#need to darken his pants since I think it looks too bright on mobile

[lord-prey]

I forgot to post he

[brittanythescrivener]

Behind Trinity Lines - Chapter Three: Welcome to the Jungle

Tags: @embracetranquilityson, @eintausendschoen, @roxlovescommanderourke4ever

Cozumel, Mexico

 It was early afternoon when Lara and Jonah arrived in Cozumel. The sun was shining, and the sky was bright blue with fluffy, white clouds. On the way into the village, Lara couldn’t help but marvel at the stunning scenery. White sandy beaches, turquoise blue waters, and vibrant green foliage surrounded them. Lara promised herself that once her business with Trinity was finally done she would take some time to just relax and enjoy life. She’d never been to Mexico before, but she already found herself quite fond of it.

“Where are we meeting your contact, Jonah?” Lara asked as the taxi came to a halt.

“A little place called La Casa Mexicana,” Jonah said. “I know the chef there.”

“Didn’t you eat on the plane?” Lara joked.

They exited the taxi, and Jonah led Lara toward a deserted courtyard. Lara immediately saw the darkened neon lights on the building ahead of them. La Casa Mexicana.

“There it is,” she said. “Let’s go.”

They were seated in a corner on the upstairs balcony overlooking the courtyard. They had only just ordered a round of drinks when Lara saw a short, heavily-built man in an apron and a ball cap approaching them.

“¡Oye, Jonah!” he called. “¿Cómo estás?”

Jonah stood and shook the man’s hand. “Lara, this is Hector Riviera.”

Hector joined them at the table, barely acknowledging Lara’s presence. She didn’t mind—she wasn’t exactly a people person anyway.

“You have some info for us?” Jonah asked.

“Dr. Dominguez has been searching for the entrance to a temple here for many years,” Hector said. “I think they are getting close. They have been bringing in more and more reinforcements.”

“Dr. Dominguez is here in Cozumel?” Lara asked. The name was familiar. She’d seen it in her father’s journals; they’d been friends before his death.

“No, I hear he is in Brazil right now. The man has fingers in many pies. The one in charge here is named Rourke. I’ve only seen him a handful of times, but he is a real pendejo.”

“So what is so important about this temple?” Lara asked.

Hector shrugged. “We do not know. Everything is very hush-hush.”

“Can you get us into the digs?” Jonah asked.

“Jonah, my friend, Dr. Dominguez and his men have been a great help to the people of this village, but they are not messing around. You need to be careful," Hector said.  “All I can do is give you the locations." 

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Lara asked.

“I’ve had eyes on the dig closer to the city. I think that’s where their base camp is. I thought I had the front gate guard’s schedule down to a science, but they stuck a new guy up there today. A big guy with a creepy, scarred up face. Looks like he wants to strangle everyone he looks at.”

Jonah laughed. “Sounds about like Konstantin, doesn’t it, Lara?”

A wave of unease washed over Lara. She didn’t want to admit that the thought had already crossed her mind.

“I should get back to the kitchen,” Hector said. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it down onto the table. “I’ve written down the locations of all the dig sites. Good luck, my friends.”

Lara watched Hector leave the table, and she stared down at the bottle of beer a waitress had just placed in front of her.

“Something bothering you?” Jonah asked.

“What if Konstantin is here, Jonah?” Lara asked quietly.

“Don’t you trust him?” Jonah asked.

“I—I don’t know,” Lara muttered. “I want to trust him, but I’m not sure that I can.”

Jonah shrugged. “If he is here, there’s not much we can do about it . . . is there?”

Lara sighed. “I guess not.”

Jonah patted Lara’s shoulder and said, “Then don’t worry about it unless you have reason to. Let’s go back to the hotel and catch some sleep, and we’ll start checking out those dig sites tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” she said. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and said, “I’ll be right up.”

Lara unlocked her phone and started composing a message. K, we made it to Cozumel. Trinity is here in full force.

She sent the message and waited for the delivery notification, but it didn’t appear. Either his phone was off, or he was out of range. Konstantin always had his phone on, so Lara was once again hit with a wave of unease. If he really was there in Cozumel, she would find out sooner or later.

 *                    *                    *

  Trinity Base

Mobile, Alabama

 Commander Rourke wandered across the airplane hangar with his hands stuffed in his pockets. They were set to leave for Mexico in a matter of minutes, and he was waiting for the rest of the team to board the chopper idling outside.

The night before, for the first time in almost three years, Rourke slept in his own house in his own bed, and it felt damn good. He had never considered himself to be much of a homebody—sometimes he had trouble remembering what home was even like—but he decided that at that point in his life, at thirty-seven years old, putting down roots was sounding better and better.

His patience with Dr. Dominguez was growing thin. Dominguez had sent him on a wild goose chase all over Central and South America since the botched mission to find the Divine Source, and after almost a decade in the Special Forces, he was growing weary with living out of a duffel bag. He was always moving around, living somewhere new with new, unfamiliar people.

Rourke thought of his family back in Providence. He hadn’t seen or spoken to them in nearly ten years. He had long been seen as the black sheep of the picture-perfect Rourke family, but he was virtually disowned and disinherited when he decided to leave the Army to join the ranks of Trinity.

Trinity had changed everything for Rourke. He was respected, even revered, for his accomplishments and was put in a position where he could use his talents and experience accordingly. He didn’t have anyone to impress or satisfy. He was able to create an identity for himself that he was pleased with.

He watched from afar as Jo entered the hangar cautiously. She too was dressed in Trinity’s standard-issue hot weather uniform. Despite the masculine cut of the combat fatigues she wore, she looked incredible. Her shirt was casually unbuttoned, and Rourke could see the tiny gold cross necklace she’d worn for as long as he could remember.

Her saw her face go white the moment she laid eyes on the black utility helicopter nicknamed Cardinal Two. He felt bad for a moment; she’d told him over a year ago that she was done with Trinity, and he pulled her back in despite everything that had gone on in Siberia.

When Rourke finally boarded the chopper and gave the order to move out, he sat down in the empty seat beside Jo. As they prepared for take off, he heard her draw in a deep breath as she stared at the seat directly in front of her.

“You okay?” Rourke asked as he buckled himself into his seat. He knew she wasn’t.

Jo shook her head. “The last time I was on one of these birds . . . it was crashing.”

She pulled her duffel into her lap and fished around inside it until she found a bottle of pills. She popped one into her mouth and clenched her eyes shut.

“What are those?” Rourke asked with concern.

“Benzos,” Jo muttered. “How long is this flight?”

“About four hours,” Rourke said.

“Fuck,” she said under her breath. “Jesus Christ, why did I agree to this?” Jo said.

Rourke reached toward her and offered her his hand.

Jo ignored his gesture and said, “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.”

She was clearly not fine.

The cabin rocked slightly as the chopper ascended, and Jo drew in a sharp breath. She grabbed Rourke’s still outstretched hand and clenched her eyes shut.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Rourke said.

Jo squeezed his hand tightly and said, “I will be so happy when this thing lands.”

“Jo, look at me,” Rourke said earnestly.

Jo slowly opened her eyes and turned to face him.

“You’re safe,” he reassured. “You’re not alone.”

Jo nodded her head slowly and turned her attention back onto the empty seat across from her.

“Hey,” Rourke said, “do me a favor and don’t throw up in my lap this trip.”

Jo groaned. “I’d almost forgotten about that. Thanks for reminding me.”

Rourke laughed softly. “No problem.”

“So what are we doing in Cozumel?” Jo asked, her voice still trembling.

“Dr. Dominguez is running a few digs on the island.”

“Dr. Dominguez?” Jo asked with surprise. “So this must be a pretty big deal for you and him both to be running things.”

Rourke sighed and rubbed his beard with his free hand. “Honestly, Jo? There aren’t many of us left. Croft has been a busy little bitch the past year.”

Rourke felt Jo bristle next to him at the mere mention of her name.

“So is that why you called me, too? Because there was no one else left?”

“No,” Rourke said. “I wanted you back.”

Jo met his eyes again.

“We used to be so close, and then with the Army and med school, we lost a lot of time.”

Jo gave him a small smile. “I see what you’re saying—in your long, convoluted way of putting it. I’ve missed you too.”

Rourke smiled to himself as Jo turned away from him again.

Jo closed her eyes and finally let herself relax in her seat. “So I hope this assignment is like 95% working on my tan and 5% actually treating patients.”

