#my old broken ipad that had a better camera finally bit the dust
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Tai Sui compilation featuring doodles, a WIP, and some really rough initial character design thoughts
#these photos might be questionable quality because I'm currently down to just my phone camera rip#my old broken ipad that had a better camera finally bit the dust#anyway that inked Shiyong wip is like 9x12 lol#I'm working on colors for him now :)#tai sui#art#stellart#tai sui priest#WIP#sketch#xi ping#zhi xiu#wei chengxiang#jiangli#xi shiyong#zhi jingzhai#chen baishao#ID in alt text#I decided fully writing out all the text on the design pages would be more cumbersome than helpful for the image description#since there's a lot and it's barely legible in the photos anyway#but if anyone's actually curious I can transcribe everything under the cut or smth
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Artistic Instinct: Chapter 6
Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty
Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.
Word count: 6200 (yup, the words ran away from me!)
Warnings: Language, mention of death.
Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)
This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!
To an untrained eye, need and love are as easily mistaken for each other as the real master's painting and a forgery.
Deb Caletti
Chapter 6
A low lit room- more fitting of an old jail than an art lock up- surrounds you with cool air that tickles the tiny hairs on the back of your bare neck, as you bend over double, digging through the equipment in the abyss of your bag. A gap forms between the waist of your jeans and t-shirt, revealing the tiniest bit of the lace edging from your bra band- a tantalising fact that catches Marcusâ breath, alerting you to his presence, âHey, you ok?â you ask straightening up, âDid you find something?â
âYeah, uh sorry. Think I just had a bit of dust in my throat,â Marcus stammers, utterly thrown by that glimpse of your underwear, as he tries to clear his throat and remember the reason he was standing in front of you, âSo, uh, yeah, um- we found a couple of signatures from Paul Guillaume and Albert C Barnes- werenât they the guys we had to look out for?â
Looking over the papers with your cotton gloves still on, you pour over the shaping of the letters that made up the signatures of the possible previous owners, âI dunno. Iâm not convinced- the positioning of the letters seem odd- like a crude rendition of someoneâs signature. Almost like someoneâs faking their mumâs signature to get out of PE class. Only the thing is, you know the movement of your mumâs hand as she signs something because youâve watched her do it a million times before. Those signatures do not seem real to me, personally.â
Marcusâ eyebrows raise as he crosses his arms, desperately trying to hide the smile that was creeping across his face. âYou faked your momâs signature a lot?â
âPoacher turned gamekeeper,â Ălodie remarks as she crosses between the two of you, straightening your t-shirt up where it has caught upon the back of your jeans.
Marcus tries not to let his disappointment show. Calm down, Pike, youâre hardly a horny seventeen year old. But that was how you made him feel and certainly the uncomfortable pressure building in his jeans might prove otherwise.
âI donât think we will necessarily manage to get this solved today,â you begin, âThe section that Ălodie looked at dates it reasonably within the time period but those signatures are now tingling my spidey senses. Itâs probably going to need to be sent for further investigations at a proper lab. Iâm about to look at it using the stereomicroscope- do you want to have a look with me?â
Marcus nods eagerly, earning a grin from you, and you start setting up the pieces you need- ensuring that the video camera is linked to your iPad so Marcus can see everything you are looking at in real time along with you.
Marcus drifts closer to the painting. You havenât seemed to notice his closeness yet, and he half hopes you don't, as from where heâs standing the aromatically pleasing scent of your shampoo wafts dreamily from the dark shimmer of your hair.
âSo tell me more about this piece. I love listening to you speaking about art. You make it seem like Iâm looking over the artistâs shoulder as theyâre painting it.â Marcus remarks, smiling when he notices the flush creeping over your cheeks that his words bring.
Impressed by your decision to play into his words rather than focus on how awkward you feel at the compliment, he loves how you fan yourself and flutter your eyelashes at him, âMonsieur, you flatter me! Well, looking at this piece itâs not difficult to imagine that Soutine may have had a longstanding beef with food. Though he was fascinated by food and frequently painted these edible arrangements, this stands as one of his most memorable and dare I say, raw interpretations.â
At these terrible puns, Marcus pretends to drum, âBa da boom tish!â
âDo not encourage her!â Jacques shouts from the other side of the room where he is labeling the bags for the slide samples that Ălodie had been collecting, âOnce you acknowledge one pun, sheâll ensure that everything she says has one. Queen Nush of the dad jokes!â
âSo at the meat of Soutineâs obsession,â Marcus half-snorts, half-groans, intending to encourage you as you add, âYou find that a combination of not having anything to eat due to extreme poverty and using what food the family did have to practice Kosher traditions is largely to blame for his playing with his food rather than eating it.â
Marcus watches you flick through your phone so as not to interrupt the finally clear feed from the stereomicroscope focussing on how you bite your lip. You quickly google the Rembrandt that you want him to look at. âThe remains of this omnivorousâŠâ
âOh youâre still gonna continue with that theme, yeah?â Marcusâ feels his lips curve at your humour, shaking his head at the ridiculous word play.
