sabina says. “I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t and he—he had a gun. I didn’t know what to do.”

Holding the sides of her face in his hands, Rafe leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay, honey. Are you okay? Did he hit you?”

“I got tangled up in the fight,” she says. “But I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. “He’s probably heading for the treasure. We need to go catch up.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“We are so close. We’re practically right there. Just need to beat him to it.” Rafe grabs onto her hand, pulling her along with him.

They rush down the tunnel, heading for where the boats are docked. As they enter the area, Sam is driving away with one of the boats. Rafe drags Sabina towards Nadine, whom is loading up a boat with treasure.

“Sam just stole our goddamn boat,” Rafe says. “He’s headed for Avery’s ship. Come on.”

“Let him,” she says. “We’re done.”

Rafe looks at her, confused. “We’re done?”

“Most of my men are dead, Rafe. And those who aren’t have already left.”

“Can you see that?” Rafe asks, pointing in the direction of Avery’s ship. “The end is literally in sight.”

“That maniac pirate of yours has rigged this entire cave. I’m not setting foot on his ship.”

“Nadine, if you cut and run right now, the loss of all your men—everything that we’ve done—is for nothing.”

Nadine points to the raft on her left. “We have millions in gold, right here. I’d say that, plus our lives, is something.” She steps around Rafe, moving to finish getting the raft ready for departure.

“No wonder so many of your men abandoned you,” Rafe says.

Nadine turns to look at him. “Excuse me?”

Sabina glances at the mercenary standing behind her, alerted by the sound of him adjusting his grip on his gun.

Rafe steps away from her, approaching Nadine. “We’re on the verge of making history here, and you’re willing to just walk off with a pittance, a fraction what Sam’s gonna get from that boat.”

“If he can walk away from that ship alive, he can have it,” Nadine says. “Hell, I’d say he’s earned it. God knows you didn’t.”

A moment of stillness, and then—

Rafe slaps Nadine across her face. “Now look,” he says, following another brief pause. “We can stand here and insult each other all day, or we can finish what it is that we—”

Nadine interrupts him, slamming her fist into his stomach. She shoves Rafe onto the ground and then aims her pistol at him.

“Rafe!” Sabina rushes to his side.

“Oh,” Nadine yells, “we’re finishing it all right—” The sound of a gun being cocked pulls her attention away from the man.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the mercenary says, with his gun aimed at her.

Sabina helps Rafe onto his feet, double checking him for any other injuries.

“Yeah… the thing about mercenaries, Nadine,” he says. “Their loyalty, it’s bought. It’s not earned. Now, come on. Either we finish this thing together, or we can just end it right here.”

Sabina lifts her eyes, meeting her gaze with the other woman. “Just get in the boat, Ms. Ross,” she says. “Please, nobody else needs to die right now.”

Nadine glances down at her weapon, before slowly lowering it. “Let’s go make history,” she says, tucking the gun away.

“Atta girl,” Rafe says, gesturing towards the boat.

When Sabina and Nadine make eye contact once again, Sabina mouths, “I’m so sorry.”

Nadine holds her gaze for a moment, before climbing into the boat.

September 2002

Growing up, she had never imagined what her wedding might look like. She had never pictured her dress, the venue. She had never thought about who would be waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Getting married had always seemed like an event that would be too extravagant and… depressing. She had no one to walk her down the aisle. No family to invite. Her friendships had always been rather brief, dependent on where she was traveling and if they could help her get what she was looking for.

People kept telling her that her wedding would be one of the happiest days of her life.

Yet, she had never felt so isolated from everyone.

Standing on a raised platform, Sabina stares at her reflection in the large trifold mirror. Her head feels heavy, stuffed full with curled extensions that are pulled up into an intricate bun. Her lace cathedral veil is pinned into place, once again. In her nerves, Sabina has already tugged it out of position five times. The strings of her corset are pulled tight, constricting her ability to breathe. She wants to tear them out, wants a breath of fresh unrestrained air, but it’s too late for that now. Fiddling with her diamond ring, Sabina resists the urge to smooth down the organza fabric of her dress.

When she had first put on the ivory off-the-shoulder ball gown, she had felt like a fool, like she was undeserving of the dress. The fabric was covered in thousands of crystals, each of which were carefully positioned by hand. The crystals were arranged in complex floral designs and placed beneath a layer of organza. This dulled their shine, creating the softer, ethereal sparkling effect that Sabina had wanted. But still, she had felt that this dress was too glamorous.

Upon seeing her, Rafe’s mother had surprised her with tears. Telling her that the dress was perfect, made for her. And in that moment, Sabina had also cried. Was this how her own mother would have reacted? Would she be in agreement with Mrs. Adler? Or would she have longed to see Sabina in a different silhouette? Marrying a different man?

“Miss Hewitt,” the wedding planner’s voice captures her attention. “I don’t want to rush you, but we are behind schedule. Your groom is starting to get a bit nervous.”

“Ten more minutes,” Sabina says.

“Miss Hewitt,” she sighs. “Your guests have already been waiting for an hour.”

Sabina shakes her head. Subconsciously, her fingers grasp onto the edge of her veil. “Just give him ten more minutes,” she says. “He’ll be here.” And once again, the material is pulled out of place.

The woman frowns, giving Sabina a pitying look. “I understand that you want him to walk you down the aisle, Miss Hewitt.” She snaps her fingers at the hair stylist, prompting them to get up and work on resecuring the veil. “However, Mr. Drake didn’t show up for the rehearsal yesterday.”

“Maybe he mixed up the times,” Sabina says. “Or… Or he’s stuck in traffic.” She winces when the stylist stabs her scalp with one of the pins.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think he’s coming.”

The door to the dressing room opens and an older woman steps into the room. With her red lips pulled into the slightest hint of a frown, she asks, “Is something wrong?”

“Mrs. Adler,” the wedding planner greets. “Miss Hewitt has been insisting that we wait for Nathan Drake’s arrival, even though I have told her several times that it is extremely unlikely that he will be in attendance.”

Sabina sighs, closing her eyes. “Just ten more minutes,” she says, before taking a deep breath. “I just want ten more minutes.”

“Miss Hewitt—”

“Give her the ten minutes,” Mrs. Adler says. When her eyes settle on Sabina’s reflection, the sharp contours of her face soften. “I would like a moment of privacy with Sabina.”

Without further instruction, the wedding planner, the hair stylist, and the makeup artist all hurry out of the room. The bridesmaids, dressed in mauve colored chiffon gowns, are quick to follow.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Adler approaches the bride, taking great care to avoid stepping on the much-too-long train of her dress.

Sabina opens her mouth to speak, but the words are caught in her throat. Instead, she rests her hands against her stomach, hoping to appease the stabbing sensations coming from inside.

“A wedding can feel overwhelming,” the woman says. “I was a mess for my own day. In my heart, I knew that I was marrying the right person, but I still had my doubts. I had a bit of a freakout, myself. Locked myself in a bathroom, for half an hour, and debated about the pros and cons of marriage. It’s okay to be nervous, Sabina. Most brides are. But I wonder if there is something else bothering you, something beyond nerves.”

Sabina swallows a lump in her throat.

“Your life has been deprived of a mother figure,” Mrs. Adler continues. “If it’s alright with you, I can be that figure for you. You are family now, my dear. You can talk to me. I will listen.”

“God, there’s just so many people here,” Sabina gasps.

“Rafe was a bit generous with the guest list,” Mrs. Adler agrees. “Is that why you’re upset?”

“To be honest,” Sabina says. “I’ve never put much thought into a wedding. I never imagined that I would be walking into a room full of hundreds of strangers. Everyone is here for Rafe, aren’t they? They’re not here for me. I’m just a show.”

“Tell me why you are here.”

The bride frowns, confused. “To get married.”

“Then you are here for Rafe,” Mrs. Adler says. “Not for your guests. And Rafe, Rafe is here for you. He is waiting at the end of the aisle,” she smiles, “for you. Forget about the people who have come to watch. The truth is that most of them are not really here for Rafe. They are here to keep up appearances, to maintain a good impression. When you reach the end of the aisle, you will forget all about those strangers.”

Sabina turns to look at the woman and gives her a small smile. “Thank you,” she says.

“I have a gift for you,” Mrs. Adler says. She reaches for wrist, unclasping a gold bracelet lined with rubies. “I was planning to give it to you after the ceremony, as a little ‘welcome to the family’ gift, but I think that it would be better for you to have it now.” The woman reaches out for Sabina’s left hand, pulling it towards her, and then secures the jewelry around the wrist.

“It was my mother’s,” Mrs. Adler continues. “She gave it to me on my wedding day. And now I continue that tradition and give it to you.”

“Mrs. Adler—”

“Gemma. Call me Gemma.”

“Thank you, Gemma.”

“I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself,” Gemma says. “Wipe away those tears, yes?”

Sabina nods.

Just moments after Rafe’s mother exits the dressing room, the door reopens.

“Holy shit,” a man says. “Look at you.”

Through the reflection in the mirror, Sabina sees him. She gasps and turns to look at the man, “Sully?”

“Hey, there, kiddo,” he says, approaching her. “You know, I had a feeling you would be a stunning bride, but you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

“It’s the dress,” she replies. “A forty-seven thousand dollar custom made gown.”

“That’s some serious cash,” Sully whistles. 

“This is just the ceremony gown. The reception dress is even more.” Sabina shakes her head. “I can’t even believe I’m wearing something so expensive.”

“You are marrying Rafe. Did you expect anything less?”

“I’m glad you’re here, Sully,” Sabina smiles. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. I know that you and Rafe are… far from friends.”

“I wouldn’t miss your wedding, kid,” he says. “But what are you still doing back here? Not that I don’t enjoy the sight, but you’re starting to make Rafe sweat out there.”

“I invited Nate,” she says. “God, I even asked him to walk me down the aisle.”

Sully nods, beginning to figure out the problem. “Nate’s not here, is he?”

“I think I always knew that he wouldn’t show,” the bride sighs. “I just wanted to be wrong. I know that he hates Rafe, but I thought that maybe—just maybe—he would show up for me.”

“He’s still coping,” Sully says. “Won’t even mention… Sam… nowadays.”

Sabina hums. “Me, too,” she admits. “Sully, am I crazy? Just two years ago, I was willing to drop everything and run off with Sam. And now I’m here, getting married to somebody else. What if I’m making a mistake? Maybe that’s why Nate’s not here? Maybe he thinks that I’ve forgotten about Sam or that I’m closing off that part of my life.”

“Hey,” Sully steps forward and holds onto Sabina’s hands. “No one blames you for moving on with your life. There’s nothing we can do to change what happened.”

“I know, but—”

“Do you love Rafe?”

“Yes.”

“And does he make you happy?”

Sabina nods.

Sully gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay to let go of Sam,” he says. “You deserve a life of happiness, especially after everything that you’ve been through.”

Before she can stop herself, the question spills through her lips. “Will you walk me down the aisle?”

“Of course,” Sully says.

“Thank you,” Sabina wraps her arms around the man’s neck, pulling him in for a tight hug.

December 2015

Heat tingles against her skin. 

Prickling. 

Stinging. 

As she breathes, she coughs. Her lungs are stuffed, filled with ashes. When Sabina is finally able to open her eyes, she sees a world of red. She blinks, trying to clear the blurriness of her vision. Sabina groans, rolling onto her back.

She hears a voice yelling for someone… yelling for… Sam?

“Hey, Nate,” a different voice says.

She turns her head to look for the source of the sound. Through the haze, she can see the outline of a man, her husband. In Rafe’s hand is a gun, raised and pointed in front of him.

The first voice replies, “Where is Sam?”

Sabina tilts her head, releases a gasp in pain, and looks at the other man. Nate has his own gunned pointed back at Rafe.

“Oh, he’s right there.” Her husband looks over to his left, where Sam is trapped and unconscious beneath a wooden beam.

“Sam!” Nate calls.

“Relax, he’s alive,” Rafe says. “You know, this idiot nearly got us all killed.”

Oh.

That’s right.

The explosion.

Sam… Sam had caused it, had—

“I’m getting him outta here,” Nate says.

“No, you’re not.”

“Rafe, you can have the treasure, alright? Just let me save my brother.”

Her husband laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “After everything he’s done? How noble of you, but no.”

“We stay here any longer and we’re all dead,” Nate says. “Is that what you want?”

“That’s not what I said. What do you think, Nadine?”

The Shoreline leader steps in through the doorway and descends the short staircase. Her gun is pointed in Nate’s direction.

Sabina pushes her back off of the uneven wooden floor, moving into a sitting position. The back of her head is burning, throbbing. Pressing her fingertips into her hair, she winces when they make contact with an open wound that’s soaked in some sort of liquid. “Fuck,” she whispers. Sabina brings her hand in front of her face, stares at the warm blood coating her finger tips.

“Good to see you up and about,” Rafe says. “Be a dear and relieve Nate there of his gun.”

“Hand it over,” Nadine says, approaching Nate.

“You really think you can trust him? Huh?” Nate says.

“Not your concern.”

Ignoring the trio, Sabina crawls towards the unconscious Drake brother. “Sam,” she calls, shaking his shoulder. She tries to lift up the wooden beam that has him pinned down, but it doesn’t move. “Sam, wake up. Sam?”

“Now, why are you trying to instigate? Nate—” Rafe says, stepping closer to the mercenary. “Nadine and I are partners, I don’t screw over my partners.”