“I hope so, too,” Rourke said a little uneasily.

He knew that once they arrived in Cozumel Croft wouldn’t be far behind.

 *                    *                    *

  Cozumel, Mexico

 Konstantin shielded his eyes from the scorching sun and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He was wearing heavy cargo pants and a tactical vest—far too many layers for the current weather in Mexico. He had only just arrived a few hours before, and he already didn’t appreciate being volunteered for watch in an open area during the hottest time of day. He supposed Rourke was punishing him by giving him all the duties no one else wanted to make some sort of an example out of him.

He was starting to get lightheaded from the heat, so he stripped off the vest, tossing it to the ground. Getting shot at that point would’ve been sweet relief from the damn heat. He rolled up his sleeves and wiped his face again. He sighed with irritation as he glanced down at his watch. He only had an hour left until someone else came to relieve him.

Konstantin was scanning the treeline, looking for anything interesting, when he heard footsteps approaching him. He turned to see a tall, very tan, and very well-groomed man in an officer’s uniform. His eyes dropped to the name patch on his chest. Winters.

Winters shielded his eyes from the sun and said, “Commander Rourke sent me to tell you that your backup got detained, so you’re going to have to stick it out a few more hours.”

Konstantin clenched his jaw and said, “Yes, sir.”

Winters smirked at him and said, “You got a problem with that, Miller?”

“No problem at all, Winters,” Konstantin said through gritted teeth.

“It’s Commander Winters,” he said smugly. “So I guess you won’t mind pulling a double, then?”

“Even better,” Konstantin said. He tightened his grip on his rifle to keep himself from taking a swing at him.

Winters’ radio crackled. “This is Rourke. Winters, I want all dig sites rigged with explosives. I don’t want anyone getting inside unless they’re supposed to be in there.”

Konstantin’s gut wrenched into a knot. He knew that Lara was probably already in Cozumel, and it was only a matter of time before she found her way into Trinity’s business. He hadn’t yet taken the time to consider what he would do if they crossed paths. He knew he was going to have to figure out where he stood with all of it before they found themselves face to face, or he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

Konstantin watched Winters walk away and then turned his attention back to the gate.  Just then it rolled open, and he found himself staring straight at her.  It was Jo, staring right back at him, just as surprised as he was.

“Jo!”

Jo wrapped her arms around herself uncomfortably. “Konstantin.”

“How are you?”

“I’m well,” Jo said.

“How long have you been here?” Konstantin asked.

“I just got here a few hours ago,” Jo said.

“I had no idea you’d be here.”

A strained silence fell between them before Jo finally said, “Listen, I’d love to catch up, but I’m late for . . . a thing.”

She started to walk away, but Konstantin yelled after her. “You could’ve taken my calls! I’ve been trying to find you for months.”

Jo stopped and slowly turned to face him.

“I had no way of knowing if you were okay,” Konstantin said sternly.

Jo put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

He braced himself for her worst. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about this.”

“This is the perfect time to talk about it since you brought it up, Konstantin. Where should I start?”

Konstantin stared at her blankly.

“You fucked Trinity’s Most Wanted. You forced me onto that chopper with you. You hit me. You put my life in danger.”

Konstantin frowned. “Jo, you are being overly dramatic about all of this.”

“I almost fucking died, Konstantin!” Jo shouted.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

Jo pointed her finger at him and said, “I was nothing but loyal to you for six years. I was always there for you, and I never asked for anything in return. I never bothered you with my problems. But I guess I was expecting too much to think that you’d show some loyalty to me. I loved you for six years, Konstantin. For six years. And you knew. But you didn’t give a shit. So, no, I didn’t take your calls because I thought it would be for the best that we don’t talk anymore.”

“Jo—.”

“Everything okay here?”

Konstantin and Jo both turned abruptly to see Rourke standing behind them.

Jo backed away from Konstantin and joined Rourke. “I was just leaving.”

 Once they were out of earshot, Jo rounded on Rourke.

“So did you forget to mention that he would be here, or did you do it on purpose?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what went down between you two, but it must’ve been some serious shit.”

“Yeah, it was,” Jo said darkly.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew this is how you would react,” Rourke said with annoyance. “I’ll make sure you don’t have to deal with him again.”

“You better,” Jo said. She poked him in the chest and said, “Or I will rip your dick off and shove it so far up your ass that you’ll taste cock for the rest of your life.”

He smirked and said, “So . . . we still drinking tonight?”

Jo rolled her eyes and walked away.

[janeofcakes]

Chapter 107

(John’s mobile sounds right as Sherlock steps out of the cottage to put their cases in the rental car. Starting a walk-through to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything, John takes it from his coat pocket and sees that it’s Sarah Sawyer.)

J: (smiling) Sarah, how are you? How’s that beautiful baby of yours?

SS: Hi, John. She’s perfect, as usual. How are you?

J: I am fantastic, actually.

SS: Good. That’s excellent. You and Sherlock got some rest? Or has he been chasing down cases the whole time?

J: Not a single one. It’s been wonderful. Like a honeymoon, really. I’ll never forget this place.

SS: Oh. So you’re still there then.

J: Just about to leave.

(Sarah is quiet on the other end and John stops in the sitting room with a hand on his hip, seeing a pair of bright red pants he knows to be Sherlock’s favorite peeking out from under the sofa. He bends down to pick it up and makes a mental note to get a good look under there for more articles of clothing, then gives Sarah his full attention. He has known her long enough to know her silence, in this case, is indicative of guilt.)

J: Sarah, is something wrong?

(He hears a little laugh and deep intake of breath.)

SS: I swear you’ve spent too much time with him. (sighing) I need a favor. I feel terrible asking before you’ve even come back.

J: What is it? Please say babysitting.

SS: (laughing) I wish I could say yes, but it’s the surgery.

J: You need a shift?

SS: Yes. Tonight. (John blinks his eyes wide as she continues.) I’m so sorry, John, but Janet is out of town for her daughter’s wedding and Robert is sick and this is the one night of the week that the surgery’s open late. I’d do it by myself and just call in more of the aids to help, but no one’s answering. It’s just me, Jack, and Elsa.

J: Slow down. (finally getting a word in edgewise) I can be there by 4. Is that early enough?

SS: (gasping and relieved) Yes! Yes, that’s perfect! God, John, thank you. I’m so sorry about this.

J: It’s no trouble, Sarah. Just know you owe us a visit with Madeleine.

SS: (a smile in her voice) Done. Thanks so much, John.

J: You’re welcome. I’ll see you later. Ta.

(John hits end and pockets the mobile.)

S: Was that Greg? I have been resolutely ignoring his calls.

(John turns to see his fiance standing in the doorway.)

J: So I’ve noticed.

(He gets on his knees and peers under the sofa, finding a black sock. Getting back to his feet and walking toward Sherlock, he holds up the red pants.)

J We nearly left these behind.

(The detective pretends he doesn’t care, but John can see the shadow of pique in his eyes and smiles as he presses them into Sherlock’s hand. The detective shoves them in his pocket and looks down at John.)

S: (cocking a brow) Greg will seek out our help with the triple murder case as soon as we enter the city.

J: (playfully) Ah. So you have done a little looking after all.

(Sherlock shrugs as he rests his hands on John’s hips and gives him a quick, soft kiss.)

S: You were having a ridiculously long lie-in. I needed something to do before I woke you for farewell sex.

(John smiles at the memory and gives the man in his arms a squeeze.)

J: And we’ll need to have welcome home sex after you’ve solved the case.

S: After I’ve solved it? Won’t you be with me?

J: Yeah, about that. (He looks at Sherlock apologetically.) That was Sarah. The surgery is open until eight and it’s just her and a couple of the medical aids. I said I’d help out. Sorry.

(Sherlock pouts with those glorious lips that John can’t help but kiss and then suck lightly. A low moan rises from Sherlock’s throat and he pulls John’s hips close to his own. When the doctor leans back to meet Sherlock’s eyes, he sees pools of silver mischief.)

S: We are definitely having sex as soon as I get home.

(John laughs as Sherlock presses another kiss to his lips and then leads him out of the cottage by the hand. They both stand before the small two-story and grin. Sherlock tilts his head a little and gives John a sideways look. John turns to see a knowing smile playing at Sherlock’s lips and laughs. The detective joins in and then kisses his doctor once more. When their chuckles die down, Sherlock slides his arms around John’s body and faces him adoringly.)