âOh, I can keep this going all day,â you say with the cheekiest of winks, and Marcus hopes you will.
*****
âOmnivorous obsession,â you continue, âwas based on his adoration of Rembrandt whose 1655 Flayed Ox was frequently salivated over by Soutine on his regular visits to the Louvre. Rembrandtâs carcass is noted for its vivid colors but when compared to Soutineâs, which was coated almost daily with fresh buckets of blood by his assistant, Rembrandt seems downright dull. The smell of rotting beef and fresh blood became so oppressive that neighbours called the police, who almost threw away the fermenting flesh before, what I can only assume was the Frankenstein-esque assistant, shooed them away like so many flies covering a carcass.â
âAlways with the focus on the graphic elements of art,â Jacques calls out with a snort at your zombie-like impression before receiving a sharp nudge to his ribs to focus on the job Ălodie has asked him to complete.
âArt is just a reflection of the things that humanity finds interesting and what can be more interesting to a temporal being than their own mortality or that of the creatures and objects that surround it?â At this statement, you tug Marcusâ coat sleeve away from the piece to come and look at the feed you have set up for him, âCome on you, weâd better focus or Ălodie will have my guts for garters for not concentrating on what I should be doing!â
Marcus allows you to lead him over to a black metal folding chair to look at the feed, âSo what are we looking for, Mademoiselle Pathologist?â
âHah, did you just call her mademoiselle? Sheâs too old for that!â Ălodie shouts in your direction.
Refusing to respond verbally to Ălodieâs rudeness, you flick a finger up at her and turn back to Marcus, âMadame Pathologist will do- I am comfortable with my age. So what we are looking for are any bits of difficult to detect damage, fading, repairs and the ways paints and other coatings are distributed. Also if there are any strange fibres that we can spot using the double lens.â
Hovering the microscope over the bottom left hand corner, you start to scan the piece, âSo what weâre looking for are any irregularities that we might not have picked up on a first scan that Ălodie did to take the samples. The stereomicroscope helps us to understand the art in more 3D terms- so we can see something that generally looks flat becomes a landscape of hills and valleys.â
âWhyâve you chosen that corner to start?â Marcus probed inquisitively, wondering as to whether thereâs method in your madness.
âJust felt like it!â You shrug and snort at his look of mock horror. âNah, itâs where the signature is and âcos Iâm not sure about the signatures on those documents you found, I want to take a closer look at Soutineâs over here. Kinda feels like a sensible place to start.â Your eyes squint as you drink in the images in front of you, snapping up when you hear a small grunt of consternation from your boss, âHave you found something, Marcus?â
âThatâs weird. It kind of looks like the signature has been scratched into the art,â Marcus squints at the signature on the screen, reaching over to the table where the possible documents with Guillaume and Barnesâ scrawls lie, âAlso, I am not an expert in graphology but the letter e looks consistent across the three names- they all arch at the same point.â
âWaouh- thatâs a good catch,â Ălodie agrees, pulling Jacques with her to look over Marcusâ shoulder at the finds upon the feed.
Jacques escapes Ălodieâs clutch and starts to flit back and forth, checking between the painting and the feed with a mild look of confusion on his face, âThis is preposterous. Why have they done the signature in a different medium to the one used to paint it? Itâs almost like they want to be caught.â
âIt looks like it has been lacerated by a needle,â Marcus scratches at his patchy beard in astonishment, âSpot on Jacques, itâs like they canât even be bothered to hide their tracks.â
âOk, I think we may have found one of our fakes,â a smile slowly creeps across your face, âObviously, we canât be definite -there are still so many tests that need to be done but I donât think this is an original,â you shake your head with a half smile, âĂlodie, I think we need to organise for this to be couriered back to the labs.â
An excited squeal from Ălodie and a soft oof from Jacques puncture the cool air as she flies into his arms, squeezing him in sheer delight. As the pair embrace with joy, you and Marcus are left there- Marcus on the fold out chair, gripping the iPad tighter than necessary- I swear that man never quite knows what do with his hands- and you sitting cross legged on the floor with the stereomicroscope lying in your lap- grinning like idiots at each other.
âȘâȘâȘâȘâȘ
More coffee and cakes are devoured in the aftermath whilst you await a courier to come and pick up the likely forgery- you are not entirely sure that the blood in your body hasnât entirely transformed into sugar and caffeine at this point. After checking alongside Ălodie that the painting had been carefully loaded into a van, you sit next to her on the pavement outside the auction house.
âDo you know where Marcus and Jacques are?â you question as you sink onto the dusty ground next to her.
âYeah, theyâre inside taking an informal statement from the auction house owner before the local police quiz her properly,â Ălodie rests her temple to your shoulder, âToday has been wonderful. I really like Marcus - from what I have seen of him. I think this will be a good move for you.â
âI do miss having you here though. Today feels like the first time I have had both of my arms. Since you returned to London, it has felt like a part of me has been missing.â
Hauling a deep breath into your lungs to try to quell that gnawing ache in your belly, you turn to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, âI am sorry, El. To be honest, I donât even know where to start explaining what happened or even truly understand how everything fell apart so badly.â
The mountain wind decides to blow an icy gust that cuts through your clothes to the bones of you, âIt was a normal undercover job- weâd been watching the comings and goings of the gang from a inside a local greasy spoon for ages-just trying to get a clear idea of what their patterns of behaviour were and it just all went South so quickly.