Nadine takes the gun out of Nate’s hand. Slowly, she starts to back away.

“Get over there,” Rafe orders, pointing his gun towards the other end of the room. “You and your brother though… Right from the start, you took advantage of my generosity. You tried to cut me out and it’s high time you learned—”

Nadine presses the barrel of her gun against the back of Rafe’s head.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Now you give me your gun,” she says.

“Sam,” Sabina whispers again. “C’mon, wake up.” She shakes him once more, more aggressive, more insistent. “I need your help.”

Sam’s eyelids twitch, but nothing else moves.

Rafe scoffs, “Nadine.”

She interrupts him with the cock of her gun. “I won’t ask you again.”

The man sighs, then surrenders the gun. “You are being profoundly stupid right now,” Rafe says. He steps away from Nadine and rubs the back of his neck.

“Look over there,” she says, indicating to her right.

“Nadine,” Rafe says, stepping closer to her. “Stop screwing around—”

The mercenary angles her gun down towards the floor, shooting a bullet between his feet.

Sabina screams at the noise, startled.

“Jesus!” Rafe yells.

“I said look!”

“Okay,” he says. Rafe glances over. “It’s a couple of skeletons. So what?”

“I don’t know as much about history as you boys,” Nadine says, “but I’ve got a pretty good idea who those two are.”

“Well,” Rafe says, “enlighten us.”

“It’s Avery and Tew,” Nate explains. “They killed each other.”

Rafe glances over at Nate. “Good for them. What’s the point?”

“Everyone obsessed with this treasure gets what they deserve,” Nadine says. She takes a step back, working her way back up the stairs.

“So what,” Nate calls. “You’re just leaving us here to die?”

“Oh, I’m just leaving,” she responds. “Whether you die or not, I don’t really care.”

“Nadine,” Rafe says. “Don’t.”

The mercenary ignores him, turning her gaze to focus on the other woman. “Sabina,” she says. “If you want to get out of here, come with me.”

“What?” Sabina lifts her head to look at Nadine.

“You don’t need to burn alive with all of these dickheads,” she explains.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Rafe chuckles. “You two have been fighting for weeks—”

“Shut up, Rafe,” Nadine says.

“—and now you wanna be best friends?”

Sabina shakes her head, unsure of what to do. “Nadine, I—”

“Make your choice. Now. I’m going to leave, with or without you.”

“I can’t—I can’t just leave them here,” Sabina says.

“You deserve better than this,” Nadine sighs. “Goodbye, Sabina.”

“Nadine,” Rafe says, moving towards her. “Wait—”

“So long, Rafe,” she says, before pulling the door shut and locking it.

“Nadine! Nadine!” He yells. Rafe slams his fists against the wood. “You open this goddamn door right now!”

“Rafe,” Nate shouts. “She’s gone!” He crouches down next to Sabina, eyes focused on the same wooden beam that she has been struggling to lift. “C’mon, give me a hand. We’ll all get out of here.”

“Oh, no,” Rafe says, pacing around in the corner of the room. “No, that won’t work.”

“I’ve been trying to wake him up,” Sabina looks over at Nate. “But he just hasn’t been responsive.”

“It’s okay,” Nate says, placing a comforting hand on Sabina’s forearm. “C’mon,” he calls to Rafe. “Help me with Sam and I’ll help you open the door.”

Together, Sabina and Nate attempt to life the beam, but struggle with the weight.

“No,” Rafe says.

“Rafe,” Sabina lifts her head to look at her husband. “For god’s sake, just help us.”

He reaches for a sword lodged into one of the skeletons and pulls it out. “I’m not going to be able to enjoy one of these coins, knowing that you and your worthless brother are still sucking air.”

Seeing the sword in Rafe’s hand, Nate stands up and starts to back away. “Alright,” he says. “Just… Just calm down. You can practice your fencing when we get outside.”

“Nate, just shut up,” Rafe says.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sabina says, standing up.

“Seriously, Rafe,” Nate says. “This is insane, even for you.”

“You want to hear insane? Nathan Drake raced a madman and his entire army to the steps of Shambhala.” Rafe takes a step forward and swings his sword at Nate.

“Jesus!” Nate curses, dodging the weapon.

“Nathan Drake found a lost city in the middle of the Rub’ al Khali desert.” Rafe swings the sword again. This time the blade slices through Nate’s shirt, breaking the skin of his chest.

Sabina takes a cautious step forward. “Rafe, please. Put the sword down.”

But the man ignores her, opting to attack Nate once again.

Nate leaps back, barely avoiding the blade. “God damn it—come on, we can get out of here together.”

“Nathan Drake discovered the fabled El Dorado.” Rafe lunges at Nate, swiping the blade twice at the man. With the second swing, the edge of the sword slices across Nate’s chest, leaving behind a new, shallow wound. Again, Rafe attempts to cut into the other man’s skin.

“C’mon Rafe, stop,” Nate says.

“Nathan Drake is a legend,” Rafe laughs. “You know, I shot the man who told me that.”

“Look, I get it. You don’t like me very much.”

“You know, for all your ‘greatness,’ Nate, you have nothing. You are nothing. And I warned you to get out of my way.”

“Stop it!” Sabina screams. She charges into Rafe, shoving him away from Nate. “Rafe, babe, I need you to calm down.”

Rafe hardly spares her a glance, instead moving to step around her.

“Please,” Sabina clutches onto his arm, a poor attempt to hold him back. “Don’t do this.”

He pulls his arm out of her grasp and pushes his wife away from him.

Losing her balance, Sabina stumbles and crashes into a pile of debris near Sam’s body. A jagged piece of metal pierces into the skin of her left arm, leaving her with long gashes. Blood spews out of the wounds, sliding down her flesh and onto the floor. She whimpers, pain pulsating throughout her body.

Eyes focused solely on Nate, Rafe is unaware of what he has caused. He swings the blade at Nate, leaving several more cuts on his chest and arms.

Dodging the sword, Nate grabs onto Rafe’s arm and punches him in the face with his free hand. With both hands firmly gripped onto the arm, Nate struggles to maintain control in the fight. He forces Rafe up against a wall, but Rafe slams his forehead into Nate’s, sending him stumbling backwards.

Rafe seizes the opportunity, pushing his opponent down onto the ground. Fighting against Nate’s resistance, Rafe attempts to shove the blade down into the man’s neck. “I have sacrificed everything to find Avery,” Rafe says. “And I’m not gonna let a couple of two-bit thieves, a senile con man, and a washed-up journalist take that away from me!”

“Enough!” Nate pushes back against Rafe, shoving the man off of him. He reaches to the right and wraps his fingers around the handle of another sword.

“You care about that parade of losers so much,” Rafe says, circling Nate. “I’m going to make sure they join you.”

Sabina presses her hand against the fresh wound, unsure of how to slow the bleeding. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters, “shit.” The liquid seeps through her fingers, mingling with the once drying blood of her head injury.

“En garde, dickhead,” Nate says.

“That’s the spirit,” Rafe smiles.

Nate lunges at him, slamming his sword at the man. The two blades clash against each other and Rafe jumps out of Nate’s reach. When Rafe swings his sword at Nate, the Drake brother rams his elbow into Rafe’s nose and then kicks him in the chest. Rafe stumbles back, hitting the wall behind him. Nate swings again, but this time Rafe kicks the man away from him. He takes a step forward, aiming to slice through Nate’s throat, but Nate blocks him just in time.

Starting to get dizzy, Sabina lays down on the floor. She lifts her wounded arm, forcing herself to take a better look at the cuts. Droplets of blood splatter against her cheeks.

Sabina closes her eyes.

Daddy!

She’s a little girl again, running into the outstretched arms of her father.

Daddy, you’re home!

She wraps her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him down into the ground.

Hey, sweetheart, he says. You should be asleep. He secures his arms around Sabina and lifts her up into the air.

No, she shakes her head. No, I missed you.

I missed you, too. He presses a kiss against her cheek. But you know that Daddy has a lot of work to do.

No, no more work.

Sweetheart—

Why do you always leave? I don’t want you to leave anymore.

Her father sighs. My work is important. I’m going to find something amazing, sweetheart. And when I do, I promise that I won’t ever have to leave you again.

Daddy, please—

Richard Hewitt collapses.

Becomes a bleeding corpse, staining the hardwood floors.

And young Sabina hides beneath the planks, her tiny hands covering her mouth. Eyes are wide, staring at the blood leaking through the cracks, the crevices. 

It splatters against her cheeks.

Why couldn’t you pick me?

“—Bina!”

Somebody is shaking her.

“Bina, open your eyes.”

When they press a hand against her cheek, Sabina leans into the warmth.

“C’mon, baby, wake up.”

She opens her eyes and smiles at the sight of a familiar face. “Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m right here, but I need you to get up, okay? Nathan and Rafe are about to kill each other and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“Nate… Rafe?” Sabina blinks at him, unable to fully comprehend the words. “What?”

“Bina—”

She tunes out his voice, focusing her attention to the burning warmth surrounding her. When she turns her head to the left, her eyes grow wide. The muddied thoughts in her head dissipate, cleared by the view in front of her.

Rafe swipes his sword against Nate’s stomach and cuts through the fabric of his shirt. He strikes him in the chest with his foot, knocking him down onto his back. Sword pointed at Nate’s throat, Rafe takes a step forward.

“You know what, Nate? Underneath all the bravado, you’re just a sad little boy with delusions—of grandeur… who, by the way, can’t fence for shit,” he says.

Sabina rolls onto her knees, then stumbles up onto her feet. “Wait—”

Rafe raises his sword, ready to end the fight. “So long, Nathan Drake.”

“Nathan!” Sam yells, attracting the attention of both men. He grabs the handle of the sword laying near him and tosses it in Nate’s direction.

Nate grabs it and strikes the blade across Rafe’s own.

“You don’t know when to give up, do you? That’s good,” Rafe says, between each swing of his sword. “Don’t hand it to me. I’ve had everything handed to me on a goddamn silver platter. Everything except this!”

Nate whips his sword in front of him to block another powerful strike, but Rafe’s blade breaks the metal.

“I earned this,” Rafe says. “All of it.”

September 2012

If you ask Sabina to picture her idea of romantic vacation, this is what she would tell you. A candlelit dinner at a truly exquisite, but probably overpriced, restaurant. Walking through the Paris streets, long after dusk. Sharing bottles of wine between giggling, messy kisses. Falling into a comfortable, happy slumber with the love of her life.

But getting everything that you want is impossible.

And for her tenth wedding anniversary, Sabina spends it without her partner. Drunk in her Parisian hotel room, staring at the blurry lights outside of her windows. Her cheeks are swollen. Eyes are puffy and dirty from smeared mascara and navy blue eyeliner. Brunette hair tangled and pulled up into a lopsided bun.

Rafe was supposed to be here. Was supposed to meet her in Paris over a day ago. But her husband had canceled, saying that an issue at work would require his immediate attention. Saying that he would make it up to her, whisk her away to a private island where no one could bother them.

She almost believes him.

When somebody knocks on the door to the suite, Sabina jumps off of the armchair and stumbles across the room. She throws open the door, and without a moment to pause, wraps her arms around the woman standing there.

Chloe Frazer. A fellow treasure hunter that she had met a couple of years ago. The two had become fast friends, bonding over a discussion about whether the treasure described in The Copper Scroll even existed. And if so, where it could possibly be.

“Oh,” the Australian woman says. “I’m happy to see you, too, love.”

Sabina’s words are slurred. “Chloe, I’m so… so happy you’re here.”

“C’mon, let’s get out of the hallway.” Careful, Chloe urges Sabina back through the door. Glancing around the hotel room, she sees shards of broken glass and puddles of red wine. Several partially consumed bottles lay flat on their sides, a source for many of the wine stains.

Sabina grabs onto one of Chloe’s hands and drags her to the dining table. “You must try this Caber… net Sau… Sauvig… non—Cabernet Sauvignon!” She picks up a bottle of wine and hands the whole thing to Chloe. “I must warn you, it’s very… very heavy on the cherry, but it is so good and… six hundred dollars?” Sabina laughs, “Wine is so expensive.”

Chloe grabs the bottle, notices that it is almost empty, and takes a sip. “Not bad,” she hums. “And how many bottles did you buy?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “A few. Maybe… ten.”

Mid-sip, Chloe chokes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sabina continues. “It’s all Rafe’s fucking money anyway. He won’t even notice.”

“Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same, if I were you.”

Sabina picks up another bottle of wine and collapses onto the sofa. “I think he’s going to leave me,” she says.

Chloe frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“I think I’ve done something terrible.”

“Alright,” Chloe joins the woman on the couch. “Tell me what’s going on in that brain of yours.”

Sabina unclasps the chain around her neck and hands her medallion over to Chloe. “I solved it,” she says.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You… solved this?”

“Yes.”

“The mystery puzzle that you’ve been trying to solve for decades?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Chloe takes another sip of wine. “I’m not sure how this is bad news, but we can come back to that. First, I wanna know how you solved it.”

“Right,” Sabina nods. She takes back the medallion and stands up.

The two women enter the bathroom, where Sabina tosses the medallion into the sink and then closes the drain. She downs a large gulp of wine, before pouring the rest of the contents into the sink.

After a couple of minutes, a dim light appears, glowing from the object. The wine in the sink moves in gentle waves, the liquid disturbed by something beneath the surface. Once the wine settles, Sabina reaches into the sink, retrieves the medallion, and sets it on the counter.