S: Let’s go home.

***

G: Thanks, Sherlock.

(They watch as Sally Donovan and two uniformed officers drag the author of the triple murder case to a police car and push him inside.)

G: Will John be home waiting?

(Sherlock reads 10:30 on his watch and nods at the DI.)

S: Most certainly. The surgery closed its doors at eight o’clock. He would have arrived home at least an hour ago.

G: Better get yourself home then.

S: (with a congenial smile) Good evening, Greg.

G: Night.

(Sherlock catches a cab and sets off for Baker Street. He removes his mobile from his coat pocket and types out a message.

On my way. Greet me naked, if convenient. SH

He looks out of the window for a moment, watching as people hurry in and out of the streetlights that illuminate the dark night. Smiling to himself, he sends John another message.

If not convenient, greet me naked anyway. SH )

(Sherlock pockets the mobile and looks out the window again. Now that they are back in London, he can actually arrange their wedding instead of just thinking about it. The date they settled on in Cornwall is just over two months away, so he must get invitations out to the small group they intend to invite. Sherlock gazes thoughtfully at the darkened sidewalks. He knows a calligrapher who could quickly make the handful he and John need. The detective could put them in the hands of their guests within the next few days.

He resolves to make the design he already has stored in his mind palace digital in the morning and then send it to his friend. Friend? Sherlock frowns slightly. He has used that word to describe people he’s known for some time quite a bit of late. He never thought he had friends before meeting John, and was absolutely convinced that John was his only one. It certainly seemed true at the time. Until John got him to see how Greg felt about him. And Angelo and so many others.

Angelo. A part of Sherlock would like to ask Angelo to cater the wedding, but he’d rather see the man simply attend and enjoy himself. Fortunately, Sherlock knows just the place to do it and transporting the food to the Holmes property out of the city will be no trouble for them.

The detective methodically moves down a checklist he has been keeping since John agreed to be his husband. He will order the flowers and decorations, the cake, the music. Aside from his own, of course. He has been writing a piece for violin and will play it just before their first dance as husbands. Sherlock’s lips curl into a smile as he sees himself and John dancing together slowly in the eyes of all their friends. He catches himself sighing quietly and rolls his eyes. He was once above such sentimentality. What has John Watson done to him?

Lost in his thoughts, Sherlock doesn’t notice the cab has stopped until its driver informs him in a rather loud, but friendly voice. Sherlock pays the man and climbs out of the car. He glances at his mobile as he approaches the door to the building and sees that John never texted him back. Not even one of those eye-rolling emojis he is so fond of. Sherlock shrugs and unlocks the door.)

(When he steps into 221B a minute later, the beaming face and naked body dripping of pure sex that he expects are not there. The flat, in fact, appears to be completely dark. Sherlock sheds his coat and scarf, and toes off his shoes. He rounds the corner to their bedroom, imaging John waiting for him in the bed with not a stitch on his glorious body, but the light at the end of the hall is also turned off. The detective silently continues on his quest for the short doctor. The surgery must have been packed and, coupled with the day’s long drive, John must have been exhausted and gone straight to bed. He would’ve had no idea when Sherlock would arrive home, after all.)

(Sherlock quietly enters the room, eyes immediately finding the bed. The room is barely lit by a streetlight that is obscured by thin curtains, but even in the dim light, Sherlock can tell that the bed is empty. He flips on the light switch and frowns. Looking to his left, he sees their still unpacked cases next to the door. There is no lingering humidity from the shower John always takes after a shift at the surgery to rid himself of antiseptic and other associated stenches. The scents of his soap and shampoo are absent as well. Nor is there the spiced smell of take away.

Sherlock’s heart goes cold, every muscle in his body tense. John has not been back to their flat since he left for work hours ago.

His mind begins to whirl with the possibilities. The detective starts when a ring from his mobile crashes into the silence. It’s Greg. The color drains from Sherlock’s already pale face. He answers with a steady voice and shaking hands.)

S: Lestrade.

G: Sherlock. (The DI sounds quiet and nervous. And scared.) I need you at the surgery now. It’s John.

***

(Sherlock waits impatiently in the cab, tapping his foot on the car floor and looking anxiously across the front seat out the windshield. He slides up the seat to perch on its edge when the cab slows to a stop. There are flashing police lights four or five blocks ahead and a line of cars in between. The cabby’s gruff voice remarks that the detective would get to his destination faster on foot just in time to turn and see two bills float into the front seat with him. He looks out the side window to see his former passenger running down the pavement toward the lights. The driver shrugs and turns on his radio.

Sherlock arrives at the surgery in minutes, bumper to bumper traffic all along his run. Police cars and ambulances block most of the street, leaving only one lane and officers directing. Police tape is draped around the building’s entrance with officers everywhere. Sherlock stops dead when he sees Sally Donovan pacing by the tape a few feet from the surgery’s door. An officer steps up to tell her something as Sherlock approaches. She gives him a stern nod and a few terse words, the detective catching her eye when the officer hurries away. Sally nods at Sherlock in a similar way and raises the tape for him to enter. They walk briskly to the door.)

S: Where is she?

SD: Inside. There are two others. (He looks at her as they enter.) Both dead.

(Sherlock glances around the waiting room full of pleasantly upholstered chairs with an occasional table for magazines, a water cooler next to the door leading to the examination rooms and offices. In front of him is a tall reception counter. Anderson’s minions are everywhere, dusting and peering.)

SD: She’s back there.

(They start across the room. Sherlock looks toward reception as they go and observes two techs on their knees next to a woman lying dead on the floor. Shot expertly in the chest. Straight through the heart. Professional.

Sally leads him through the door and into the hall that leads to exam and supply rooms, loos, and offices. Several techs are moving in and out of an exam room a few doors down to the right. Sherlock can hear Anderson speaking loudly over the din)

SD: The other medical aid is down there. Shot just like the first one.

(Sherlock turns his head to look at her, but sees around her instead. Down the hall, techs are going in and out of doors, stepping around two officers standing guard at John’s office door. He strides quickly through the hall. Blood is smeared on the floor from the office door to one of the exam rooms. Sherlock quickens his already swift pace, stopping at the door just as Greg Lestrade comes out of it. The DI’s hand is at the base of his own neck, having just run it through his salt and pepper hair. His brown eyes are wide as he meets the sharp silver of the detective’s.)

G: She’s in here and she’s asking for you. It’s bad.

S: And John?

G: He’s gone.

(Greg steps into the office and to the side, so the other two can follow him in. Paramedics surround Sarah Sawyer where she lies on the floor next to John’s desk in a pool of blood. Sherlock can see at a glance that it is too much to be only her own, in spite of her obvious wounds. She has been shot twice, once high in each shoulder. Not fatal unless she were to lose consciousness without calling for help and bleed out. Even then, it would take hours. Sarah is mouthing off to the medics and being generally uncooperative as Sherlock comes near. For the first time, he can see why John likes her so much. Her eyes widen when she notices him. Her expression is somewhere between relief and terror.)

SS: John. They took him.

Medic: Slow down, Doctor. You need to relax.

SS: Fuck off! (turning to Sherlock, face full of worry) He shot him. The blonde one. He was losing so much blood. (Sherlock squats at her side and she clutches desperately at his arm.) I tried to convince them to let me help, but they wouldn’t listen. Just dragged him to the exam room to bandage him up. Sherlock, John will die without surgery. He has to get that bullet out. It’s his shoulder in nearly the same place as the war wound.

S: The two men. What did they look like? 

(Sarah stills, but for a hard shiver through her body. Her hand squeezes tighter on Sherlock’s arm. Her eyes bore into his with a piercing cold.)

SS: He told me to give you a message. (Sherlock cocks a brow.) He had dark hair and gave the orders. Said he’s an old friend of yours and John’s.

(Sherlock clenches his jaw. His eyes are pure steel. He vaguely hears Greg rub his hands over his face and Sally gasp behind him.)

S: What is the message? Tell me what he said, exactly what he said.

SS: (swallowing hard) He said John belongs to him. You took his property and you’ll pay. You’ll both pay.

(Silence hangs heavy in the air like a dense fog. Sherlock feels Sarah’s words sink into his bones, replacing his blood with ice. A chill settles over his body. He wipes his hands over his own mouth as he looks into Sarah’s pleading eyes.)

SS: I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I saw Jack walking him to the exam room, but I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t warn John. I should’ve warned John! And now… There’s no way he’ll live without medical attention.