âBeing a tiny caff on an industrial estate by the Thames, it was open 24 hours and the day it happened, it was during the middle of a night shift when the gang decided to up the ante. Theyâd obviously clocked that we werenât exactly who we said we were,â you snort softly at the memory, âI mean Jasâ accent was a bit sus for being a short order cook but still.
âThe gang openly marched the illegal immigrants out of the container and made them kneel in front of the caff as a lure to us, trying to get us to drop our cover. These fucking innocents just trying to find a better life and the evil fuckers just started executing them- one after the other. Jas just ran out there straight away- dropping his cover without any proper back up, a flak jacket or anything. His stupid, kind self trying to save at least one of them without a backward glance.
âI said the code word so we could have armed back up within minutes but I knew it wouldnât be there quickly enough,â your voice starts to falter as your throat tightens over the words.
âYou donât have to explain anything to me, chouchou,â Ălodie squeezes the thigh nearest to her.
âI know but I should tell someone, somewhen. Youâre probably one of the few who would understand.â
You pause, squeezing your eyes tight shut as you allow that stagnant, putrid box of memories to reopen, flooding your senses with the foul gangrenous smell of the past.
Having called in backup, you make the decision to slip out of the back door of the caff and run for cover behind the large communal bins. The incessant rain was giving zero sign of stopping and the noise was deafening as it bounced off the metal sides and drummed upon the tarmacked surface. You could barely hear the desperate negotiations that Jasper was trying to make for the lives of these poor, exploited humans.
From here, hiding amongst the shadows, you could catch the eye of one of the kneeling men and signal to him as to when he should try to make a run over to you. Heâd reached his little finger out to the person to his right to alert them to the plan. Achingly slowly, tiny gestures had passed down the line of five remaining fellows, from person to person, notifying them of your presence and how you were attempting to save them.
You counted them down and then screamed for them to run. Gunshots rang throughout the air as they made a break for the supposed safety of the bins by you as blue lights and sirens swirled, announcing their arrival between the shipping containers. You counted them as they ran for their lives past you.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
But the gunshotsâŠ
Jasper.
As you ran to your former partnerâs lifeless form, three more shots rang through the air, taking out the associates whoâd been ruthlessly gunning down their illegal chattel. Jasper lay there in the harsh headlight of the armed response unit car, his apron and chefâs jacket were no longer the starchy white that glowed under the strip lighting of the kitchen but his skin had taken on a similar pallid tone as his life force pooled around him, staining the oily surface with a bloody bloom. Knelt there with the grit from the floor biting into the skin of your knees, you held his head in your lap, stroking his cold cheek as a shadow cast across you both.
âHeâs gone, Nush.â
Tears course down your face in tiny rivulets and spill into Ălodieâs hair, âIf I had said yes at FourviĂšre. If I had accepted the position St Vincent had offered me, heâd still be here. He would still be here.â
After putting a hand on each cheek, Ălodie then taps you upon the nose making your red-rimmed, watery eyes look into hers, âYou didnât shoot the gun. You didnât kill him,â she says so matter of fact that you almost feel an inclination to believe her, âYou have to stop blaming yourself at some point.â
âHe made the decision to go out there without back up or any protection. If I remember correctly, it was Jasâ decision to head back to London too, effectively ending the freedom you had out here,â she adds gravely, âEveryone has to make decisions, Nush. Ours just tend to have more life or death outcomes and remember, the choice you made- you saved five people.
âAs for marrying him, you didnât want to and I donât know quite how to clearly say this but you donât have to marry someone because they ask you. Or because you think itâs the right thing to do. You saying no to him, had zero implications in how his life ended,â Ălodie smooths a tendril of hair that has escaped your plait behind your ear, âYour relationship didnât have a true balance because you spent so long trying to hide it- everything feels so much more amplified if you are constantly watching your coattails.â
Rubbing the exhaustion from the onslaught of emotions from your eyes, you turn to face Ălodie, âWhat if thatâs it? What if that was my chance of happiness?â
âOkay so youâre now fully in the ridiculous territory, idiot! So bloody naive,â Ălodie rolls her eyes and slaps your knee, â Thereâs no one person out there- nobody is perfect for you. There are just people who enter your life at different times and there is a certain compatibilityâŠâ
âLike you might want to jump their bones,â you giggle through the snot.
âYep, that definitely helps! But after a while, other stuff comes up and again, you have to make those decisions whether you want to move to the next one or work at the relationship you have,â Ălodie says frankly, â Your first proper grown up relationship wasnât ever truly allowed to develop into something normal and healthy but please donât ever think for a second that is all you deserve or will ever get.â
âMore happened than just Jasperâs death,â you confide in your ally.