The object looks distorted, with portions of the gold metal jutting out of place. Many, but not all, of the symbols glow in a faint yellow color. The marking in the center, Avery’s sigil, is popped up and pushed away, revealing an inscription.

The treasure you seek will only bring death.

“How the hell did you figure that out?”

“I don’t… I don’t think it’s a clue,” Sabina says.

Chloe picks up on the woman’s train of thought. “You think it’s a warning.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you told Rafe?”

Sabina leans against the bathroom wall and slides down to sit on the ground. “No,” she says, with a sigh.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Chloe says. She grabs the medallion, before joining Sabina. “Why not?”

“I think he’ll leave me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because I want him to stop looking for it. I want him to let go of Avery’s treasure,” Sabina says. “If the warning is true, then I don’t want him to find it.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

Sabina chuckles. “How do you tell someone to give up on the one goal that drives them to keep going every day? How do you tell them that you’re selfish and you need them to sacrifice their dream?”

Chloe sighs. “I don’t know,” she says.

“You know, I think I was in love with someone,” Sabina admits. “Before Rafe.”

“Oh?” Chloe turns to look at her.

“It was complicated,” Sabina pauses. She pushes strands of hair away from her face and blinks away the forming tears. “And I never really figured out my feelings.”

“Do you miss them?”

Sabina leans over to rest her head on Chloe’s shoulder. “He was also looking for Avery’s treasure,” she says. She takes the bottle of wine away from Chloe and drinks the remaining liquid. “It killed him. All he wanted wanted to do was find that treasure. Would’ve done anything for it. It’s strange, isn’t it? How all of the men in my life are obsessed with this stupid thing. I don’t think the question is if Rafe will die for this treasure. I think the question is when. When will Rafe join Sam and my father?”

“Tell him how you feel,” Chloe reaches forward, laying a comforting hand on Sabina’s knee. “He can’t read your mind.”

“What if he doesn’t want to listen?”

“Trying to force a man like Rafe to listen is probably impossible,” Chloe admits. “But if he really does love you, he will do so.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Sabina lifts her head to meet Chloe’s gaze. “If doesn’t love me?”

“Then maybe it’s time for you to move on, love.”

December 2015

Sabina slams her body into Rafe’s back. She wraps her arms around him, digging her nails into his chest. “No more,” she says, “let it go.” Rafe tries to pry one of her arms off of him, but Sabina tightens her grip. “I said stop!”

“No,” Rafe says. “I’m ending this. I’m taking what’s mine.”

“If you kill him,” Sabina takes a shallow breath. She still feels the wounds throbbing on her arm. Can still feel the blood oozing from the split skin, staining Rafe’s already dirtied shirt. “I will never forgive you.”

It’s subtle, but Rafe tenses at her words.

“If you kill him for this treasure,” Sabina continues, “then I will leave and you will never see me again.”

“Sabina—”

She buries her face into his back. “All of my life, I have never been enough. My father… Sam… they both picked the treasure. They both chose to leave me, no matter how much I begged them not to. And now you’re doing the same thing. But this time you found the treasure. It’s here—it’s in your grasp—and it’s still not enough for you. No, you can’t just have the treasure, can you? You want it all to yourself. All of the credit, the glory.”

“What are you talking about?” Rafe says. “This is ours. We worked for this."

“No,” Sabina shakes her head. “This is your moment, not ours. It stopped being ours years ago. You can’t have it all, Rafe. You can’t have me and the treasure, not like this. I love you, I do, but I can’t do this. I can’t stand by and watch you be consumed by your hatred and jealousy.”

Slowly, he lowers the blade.

“I want you to pick me,” she says. “For once in my life, I want somebody to choose me. Only me. Please, I don’t want to lose you. Don’t make me lose you. Don’t let me lose somebody else I love.”

Rafe releases his grip on the sword, dropping the blade. He reaches for her injured arm and, gently, pulls it away from his chest. A frown on his face, he examines the wound before turning around to look at her.

Sabina blinks up at him, relieved.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Slightly dizzy, Sabina leans into his body, pressing her forehead into the croak of his neck. “I know,” she says. “I know.” Too weak to stand any longer, she fully collapses into Rafe.

“Hey,” Rafe says, grabbing onto her. “Hey, honey? Honey, you okay?”

“I—”

Her words are interrupted by an explosion.

And within moments, the burning room is flooded with water.

…

The world is warm, comfortable. A light breeze tickles her nose and cheeks. In the distance, a woman laughs and children giggle. Sabina opens her eyes to the view of sunlight beaming at her through an open window. Her eyes shift, just a sliver, over to the left.

Sam is sitting there, slightly hunched over in his chair. His eyes are focused down towards his hands, down at a ring held between his fingers.

The ring he had given her.

“Hey,” Sabina says. It barely comes out as a whisper.

Sam jerks his head up. “Bina?”

She blinks, beginning the process of waking up. And that’s when she realizes that this environment is unfamiliar to her. She’s surrounded by plain, white walls. And the smell of sanitizer fills her nostrils. “Where… where am I? Where’s Rafe?”

When she tries to sit up in the bed, Sam jumps out of his chair and places his hands on her stomach and shoulder. “You’re in the hospital,” he says. “Rafe had to step out, handle some of your paperwork, but he’ll be back soon.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Wait,” Sabina says. “Are you okay? Is Nate okay? The—the explosion—oh, my god—”

“Everyone is fine, Bina. Just lay down.”

“But—”

“Lay down,” Sam says.

Sabina nods and relaxes back into the bed.

After taking a few deep breathes to calm her racing heart, she turns to look at Sam. “My ring,” she points at the object that’s still in his hands. “What…”

Sam sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you would still have it,” he says. He leans forward, placing the ring on the bedside table. “Not after all of these years.”

“It was all I had left of you,” Sabina confesses. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

Sam gives her a small smile.

“Besides,” she says, “it looks like you stole my birds."

He squints his eyes, confused. “What?”

The woman lifts her hand off the bed, pointing a finger at the birds tattooed on the left side of Sam’s neck.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles. A faint blush sprouts across his cheeks. “Yeah… Got it in prison. I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again—I just—I thought it would be nice to have.”

“Nice to have, huh?”

“Your husband wasn’t too thrilled when he put the dots together.” Sam leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “You know, matching tats and all. Wouldn’t shut up about how he’s married to you.”

“That sounds like Rafe,” Sabina laughs.

“Still can’t believe you’re an Adler now,” Sam says.

“Hewitt-Adler, actually. I hyphenated. Couldn’t quite let go of the family name, I suppose.”

Sam hums. “A lot changed when I was away.”

“Yeah,” Sabina agrees. “Things are different now.”

“Did you mean what you said at Libertalia?” Sam asks. “About us only being together because of Avery’s treasure?”

“Sam,” she whispers.

“Do you really believe that I would’ve just left you if we never found that treasure? Did you think that I didn’t love you?”

“Our relationship was… Everything happened so fast. It really was a bit of whirl-wind romance, wasn’t it?” Sabina says. “One day, I’m following a strange man into the dirtiest hotel room that I have ever seen. And then, with the blink of an eye, I’m having secret rendezvous with him whenever we can find an excuse to ditch his brother. Between chasing clues and traveling the world, where was the time for me to realize your feelings? How could I have known that you loved me? When you never told me those words? When it was clear that your priority would always be the treasure? I couldn’t compete with that, Sam.”

“Bina—”

“The answer,” she interrupts, “it was going to be yes. Yes, I would run away with you.”

Sam reaches out to hold Sabina’s hand. “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Bina.”

“Answer me honestly, Sam,” she says. “Back on Avery’s ship, if you had been in Rafe’s place, would you have picked me?”

“Of course,” he responds, without hesitation. “Of course I would choose you.”

Sabina smiles at him, but her eyes are sad.

Longing to know what life would have looked like, had she been able to spend the past fifteen years with Sam.

“You have to let go,” she says. “The girl you love, it’s not the same person that I am now. You care about Sabina from fifteen years ago. The Sabina that… loved a life of adventure, with you. I think, if you had asked, she would have done anything for you. But the person you’re looking at now, she’s already let you go. I don’t know if I could love you again, not the way I used to, not the way you want me to.”

Sam sighs, “I know.”

“Hey,” she squeezes his hand. “We found the treasure, though. At least we accomplished something, even if it took a decade and a half.” Sabina turns her head to look at the beside table, focusing her gaze on the medallion. “I solved it, you know.”

“Really?” Sam raises an eyebrow and picks up the necklace. “When?”

“A few years ago.”

“What did it tell you?”

“Why don’t you keep it,” Sabina says. “Keep it and figure it out for yourself.”

“Are you sure? You parents—”

“Probably never even found it, if we’re being honest. I bet they stole it from someone. We’re all thieves, aren’t we?” She chuckles. “I’ve carried it around for so long, clutching onto terrible memories. I need to move on with my life. I don’t care what you end up doing with it, but please, just take it. I don’t want it, not anymore.”

Sam nods and slips the object into his pocket. “You gonna give me a hint on how to solve it?”

“You’re going to want a lot of red wine."

The door to the room slides open, startling them.

“Get away from her,” a voice growls.

Sam jumps away from Sabina, hands held up in the air. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Jesus, we were just having a conversation.”

“Rafe,” Sabina smiles and attempts to sit up.

“Hey there, honey,” he walks up to the side of her bed and reaches for her hand. Rafe turns his head to look at Sam. “You can go now.”

“Are you kidding me? She just woke up.”

“Yeah,” Rafe says, “and now that she’s awake, we don’t need you here.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Get out,” Rafe snaps.

“Alright,” Sam responds. “I’ll just… go outside for a smoke.”

When Sam exits the room, Rafe directs his attention back to Sabina. “You feeling okay? Does anything hurt?”

“You picked me,” she says, ignoring his questions. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I told you that I wanted to be with you, didn’t I?” Rafe says. “That hasn’t changed. I realize now that I’ve neglected you, but I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t enough for me.”

“You’re not entirely to blame. I should’ve just told you how I felt.” Her breath hitches, and she whispers, “Maybe all of this could have been avoided.”

Rafe shakes his head. “I’m not sure if I would have listened to you at any other moment.”

“But in the end, you listened. And right now, that’s all that matters,” Sabina smiles.

Her husband sits down on the edge of the hospital bed. “Where do we go from here?” Rafe asks, pushing strands of hair away from Sabina’s face.

She hums, enjoying his touch. “Do you remember our wedding day? How we hid in the dressing room’s bathroom during the reception?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “You said you were so tired of talking to an endless parade of strangers.”

“They were all so boring,” she says. “And all they did was congratulate us, before trying to impress you with some bullshit story about their life. I remember being so desperate to get out of that dress.”

“God, I remember all the damn buttons on the back.”

“It took you forever to undo them! I thought I was going to be stuck in that thing for the rest of my life,” Sabina laughs. “It was a very pretty dress, though. A mermaid style. Lots of lace. Oh! And the detachable train. I think I liked it more than the dress I wore for the actual ceremony.”

“I was too busy looking at you,” Rafe admits. “I can’t really remember what the dresses look like anymore.”

“Oh, my god. And your mother!” Sabina exclaims, remembering the night. “Do you remember how we were in the bathroom for so long that she ran around trying to track us down?”

Rafe laughs, “And she almost walked in, right as I got the dress off.”

“I had to throw my body against the door to keep it shut. Told her that I just needed a few minutes to myself. And then she asked if I had seen you—”

“—And you told her that I was probably out in the gardens.”

“We escaped through a window, didn’t we?”

“Did we?”

“I think so,” she says. “When your mother left, we walked out of the bathroom. I told you that I wanted to leave, start the honeymoon a little early, so you pulled a robe off of one of the chairs.”

“And then we climbed through the window,” Rafe says, nodding his head. “And we sprinted to the car.”

“I don’t think your mother ever really forgave me for that.”

“I think she was more upset with me, to be honest.”

“We need to work on our marriage,” Sabina says. “No more lying. No more secrets. We need to be open, to communicate, like we used it. We used to have so much fun, didn’t we, babe? I think we can be those people again.”

“I think so, too,” he agrees.

“But first,” Sabina grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him towards her. Brushing her lips against his, she says, “Let’s go back to Copenhagen. Relive those honeymoon memories.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Rafe whispers.

a/n: thank you so much for reading this! if you enjoyed this work, please consider reblogging this story. i am a very small fanfic author and every reblog really does help in giving me exposure to potential new readers. however, i do also appreciate any likes or comments you’re willing to give.

again, this is not the end of the road for sabina, rafe, or sam! i have one-shots planned in the future, but currently there is no timeframe for when any of them will be posted. you may want to consider bookmarking the masterlist (linked near the beginning of this post), so you can check back in the future.

Twitter: VostaraFics

Ao3: Vostara

[comfy-whumpee]

Rain: NaNo Finale

Thank you all who took the plunge on reading this project. I hope it was easy enough to follow the extracts I felt were good enough to share.

CN: police.

The first Rain knew of it was the sound of sirens. Again, the sound of sirens. They wailed into earshot like a storm, and by the time they had realised what was happening, their uneasy doze pierced by the sounds, things were already escalating. There was shouting, banging, and even a few gunshots. There were voices, and underneath it all, the sharp breathing of Lauritz hyperventilating. Rain pulled themself upright, straightening their back in preparation for being seen and saved. They assumed they would be saved. It seemed likely that someone ehre had coneectiong with law enforcement, but who cared? They wouldn’t call in the cops on their own base. They wouldn’t want that headache. So it had to be someone else.