(Sherlock closes his eyes briefly and opens them with new resolve. He places his own hand on Sarah’s and gives it a firm, but brief squeeze.)

S: I’ll find him. (looking at her with a penetrating stare) But you must tell me everything they said and did, every detail. Leave nothing out.

(Sherlock can feel the glare of the medics. He looks at Sarah’s bandaged shoulders and then back to her cool blue eyes.)

S: Can you do that?

SS: (with sincere eyes) I’ll be fine. He wanted me to give you the message. I heard him call the police himself as the other one dragged John out. I’m fine, I promise.

(The medics grumble. Sally shifts on her feet. Greg rests a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective meets Sarah’s eyes.)

S: Tell me everything.

[jestbee]

Phanfic Round Robin - Group 2

Tags: Angst, domestic violence in the past, a new story about murder, established relationship

Words: 3.5k

Writers: (in no particular order) @artsietango @p-hantasticpheels @softdans @heartfeltfangirl @phantasizeit @phanarchy

T

Notes: Group 2 were the first to finish! Well done! this was a lot of fun, and all the fics turned out a bit different. 

I’ll post the bit I wrote above the cut, and then the rest of the fic, written collaboratively by the group, below it. Enjoy!

Can’t Take it Back

He can't take it back. He wants to, if he could rewind and make the words jump back into his mouth, snatch them back from the air between them he would. But he can't.

It's out there, and the look on Dan's face is raw and open and Phil doesn't really know what to make of it.

One of them is going to have to say something soon, they can't continue on like this.

“I…” Phil tries, but it's no use.

It was a mistake. He's concentrating on the game and not the words that are coming out of his mouth, that's how it had happened.

Now the game is paused, music still playing in the background, colourful characters suspended mid-action. Everything seems like it's paused, because that's what happens when this kind of thing is said.

Dan shakes his head and for once Phil isn't really sure what he means to indicate by it. Above their heads, staring down, a red light blinks ominously. They stare in silence and the camera keeps rolling.

Dan has a good sense of humor. Phil tries to remind himself that, but the game is on hold and he still isn’t speaking. It could be shock that Phil said such a thing while recording, that he would imply a romantic relationship. Truthfully, in his focus, Phil forgot entirely about the gaming channel.

He knew that wasn’t it though. This was crossing the lines for them no matter what context. Maybe if it had been about anyone else, but no. It was Sam he had compared Dan to, Phil’s last lover, and though it was a joke the comparison also wasn’t very kind.

Still in silence, Dan stood and dropped, chucked really, his controller on his chair. He exhaled slowly, regaining composure.

“I can’t believe you,” he said as he clicked the camera off. The red light shone bright for a moment before it dimmed into blackness. Dan spun around, swiftly making a beeline to the door.

“Dan!” Phil called out behind him. He heard the door click shut with finality.

Phil pushes his hands back into his hair, tipping back in the office chair dangerously, knowing if Dan was sitting beside him he’d scold Phil for being careless. Still flashing in and out of focus, the glowing red PAUSED screen catches the curve of his glasses and he reaches up to switch it off, knowing he’ll have to scrap the footage. There’s no way he wants to sit and edit through that; he doesn’t think Dan will, either.

“Babe,” he’d said, voice laced with irritation, letting slip not a pet-name but a marker that he was annoyed with Dan, “will you stop- Dan! I had it, then, why did you do that? You’re so cocky, don’t be a Sam”

They could withstand a lot of things from one another; they were so intensely close, after so many years, that barely anything fazed them. Sam, though. It was when Dan was still working through a mountain of insecurity and self-doubt, when he sometimes looked at Phil doe-eyed because he was a smitten nineteen-year-old without the means of expressing it just yet, when he’d try valiantly to hide the darkened, crestfallen expression on his face at the mention of Phil’s relationship. It would have been easier to categorize as jealousy and file it away, if not for the fact that Sam was a complete asshole. Dan saw it, and a little too late, Phil saw it, and when Phil was still cut up about it Dan swore up and down that he’d never, ever be like that. Any notion that Dan could be anything like him rubbed Dan the wrong way, and Phil hates himself for accidentally implying it.

Just as he stands, dusts off his jeans, readies a speech in his mind, he hears the front door click back into place and knows he’s well and truly fucked up. In vain, he tries Dan’s mobile, throwing his own to the carpet when he hears the familiar melodious ringtone echoing down the hall. Part of Phil knows that Dan needs his space, needs to go for a walk and cool off and come back when he’s ready, but the desperate, guilty, anxious part of him urges him to look high and low until he finds Dan. Frustrated and at a loss, he collapses back into the shitty futon with his head in his hands, wondering how he can make this better.

-

It’s cold out.

It’s cold and the chill is dry and biting. It leaves a painful burning ache in Dan’s knuckles as he rubs them absently for warmth.

Dan’s been walking for almost an hour now and he’s under dressed for the weather in his flimsy jumper and simple black jeans but he has no concern for his ice cold limbs as his mind is numb from disbelief and betrayal. 

He knows though that Phil didn’t mean to say that. He knew it as soon as Phil spoke, the instant regret filling his wide blue eyes, mouth parted as if he couldn’t process the words he said himself but what’s done is done and Phil can’t take those words back even if he wants to, while Dan can’t pretend he hasn’t heard them.

He’s hurt and the emotion is justified.

Dan can be obnoxious, he could shout too much or buy weird expensive potato sacks for clothes but he could never be Sam. Phil comparing them even on accident is something that leaves him rattled.

Sam Hayden would’ve seemed normal enough to anyone with his blonde hair, charming smile and masterful words but Dan knew better and it was a curse in itself that he did. 

He’d found out tracing scars upon scars on Phil’s body and soul. He’d found out piecing together a person who was too precious to be ever treated in such a deranged and downright psychopathic way.

Dan would’ve never treated Phil like that. He never could and he never would and that’s one of the reasons being in the same sentence as that monster hurt him enough to storm out without a second thought.

He loves Phil so fucking much. 

He’s loved him since he first saw him on that YouTube window rambling on and on about everything and nothing as Dan wonders how one person could be allowed to be so enchanting. He’s loved him on that grainy, flickering Skype screen with his mane of a hair ruffled to a mess, bangs in his eyes and a shy smile on his pink lips. He’s loved him with his arms wrapped around him in Manchester’s train station, breathing in his scent and wondering how he could even be real.

He’s loved him through pain too, just like he has with Dan’s. He’s held Phil through the worst of his nightmares, worst of his flashbacks. Rubbed his back and matched his shallow breaths till he could see Dan again instead of cruel green eyes and rough cold hands.

Phil knows it all and Dan knows that Phil knows how much a comparison with Sam fucking Hayden would kill him but he’s let the words slip.

Dan’s mad at him, rightfully so and he has a full mind of giving him the silent treatment at least until he’s ready to forgive him but then he notices the television playing on the screen of a shop he passes by.

He stops dead in his tracks.

The caption’s up in blaring red, loud and ringing in Dan’s ears. The newscaster’s voice is somber as he recounts how a man has killed his girlfriend during a domestic argument, strangling her to death. The police lead out a large man with blonde hair and green eyes with cuffs around his wrist and the same cruel expression and Dan feels sick to his stomach.

“Maria Williams died from homicide via strangulation, according to Alfred Tiller, chief deputy. William’s boyfriend, 32-year-old Sam Hayden, was present at the scene when authorities arrived, according to local Police Department. Hayden was arrested and now faces a preliminary charge of murder.”

No.

Dan feels like he could wretch as he turns and sprints back to the apartment. He hopes to God Phil hasn’t seen the news. He reaches for his pocket to take out his phone and call Phil to make sure but curses as soon as he remembers he left it back in the lounge.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, “fuck, fuck.”

A woman with a child clutching at her hand a few feet across of him scoffs at him, but Dan doesn’t even apologize. He just stares back at her before he turns and starts jogging back to where he came from.

This is all so messed up.

A minute ago all Dan felt was white-hot anger running through his veins, anger and hurt at the fact that Phil used such a sensitive topic against him. Now he only berates himself for it. It’s not him who’s been in that abusive relationship, not him who still wakes up crying sometimes, who had to work through years of therapy and slowly trying to trust again.

Fuck.

And while for Dan, seeing this news broadcast has shocked him deeply, he is not the one who sees that kind of face in his nightmares.