âI know sweetheart. You tell me when you are ready,â Ălodie pats your leg, âYou will always have Jacques and I here for you. And I reckon Pierre would take you back in a heartbeat if you ever need to escape Marcus, not that I think you will.â You feel a little confused by Ălodieâs last statement but donât have time to swell upon it as the door to the auction house swings open.
Noticing two figures- one wiry and talking rapidly with his hands, the other broad and showing great interest in what the other has to say- walking towards you, you offer Ălodie a hand up from your pavement seat. You feel a gentle hand brushing over your bottom and crane your neck to see who it belongs to, âWell, Iâd hate for you to make my car any dirtier,â Ălodie winks at you.
âȘâȘâȘâȘâȘ
The trip back to Lyon didnât allow for any more rest for tired eyes against cool car windows. Excited chatter filled the car as between the four of you, you were all busily beavering away from making shouted calls to the science laboratories in Interpol- calling in favours to get your samples tested first- to fingers tapping on screens, flinging emails back to offices trying to inform everyone who needed to know. Although the journey was far longer, it felt as though five minutes had passed from the moment youâd left the auction house- the exhaustion from your disclosure to Ălodie giving way to the adrenaline pumping through your veins with the excitement of having found a piece of the puzzle.
Jacques quickly parks in the Interpol car park, where you all pile out of the car, heading back towards the offices. As you walk together, you hear Marcus answer the phone to Andy back in London, filling him in on the events of the day- thankfully leaving out the parts where heâd talked you through a panic attack or accidentally held hands with him.
You didnât need anyone else in the London offices thinking you were unprofessional. There were enough of those already.
Marcus. So much of the fear has ebbed away about the new role, and in such little time, thanks to your new boss. This straight-speaking American, who makes you speak up and want to stand up a bit taller. For the first time in what felt like forever, work doesnât feel like a chore to pay the bills for a small, damp flat in South London. It isnât so much the work as you know that like the back of your hand- it was that feeling of appreciation.
That feeling that someone sees what you can offer and values your contributions- not just as some rookie in an established office but as an equal. You know you are lucky- you get to use all the knowledge from your art history degree (oh how your family had groaned in consternation- doctor or lawyer- those were the proper options. Yâknow, a proper career path not something seen as being so wishy-washy) and use it to protect the beauty of art from the shadier underbelly. Not that you could ever explain that part to your mum or her sisters, who just thought you were in some IT job with ridiculous hours.
In fact, it was the first time. Youâd worked your way up from being a rookie with Stephens and although you'd got to work in a field with which you had a borderline obsession, you were still always seen as the new kid, even though others came and went after youâd joined and that got a bit wearing, especially when youâd hit your thirties and as you edged ever closer to your forties, it had bordered on the ridiculous.
But Marcus. He didnât just listen to what you had to say, he positively encouraged you to speak- never expecting you to hold your tongue or wait for the âgrown upsâ to stop talking.
âHey, Earth to Anushka,â those ridiculously warm eyes try to call your attention into focus.
âSorry, heard you on the phone to Andy and took the opportunity to disappear with my thoughts for a bit. Itâs been a bit of a day, hasnât it?â you mutter as the knuckles of your hands almost rub holes in your eye sockets.
âYeah, I thought weâd find zip on our first check as a team but that was something else,â Marcus nods, pouting his lips in thought, âI honestly thought it was an authentic piece when I found those signatures- just shows how careful we have to be with these crooks.
âYou look about ready to collapse- that sleep on the way over, not help? I was about to ask if you fancied grabbing some dinner together but youâre dead on your feet.â
âDidnât really get much sleep last night. Was kind of dreading what today would bring but,â your hand extends to squeeze Marcusâ forearm, âBut youâve made today far less painful than it could have been.â You feel a warmth creep through you, blooming from the spot where Marcus has placed his hand on top of yours, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles upon your skin.
âHow about a slow walk back to the hotel, we grab some pizza on the way back and sit and watch Sharknado 4 this evening?â you suggest, still not removing your hand from his arm, âI need to eat something other than breakfast pastries today.â
âHmmm, I would say that dinner is the best time for breakfast food but yeah, probably best that we find something a bit more substantial,â Marcus relents reluctantly like a petulant child as Ălodie and Jacques turn towards you both.
âOh, why the sad eyes, Marcus? Has she been mean to you? â Ălodie teases, âWe have contacts- we can make her disappearâŠâ
Jacques shoots you a despairing look from under his arched eyebrow. The aching sadness returns in your tummy- youâve missed them so much and missed out on so many special moments with them, âOof, hey Nush! This isnât goodbye- no matter the threats Ălodie makes upon your life!â
Ălodie leans in to sandwich you between the pair of them, âNo, Marcus has given me your phone number and your email address- and he has promised me that even if you donât respond to my communications, that he will send regular updates.â You look over at Marcus, who sends you a sheepish grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders, flashing that goddamn dimple in his right cheek.