The door to their cell opened and voices barrelled in, and none of them were the gang members they had been hearing for the last two or three weeks. Rain lifted their head and listened carefully as the people asked questions, grabbing a quick photo or two of the scene - definitely law enforcement, definitely recording the crime scene even as hands descend on them, dealing with chains and then, thank god, the blindfold. Rain blnked, their pupils huge, their head spinning as light sheared across their vision, but there was a narby voice low and reassuring. “We’re getting you out of here, we’ve got you. You’re safe now, it’s over.”

They allowed themself to be lifted, floppy as a ragdoll, and lifted their head to look around the room. Lauritz was being helped up too, though seemed more terrified looking to Rain for reassurance as he always had. “It’s alright,” they called as they were set on their feet. “Please, can I - can we be kept together? I think he needs me.”

“Of course, no problem,” the warm voice of the officer responded, and they sighed in relief as they realised they’d managed to get one of the reasonable cops. Or maybe it was feds. Probably feds, actually, considering the forces at work here. Feds tended to harder to corrupt.

They reached out a hand and grabbed Lauritz’s ragged, bloody sleeve, and when his wide eyes turned in panic, they forced a shaky smile. “That’s it. We’re alright, we’re getting out.”

He nodded, bewildered, but always willing to nod. They kept close to him as they were shepherded out and taken to a triage tent, where there were medical staff ready to see to them. Rain submitted calmly to the inspection and accepted bandages around the chafed, infected rings on their wrists. Lauritz seemed to freeze under the attention, despite the low and soothing voices they were using, and the gentle touches. They spent longer on him, trying to talk him through the shock and looking at the marks from the cattle prod Alfonse had used on him just yesterday.

He’d been quiet since then, and Rain wans’t surprised to see him flinching and whuimpering as they were touched now. “It’s alright,” they said to him, and caught his wide eyes again. There was something less terrified than before, less innocent somehow, but he was still very clearly scared. Rain nodded at him slowly, trying to comunicate that this was meant to be happening. “They’re not going to hurt you more. They want to look after you.”

Lauritz held still, thankfully. They finished checking him over. The person waiting for them outside the tent met them at the exit and escorted them to the exit,

Daylight washed over them both. Rain felt the tension in their eyes heighten and yet lessen, as natural air soothed their sweat-encrusted skin, and the cleanness of the oxygen in their lungs gave them incomparable relief. They almost wanted to take their shoes off and walk on the grassy verge, but they would save that for later. The shakes kicked in after a moment as they realised this was real. There was a breeze. There were buildings, voices, vehicles, and clouds.

They looked to Lauritz and he was shaking too.

Then there was a shout cracking across the street. “Rain!”

Kala. They moved forwards, drawn by the love and reassurance her appearance lit in them, and she met them with a hug powerful enough to subdue an elephant. They didn’t care about the pain or the way it squeezed down on their bruises, just feeling her warmth and her strength around them as though nothing had ever changed. When they pulled back, they saw the bandages on her, around her neck and the single black line of a stitch in her lip, but they didn’t care. They had all suffered and she’d been seen to and she was okay. Alfonse had lied about her not being hurt but she was okay.

They hugged her again. And then, to their surprise, she reached out and grabbed Lauritz’s shoulder. “Lauritz. You’re alright.”

“No,” Lauritz said, with a shaky smile, and she laughed and in the heat of the moment Rain didn’t mind. She let him go, though, didn’t hug him. But she didn’t seem to hate him so much iether.

“I got out of the place they took me, called the cops. They found eight captives in my place alone, and went after the husband, and that’s the boss here apparently.”

Lauritz’s eyes widened. “You were with Sinclair?”

Kala blinked at him. Rain blinked too. “Yes,” Kala said, and then, “how do you know that, Lauritz?”

Lauritz paused, his mouth hanging open. Then he looked down, shrinking suddenly. His voice went small. “I...got my memories back,” he admitted in an ashamed voice. “I’m sorry, I... I understand now, why you did - everything.”

Kala’s arm around Rain tightened. “You gonna be a problem?” she asked, her voice suddenly low.

“No,” Lauritz protested immediately, and there it was again, the innocent, pleading look they’d come to know. Something that couldn’t be faked. “No, I just, I want to - apologise and mean it, I understand, I know now - and I never want to be that p-person again but I’m still s-sorry and I know I c-can’t stay with you anymore and it’s, it’s okay but I-I-I...”

Rain pulled out from Kala’s arm. They crossed the pavement and looked up into Lauritz’s lowered eyes. Hazel on green, except theirs were more like green too, in the daylight washing across them all like cleansing water.

“Lauritz,” they said, and Lauritz’s eyes flashed up wide in shock, and they felt their own heart beat faster but they didn’t care. They could endure. “Lauritz,” they repeated, and he didn’t hurt them, just stared. “You’re harmless. You’re compeltely harmless as long as I’m here. You know that. When you leave, which I agree you should do, and you make your own life, and you fix yourself to make up for all the shit you did, you’re going to remember me, and remember that I will never, ever fucking forgive you if you mess this up again.”

Lauritz’s eyes were watery. How was it that he showed more emotion than them? “Yes, Rain,” he said softly.

“Good. And you’re going to never take drugs again or I’ll kill you myself.”

“...Yes, Rain.” He did wince at that. Good.

“You don’t deserve a shit life. You deserve the struggle of overcoming and making a new one. Don’t let me down.”

“...Yes, Rain. Thank you.” He looked over at Kala, who was struggling not to show her sympathy for him. “Thank you, Kala.”

“Shut up,” she said, but it had no bite. She scratched at her scar. “The police are gonna want statements. We’re gonna wreck this family who tried to wreck us, alright? Then you can go, and we’ll never see each other again, unless Rain wants to see you. And you’re going to... Fuck, have a good life, yeah? Because you’re not that guy anymore. You got your memories back and you still - you didn’t choose to still be that guy, when you had the choice, and that means you can be different.”

Rain smiled proudly, and she shot them a glare. But Lauritz was too tearful to realise. He just nodded, and turned, and they watched him together as he walked away to find someone to start explainig the whole situation. He would possibly go to prison for what he’d done and the part he played, and he would possibly have to be put in witness protection for the rest of his life... But he would have a chance, now. Rain felt good about that.

And they felt even better knowing they wouldn’t have to be involved.

Kala put an arm around them again. She kissed the side of their head. “Let’s go home,” she said.

Rain smiled. They had said his name. He was gone. Their parents had lost their criminal contacts. And everyone was safe.

“Let’s.”

[bobasheebaby]

Bitter Memories-Crimson Rain chapter 10

Pairing: Bastien x Liza; Liam x Raven

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Choices (The Royal Romance Book)

Square filled: Memory Loss

Word count: 3,854

Warnings: angst, so much angst, hospital setting, memory loss, slight fluff

Summary: Raven tries to convince Liam to let Hope in, and Bastien decides if he wants to fight for Liza or let her go for good. 

A/N: @katurrade and @zaffrenotes kept pushing me to do a Mobster AU. Beta’d by my patient husband who is completely hooked. Thank you @stopforamoment for letting me bounce off ideas off of you. 

Series warnings: Mobster AU, there will be violence, and death. NSFW content to come. Possibly dark. If you ask to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age. 

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I own my OC’s, the rest I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

Twenty years ago, roughly seven and a half months after the hit; Trenton, New Jersey- Emmaline/Jane Doe:

She slowly fluttered her eyes open. Her eyelids felt heavy like lead, as if she hadn’t opened them in weeks. The back of her head pounded, the pain radiating forward with such force she felt like she might vomit. She clutched at her abdomen in an effort to quell the feeling only to wince in pain. Confusion at where she was and why she was in so much pain flooded her mind.

Her eyes finally opened, staying open. She scanned her surroundings. The room was stark white, the lights too bright, the room filled with sounds of beeping machines. Her gaze finally landed on a stout woman in dark blue scrubs, dark hair pulled back. The woman was facing away from her, jotting down something. She opened her mouth to speak, only to met with a croak.

The woman turned, a smile on her plump lips. “You’re awake. Do you know where you are?” She questioned in a soothing voice.

She shook her head, instantly regretting the action as a stabbing pain shot through the base of her skull forward causing her to squeeze her eyes shut. She cleared her throat. “No.” She spoke, voice hoarse from disuse. What the hell is going on? Where the hell am I?

“That’s okay. You were in an accident, do you remember anything about it or from before?”

She went to shake her head again, but the pounding ache was back in full force. “No. Everything’s just blank.” She replied.

“It’s okay, that’s to be expected after a head trauma like yours.”

“What happened?” She asked.

“They aren’t exactly sure. You had a gunshot to your head—”

“And I survived?” She exclaimed, instantly regretting the loud tone of her voice. What the hell happened?

“You were very lucky.”

“How long have I been out?”

“This time, a few weeks.”

“This time? How long have I been here?”

“You’ve been here at Royal Pines roughly two weeks, before that you were here just under seven months.”

“Wait, I left?” Why would I leave just to come back?

“Mmmhmmm.” The nurse replied checking the different machines. “To have the baby.”

Her hand went to her abdomen. “Baby? Is it?” She asked trying to fight back tears. She had no clue what was going on, but the thought of something happening to her child still brought tears to her eyes.

“The baby is fine, Doctor Casey had petitioned the courts to be granted custody when you hit your halfway mark. Her hope—” the nurse giggled at her own perceived joke, “ her hope was to keep the baby close to you while you recovered. Otherwise, with no known family, she would have been made a ward of the state.”

“So I don’t have anyone looking for me? No husband?” She couldn’t figure out how she could have been in one place so long and yet have no one missing her. There must be someone looking for me, for us.

“When you were first found you didn’t have a ring, yet you had a tan line. Based on the nature of your injury, the police suspected domestic abuse and that you were trying to escape a bad situation. They have checked with known women's shelters but come up empty.”

“Okay. You said I’ve been awake before. Did—did I ever remember anything?”

“Not yet, but it takes time for the brain to heal honey. We just have to be patient.”

“How—how many other times have I been awake?”

“Two.”

“And you still think I might remember something?”

“It’s possible. The brain is very fragile.”

“Can I see it? Can I see the baby?”

“Doctor Casey is on leave, but I can call her and tell her you’re awake and want to see Hope—”

“Hope. That’s pretty.”

“Mmmmhmmm. Okay I’ll go call Doctor Casey.”

“Call who about what?” She asked, eyes staring forward vacantly.

The nurses face fell as she left the room. Her hand grasped the cross around her neck. Please lord let her remember.

Ten years ago; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania- Bastien/Liza:

Bastien could see things were weighing heavily on Liza since walking away from her father. He knew she wasn’t questioning her decision, that there was no changing her mind. He could see she was secure in her decision to walk away from her father, even if it was eating away at her to do so. He knew there was no getting either of them to change their minds, that much had been made clear at the restaurant. It had been two weeks since she cut her father from her life in favor of him, and he could see it was hurting her more than she was willing to let on.

While Bastien found her strength something he was in awe of, he hated that he was the reason that she cut herself off from her father, the reason behind the hurt and pain she was working so hard to hide. He could feel a burning rage begin to build, he couldn’t get past the lengths her father went to try to control her. There was no other way to put it, the only way he would be happy was if she lived her life the way he wanted her to. The fact that her father would put her in such a position, how he tried to make her feel bad for living her life made his blood begin to boil. Bastien felt the anger slowly building, he needed to contain it before he acted in a way he’d later regret. He could understand why her father wouldn’t want her in the life, but he also knew that he wouldn’t ever try to determine for Olivia who she could and couldn’t see. He learned early on one of the hardest parts of being a parent was knowing when to hold on and when to let go and trust your child can make decisions for themselves, something her father seemed to refuse to do, wanting instead to map out Liza’s life for her.

Bastien wished there was a way to help her hurt less. They hadn’t been together quite a year yet, but he still didn’t want to see her upset in anyway. He knew what turning her back on her father would mean for her. He saw her going crazy trying to find a decent place she could afford. I could ask her… what if she thinks we’re moving too fast? His own insecurities and the fact they had yet to say those three little words holding him back. He wanted to say them, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but he didn’t want to hold her back. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel like she had to move in with him because she stood up to her father.

“Why are you staring at a wall?” Olivia questioned pulling him out of his thoughts. “Do I need to be worried? Is it speaking to you?”

“Olivia!” He exclaimed in surprise. “I was just thinking.”

“About a wall?” She asked cocking her head to the side.

Bastien sighed knowing she wouldn’t give up until he explained, her will being one of the things he loved most about his daughter. “About painting a wall.”

“You painting a wall? What, did you choose a different shade of white? Ooh or did you decide on a shade of beige?”

“Actually I was thinking maybe cerulean, or chartreuse.”

Olivia laughed. “What would have mister ‘I don’t like color’ thinking about painting his wall a bright color? You do know those colors are bright, like really bright.” Her emerald eyes sparkled with delight.

She’s obviously getting a kick out of this. “Yes I’m aware how bright they are.” Bastien sighed slumping on the edge of his bed, his head falling into his hands. “It was a horrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“What gives pops?” Olivia asked, plopping onto the bed next to him, gently jabbing him in the side with her elbow.

“Liza has been looking for a place to move—”

“So you were thinking of painting a wall and asking her to move in here?”