He’s panting by the time he makes it into the house they live in. He waits for the elevator, come on, come on, maybe he should have taken the stairs, but it’d probably take longer- The elevator arrives, and he gets inside, sacks against the handles.

Why did he overreact so much? He doesn’t know, he’s going to analyze that later, but right now his mind is filled with all kinds of scenarios where Phil is breaking down. His mind plays through them all and he stands, helpless, watches as the numbers tick by as he slowly climbs the building.

And then he’s there, he jumbles in the key, jerks open the door, and-

“Dan?”

Phil is in the hallway looking at him. He is not hurt, he is not crying or panicking, he is okay.

“You’re okay,” Dan breathes in relief, “you’re fine.”

“I mean,” Phil starts, “I- I am sorry for what I said. I know I shouldn’t... but, wait, why were you... are you worried? About what?”

Dan swallows. Phil doesn’t know yet, and Dan freaked out, and now he’s gonna have to tell him because he will find out sooner or later anyway.

“Um,” he says, very eloquently, “can you come sit down with me?”

Phil nods, looking confused, but he lets Dan pull the front door closed, pass him in the hallway, and lead him into the lounge. They both sit, poised awkwardly on the edge of the couch. Dan is suddenly reminded of sitting on the same couch in their old London apartment, listening in horror as Phil broke down and told Dan that he didn’t think his relationship with Sam was “all that healthy anymore.” Phil had started crying and hyperventilating and apologising, like it was his fault for all of it. Dan hadn’t known what to say. He could only rub Phil’s back, in what he hoped was a soothing manner, and ask Phil what he needed from Dan. Although Phil didn’t tell Dan the extent of the abuse that day, it had been one of the first steps toward getting out of the relationship with Sam and recovering.

Dan remembers what it was like to feel utterly powerless as he watched Phil cry and panic about someone that Dan thought Phil was in love with. He remembers what it was like to have no words for Phil. Dan feels the same wordlessness, now.

Phil is waiting patiently, playing with his long fingers in his lap, pointedly not looking at Dan. But as the silence stretches on, Phil says: “I’m sorry about what I said. I don’t know why I said it. You aren’t—you aren’t Sam. You’ve never been like him. You helped me through all that, so I can’t imagine how much it hurt to be compared—”

“Phil,” Dan interrupts, “stop, please. It’s forgotten. Sometimes we say stupid things we don’t mean. God knows I’ve done the same.”

Phil knows Dan is right. Their relationship hasn’t been an easy one, with one of them recovering from abuse. In the beginning, it was hard on Dan, especially because he was still so young when Phil finally broke up with Sam. They had a lot of fights back then.

“Plus, I found something out… something that made me forget that I was even mad at you. But I’m scared to tell you.” Dan whispers, not trusting his voice to be strong enough to speak normally.

Phil bites his lip and reaches over to grab Dan’s hand. It’s their only point of contact, but the familiar heat of it calms them both, just a little bit. He tries not to let his brain run wild, but what could have Dan possible discovered in his short walk around London that has gotten him this torn up? “Whatever it is, Dan, I can handle it.”

Dan nods, but still doesn’t say anything. The words are there, but Dan can’t fit them together in a combination that doesn’t sound so utterly wrong and evil.

Phil squeezes Dan’s hand, reaches out to Dan’s chin and tips his head back to get him to look Phil in the eyes. “Whatever it is, Dan. We can handle it. We’ve been through so much together.” Dan exhales a breath, slowly, tousling a little bit of Phil’s fringe in the process. Dan leans forward to press a quick, chaste kiss to Phil’s lips. Phil lets go of Dan’s chin. And then:

“I think… Sam is in jail.” Dan is so quiet that Phil must strain to hear the tiny words floating past Dan’s lips. But when Phil works out what Dan has said and realizes their meaning, he freezes. Sam. His ex-boyfriend Sam? In jail?

Phil closes his eyes and breathes in the manner that his therapist has taught him to. Slowly in for six seconds, and then slowly out for seven. Repeat. When he has a handle on his heart and lungs, Phil whispers, “in jail for what?” even though, deep down, his heart knows what he’s in jail for. He can almost feel it. Or maybe he can just deduce it, based on his own experiences. Sam’s abuse began subtly; he was controlling and used guilt to make Phil do and think certain things. Sam manipulated Phil, making him feel like he was lucky to be loved by Sam, because no one else could ever love Phil’s quirks. Things got incrementally worse, so slowly that Phil almost didn’t even detect changes. Physical abuse didn’t even come into the equation until years into their relationship—and even that started out small, forgivable. Sam’s abuse was a gradually boiling pot, in which Phil was trapped. The increasing heat was only ever slightly uncomfortable, until Phil had something healthier to compare his relationship to. But, Phil knows, that if he had stayed in that boiling pot, that he would have been slowly boiled to death.

And Phil knows. Sam was in jail because he had successfully boiled someone to death.

Dan, unaware of Phil’s inner thoughts, responds to Phil is a gentle voice. He is rubbing Phil’s knuckles with his thumb in a familiar, soothing gesture. Phil’s eyes are still closed because he knows that, if he opens them, the world will seem too bright and overwhelming. The room will spin, and harsh colours will press themselves painfully into Phil’s eyes. Dan confirms Phil’s premonition, making it one of the only moments in his life that Phil wishes he wasn’t just a little bit psychic. “Sam… Sam is in jail for… killing his girlfriend.”

At that, Phil collapses back on the couch, his head landing on the back pillow with an uncomfortable clunk. Dan doesn’t follow; he knows that Phil needs space in these moments and will ask Dan if he needs more. Dan is still holding Phil’s hand, but he angles himself toward Phil, bringing a knee up on the couch to make it more comfortable for him.

Phil’s head is swimming with memories and thoughts. He tries his best to allow them space in his head, but not fight against them or dwell on them. Another technique taught to him by his therapist… that isn’t really working. Dan’s words—killing his girlfriend—are echoing in his head in a painful crescendo. Moments in Phil’s past are flashing in his head. They aren’t complete enough to be flashbacks, but quick and plenty enough to be jarring and confusing.

Phil snaps and pushes himself off the sofa, opening his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. The sudden movement is a mistake and he sways on his feet, pitching dangerously to one side. Dan sees it, hops up, and steadies Phil with his hands on Phil’s hips. Phil tenses at the touch and Dan detects the almost imperceptible movement. He reassures Phil, “it’s just me. It’s just Dan. I’m just making sure you don’t fall and hit your head. Do you want me to help you to bed?”

Phil turns to Dan with wide, terrified eyes. His irises are a shocking, icy blue. They don’t look unfocused and distant, thank god. But Phil sounds desperate when he says “Please.”

Slowly but surely, Dan ushers Phil to his bedroom, helping him down onto the checkerboarded blue and green covers. Phil mutters out a weak thanks before nearly collapsing onto the bed, his knees pulled up and his arms going limp, his hand not letting go of Dan’s. Dan takes a deep breath, almost regretting telling Phil, but it was too late now, and at any rate, he had the right to know.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks softly, rubbing his thumb against the back of Phil’s hand, trying to magically make him feel better through the small, simple motion.

“I dunno, just - just- please don’t go.” Phil murmurs, fighting the tears that started to prick his eyes.

“Are you sure? Are you sure you don’t want to be alone?” Dan asks, his worrying giving an edge to his voice.

“I can’t, I just can’t...” Phil manages to choke out, tears slowly escaping down his cheekbones. He scoots over a little to make room for Dan on the bed.

Carefully, Dan awkwardly crawls onto the bed to lie down next to Phil, wrapping the arm attached to Phil’s hand around him. It takes a few minutes, with a couple of prompts from Dan to just breathe, until Phil finally begins to feel himself calm down.

He sighs, tightening his hand around Dan’s as he brings it up to his lips, kissing it lightly. Dan’s embrace becomes a little more protective after he realizes Phil is going to be okay, that everything is going to be fine between them.

Phil begins to turn over to face Dan, letting go of his hand to wrap his arms around Dan’s chest, burying his face against it.

 Dan rests his chin on top of Phil’s head as Phil manages to stammer out, “I-I’m so sorry. I should never have compared you to him. You’re nothing like him Dan, nothing.”