âĂlodie, are you going upstairs to get everything ready?â Jacques questions his wife, â Thereâs only twenty minutes before I need to pick up Xavier from my parents so Iâd probably better head off. Can you grab a taxi home afterwards? Nush, I love you and I will see you soon.
âMarcus, it has been a pleasure. I will ensure that all the details are shared with you in London. Letâs keep the lines of communication open between us, oui?â A firm handshake was not the only thing to pass between the men, as Jacques pats Marcus on the back and they wordlessly share a thought, Marcusâ eyes flickering back to you with a small smile.
âCome on, letâs find food and a film before we collapse,â Marcus beckons you towards him with a wave back to Ălodie and Jacques before they head off in their respective directions, Ălodieâs hand stroking yours as she walks away.
âȘâȘâȘâȘâȘ
Half an hour later, you find yourself standing barefoot outside Marcusâ hotel room door, oddly nervous about knocking. Your hair hangs in waves around your shoulders, still holding some of the twisted kinks that the plaits you wore it in had formed over the course of the day, face scrubbed but you are second guessing your choice of wearing pjs to your new bossâ room. Not that they were in any way indecent- just a good old pair of cotton jammies from M&S and youâd kept your bra on underneath, because not even the worst war criminal deserves to be tortured by the sight of you with your bra off. Just as you were about to head back for a hoodie to perhaps offer an ounce more decency, the door swung open and a slightly surprised look adorns Marcusâ face.
âHey, I was just about to check where you were. Pizzaâs getting cold and you should probably have something warm in your belly that isnât coffee today!â
âOh, I was just going to swing back to my room for a hoodie,â you awkwardly mutter in the direction of the deliciously soft looking man, wearing grey joggers and a white t-shirt in front of you.
A small pout crosses Marcusâ lips, âCome on, if youâre chilly, the pizzaâll warm you up but if youâre still cold after eating, you can grab one of mine- that is if it doesnât make you uncomfortable,â he checks by lowering his eyes and gently lifting your chin.
Deciding not to keep the pizza waiting, you nod and shuffle past Marcus, the plush carpet deliciously soft underfoot, âI havenât forgotten that we were halfway through a conversation this morning when El and Jacques arrived to pick us up. You want to tell me why you donât feel like you are where you feel you should be?â you donât look at Marcus as you ask him, picking the olives off the top of your pizza.
âI thought you said you like olives?â Marcus questions confusedly as he grabs a slice himself.
âOh I do, but Iâll eat them afterwards as I like to savour them by themselves,â you giggle at your weird pizza eating habits, âWas that a wish to evade the question? Would you prefer to put on a film?â
âHah, no! Youâre full of quirks, yâknow? Itâs cute,â he mumbles through a mouthful of food.
âCute?â you raise an eyebrow at this affectionate comment, âEh, I dunno. I donât think you can get to almost forty without embracing your quirks at some point.â
âI just hoped that by this point Iâd be married with 2.4 kids, a dog and a nice house. Yâknow, settled- never taking it for granted, obviously but comfortable with a family,â thereâs a flicker of pain that passes through Marcusâ eyes as he speaks and it cuts through you like a knife.
âHow on Earth are you not in a long term relationship with a lucky person? From what youâve shown me over the past two days, youâre kind, considerate and thoughtful- although you should never tease a woman about her supposed snoring,â you pull an ugly face at him, sticking your tongue out and wrinkling your nose to diffuse the tension in his forehead, forcing him to laugh.
âOh, I was married once and had long term relationships but neither worked out, sadly,â Marcus shrugs, focussing intently on his next pizza slice, âCanât the same thing be said about you? Youâre a beautiful, funny and intelligent woman and although you are a menace to yourself and those around you with a coffee cup in your hands, I donât get why you havenât been snapped up.â
Grabbing the pizza box and Marcusâ hand- pulling them both towards your room, you say, âCome with me.â
Thrusting the pizza box towards his hands, you put the keycard in the door and the light flickers to green. Guiding Marcus by the food container through the room to the balcony, you swing the French doors open to be greeted by a stiff Alpine air and the twinkling lights of Lyon spreading towards you.
âAs you know from today, I was here in Lyon before. My partner and I were seconded here to work alongside Interpol on an art smuggling case- thatâs how I knew El, Jacques, Pierre and everyone else from this morningâs meeting. We werenât just work partners, weâd been hiding a romantic relationship for just over a decade in London as we knew that our supervisors wouldnât allow us to continue to work together,â you clear your throat and see a flash of concern from Marcus seeing how much your hands were trembling.
He reaches for your hand with the lightest of touches grazing your ring and little fingers but not letting go.
Drawing a deep breath, you continue, âYou see the beautiful cathedral up there- Fourviere?â you catch Marcus giving a gentle nod as he looks in the direction of your hand, the one heâs not holding, âJasper asked me to marry him up there. And I, um⊠I said no.â Your eyes guiltily shift to the left after owning up to your shoddy track record.
âI mean, I did love him but I couldnât offer him what he wanted or needed from life or from me. Weâd hidden too long in the shadows and the thought of trying to explain everything to our families, to our friends, to our workplace was just too overwhelming. I had a lot more to lose than him.