“I was thinking that, yes. She said she wanted a bright home with bright accent walls, but maybe it was a bad idea, it’s not the time. I don’t want to make her feel like she has to—”

“Get up!” Olivia said jumping off the bed pulling him up with her. “We have a wall to paint.”

“Liv, I’m not sure—”

“You love her, just suck it up and paint the damn wall and ask! Besides you know she will say yes cause she loves you too.”

Bastien stood frozen in place, he’d known Olivia nearly all her life and yet it still amazed him how perceptive she could be. Have I been that obvious?

“Come on, the wall isn’t going to paint itself!” Olivia stated pulling him out of the room and his thoughts.  

***

Liza was stressed, looking for a place near campus she could afford on her own was proving nearly impossible. Why am I even bothering staying at school? It's not like it matters anymore. She was still shocked by the man she had seen at dinner, she could hardly recognize him as her own father. It had stung how much he seemed to take joy in the way that he had deceived her. His smug smirk he gave as she realized how much he knew, and that she was backed into a corner had been eerie, like she was staring at some monster from a horror film and not her father. As hard as it had been for her to walk away, she knew it was for the best. If he could be so cold and callous towards his own daughter, then she could handle the pain she felt by walking away. She refused to give him the satisfaction of ever being right, she would prove that she had made the right decision.

So she needed to find a place, if only to prove to herself that she could do something without his help and influence. If only it were that easy. All the places she could afford might actually give her tetanus, and all the nice places were well out of her budget. She felt like she was more likely to drive herself crazy than actually find a decent place that she could afford. It’s hopeless.

Liza needed to get her mind off of the train wreck that had become her life. At least Bas and Liv should help me stop thinking about the mess I’m in for a minute. The corners of her lips turned up into a half smile. It didn’t matter how secure she was in her decision, she would likely always hurt from leaving her family behind. For now she’d take some comfort in the new family she found, even if they weren’t permanent. Doubts clouding her mind making her question if they really were her new family. It’s been nearly a year. I know I haven’t said it but I didn’t want to scare him off and I had Liv to contend with. Dread filled her heart as she started to wonder if maybe her father had been right, maybe it would have been easier if she had left with him. She shook the fears and doubts from her mind. She did wouldn’t let her fears drag her down. She had made her choice and while it wouldn’t be easy she would put her fears aside and make the best out of it.

***

Liza tried to contain her shock as she took in Olivia’s appearance. The teen was usually pulled together, today she had her scarlet tresses pulled back in a messy bun and she had smudges of blue paint on her cheek. “Liv, you have—” She states gesturing to the paint smeared cheek.

Olivia wiped at her cheek, completely missing the paint smudge. “Oh don’t worry about that, come here you have to see this.” She said pulling Liza behind her.

“I thought we were going to watch a movie.” Liza replied as she was dragged through the home.

Olivia waved her off, ignoring her protests. They stopped in front of Bastien’s room, Liza looked at her utterly confused. “Go in, I’m going to go get cleaned up. Don’t forget I know my way around a blade if you break his heart.”

Liza walked in unsure of what to expect after Olivia’s warning. Her eyes went wide when she saw the freshly painted cerulean wall. Tears sprung to her eyes as she remembered her own words. “I always wanted a bright home, with big windows that let in lots of light and splashes of bright colors on the walls.” “Don’t look at me like that, not all the walls, that would be too much but accent walls in at least some of the rooms, cerulean, or chartreuse, maybe a deep rich purple.” Her heart pounded in her chest. He couldn’t possibly mean…

“I know it may seem fast, but I want you to move in with me, with us.” Liza stood mouth agape, stunned, staring at the man she loved enough to throw away her only remaining family. He held her heart, but it felt forced, like he was trying to do it because he felt it was his fault. It had been her choice to lie to her father, her choice to finally stand up to him, she didn’t want Bastien to feel obligated to her because of her own rash decisions. “Bas, I’ll figure something out—”

“I’ve been thinking about it for awhile actually.” Bastien replied. “I probably should have said it sooner, but I love you Poppy, obviously I wouldn’t paint my wall a color that bright for just anyone. Just think about it as an option.”

Present day; Trenton, New Jersey:

“What was I thinking? I just delivered them to him!” Liam shouted, his hands balled up in fists at his sides as he paced the room.

“Liam, it’s been weeks, if he was going to hurt her, them—don’t you think he already would have?” Raven questioned, completely over his insistence that Bastien was after his mother and Hope.

“He’s obviously trying to lull me into complacency, make me believe he’s innocent. Why else would my father feel the need to keep her hidden all these years if he wasn’t protecting her from Bastien?”

“Liam, there has to be another explanation—”

“No, I know he’s lying, trying to make himself look the victim, I feel it in my gut.”

“Fine.” Raven said, letting out a sigh. There was this nagging in the back of her mind telling her Bastien was innocent, but without any proof she knew Liam was unlikely to be swayed. “Can you at least put your feelings for Bastien aside and give Hope a chance? Please let her in, she’s your sister. You are the only one who can tell her what Emmaline was like as a mom. Don’t you think your mother would want you two to be close?” Raven said, trying to persuade Liam to stop ignoring his sister. She was getting fed up with his constant avoidance of his only sibling. “Raven, he left them both for dead and she just believes his lies because there is no one to tell her the truth of what he did. Who knows what other lies he’s filled her head with, how am I supposed to bond with her knowing she believes the monster that took my mother from me?” Liam questioned. Raven dropped her head into her hands with a sigh, she was beginning to believe that he would never accept any other answer. He was going to continue to alienate his only family because of something that was presumed to have been done by the girls father. She hated how stubborn Liam could be. Would he be this way if Emmaline hadn’t been taken from him all those years ago? Is this all Constantine’s doing or would he always be a stubborn ass? She needed to find some way, any way to prove her suspicions of Bastien’s innocence. Maybe then he’d finally let Hope in.

***

Liam sat by Emmaline’s side, sitting and looking out the window. He had called ahead ensuring Hope wasn’t there, ignoring Raven’s pleas to try to connect and let the younger girl in. He needed to find out what happened, maybe then Hope would see the truth and understand why Bastien couldn’t be trusted. He just needed to find a way to get through to his mother, make her remember something, anything. “Mom, why did Bastien do this to you? Why did he take you from me?” Liam questioned. Emmaline turned staring past Liam, almost like she was seeing straight through him. Her eyes were blank and vacant without a hint of recognition. Liam’s heart ached, he had spent weeks, months praying to have his mother back and now that he had her she didn’t even know who he was. “Mom, please why did he shoot you!” He implored. Emmaline recoiled slightly at Liam’s raised voice. Fear flashed across her eyes momentarily before fading back to the vacant stare she had before.

“Liam!” Hope shouted, her hands on her hips. “She doesn’t remember anything, so stop it! You’re just making it worse and scaring her.” Emmaline turned to Hope smiling. “Hope dear, is this your boyfriend?” She asked, a spark of recognition in her eyes.

“No, this is Liam, he knew you before you got hurt.” Hope answered, her voice calming and gentle. She rested a soothing hand on her mother’s shoulder. When she came in she was shocked to see Liam, knowing he had been avoiding her. She was angered that he would stress her mother out searching for answers where there were none.

“Oh that’s nice dear.” Emmaline replied. She blinked, her smile spreading wide. “Hope, stop being rude and introduce me to your cute boyfriend!” Hope sighed, pulling Liam aside. “Sometimes she can’t even retain new information, you have to be patient. Pushing her just makes it harder for her to remember anything. I know you want her to remember you, but Liam she might never remember anything. It took her so long to even remember she had me, I know this must hurt you, I hate she can’t remember things from one day to the next half the time, but we can’t change anything. If you want to know what happened between Bastien and our mom, you need to talk to him.” She whispered to not upset Emmaline. Liam clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists at his side. He knew that Bastien had swayed her to believe him, he just hoped Raven was right and she might be open to the truth. How can she just blindly believe the man after just meeting him? The last person he wanted to speak with was the person who took his mother away from him.

Present day; Philadelphia, Pennsylvania:

Bastien picked up the the picture he kept on his desk, his eyes glued on the happy couple in the frame. How the hell did we go from there to here? The second the words had come out of his mouth he knew they came out completely wrong, and now they might have cost him the only woman who held his heart for the last ten years. Fuck! He studied the picture, ingraining it to his memory. If all he’d have left were memories, he wanted the happiest to be front and center.

His fingers ghosted over the photograph, they were so happy and free and now the last he saw her she was a broken shell of her former self. He couldn’t help but feel like it was all his fault. How did he allow this beautiful vibrant woman become so broken that she could barely hold on. He’d do anything to get back the woman in the photograph.

Her long, multihued, raven locks danced in the wind, her hazel eyes squeezed shut from the laughter falling from her lips. Her laugh always was the sweetest melody to his ears, and now he’d never hear it again. He’d never again get to hold her from behind, his strong arms holding her close to his chest. What was I thinking taking her with me? I knew it would upset her! In his effort to keep her close he’d made a mistake that sent her running into the arms of another man. Can I blame her? The way the words came out, I’d think the worst too. But he would have stayed, let her explain. It’s my fault she was as broken as she was to begin with. He couldn’t believe how badly he failed her. It seemed to be a pattern for him, making a mistake that cost him the woman who claimed his heart.

A single word, said in the wrong tense would be their undoing. All he ever wanted was her, to give her the world. Now, this life he chose years ago had cost her her happiness, her child, had taken her from him. Why him though?

Bastien had no one but himself to blame for the demise of their relationship. I should have calmed down, thought before I spoke. He felt like his entire world was crashing down all around him. Everything changed that day, he gained a daughter he never knew and lost the only woman he had ever truly had wanted a life with. He knew he would never move on, there wasn’t another woman for him, she was it, the only person he could see growing old with and he’d blown it.

Bastien needed to make things right, a chance to fix things, get back to who they were. He knew he lost that chance the second he saw her cab pulling away from the curb. Of course she fled! Why would she want to stay after you confessed your love for another woman? Fuck! He hung his head, roughly running his hands through his onyx locks. I hadn’t even thought of her in years, all I care about is gone.

Bastien bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to force back the tears stinging his steel grey eyes. He ran scared before without protecting the woman he cared about in the past and now his anger might have cost him the woman he loved now. He slammed his fist on the oak desk, he would not allow fear and anger to take more from him. He’d do better this time, he’d do absolutely anything to fix things with her. He’d always do absolutely anything for her. He just needed to show her, prove to Liza that she was the only woman that owned his heart. He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

Crimson Rain Masterlist

Masterlist

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[today-only-happens-once]

Break

Title: Break

Summary: Logan, a high school science teacher, gets a text from his high school-counselor husband on his day off. Active shooter. I love you so much, Logan. Human AU. Logicality, Familial LAMP.

Warnings: Active shooter situation observed from the outside, death mention, angst, crying, cursing, violence.

A/N:  Because I’m tired and angry and scared. They say write what scares you? Here you go. I needed to put my thoughts and emotions somewhere, and this is what happened. Don’t feel obligated to read it, please. I know many of you are probably exhausted from this subject matter, and that’s more than okay. But I sat down to write it and I got emotional over the subject matter while writing and it’s almost 3k words so just…. I thought maybe it’d be worth putting up on here? I dunno.

I wrote this all in one sitting... It’s mostly a vent fic, if I’m going to be very honest with you all. Just... sorry, I guess.... 

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @lizaelsparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @rileyfirstname, @pinkeasteregg, @sassy-in-glasses, @vigilantvirgil, @generalfandomfabulousness, @lacrimosathedark, @monikastec, @heir-of-the-founders, @yourworstnightmare999, @artistictaurean, @kanejandkruge, @cdragontogacotar, @candiukas, @damienswifeolicitydallysgirl

Logan is standing in the kitchen when he gets the text.

His phone buzzes on the corner of the table and he sees the ID as Patton’s name. He sets the mug of coffee down on the countertop beside him with a quiet click as he reaches for the phone.

It wasn’t entirely unusual that his husband would text him randomly throughout the day. The contents of such texts varied: sometimes they were reminders about eating and sleeping, sometimes they were quick affirmations, sometimes they were dog pictures or random science jokes that Patton thought Logan would appreciate. And he always did, the corner of his lips curling in a smile when he’d quickly check his phone between classes. Every once in a while, Patton would send him an “I miss you” and Logan would affectionately roll his eyes and reply, “you realize my classroom is right down the hall from your office?”

Logan, however, had taken the day off. He had been at a conference for K-12 STEM educators and had got the red-eye flight back. He hated not being in school, but he couldn’t stress the importance of physical and mental health to his students and not lead by example. Besides, he had never taken a day off before in his life until now.

Logan quickly swipes in the code to open the phone and pulls up messages. He stares at the message even as his stomach drops.

P: Active shooter. I love you so much, Logan.

Logan’s jaw jumps before he types out a reply. Stay calm. RHF. He pauses and swallows hard. I love you too.

He grabs his keys and tears out of the house so fast he almost forgets to put on shoes.

…

He speeds the entire way. He very nearly runs a red light, slamming hard on the brakes at the last second. His hands are wrapped around the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. The radio is turned to the news. He can’t bear to listen to it. He can’t bear not to.

Why did he have to have taken today, of all damn days, off?

Logan can’t help the tightness in his stomach. The faint feeling that he might throw up. That same feeling making him slam a hand against the steering wheel. He checks his phone. Nothing.

The light turns green.