“Ssh, I know, it’s okay. It’s okay, I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean it.” Dan says, rubbing his hand reassuringly up and down Phil’s back. “It’s okay.” After a moments pause, Phil whispers,

“That poor woman. I should’ve know, I could’ve stopped him-“

“It’s okay Phil. You did your best. There’s wasn’t anything different you could have down. Try and rest.” Dan says, his voice almost breaking when he hears Phil blame himself. A couple more moments of silence pass between the two.

Dan is almost certain that Phil has fallen asleep when he says, “I love you Dan. You’ve loved me better than anyone ever has.”

Dan blinks back tears, unable to form the words to speak his love to Phil. Instead, he kisses Phil on the forehead, and wraps him tighter in his arms. His eyes fluttering closed, Phil releases one final shuddering breath before he settles into Dan’s frame, finally falling into a safe, restful sleep. It takes Dan a few minute to close his eyes, a couple of his tears sliding onto Phil’s pillow unnoticed as he held the tall man closer, fiercely promising himself that he would never allow anyone to harm this man again before falling into a fitful sleep.

[gardenjays]

this is called: I only use one (1) pose for outfit references because it’s the easiest pose for me to draw and it’s only outfit refs they don’t have to be special

just me rambling about the characters a bit under the cut rip mobile users sorry

anyway I finally got around to redoing the main 3 from my scifi comic! good news is I finally figured out how to draw hairlines/foreheads so I can finally draw Jarek and Meri the way I always envisioned them, aka with spiked up hair and using goggles as a headband

still not entirely satisfied with 82′s hair but that’s okay for now. I at least finally gave her a Good outfit and better colors that don’t hurt your eyes to look at

alright I added a read more to this so this is where I ramble alright

first. Jarek. not gonna lie when I did the Big Reboot of this story like 5 or 6 years ago (yikes) I highkey based his looks off a guy I rly liked at the time. and then made some changes based on my drawing ability but all u need to know is he literally has dark skin and blue eyes bc at the time I had a HUGE crush on a dude who had dark skin and blue eyes. also at that point aka the first time I ever drew these characters he still had basically that same outfit. since then I never rly made design changes except like. having a better design for the vest and the shoes and making his sleeves short instead of rolled up. but this time around I also changed his pants to make them darker and bluer so there’s not AS much gray cause there’s a lot of gray in this story but it felt like too much you know? and I made his shirt green instead of brown bc with his skin color, a brown shirt is hard to make look nice unless it’s a very dark color but if it’s dark then it starts to blend with the vest you see my problem? so clearly I needed a new color and I chose green bc his boyfriend’s eyes are green therefore Jarek’s favorite color is green okay next!

Meri! my son! my boy! I love him! fun fact of the day: a couple years ago when I did the original outfit refs as I was drawing him I was like “lol I headcanon this character is trans cause why not” and then I realized he’s my own character so at that point I decided he’s trans. cause. why not. also he likes kpop. cause. why not. tbh since the first time I drew these guys his design hasn’t changed much either. I think originally his hoodie was a little more..complete lol it was a full hoodie. and I used to put a lot more detail into his belt to make it like a utility belt but tbh it just got annoying to put that much detail in so I simplified it WAY down this time around. also I think when I did the first outfit refs I changed it so his hoodie’s sleeves were cut off and he had that 3/4 length sleeve shirt underneath, but this past time I also cut off the bottom cause it makes him look Cool. ALSO! for the first time I finally gave him gloves lol idk why I didn’t before. it’s cute! plus it’s practical considering he’s like the Engineer of the group and does machine stuff a lot. and last thing: goggles. I used to draw them hanging off his belt cause I rly wanted them to be an integral part of his Look and for a long time I didn’t know how to draw them as a headband. but now I can! so finally they’re a headband and they’re less of a pain to draw. pushing his bangs back also makes him look younger which is also what I wanted so bonus!

alright last one S-82. this is rly long lol. the first time I drew her was when I did the first outfit refs a few years ago actually! and then 2 years ago I redid her outfit refs cause I just wanted to update them, but I didn’t change much of her design that time around. mostly her outfit was like a super simple black dress with some highlights in that bright blue. and when I did THESE updates to design at first I was like “eh I like her outfit I’ll keep it” then when I looked at it for a reference I was like “JK I DO NOT LIKE IT” so I gathered new outfit refs which was a longer and harder process than I thought (don’t look up “scifi outfit women” bc it gives u sexualized alien costumes) and then mashed my fav elements together to get this! which is still simple enough to draw quickly and nicely and also Looks Good. also I redid some of her colors cause her hair was a rly gross shade of yellow? and it was so light that to get enough contrast her skin was PAINFULLY white so I just darkened those a bit and yay!

okay end ramble

oh also Jarek’s gun holster is white bc he got the blaster from a cyborg. and all their stuff is white. that’s why it looks so weird lol

[filmfanatic82]

The Long Game - Chapter 8: Sparks

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 8: Sparks

Three drinks in and still no one’s talking. All five of them just sit in their designated spots around the fire, watching the flames dance against the night sky, drowning their thoughts with their preferred beverage of choice.

Kim swirls the ice cubes in her plastic tumbler of whiskey with a gentle flick of the wrist and lets out a subtle sigh. Part of her so desperately wants to simply rip the bandaid off and bare her soul. Share everything… every last detail that she’s been holding onto for the last eight years. Then, maybe the four people sitting around her, who she at one time considered her chosen family, would understand. Maybe even offer some level of basic forgiveness for her past sins.

But there’s the other part of Kim, the logical side of her, that knows better. Why jeopardize everything when she’s so close to it all being over with. Only a few more days. Then maybe -- just maybe -- there would be time for hope and forgiveness. Time to finally repair everything that’s been wrecked beyond recognition.

Or maybe there would be nothing on the other side. A strong possibility that Kim has slowly learned to come to terms with ever since that fated day back on the ship when she agreed to take this on. That there might not be a future… at least for her. That sacrifice -- in its truest definition -- might be the better word to describe the outcome of the events to come.

“Okay. This is freakin’ nuts,” Zack exclaims finally breaking the silence between the five of them. He polishes off the end of his beer, tosses it into the darken woods behind them, and then reaches for another. “Crazy Girl. You’re up first. What’ve you been doing in Sin City for the last few years?”

Trini shoots Zack daggers from across the circle as she takes a slow sip of her beer. “You know what I’ve been doing.”

“Very true, my pint-sized friend. But the rest of the group doesn’t. Inquiring minds want to know. Exactly how does one become a back up dancer for Britney Spears?” A mischievous, alcohol-fueled grin spreads across Zack’s face as Trini instantly grows bright red with embarrassment.

“Oh! You’re a Vegas performer too? I thought you were only a dealer at the Tropicana?” Billy lights up with excitement, blissfully unaware that Zack is simply trying to get a rise out of the small latina.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Trini grumbles at Zack. “No Billy, Zack’s being an ass. I’m just a casino dealer.”

“Which games?” Jason pipes up in between sips.

“Mainly blackjack, but sometimes I cover the poker tables too.”

“Did you major in it in college? Can you major in it? Or is it more like an apprenticeship?” Billy asks as the wheels in his mind start to turn.

“Didn’t go.”

“To college?” Kim asks trying to mask her sudden sense of shock.

Trini shakes her head and takes another long, much needed swig of her beer. “Nope. I was supposed to, but then my dad lost his job right after I graduated and my scholarship kinda fell through, so it wasn’t an option.”

Kim sits with this piece of information for a moment or two, as she subtly searching Trini’s face for more of an explanation. But there’s nothing there. Just Trini’s signature “I don’t give a fuck” mask.

“How about you, Kimmy? Where’d all your cash come from? You like some secret hitman or something?” Zack feeds another stick to the fire as all eyes turn towards Kim.

“Pass.” Kim runs her hands through her hair, tucking a few loose strands behind her ear and then let’s out a hard exhale of breath. “It’s not important.”

“Jason and I ended up going to Cal Tech together. We lived in the dorms our first two years, which was an quite interesting experience. Do you know that by state law colleges are only required to supply 2.5 bathroom stalls and showers per 40 students? Which, speaking from experience, is a grossly unbalanced bathroom to student ratio. There was this one time--”

“Billy...” Jason lovingly reaches over and lays his hand on Billy’s forearm as if this is something he does at least a hundred times a day.

“Right. Sorry. We lived there for two years, but then decided to move back here and commute since Jason got accepted into a clinical trial program at Angel Grove General for patients with nerve damage.” Billy offers up a bitter sweet smile in Jason’s direction. “It wasn’t as successful as we had hoped for but the doctors say it could take upwards of seven years before the full results of the protocol start to show.”