âAs you said earlier, our work is very much an old boys network and as a mixed race woman against a white man- whoâd got his position due to a bit of nepotism as his uncle was our London boss- I stood to lose so much more. I have always had to work harder and to be a more impressive candidate to be taken as seriously as any white man in the room.â
âHad we returned to London as a married couple, there would have been so many unspoken questions about when we would think about having babies so thereâd never be a chance of going any higher for me. And although seeing El and Jacques today- they have it so balanced. El was telling me that they split her maternity leave equally and that even now their baby is one, they have flexi working times so although they have such a little one and such intense jobs, they can still be there for bedtimes and neither of them be sidelined. But I know thatâs not how it would have worked with us. Jas would have worked full time and I would have been a simmering pot of resentment.â
You notice that despite your confession that Marcus still hasnât stopped holding your hand and regardless of the evening chill, warmth spreads through you at the thought that you havenât entirely repulsed him with your actions.
âWhere is he now? DId he ask for a transfer when you headed back?â Marcus gently questions.
âHe took the ultimate transfer. We were working together undercover and he was shot multiple times trying to save some people from being murdered,â with a small shrug, you take your hand back from Marcus despite the comfort it is bringing you and cover your face. As you do so, he pulls you towards him, holding you tightly into his chest, resting his chin on top of your head.
With a gentle push back from his broad chest but without leaving his arms completely, you tilt your face up at him, âIn fact, other than Jasâ death the bitterest pill was me being transferred out of the department. As you can probably imagine, a lot of shit went down after that night and a lot of the blame from it was laid at my door. Whilst it was all happening, I wasnât allowed to have any contact with work colleagues and of course, your family can only know so much of whatâs going on when you follow our line of work.
âSo, I spent eight months in a stupid kind of limbo- being paid full whack whilst sitting at home, mourning a man who Iâd been with for a quarter of my life but didnât want to marry.â Shaking your head slowly, you continue, âThatâs why I was a bit of a mess today- I kind of dreaded seeing everyone and how they might blame me for everything that happened with Jas.â
âShit, Iâm sorry sweetheart,â with that affectionate nickname confidently trickling from Marcusâ lips, you look up and smile broadly at him, âI am sorry that you went through all that. I have to be honest, as I am a terrible liar- there is a part of me that is glad that our paths have overlapped- I just wish it could be under happier circumstances.â
âNo,â you pat him upon his chest, âYou donât get to our age without some kind of baggage and in our occupation, itâs hard for most people to understand our commitment to our job.â
âHah, you can say that again- thatâs what ended my marriage. That and her new partner,â you scrunch your face in consideration of Marcusâ pain, your thumbs rubbing back and forth, âAnd the failed engagement is what brought me to London- kept seeing her and the man she left me for around the DC offices.â
âLetâs go toast to those ghosts and our converging paths with what will be now a very warm bottle of white wine and cold pizza,â with eyes widening in amusement you smile at him, your hands still on his chest and his hands on your back, âBut indoors as it is fucking freezing out here, no matter how pretty it is.â
âAgreed,â Marcus chuckles deeply, moving his hands to rub some warmth back into your arms.
âJust going to grab a hoodie,â you call over your shoulder as you go back into your bedroom. As you rummage through your bag, you miss the flicker of disappointment on Marcusâs face that he wouldnât get to smell your perfume on his clothes.
âȘâȘâȘâȘâȘ
âHey,â that beautifully soft baritone meltingly drifted up from the sofa in Marcusâ room, âComfy now? I hope you donât mind but I chose Casablanca instead of Sharknado 4.â
As you cross the floor in socked feet to try and thaw them out from your balcony adventure, you shake your head with a lopsided smile, âNot ok,â but to put Marcusâ raised eyebrow at ease, you add, âItâs my favourite - but youâd better have tissues at the ready as it will make me a snotty mess.â
âAlready prepared,â he holds a tissue box aloft, âIt does the same to me too.â
Instead of sitting at the other end of the sofa, you grab a glass of wine from the table and slide into Marcusâ side- half sitting up, half leaning against him. He reaches over, pulling your head onto his shoulder, stroking your hair away from your face and there you stay, comfortably curled into his side. Not for the hour and three quarters of the film, but until rays of spring sunshine filter through the blinds the following morning.
Tag list of glory: If youâd like to be added or dropped from the tag list or have any thoughts, thots or suggestions, please do get in touch! I donât bite hard đ„°
@astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @tardisfangurl @zukoyonce @absurdthirst @green-socks @pedropascalito @disgruntledspacedad @mouthymandalorian @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys
#josĂ© pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascalïżŒ#ppascaledit#the mentalist#the mentalist fanfic#marcus pike#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike x oc reader
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Rekindled Sparks: Chapter 1
((After months and months, finally the first chapter of my first fanfiction is here! I hope you guys like it, and thanks to @transformersimagines and @yourbesttrashcan for helping bring this to life! And please keep in mind, this is my first fanfiction ever, so it might not be the best thing ever. anyway, On to the fic!))