Logan’s fingers twitch as he hits the gas again. He thinks of Virgil—his son, in his junior year at the high school. He wonders if he should text him. A second later, Logan shakes his head quickly. Texting him could put him in danger. The alert, if not silenced, could give away his location. Did Virgil make it out? Did Patton?

Why had none of them texted him yet? Logan glances at the clock on the dashboard. He had received Patton’s initial text three minutes ago.

Had it only been three minutes?

Logan drives in a distant haze. He parks on a street in the neighborhood surrounding the school. He’s barely slammed the gear shift into park and yanked his keys out of the ignition before he’s out of the car and running towards the school. He can see police cars lining the streets, areas roped off.

“Mr. Sanders!” The sound of his name grabs his attention. Logan stumbles to a halt, looking around for the source of it.

He sees her a second later. Valerie. Senior. She was in your AP Chemistry class last year, Logan reminds himself. She had always been one of the sweetest, smartest, and hardest working kids he’d ever had the pleasure of working with. She’s sprinting towards him, her cheeks streaked with dark mascara. Her eyes are wide in terror, red from tears. Logan catches her by the arms as she sags with a sob.

“Valerie,” Logan says. “Valerie, look at me.”

She hiccups and blinks hard. Logan can feel her shaking. “Mr. Sanders,” she says, taking in a few breaths. Logan can feel his heart in his throat. “Have you seen my mom? I need—I...”

Logan takes in a breath of his own, closing his eyes for just a moment. Pull it together, he tells himself. These kids need you. He doesn’t know if Virgil has made it out of the school yet. He doesn’t know about Patton. But he cant stand here and do nothing but worry. Not when these kids—these children—need him.

“I haven’t seen her,” Logan answers her. “Did you call her?”

Valerie nods. “Y-yeah. I—yeah.”

Suddenly, a soft feminine voice interrupts them from behind. “Valerie?”

Logan hears Valerie gasp. “Mom?”

The teacher releases a faint breath and lets go of the girl in front of him. “Oh, mi amor, I’m so happy you’re safe,” her mother says through tears, wrapping her daughter up in her arms. She locks eyes with Logan for a brief moment. Thank you, she mouths. Logan can’t manage a smile, even a polite one, but he nods.

Part of the job, he thinks, and realizes with a faintly nauseous feeling in his stomach how messed up it was that it was true.

“Valerie,” Logan says, his voice tight, “did… did you, by any chance, see Virgil? Or my husband?”

Valerie shakes her head, brushing at her eyes again. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Sanders. I just… I just ran. I don’t remember seeing either of them.”

Logan swallows thickly but waves a hand. “Don’t apologize. Please. Your safety should absolutely have been your number one concern. You did the right thing.”

“I’m sure they’re okay, though,” Valerie says as Logan starts to walk away.

Perhaps it is rude of him, but Logan keeps walking. Every part of him wants to believe her with a desperation that scares him. Logan feels his eyes burn and he picks up his pace as he walks closer to the school.

He checks his phone. Nothing.

…

The police stop him before he gets much closer. Logan wants to yell at them. He doesn’t. They’re just doing their job, he reminds himself.

It’s just… his entire life is inside that building.

He thinks of Patton’s bright smile through the video camera the night before when they’d FaceTimed while Logan was in the airport. He thinks of the warm giggle he’d let out when he’d made an airplane pun and Logan had groaned and bit back a smile. He thinks about how Patton had made him biscuits and bought a new jar of Crofters for when he returned from his red-eye with a small note reminding him to sleep today.

Logan twists his wedding band around his finger and wonders if he’ll ever sleep again.

He thinks about Virgil, too. How much better their house and family was once they’d adopted him. Virgil meant the world to him. He thought about Virgil’s witty, snarky quips. He thought of that faint smile he’d let out once in a while that showed he felt loved and safe and accepted. He thinks about all the times he’d helped Virgil through a panic attack. Virgil was the bravest, most wonderful kid Logan had ever met. Adopting him had been the best decision of his life.

Losing either one of them would be to lose everything.

“Logan?”

The voice startles him out of his thoughts. Logan stops twisting his ring around his finger and tears his gaze away from the swarm of police cars in the distance to look at the man beside him. A colleague, this time.

“Emile.” Dr. Picani. Another school counselor alongside his husband. Logan’s left thumb brushes the smooth metal of his ring again, fighting down the rising hope. “I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

The counselor’s eyes—usually warm and sympathetic—have something else behind them. Something darker. Guilt, maybe, and a bit of anger as well. Logan isn’t sure. Patton’s the better one at identifying emotions. “Wish I could say the same. Unfortunately, I can’t honestly say that I’m glad about much of anything right now.”

Logan shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. He understood all too well. He swallows. “I hate to ask this, Emile, but you didn’t… my husband…?” Logan hates how he can’t get the words to form.

Something softens in Picani’s expression. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” he says. “I was walking through the hallway when the first gunshot went off. Patton was already in his office. I think he was working with someone.”

Logan presses his lips together in a thin line. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He feels Emile squeeze his shoulder before he steps away.

Logan checks his phone. Nothing.

…

Logan doesn’t know how long it lasts. He wanders through the streets, running into students and faculty alike. None of them had seen Patton or Virgil. He checks Twitter for news updates.

It won’t be reliable information, he tells himself, and he knows that but at least it’s something. At least it’s something.

He helps a student (Andrew Reinfeild, Logan remembers him from CP2 Chemistry last year) find his brother in the growing crowd, swallowing the lump in his throat at the desperation of their embrace. A student—Brayden Chase, a senior that Logan was convinced hated him for getting an F last year in his Astronomy class—sobbed against his chest until his girlfriend found him. Another student (Harmony Gibbins, Logan reminds himself, an incredibly bright freshman that was on the robotics team) stared numbly at the school until Logan approached her and said her name, told her that she was safe now. She burst into tears.

Logan waits with her until her friend appears and then he quietly dissolves back into the crowd. He keeps looking for son. He keeps looking for his husband. He feels like he’s moving in slow-motion.

He’s never felt so damn helpless in his life.

He listens to the murmurs and rumors in the crowd. One person says they heard four gunshots. Another says seven. A girl sobs that she heard there were casualties. The local news tweets out that there have been no confirmed deaths.

A student still in the building tweets a love note to her dad and her baby sister.

Logan checks his phone. Nothing.

…

“Suspect is in custody,” the police officer is saying with a bullhorn to the crowd that had been collecting in the streets of the neighborhood, far enough away that they could barely see the school. “I repeat, we have the shooter in custody. We are evacuating the rest of the building right now. Please be patient and calm—“

Logan is stiff and tense. He feels a bitter taste flood his mouth at the words.

“—as we continue to investigate.”

Someone shouts over the crowd as the officer starts to lower the bullhorn. “How many people died?”

The crowd falls silent. Logan watches, his gaze narrowed, as the officer hesitates and glances around the crowd. Finally, he turns the bullhorn back on and says quickly, “We are still evacuating the building.”

Logan pales. He can hear what the officer isn’t saying. People had died. Patton. Virgil.

“Mr. Sanders?”

Logan whirls around at the familiar voice. He stops short at the kid in front of him. “Roman.”

Roman Prince. A junior, and rising theatre star. Also Virgil’s best friend since freshman year. Logan practically considered him to be another son (only spurred further by the fact that he knew Roman’s parents were frequently absent from his life). Professionalism be damned, Logan says to himself. He shouldn’t, and it’s not like him, but his nerves are frayed. So he grabs Roman and pulls him in. The teen doesn’t need much encouragement before he’s hugging Logan back fiercely.

A moment later, Logan can feel his shirt by his shoulder getting damp and he realizes Roman is shaking like a leaf. The science teacher just runs a hand up and down his back slowly a few times. He doesn’t know what to say. In the corner of his eye, he sees a news camera pointed at the interaction and a part of him wants to march over and break it in half.

Roman pulls back and Logan relaxes his grip. The teen sniffles and wipes quickly at his eyes. “Have you heard from Virge?” he asks hopefully, and Logan’s heart somehow sinks even further. He’d been about to ask the same question.

Quietly, Logan shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.” And he is. He is so afraid.

“What about Mister Mr. Sanders?” Roman asks, the rawness in his voice overshadowing the lame attempt at humor. Roman had always referred to Patton as “Mister Mr. Sanders”. Usually, it made Logan smirk.

But all he can think about is Patton’s bright laugh when he’d hear Roman call him that the first time. Virgil’s eye roll and quiet snort of amusement. Wordlessly, Logan shakes his head again.

Roman frowns. “Mr. Sanders, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should sit down.”

“I’m fine,” he says hollowly.

“Pardon the language, but that’s bullshit,” Roman says. “Nothing is fine. Least of all us.”

The teacher doesn’t argue with that.

Logan checks his phone. Nothing.

…

The minutes—the hours? Logan can’t keep track—tick by. Logan does, eventually, sit down on the grass. He puts his head in his hands. Roman sits beside him and, for perhaps the first time since Logan met him three years ago, is silent.

At some point, the officer announces that they’ve cleared the building. He sends a text to both Patton and Virgil the second he says it. Where are you?

The death count is somewhere in the double-digits. Logan only half-listens. Every time the screen on his phone dims out, he presses the button to light it up again. After a while, Roman quietly takes his phone and makes an adjustment in settings so that it won’t go to sleep. The teen’s own phone sits in front of him. Every time it lights up with a message, Logan glances at the ID to see if it might be Virgil.

It never is.

People around him are sobbing. Others are silent.

Logan can’t feel anything except an overwhelming, aching emptiness. The crowd grows thinner as parents arrive to take their shaken, terrified children home. Every reunion twists a sharp, hot pain in Logan’s chest as he thinks of Virgil.

“C’mon you two,” says a voice behind him. Logan lifts his head out of his hands. It’s Dr. Picani. “Let me drive ya home.”

“You don’t have to do that, Emile,” Logan says, his voice distant. “I can take Roman home.”

“Nonsense,” Emile replies firmly. “I’m not letting you drive in the state you’re in, Logan.”

Logan doesn’t have it in him to argue. He doesn’t have it in him to do anything. Numbly, he nods and stands up, motioning for Roman to do the same.

“Hey,” Dr. Picani says softly to him after a moment. “Don’t give up hope. They evacuated people in all directions. And they might’ve gotten out earlier. They’ll call.”

Logan checks his phone. Nothing.

…

The ride is silent. Roman mutters an empty thanks when he’s dropped off. Logan snaps out of his haze long enough to make Roman promise that if he needs someone, he’ll reach out. You have my number, Logan reminds him. Roman just nods and slams the door closed.

When they get to Logan’s house, the high school science teacher stares at the drive way. His eyes burn. Part of him feels, not for the first time today, like he might be sick. Because there in the drive way is Patton’s car. Logan blinks hard a few times, and he expects it to disappear. His mind is playing tricks on him.

But the car stays there in the driveway. Logan’s hands are shaking. Dr. Picani gives a soft, relieved smile. “Well look at that.”

Logan is still staring at it.

Emile chuckles. “Logan, you can gape at the car all you want but you should probably go inside. I have a feeling there’s someone there who wants to see you.”

His edges of his vision blur and he blinks again, shaking his head. “Y-yes. Yes, of course.”

He fumbles with the seat belt and practically falls out of the car. He breaks into a run for the front door, trying the handle and cursing under his breath when he finds it locked. Logan pats his pockets for his keys, digging them out of his front left pocket. He drops them in the process and curses again.

When he finally gets the door open, he calls out tentatively. “Patton?”

The first person he sees isn’t Patton. A young, familiar face stands in the entryway to the kitchen in that signature black and purple hoodie. The hood is pulled up over his long bangs but his eyes are wide and familiar beneath them. A second later, a flop of brown hair, thick black glasses, and a bright blue polo appears behind him.

“Dad?” Virgil asks at the same time Patton says, “Logan, honey…” 

Logan breaks.

…

[shellheadtmarc]

Connections

fallout bullshit round two, this time featuring zetta reynolds, because zetta is another hugely important person to tony in context and it probably looks like the trashiest shit without the actual behind the scenes context that hasn’t gotten threaded bc mala and i are both slow as fuckin christmas.

okay.  buckle up.

+ once upon a time, before the world became chernobyl on steroids, there was a company called stark industries.  the owner of said company was tony stark, and moonlighted in a group of extremely unique people who called themselves the avengers as the high tech armored superhero called iron man.  tony was atoning for all the weapons he’d built and designed over the years, especially in understanding, through his own brush with death, how devastating those weapons could be.  he was also incredibly outspoken against the government and what it was doing with regards to its own people with regards to personal liberties and freedoms.  this company - which offered safety nets for employees that did find themselves being investigated by the government in forms such as legal fees - employed a lot of people.  one of those people was zetta reynolds, who worked in the boston branch.

+ if tony ever met zetta before the bombs, he honestly can’t remember it.  it’s been a very long time for him.  her files are probably still somewhere on the stark dataspine, though he’s never gone digging for them.  who she was and who he was are people that don’t really exist anymore.  that world doesn’t really exist anymore.

+ one of the first things that should be noticed - and actually not incredibly obvious - is that tony and zetta are actually very similar.  they’re both brilliant.  they’ve answered the fate that’s been handed to them with anger - though in separate directions.  they’re both incredibly fiercely protective over the people they love.  they have the same sense of humor.  they both had super shitty childhoods that have shaped them as adults.  it’s why when they get along everyone around them should be terrified, and when they fight everyone should be even more terrified.  the major difference between them, surface-wise, anyway, is that zetta is incredibly loyal to the railroad, and tony considers them to be too tunnel-visioned without an “after” plan to be sustainable long term.