The sobering silence creeps back in between the five of them as they each attempt to focus in on their drinks in hand instead of the sudden awkwardness.

Kim’s eyes wander across the fire as she downs the rest of her whiskey and catches Jason staring directly back at her. His eyes are nothing short of two black abysses, devoid of anything except for pure, undiluted anger.

“Go on. Ask.” Jason’s voice cuts through the silence, never once taking his eyes off of Kim. “I know you want to.”

Kim pulls her eyes away and slightly shakes her head as her skin starts to crawl with tension. “Jase, I didn’t--”

“No. Go on. Seriously. Ask me about it. Go on and ask me what it’s like to only have 45% mobility in my arm. Or how I’ve got to down at least four different types of pain killers every morning just I can function. Or that some mornings I can’t even manage to put my own pants on without my husband’s help.”

“J, you promised--” Billy reaches over towards Jason in hopes of defusing the situation, but it’s of little use. Jason swats his arm away, still focused in on Kim.

“Or better yet. Ask me how it felt to have my so-called teammate and best friend suddenly up and turned against me mid-battle. Or how it felt to have my arm almost ripped from its socket at the hands of someone I considered to be like a sister. Or how it was to be left for dead with little to no explanation… no reason. Hell, you know what? You should ask Trini that one. Cause it was her throat you crushed, not mine.”

“Jason, stop it!” Trini shouts out with an odd, protective like tone to her voice. She jumps up to her feet and without another moment’s hesitation, positions herself slightly in front of Kim, like a tiny but fierce human shield. “You’ve got no fuckin’ right to speak for me.”

Kim fights with every ounce of control she has left within herself not to give in to the hot sting of tears that are quickly welling up in her eyes. It’s too much… All just too much for her to handle. The weight of the world has been on Kim’s shoulders for well over eight years now and suddenly, at this very moment in time, she can’t seem to do it anymore.

Kim quickly rises to her feet, adjusts her jacket, and then take a hard gulp of air. But it’s not enough. Her lungs scream for more as the overwhelming feeling of suffocation descends upon her. Kim needs to escape before she fully breaks.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…” Kim trails off as she stumbles to find her footing. She doesn’t wait for a response from any of the others. Kim heads straight for the nearby treeline, never once looking back.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Kimberly can’t move. She knows she needs to. The bell rang well over ten minutes ago, signifying the start of lunch, but yet Kimberly finds herself glued to the locker room bench, simply unable to will her limbs into motion.

All she can manage to do is stare at the wet pile of clothes balled up by her feet.

“Kimberly? Baby, you in here?” Trini’s voice echoes softly throughout the confines of the locker room, snapping Kimberly out of her trance-like state.

“Yeah,” Kimberly croaks out. “I’m here.”

“What are you still doin’ in--” Trini rounds the corner and immediately comes to a halt, fully taking in the scene before her.

Kimberly tenses up, suddenly cognizant of how this all might look to someone… especially someone like Trini. She’s sitting all alone in girls’ locker room, still in her gym clothes, while her regular clothes lay a few feet away, soaked beyond recognition with what looks to be some sort of cooking oil.

“I’m gonna kill Amanda and her basic ass bitches,” Trini says with a growl of anger.

“T, it’s fine.”

“Fine? They fuckin’ wrecked your clothes.”

“I know.” Kimberly tucks her hands beneath her thighs, shrinking inwards onto herself. “Usually they just use water.”

“Usually?”

Kimberly gives the slight nod of her head, unable to bring herself to look Trini in the eyes.

A silence seeps in between the two of them for a moment or two and then--

CLANG.

The familiar sound of metal being ripped off of its hinges fills air, instantly grabs Kim’s attention. She looks over towards the source of the sound to find Trini standing there, with the now ripped off door of gym locker in her hand.

“What are you doing?” Kim asks as confusion sweeps across her face.

But Trini doesn’t respond. She tosses the door aside and starts rummaging through the now open locker, searching for something. “Do you know, Naomi?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“She’s in my AP Cal and gym class. Nice girl. Wouldn’t call her a friend or anything, but we’ve talked a few times. She’s built like you and--” Trini surfaces from the locker with a heather grey t-shirt and skinny black jeans that are perfectly ripped in all the right places. She walks back over towards Kimberly and places the clothes down next to her on the bench. “She always has at least two sets of spare clothes in her gym locker.”

A warm smile spreads across Kimberly’s face as she examines the clothes more closely. Not exactly her style but that doesn’t matter. It’s the mere action itself. The way that, no matter what the situation, the fierce latina standing before her, is there for her. Somehow, always knowing how to fix the problem… even if it means simply being a shoulder to cry or a set of protective arms to help shield her from the pain.

And god, does Kimberly hope that this instinct within Trini is enough to allow them to make it through to the other side still some what intact…

“Trini, I can’t just walk around school in someone else’s clothes. What if she sees me?”

“Who says we’re going back to class?” Trini responds with one of her signature, cocky smirks. “Now c’mon and get dressed. We’ve got places to be, Princess.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“You want the last one?” Trini motions towards the lone strawberry iced donut sitting in the Krispy Kreme box.

“God no. I think I’m gonna be sick.” Kimberly leans back on the large boulder, folding her arms behind her head in the process. “All yours.”

Trini snatches up the last donut from the box, securing it firmly between her teeth, and then lays herself down next to Kimberly, resting her head on her girlfriend’s chest.

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Princess.” Trini mumbles, with a mouthful of donut.

Kimberly lets out a light chuckle as she lovingly starts to card her fingers through Trini’s ombre locks. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Trini had first taken Kimberly to the secret clearing in the woods only a few weeks after they had survived Rita’s attack on Angel Grove. It had been on one of the countless nights when neither one of them could sleep. Trini had just shown up at Kimberly’s window with a box of Krispy Kreme donuts and told her to get dressed with no other explanation as to where they were going. And four hours and half a dozen donuts later, the two of them had watched the sun rise together from ontop of a lone boulder that perfectly overlooked the quarry, no longer merely best friends, but girlfriends.

“Run away with me,” Kimberly blurts out in a rushed exhale of air, breaking the stillness between the two of them.

“Sure, Princess.”

“No, I mean it. Let’s run away. You and me.”

Trini pushes herself up off of Kimberly’s chest and turns around. “Baby, we can’t just up and run away.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? For starter, our families? And what about our Ranger duties? Jason would have a stroke if we just up and went missing. Hell, we’ve still got almost all of our senior year to get through.” Trini reaches over and takes hold of Kimberly’s hand giving it a loving squeeze. “Is this cause of today? Cause I can take care of Amanda and her--”

“No. It’s just… just… Nevermind. It was a stupid idea.” Kimberly focuses a smile but Trini isn’t buying it.

“Kimberly…”

“I’m fine.”

The small latina forcefully gives Kimberly a nudge, motioning for her to sit up. Then, without a single word exchanged, she positions herself between Kimberly’s legs, leaning back and tucking her head right into the space beneath the larger girl’s chin and chest. Like two perfectly designed puzzle pieces, they mold into each other with a comfort that’s rare to find between two individuals. There are simply no words to describe it. They are meant to be together.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything yet, but I think Billy and I found a way for us to swing college and not blow off our Ranger duties.”

“How?”

“Cal Tech. It’s like less than an hour away and isn’t insanely hard to get into. My folks probably won’t be able to afford the full tuition but I talked with Mr. Winters and he says that if I keep my GPA up, I’ll be a shoo-in for one of those minority based scholarship. We could really tick my folks off and get a dorm room together. They would totally shit a brick but it’ll be worth it. Think about it. No more sneaking into each other’s rooms at night.”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Kimberly’s lips as she takes a moment to think about a future that simply isn’t going to happen. For once, she’s utterly thankful that Trini is shorter than her and therefore by default is the little spoon. No way for her girlfriend to catch a glimpse of the emotions written on her face.

Kimberly wraps her arms a little bit tighter around Trini and plants a gentle kiss on her temple. “That sounds amazing.”

“Right?” Trini sighs, leaning further back into Kimberly’s body. “Absolutely amazing.”

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Knew I’d find you here,” Trini softly says, making her presence known as she emerges from the dense treeline, out into the secret clearly.