In the back of a Nesterfield High School Bus, a girl in a red dress and pink sweatpants put on her wireless headphones. Sheâs the first one on the bus, and she barely notices as other students slowly filled in the other seats. Her slightly overstuffed backpack sat beside her, blocking the aisle and shielding her from unwanted people sitting beside her. She unzips her backpack and pulls out her Ipad, Undoing the hard plastic covering around the front that protected the touch screen. With all students boarded, the bus starts up with a shudder and heads away from the school as she flicks up the protector and folds it onto the back. A quick press of the home button awakened the device from sleep mode and revealed numerous missed video chat notifications, all from within the past 4 minutes. She smiled lightly and unlocked it with her passcode just as another video chat request came in. She hit the âAnswerâ button, a video feed of another girl with short blond hair and a spring green hoodie appeared on the screen. The other girl wore a pair of frog themed headphones and an impatient but playful pout on her face
âAmeliaaaaaa!â She whined âWhere have you been!? Iâve been calling for AGES!!!!âÂ
Amelia let a small chuckle escape her lips âSorry Chloe, I had to finish some homework. Hopefully you weren't too torn about my absence.âÂ
âDon't worry! I know how important your grades and all that stuff are to you! The great, responsible smartypants!!!â She struck a mock stoic pose before returning to her usual gleeful demeanor âSo how was your day?âÂ
Amelia shrugged âPretty good. Nothing too extraordinaryâŠHer face brightened all the sudden âOh! That reminds meâŠâ She went into her backpack again and rummaged through the contents âI got something in robotics that I wanted to show youâŠAh! Here it is!â She pulled out a crumpled piece of pink paper with big bold letters on the top. She held it up to the camera so her friend on the other end could read it.Â
Chloe leaned a little closer so she could get a better look at the screen. âSparkâs 10th Annual Teen Robotics CompetitionâŠOpen to ages 13-19âŠ.. Oooh! $200 cash prize! That sounds pretty neat! Iâm guessing youâll be entering?âÂ
She nodded and folded up the paper before pocketing it. âProbably! Iâve yet to get my motherâs permission to participate, but seeing as how excited she is about my interest in machines, Itâs a near certainty. However, if Iâm going to succeed, It would probably be best for me to work with a partnerâŠâÂ
Chloe smiled a little bit, âAre you asking me to be your partner?âÂ
âWell, the paper does say they allow tag teams, and you are better at writing reports than meâŠâ She mused aloud âand seeing as how weâve worked on many different things like this, we could make an amazing team! How about it? We could even split the prize money if we win!â
âYou had me at âtag teamsâ! Iâm IN!â Chloeâs eyes lit up excitedly âWhenâre we going to start?âÂ
âGreat! Iâve already got an idea drawn out so, all we need to do is-âÂ
âAmelia, your stop.â A kid sitting behind her leaned forward to poke her shoulder and get her attention
âHm? Oh! Right! Thank you!â She zipped up her backpack and slipped it on before picking up the tablet and saying one final thing as she walked off the bus âListen, I gotta get off now but meet me at the entrance to the pine woods near my house in 30 minutes, Iâm sure we can find the parts we need in there!â
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The metal detector let out a series of soft, steady beeps as the two girls walked deeper into the woods. The sound of the items in their âadventure backpacksâ and the soft sound of grass and leaves beneath their feet were the only other sounds (besides the metal detector) that they could hear. Chloe started to hum as she walked behind Amelia, who had her eyes glued to the small display on the device. The tall, towering pine trees didnât drop many needles at this time of year, so there wasnât much they could possibly trip or slip on.Â
Chloe looked forwards towards her friend, âSo⊠What exactly are we looking for out here?â She pondered aloud âI know weâre looking for parts to use for our project⊠But why are we looking in the woods of all places?âÂ
Amelia kept her eyes on the machine as she listed off her explanations âOne, junkyards donât allow in kids below 18, Two, If weâre going to building a search and rescue robot like we agreed, Itâll need a dynamic but durable frame that can withstand fire and rustingâ The two walked around a rock, the beeping slowly getting louder and faster paced as they walked. âThe perfect candidate for this would be the steering axle from a 1969 Pontiac hardtop lemans. It has just the right length and density for-â She looked back at Chloe when she stopped hearing footsteps behind her. Chloe stood there, a bewildered expression on her face, not really comprehending what she was saying. Amelia sighed âThereâs an old car graveyard somewhere near here that has a car in it with a part we need for the robot.âÂ
Comprehension dawned on her face âOooooh. Okay!â She jogged to catch up with her friend, who had turned her attention back to the metal detector âWhat does the car look like?â She chirped.