+ honestly, they even favor physically somewhat.  big dark eyes, dark curly hair, killer jawlines.  this is going to be important soon, pay attention.

+ zetta is the sole survivor of vault 111.  you know what that means.

+ tony and zetta hook up fairly early on in his time in the commonwealth.  and by hook up i mean sleep together.  but wait, you say, isn’t tony already probably running with maccready??  yes, i answer, he is!  but tony and mac aren’t a thing for a while, and zetta and tony never really are.  it’s like…a one time thing.  that’s it.  in the end, they’re close?  but it ain’t really like that between them.  they wouldn’t work - tony’s too open in being demonstrative.  it’s gross.  he loves her, in her his own way, but it’s just not that kind of love.  she’s someone he can trust implicitly, and that’s a thousand times better in the wasteland that being stupid in love with her.

+ since this is tony’s companion verse, that’s what he is:  he’s one of zetta’s companions.  except it’s not fallout 4 flavor mechanics companions it’s more…equal partners in interest with reclaiming the commonwealth.  he’s as often off doing his own thing as he is helping her with something - and most of their stuff has to do with the settlements, not questlines.  it should also be noted that, between her, stephen, tony, elle, thor, and loki, questlines are split up among them because it’s unrealistic to expect one person to do all of them.  anyway, between all of them, they rub their heads together and make magic shit happen in the commonwealth.

+ so.  about that one night stand tony and zetta have.  see, tony’s tinkered on himself.  he got his hands on some institute flavor fev while back in nyc, broke it apart, made it what he wanted, and put it back together (much like 616 extremis) and used himself as a lab rat to test it.  friendly, frequent reminder he’s not a super mutant, the same way 616 tony was never a true extremis enhancile.   he thought he’d kept the coding to make himself sterile in it.  turns out not so much - he’s an engineer, not a biochemist, and there he and zetta are finding out yeah so uh.  that drunken one night stand resulted in a baby.  she uses stephen as a doctor, because he’s prewar, too.  makes sunday dinners all kinds of interesting.

+ quinn is just quinn.  their plan is to let him decide what last name he wants to use when he gets older, and between zetta’s bunch and tony’s bunch, not only are quinn and duncan (and synth shaun, because honestly he can’t be forgotten…how did we end up with a set of all little boys how did this happen i sure don’t know) the three safest kids in the commonwealth, they have a massive extended family that include a sorcerer supreme, norse gods, spies, the entire railroad, the minutemen, super mutants, and superheroes.  he’s got all of zetta and tony’s smarts and looks, and that means r i f p world when he gets older.

+ they share custody, obviously.  i mean, it’s not like it’s a legal arrangement, it’s the commonwealth, but it’s the principle of the thing.  anyway, outside of the lovenest zetta built for her bunch on spectacle island (casa del deacon) that everyone’s supposed to stay out of but tony and only then when he’s there to get quinn (if you can’t see tony rolling his eyes about it i need to step up my game), honestly…the whole group lives in…well, i wouldn’t quite completely call it a commune really, but they’re like a neighborhood where everyone on the street is related to everyone else.  they come and go as they need to, but it actually satisfies tony’s need to keep everyone as close as possible.  sunshine tidings and nahant (the town around croup manor) are the usual suspects, though you’ve got fort hagen, as well.

+ to clarify:  after the one whole night, later tony’s in a monogamous relationship with maccready, zetta (depending on verse iteration) is either with deacon?  or in a poly relationship with ferran (who is a whole other kettle of fish right there) and deacon.  sometimes her husband riley survives the gunshot from kellogg just barely and they’re able to bring him round with the same super soldier serum mix rhodey got popped with before the bombs, using the immortality serum traded to the government by jack cabot.  it’s…it’s complicated don’t worry about it.

+ they’re enough alike and work in the same fashion enough that they make good emotional punching bags for each other.  zetta knows she can fling everything she’s got at tony and that he can take it, and the opposite is just as true, and it spares some hapless settler from facing the brunt of either of their tempers (because if you don’t think tony stark has a temper i have News For You).  on the flipside, they’ve gone through practically the same nightmare and can be vulnerable with each other, though that’s far less likely.

+ zetta reynolds would happily punch howard stark in the face.  well.  she’d happily punch anyone in the face that has done tony dirty on some level, once he’s one of “hers”.  and don’t think for a second he wouldn’t go the mat just the same for her. 

ask about muse connections : accepting : anon

[prcmctheus]

beep beep y’all ur resident dumpster dweller kay here in action and ready 2 introduce u all to my Fave Boy misha who uhHHhh p much has rbf and a Thicc ukrainian accent. will this contain anything of substance other than immense rambling ?? whO KNOWS but we’ll go on this journey together but feel free to drop a like if u wanna plot and i’ll pop over to ur dm’s !!

potential triggers: death + mob activity

! ✰ ° — [ CHRIS PINE, CISMALE, HE/HIM ] mykhailo “misha” chernenko, aka agent prometheus is a thirty-five year old tactical agent that has been loyal to mercy twelve years. during that time they were injected with the gamma serum and earned regenerative healing they have a reputation of being the sagacious because they can be pragmatic & diligent. but let’s not forget they’re pretty acerbic & reticent. if you listen closely you can hear another one bites the dust by queen whenever they walk past.

okie to start off ya boy was brought into the world as михайло оландрович черненко ( aka mykhailo oleksandrovych chernenko ) but typically goes by the nickname of misha bc it’s easier and was born in kharkiv, ukraine ,,, he is a proud ukrainian and v much dislikes being deemed a russian ,, don’t do him dirty y’all . . it’s a struggle and one he will never forget n have u on his shit list ,, especially since his accent is still Thicc so any jokes will get u a side eye

his father oleksandr had strong nationalistic views , especially so when ukraine was still under soviet control and following the death of his first wife yulia ( they were visiting her family in moscow when she was caught in the crossfire of russian mob activity on her way home from the store and ultimately died from gunshot wounds ) he became heavily involved anti-russia groups back in ukraine

in 1983 when misha was born, he uHHhhHHhh wasn’t really wanted per say ?? like ,, his dad was hooking up with his mother kateryna and it was a surprise to them both that kateryna was pregnant ?? so oleksandr did the noble thing ( arguable bc he ain’t so noble ) and put a ring on her ,, mainly bc it was expected and kateryna gave him hell so u go kateryna

misha’s childhood wasn’t the best considering his parents argued more than they got along and kateryna really despised her husband from his life of crime ?? definitely didn’t agree with his ties to the ukrainian mob bc of the threat it brought to the family and especially the dirty money so she often put her sewing skills to use and made little of her own money ,, then wOP ,, four years down the line kateryna surprises oleksandr with the fact that she’s pregnant again but this time it ends up being a daughter that they name nadezhda but call nadia

it was an odd thing for misha bc for as harsh and distant as his father was to him, he had put him on this pedestal with a strong sense of idealism of what his father was like if he managed to do something to make him proud ,, despite not fully knowing in depth what his father did in the mob ( aka not good things like murder, drug trafficking and human trafficking ) so essentially that became misha’s goal in his v young life ,, he mimicked his father’s anti-russian views and showed interest in what he did for a living ,, rip 2 misha’s mom bc she nearly had a heart attack when she heard her son acting like everything she didn't want him to end up being

but with kateryna’s dismay came the affection from his father that misha had so desperately wanted and it became some weird take ur child to work day thing ,, this started when misha was around 6 years old and lasted up until he was 13 ( for reasons i’ll get into soon jndsjksd ) where oleksandr would often bring misha after school or even take him our during school ,, as some weird initiation thing of another generation of chernenko dedicating themselves to the cause of ukrainian independence

misha himself is an intelligent boy with a quick witted mind and ability to retain information and was quick to pick up on the russian language around him in kharkiv as well english ,, generally v good at learning languages and i just !!! get a lil emo thinking about the life misha could have had bc of his smarts if he didn’t get himself involved in this spy shit

his father finds it useful to start teaching misha how to properly fight bc #fambonding am i rite ,, also bc oleksandr is a shite dad who was gonna bring misha along to some  attack they were planning near the russian border from tensions between the ukrainian mob n the russian mob that was starting to infiltrate in ,, just dudes being dudes n getting territorial

let’s pray 4 kateryna when she finds out bc it’s when misha is 13 and tags along with his father to this smackdown which ?? ukraine is independent at this point by 5 years so oleksandr is trash n still chilling with the mob and when shit hits the fan and long story short, oleksandr ( along with many others ) gets killed, misha ends up severely hurt and it’s not a good time ,, but things shift bc when misha comes to he’s in a hospital bed and o shIT ,, he’s chilling with the security service of ukraine which deals with counterintelligence activity and terrorism

chilling ain’t really the term but yA KNOW ,, turns out they’ve been keeping eyes on the mob movements and misha attracted the attention of ukrainian intelligence “offered” him a role as a spy with the promise of training and serving his country proudly ,, u know ,, offered is in quotes bc hoe didn’t really have a choice but it wasn’t a hard choice bc misha was eager to help out his homeland

he didn’t officially go out into the field until he was 17 bc of extensive training in combat and espionage to help defend the still young foundation of the ukrainian government especially since it was rocky from the poor economic conditions ,, and after proving both his worth and abilities in several missions, he was activated as a sleeper agent in the russian government to get a hold of information regarding russian intelligence ,, more importantly such impacting ukraine

ya boy excelled in his position, given it wasn’t the most exciting bc it involved a lot of blending in and upholding this russian persona ,, gone was mykhailo chernenko for those three years up until he was 23 since he went by the alias of konstantin vasiliev ,, and he did well !! as someone who excelled in linguistics, his was v fluent in the russian language with a believable accent to match ( one of his best qualities in his ability to take on accents easily and rn he’s fluent in french, german, italian and spanish outside of his ukrainian, russian, and english )

things went well for the three years acting as a secretary for a high ranking russian government official and uh,, u know it helped that misha was attractive and knew how to use it to his advantage and successfully infiltrated into classified information since his superior viewed misha as just a pretty face with minimal understanding of how politics worked ,, meanwhile he was the one who spilled shit during sex so who was the real weenie

due to unfortunate events, misha’s cover was blown and barely made it out of russia alive and it was around his 23rd/24th that mercy got into contact with him and for as much as misha loved his country, he figured for his own safety it would be best to leave the area since lowkey the russian government still had it out for him ,, so he joined the mercy division as a field agent and AGENT PROMETHEUS was born ,, a couple of years into it he was convicted into taking the gamma serum which gave him regenerative healing which helps out v much when he gets shot at or generally hurt

so yeah p much ya boy has been chilling at mercy as a field agent for eleven years and generally enjoying his time here given things can’t ever really get normal as a spy ,, but it was last year that bc of numerous influences, misha decided to accept the offer of joining the tactical agents and retire his days as a field agent.

personality wise ,, misha is v devoted to his job and does this hoe ever genuinely laugh or smile ?? who knows ,, i think there’s a rumor somewhere that he’s actually a robot. def gives into the slavic stereotype where ukrainian’s never smile ,, not to mention his father ingrained into him the ukrainian saying of Сміх без причини є ознакою тупості aka “laughter without a reason is a sign of stupidity” soooOOoo he’s just a bit stoic and has resting bitch face

doesn’t really realize he’s v blunt and forthright in his speak so he can come off as an asshole ( which 67% of the time he doesn’t mean ) ,, has the patience of a saint but if u push hard enough he’ll crack ,, a bit dry on the humor but can def be an asshole when he wants to. doesn’t trust a lot of ppl and it’s hard to earn his trust ,, word the only major ppl he’s trusted was a) his dad b) the security service of ukraine and c) now mercy so kudos on getting on his good side

has no contact whatsoever with his mother kateryna or his sister nadia ,, partially bc couldn’t keep up for security n safety reasons but also bc misha is p much dead to kateryna after following his father’s footsteps, getting involved in the whole mess of ukrainian / russian political n governmental affairs and also dropping his v tiny attempt of college before becoming a sleeper agent for ukraine ,, so ya boy is on his own so u can expect wALLS around him ,, bc u know ,, he don’t do emotional vulnerability or relationships  

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

41/50 for Luke and Tori please?

sorry this took me so long! i was having trouble nailing down a concept that i liked. of course that only led to me thinking too hard abt it

so without further ado, here it is! it’s mainly an all human! and crime!au, kept the greek names, with some mish-mash of other things thrown in there. idk really, it’s kinda a mess

half under a cut bc i’m a long-winded bitch

it’s not my Best, but the depression has hit hard and i have other projects i’d like to work on (if the depression will let me)

#41 first kiss#50 arranged marriage

Day 1

"Ugh, you expect me to marry a grifter." She said grifter like it was the worst of the four letter words, throwing the blond man across from her a distasteful look. And for a long time, he'd thought brown eyes always had a warmth about them.

He scoffed. "As if marrying into a house of fixers is any better." His ice-blue eyes shot the blonde woman across from him, his own glare. "Have you even been taught the tricks of the trade yet?" His voice had turned mocking.

Tori opened her mouth to respond with a biting comment, but her mother quickly grabbed her hand and squeezed painfully.

"It would be improper for her to be in such a state in front of her betrothed," Diana said with a perfected smile.

Luke rolled his eyes, missing the irritated look Tori had thrown at her mother.

"Why don't we talk about the details of the wedding in my office." Tori's father, Apollo, stood. Luke's father, Hermes, stood as well with a nod.

"We should let these two get better acquainted," Hermes agreed before shooting his son a pointed look, while Apollo did the same.

Diana stood. "Just as well, I will be meeting with a client soon."

"Yes, I also have a meeting of my own." May stood.

Soon the only two left in the room were Tori and Luke, both glaring at each other, refusing to speak.

Day 100

"Thanks a lot, asshole!" Tori picked up the nearest glass, which was only full of water and some ice, and threw it into Luke's face.

Luke gasped and shot up, his eyes freezing over as he glared at Tori. "What the fuck?" He shook off some of the water, his mark handing him a handful of napkins to wipe his face with. It didn't do much, napkins at clubs were horrendously small and thin. Across the table from Luke, a man also in a suit blinked in surprise and leaned away from Tori.

"You know this chick, Luke?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The people at the tables around them had their eyes trained on the three now, and were murmuring. The waiters had stopped in their tracks, shooting the three nervous looks.

Luke swiped up his napkin and started cleaning his face, while the other man stood and assured the rest of the restaurant that everything was fine and to go back to their meal. Either he was particularly persuasive, or they wanted to pretend nothing had happened because the patrons went back to their dinners and the wait staff began moving from table to table again.

"She's no one," Luke finally answered, eyes half-pleading, half-threatening, but Tori ignored that. She'd been outright threatened by worse.

"Actually, I'm his fiancée." Tori held out her hand, brandishing her engagement ring to the other man, who was still standing. It was something that their parents had decided on together. Luke hadn't even seen it until he'd given it to her. Luke's eyes blazed and he opened his mouth to yell at her, but his mark spoke first.

"You didn't say you were married." The guy looked her over, and any other day would've earned a solid punch to the nose, but she was busy glowering at Luke. "She's quite the catch."

Tori was dressed up, as well, as you'd want to be in such a fancy restaurant setting. Though, her dress were rather plain-black, fitting, and only went down to the tops of her knees. She wore a pair of glossy black flats, and her hair was curled, pulled over her shoulder and held there by a large clip, embedded with diamonds. (Luke vaguely wondered if that was another gift that he'd bought for her.)

"I can see you're in the middle of the something," Tori said sweetly, her eyes flickering over to the other man, "but my fiancé and have a few things to discuss."

"It can't wait until I get home?" Luke asked, punctuating his words.

Tori's smile dropped as she turned to look back at Luke. "No." She looked back at Luke's mark. "You best leave. Now."

The guy took the last swig of his drink before stepping out from behind the table and going to Luke to pat him on the shoulder. "Better luck next time." The nodded to Tori before making his way to the exit.

Luke stepped around the table, approaching Tori, but she held her ground. "What the fuck was that? You just lost me a mark." His voice was low, so as to not draw any more attention than necessary.

"I think you mean petty cash," she shot back. "Unlike you, I was actually working—meeting with a client."

"If he was scared off, maybe you should've been doing your job better," Luke retorted.

"I was doing my job, just fine until that cartel you pissed off last week showed up, looking for you." Luke's face paled, all anger at his soon-to-be-wife drained from him. He stepped back so he could scan the restaurant. Tori continued speaking, "Spooked my client, who took off, by the way. And now, they've come for you. I'd like to see you get out of this one, hot shot."

Just as she was finishing, one of the men came into view and immediately spotted Luke.

"We have to go." Luke grabbed Tori's wrist and started dragging her through the restaurant.

"There's no 'we!' This is all you!" She tried to pry her wrist from his grasp, but his fingers were locked like a iron vice.

"They know we're getting married. They'll hurt you to get to me. So yes, we." Luke rolled his eyes, annoyed he even had to explain this to her. What were her parents teaching her about the underworld?

He tried to drag her to a back exit, but another man appeared. So he quickly diverted his path to another possible exit, only, you guessed it, another man appeared. Luke was forced to enter the kitchen, pushing his way past chefs and some of the wait staff. They didn't make it a few feet before one of the men was in there.

Shots rang out. Luke and Tori instinctively ducked, and he pulled her behind one of the kitchen's islands. There screams as food went flying alongside pots, pans, bowls and plates. Those in the kitchen scattered until only shots rang through the kitchen, following the sounds of ricochet.

Luke didn't want to risk looking, but he guessed there were most likely at least two shooters now. And no way out. He and Tori were staring at a dead end wall behind racks of prepped food.

"We're trapped," he sighed, trying to come to terms with his demise. Who knew he'd go out cowering behind a table in a kitchen, sitting next to the one he was being forced to marry?

"I can take them." Tori said. Luke's head snapped over to her. She was grinning.

"Are you insane? Even if you had a way to stop them from shooting at us, more would show up!"

Had he had time to, Luke would've grabbed her arm and asked her if she was crazy again, but she moved faster than he anticipated. Faster than he'd ever seen her move, in fact. Although, it wasn't like he had paid much attention to her since the announcement of their "happy" engagement.

In one fluid motion, Tori pulled out a glock, already fit with a silencer, from her clutch and spun, staying behind the table but standing enough so she had a clear line of sight of the shooters.

It felt like Luke blinked, heard cries of pain, and suddenly the shooting stopped. Heart beating rapidly in his chest, eyes wide as a does, he carefully lifted himself to his knees and peered over the counter. No gunman to be seen. Tori had stood to full height, and was smiling at her work. Luke slowly stood, too, seeing that the gunmen were on the ground, groaning. Most likely due to the fact that they now had new holes in their knees.

"Mother is going to be very cross with me when she finds out you had to see that." Tori said, slipping her gun back into clutch. "Let's go husband, mine, before more show up." She started toward the back entrance of the kitchen, where two more groaning gunmen laid.

Luke followed in a daze, glancing down at the gunmen again as he stepped over them.

"You have…impeccable aim." He swallowed hard and was glad for the fresh air as he stepped out into the alleyway.

"Don't be impressed yet, my clip is low and more are coming. Let's go!" Tori grabbed Luke's wrist and began pulling him down the alley just as car lights flashed on them. The car screeched to a halt. Doors opened and shut. More gunshots rang through the air.

They broke out into a run as they exited the alley and onto a quiet street. Tori was leading him somewhere, but he was still a little stunned and was having a hard time gathering his bearings. They went through another alley, with footsteps hot on their trail. She took them a block down and down yet another alley.

"Are we going to lose them any time soon?" Luke asked, finally coming from his daze.

She glared at him over her shoulder. "You try running in a skintight dress. You're going to see me naked at some point in our marriage, I am sure of it, but I'd rather not it be in a dark alley surrounded by cartel members."

They kept running.

The men of the cartel somehow managed to keep up with them. They hadn't started shooting yet, but if they got even a foot closer, no doubt shooting would begin soon.

A few moments later, they were on a more populated and lit street. Houses lined the sidewalk, and cars passed perhaps a little faster than they should on a residential street.

Tori was scanning the apartments.

Luke glanced over his shoulder. He didn't see anyone, but he was sure they were only a step behind.

"I'm good picking locks, but I don't think I'll be able to pick one fast enough," Luke admitted.

"You don't need to. Come on." Tori led them up the steps to an apartment with a red door. "Take off your jacket and pull out your shirt from your pants." Luke did as she said, and she took his jacket, draping it over her shoulders before taking the clip out of her hair and putting it into the jacket pocket. She ruffled it, bringing it over both her shoulders. "Okay, now pretend to kiss me?"

"What?" Luke blanched. His blue eyes were wide and a blush was creeping up into his face.

"I know we hate each other, but right now it's life or death. So just…" Tori reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him forward, his head closer to hers. She inclined her head, but kept him a hair's breadth away from her, turning them so that anyone looking from the street wouldn't know they weren't actually kissing. She kept her eyes on the sidewalk, watching for the cartel men.

"Put your hands somewhere," she muttered. "On my hips. Caress my face. Do something with them."

Luke shifted and quickly put his hands on her hips, underneath his jacket that was precariously hanging off her shoulders.

And maybe he should've been more worried that their lives were at stake, and they were using a tactic that wasn't guaranteed to work to get away from them, but all he could really think about was Tori being so close. She was surprisingly warm, even though she was dressed in less. She smelled like honey. Her hair shined like gold in the streetlight. Messy curls was a good look for her.

They'd never been this close until now. They stayed as far away from each other as humanly possible, unless out. Then, they had to act like a happy couple, but at their shared home, Luke slept on the pull-out sofa. They rarely interacted, simply co-existing and skirting around each other, going about their respective jobs.

Standing there, adrenaline rushing through his veins, their breaths mingingly, so close he could feel the warmth of her body made him kind of regret not having taken up the opportunity to...act like a real couple when no one was watching. But that meant diffusing the animosity between them, and he wasn't sure that was going to happen.

Just as Tori spotted some of the men that were chasing them passing by, without really thinking about it, Luke reached up to caress Tori's face with one of his hands.

Tori blinked, startled, her brown eyes going to Luke.

"Luke, what—?" she started, but before she could finish he'd pressed his lips to hers.

Maybe she would've remembered that she hated him, if only because she was being forced to marry him. But his hand at her face was gentle. His arm that snaked around her waist and pulled her closer to deepen the kiss was firm and warm. His lips were a little chapped, but he was a good kisser. Before she knew it, she was curling one of her hands into his hair, the other arm wrapping around his neck to hold him to her.

And that was the first time they'd kissed each other, if you can believe that.

thanks for sending this in! it was fun to think abt, even if i had a little trouble deciding on my idea

[annarellix]

INVESTIGATOR Harlequin Series Summer Blog Tour: • TROUBLE IN BIG TIMBER by B.J. Daniels • COLD CASE TRUE CRIME by Denise N. Wheatley

I joined this blog tour as I like romantic suspense and this books are quite good as they are gripping and entertaining.

Trouble in Big Timber by B.J. Daniels

My Review: (5*) It's the first book I read by this author and thoroughly enjoyed it. It’s a gripping and entertaining romantic suspense, full of twists and turns. It kept me guessing and I liked how the romance part didn't interfere with the suspense. I rooted for the characters and I liked the slow burning romance. The author delivers a fast paced and tightly knitted story, there's plenty of twists and I was surprised till the end. Excellent character development, a solid mystery and a sweet romance. Highly recommended. Many thanks to Harlequin Intrigue and Netgalley for this ARC, all opinions are mine

Synopsis: He's back at Cardwell Ranch to find a killer. Ford Cardwell is shocked when his college crush calls him out of the blue—even more so when he hears a gunshot. But when he joins forces with medical examiner Henrietta "Hitch" Rogers, she makes him wonder if the random call was a setup—not a murder. Together, they'll need to discover the truth, but looking into the case will put them in the sights of a killer.

Buy links: Harlequin.com: https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335401762_trouble-in-big-timber.html Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Trouble-Big-Timber-Cardwell-Ranch-ebook/dp/B08P3MDF33 Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/trouble-in-big-timber-b-j-daniels/1138369418lishers%20LLC Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/trouble-in-big-timber/id1541839185 Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/B_J_Daniels_Trouble_in_Big_Timber?id=ciILEAAAQBAJ Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/trouble-in-big-timber

The Author: New York Times and USA Today bestselling author B.J. Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and three springer spaniels. When not writing, she quilts, boats and plays tennis. Contact her at www.bjdaniels.com or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/BJ-Daniels/127936587217837 or on twitter at bjdanielsauthor.

Social LInks Website: https://www.bjdaniels.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100058056520669 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/b.j.daniels/?hl=en Twitter: https://twitter.com/bjdanielsauthor Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/188611.B_J_Daniels

Cold Case True Crime by Denise N. Wheatley

My Review: (4*) This is a good romantic suspence, the plot the right mix of thriller and romance. I rooted for the the characters and appreciated the solid mystery that kept me guessing. The characters are well developed and I liked the chemistry, the mystery is full of twists and turns. It's an interesting story that i thoroughly enjoyed. Recommended. Many thanks to Harlequin Intrigue and Netgalley for this ARC, all opinions are mine

Synopsis: True crime is her beat. But this cold case is personal…

Samantha Vincent has turned her fascination with true crime into a popular blog. When an old friend asks her to investigate a murder the police couldn’t solve, she begins to suspect that the cops want this case to go cold. Sam is confident she’ll catch the killer when Detective Gregory Harris agrees to help her, but everything changes when she becomes a target…  

Buy Links Harlequin.com: https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781335489005_cold-case-true-crime.html Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cold-Case-Crime-Unsolved-Mystery-ebook/dp/B08SHXZNRS Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cold-case-true-crime-denise-n-wheatley/1138585931 Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/cold-case-true-crime/id1547974598 Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Denise_N_Wheatley_Cold_Case_True_Crime?id=me0SEAAAQBAJ Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cold-case-true-crime

The Author: Denise N. Wheatley loves happy endings and the art of storytelling. Her novels run the romance gamut, and she strives to pen entertaining books that embody matters of the heart. She's an RWA member and holds a B.A. in English from the University of Illinois. When Denise isn't writing, she enjoys watching true crime tv and chatting with readers. Follow her on Instagram: @denise_wheatley_writer Twitter: @DeniseWheatley BookBub: @denisenwheatley Goodreads: Denise N. Wheatley

Social Links: Website: https://www.denisenwheatley.com/p/i-am-lover-of-romance-happy-endings-and.html Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/denise_wheatley_writer/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/DeniseWheatley Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/denise-n-wheatley Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3118421.Denise_N_Wheatley