 âIt should be a faded yellow, probably with some ru-huh?â Amelia stopped dead in her tracks. The metal detector had started beeping wildly and making noises that she was pretty sure a metal detector shouldnât make. âHm? Whatâs up?â Chloe peeked over her shoulder to see what was happening as she swiveled it around, the noise getting louder and softer when she pointed it in certain directions. She followed the sound, the noises getting louder and more distorted until the tip of the thing âclanked against something in the ground. âChloe can you hold this?â She knelt down and held out the metal detector for her blonde companion to take. Chloe obliged, taking it and hugging it close to her as Amelia used her right hand to brush away dirt from what was revealed to be a large, thick red metal plate. She brushed away the rest of the dirt from around it, picking it up carefully and blowing on it to remove any excess dust. She held it up to see it in the sunlight, also allowing Chloe to see what it was
âWoahâŠ. Itâs aâŠ. Metal thingy!â She remarkedÂ
âToo small to be a door⊠Too big for a gas cover⊠No rustâŠâ Amelia said quietly to herself as she examined the metal plating she had found. She tilted her ear towards it and gave it two taps with her knuckles. âDoesnât sound quite like steelâŠ.â As she continued to puzzle over the thing, Chloe looked up and noticed something a few feet away from them.Â
âHey, look!â She tapped her shoulder and pointed towards a trail of slightly charred similarly colored metal scraps that led off further into the woods. The girl who had been kneeling on the ground stood up, letting the piece of metal she had been holding drop to the ground. She stared blankly at the trail before snatching the metal detector out of Chloeâs hands and taking off, following the trail.
âWha-â Chloe made a surprised noise and snatched up the metal piece Amelia had dropped. She stashed it in her backpack quickly before yelling out âA-Amelia! Wait for me!â and sprinting as fast as she could after her surprisingly speedy friend who was already a good couple yards away from her.
The backpack on Ameliaâs back was heavy, but the adrenaline rush she was feeling and unrelenting curiosity kept her speeding forward. Chasing the sci-fi cookie crumb trail that fate had set before her. She had to find out what this was. She swerved around trees, hopped over rocks, using the metal detector to keep her on the right track when she couldnât see the trail anymore. Chloe followed a few feet behind her, Taking the exact same route her friend did but shouted
âWait for me!!â or something to the same effect every few minutes. She couldnât understand how she was going so fast! Chloe had always been more physically fit than her! And while Amelia didnât have terrible health, She was most certainly not a sports person. The only exercise she did were occasional walks outside when she needed to clear her head after getting frustrated or when Chloe dragged her over to the local park to catch bugs for her self-sustaining greenhouse, so this was unexpected!
Luckily, she soon came to a halt, allowing Chloe, almost out of breath and extremely tired, to catch up to her. As soon as she got close, she opened her mouth to sass her friend about leaving her behind and how theyâre supposed to be a pair when she looked towards where Amelia was looking, and all the words simply vanished from her mind. In the center of a decently sized shallow crater was what appeared to be a huge, metal, head. The two stood motionless on the edge, silent, staring in awe and slight fear at what they were seeing.
Their pause was broken when Amelia said âIâm going to get a closer lookâ And walked over the edge of the crater, sliding down towards the strange thing. Chloe, never one to miss out on the action, followed after her. They soon reached the bottom of the crater and came face to face (quite literally) with the giant head, allowing them to get a better look at it.
The head was about 5ft tall, a little shorter than Amelia who stood at 5â4â, and, as they had seen at the top of the crater, entirely made of metal. Most of the cranium was covered with bright red plating that matched the color of the piece they found before, except for the face and horns. Yes, this thing had horns. Or was supposed to have horns, since one of the sharp, silvery metal protrusions appeared to have been broken off somehow. The face was made of a silvery alloy, similar in color to the horns. The features of the face, which included everything except a nose, were twisted in a gape-mouthed look of savage and primal rage that scared Chloe a little bit, exemplified by the immense amounts of scratching and burn marks all over the head itself. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
âItâs so lifelikeâŠ.â Chloe said as she knelt down in front of the face to get a better look at it, âWho do you think made it?âÂ
âDunnoâŠâ Amelia replied, an amazed daze clouding her voice. She walked around the head, running her fingers along the red surface of the cool, dirty metal. The air around them seemed to buzz with energy, like someone had dispersed static into the air around them. Once Amelia reached where her friend was crouching Chloe got up and looked at her,
âSo⊠What do we do now?â she asked.
Amelia looked her in the eyes, burning curiousity and excitement lighting them up like sparklers âChloe, I think weâve just found our project for the robotics fair!~â She beamed, putting an arm around her and sweeping her other arm towards the head. âNow, help me get this thing back to my workshopâ She ran to one side of the head, grabbing near the bottom and waiting for Chloe.
Chloe gave one unsure look to the face of their find before shaking the thought out of her head, âRighty-o!â she chirped, going to the side paralell to Amelia and helping her lift it. After all, It was just another robot thing-a-ma-jig! Another doohickey they found and worked together to restore. Sure it looked weird, but they were just two teens from Nebraska! They wouldnât be the ones to do anything specialâŠ..
Right?
#tfp#Transformers Prime#tfp cliffjumper#team prime#fanfiction#Rekindled sparks#will probably put this on Ao3#please tell me what you guys think of it!
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