Kim straightens herself up a bit on the boulder, quickly wiping away all traces of tears from her eyes. “Sorry. I just needed to--”

“Escape?” Trini cuts Kim off as she makes her way onto the boulder, cautiously taking a seat as close as she can without actually making contact.

But it doesn’t matter. The mere proximity of Trini sends a set of familiar chills down Kim’s spine as her heart picks up the pace. God, how she just wants to wrap her arms around the girl that she once thought would be her forever and never let her go.

“More or less.” Kim lets out a hard sigh and runs her hands through her hair, trying to shake off some of her insecurities. “At least it went slightly better than I thought it would.”

“Better?”

“Yeah. I was expecting to get decked again.”

Trini can’t help but chuckle at this response. “Sorry about that.”

“Why? I deserved it.”

“Can’t argue with that one, Princess.”

The two sit side by side for a moment, just looking out onto the quarry below as the muffled sounds of the boys laughing echo from the nearby bonfire. Then--

“You know for the longest time I had this voicemail from you that I randomly saved on my phone. It was nothing important. Just one of those meaningless but cute messages you used to leave me. Think it might’ve been right after you got out of your last Saturday detention cause you mentioned us going to celebrate at Krispy Kreme.”

“I remember that,” Kim quietly states as the memory of the day suddenly washed back over her. “You were at your cousin’s christening and forgot to silence your phone. So when I called--”

“I Wanna Dance with Somebody blasted throughout the church right as the priest had asked for everyone to pray. And it was the Glee version too. The one where they swapped the pronouns. God, I’ll never forget the shit ton of questions I got from my relatives for that one.”

“In my defense, you loved it when I used to sing it to you.”

Trini lets out a lightly laugh and lounges back on her forearms, letting her eyes wander upwards towards the night sky. “I played that voicemail almost ten times a day for the the first six months after you left. Dunno why. Guess I just needed to hear you. The you I remembered. Not the one who did…” Trini trails off as she fights back tears.

“Who did this?” Kim asks as her hand carefully reaches out to touch the faint line of scars on the right side of Trini’s neck. They descend downwards from behind her ear and across her neck, like an intricate spider’s web, still noticeable up close even through the layer of foundation that Trini puts on to mask them to the outside world.

Kim braces for Trini to pull away as her fingers connect with the smaller girl’s skin, but much her surprise, Trini does the exact opposite. Trini leans into Kim’s touch, releasing an ever so subtle exhale of breath. She closes her eyes and swallows hard as a lone tear escapes from the corner of her eye.

“I knew deep down inside that I was gonna have to see you again. I mean it was bound to happen, right? We’re still technically Rangers.” Trini reaches into her pocket and pulls out her yellow power coin. It’s pale amber gem shimmers in the moonlight with what looks to be the tiniest hints of sparks firing off  Almost electric. Like it’s only moments away from coming to life. “But I never thought it would be this hard.”

“Trini, I’m so sorr--” But before Kim can finish her words, she’s interrupted by a set of all too familiar lips upon her own. The kiss is cautious but laced with almost a decade’s worth of unfulfilled desire. Almost testing the waters to see if it feels right.

Kim instinctually snakes her hands into the smaller latina’s hair, as the mutual cautiousness slowly slips away with each and every passing second. She pulls Trini in closer, taking control of the kiss. And Trini more than let her.

Kim’s lips speak in ways that her words simply can’t, pouring out all of her emotions. Desire. Longing. Passion. Love. Regret. Remorse. Guilt. Each one raw and uncensored. Each one there for Trini to do with as she sees fit.

And Trini’s lips answer, with her own set of conflicted emotions. Each one just as powerful as Kim’s. She cups Kim’s jaw with her hands as her fingers gently trace against skin.

The world around them seems to melt away, as Kim gets lost within Trini’s lips. She knows that it might be too much, too soon. That there is so much more for them to sort through with each other, but in that singular moment, Kim doesn’t care. She fully gives into her impulsive desires.

They linger for a moment or two in the kiss neither one wanting it to ever come to an end. Then, suddenly--

“Holy shit!” Zack’s voice echoes from the nearby bonfire in a burst of drunken excitement.

Both Trini and Kim pull out of the kiss, heads shooting back towards the location of the bonfire in utter confusion.

“What’s going--”

“Kim!” Trini exclaims with the same level of excitement as Zack’s voice. “Your arm!”

Kim’s eyes shoot downward to her left arm and discovers that it’s--

SHIMMERING WITH FLECK OF METALLIC PINK.

An ear to ear grin rapidly spreads across her face as she checks out her arm in the moonlight. “T, do you think…”

But Kim doesn’t need to finish her sentence. Trini holds up her arm up against Kim’s, proudly displays the same shimmering metallic fleck but in her own trademark yellow. “Mine too, Princess.”  

[unicornmagic]

Untitled high school omegaverse

For @hannigram-a-b-o-library and SummertimeSlick, here’s a bit of the A/B/O AU where Will is sweet seventeen and goes into--you guessed it--surprise heat. Soshite Koi ga Hajimaru: Hannigram edition, basically.  

Assume this Hannibal is nice-ish, though exactly how nice is unclear. No sex, just age difference, heat, and bodily grossness. 

Edit: completed version now here on AO3.

*

Quiet in the hallways:  class in session.  The guidance counselor greeted Hannibal outside the nurse's office with a rueful smile.  

"Thanks for coming on short notice."

"Not at all," said Hannibal.  "How's the late bloomer?"

"Not happy," said Dr. Bloom.  "We haven't been able to reach his father—he's a contractor, does boat repairs.  Mom's not in the picture."

"'Not happy.'  Physical distress?"

"More emotional.  He thought of himself as a beta until today, and I think he felt secure in that identity.  It's a lot to process."

"It certainly can be," said Hannibal.  "A senior, you said?"

She nodded.  "Few months shy of eighteen.  He and his dad just moved here in August, before classes started.  There were some disciplinary issues at a previous school.  Nothing here.  Seems very bright, but he hasn't been very talkative."  Her smile grew self-deprecating.  "At least not with me."  

"Well, let's have a look and proceed from there."

Dr. Bloom ushered him into the office, to the door of a smaller room within it.  She knocked softly at the door.  "Will?  The doctor's here.  Can we come in?"

A hoarse okay from within.  Dr. Bloom opened the door.  The lights in the room were dimmed.  The walls were ugly cinderblock, institutional, grime-gray. There was a chair, a low cabinet, a narrow bed with a mattress covered in green vinyl.  A cotton blanket lay draped over the end of the bed, a nominal concession to some omegas' need to hide or nest.  

A young man sat on the bed with knees drawn up to his chest, ignoring the blanket, making himself small. 

His clothes were rumpled--gray shorts and plaid shirt, both of poor quality--but he was finely made, with startling features.  A nest of dark curls.  Pink ears protruding from them, darkened with a flush.   Eyes the color of an unruly sea.  They flickered up, then down as Hannibal entered the room.

The scent was delicate, unmistakable.  Nectar to a bee.  Hannibal took care not to audibly sniff.

Dr. Bloom stepped forward.  "Will, this is Dr. Lecter.  He can answer any questions you don't feel comfortable asking me.  I'll be right outside if you need me."

Will nodded.  He remained huddled on the narrow bed.  If anything, he seemed to shrink, flattening further against the wall.  He licked his lips.

"You're an alpha," he said, after Dr. Bloom had shut the door.  

"And a physician," said Hannibal.  "Between the two, I hope I may be of some use.  How are you feeling?"

"I think 'not right' sums it up."

"I'll have to ask you to be a little more specific.  Since you're presenting on the late end of what's considered the normal range, we want to be sure there's nothing amiss."

Will's look suggested that in his view there was plenty amiss, but he uncurled a little from his huddle against the wall.  "I feel feverish.  Overheated.  Like there's a film clinging to the surface of my brain.  When I woke up this morning I thought I must be coming down with something.  Then I got here and everything smelled all...high definition."  His lip curled.  "I'm also...leaking...from places that don't usually leak."

"Taking a suppressant will decrease the flow, but the effects won't be immediate.  Did the nurse or Dr. Bloom give you a hygienic pad?"

Will gave an awful grimace of a smile.  "I stuffed toilet paper down my shorts," he said.

"We'll get you something more suitable."  Hannibal opened his bag.  He took the boy's vitals, noting the slightly elevated temperature without alarm.  "Not unusual during the onset stage.  Feeling feverish and a bit hazy is also normal.  You may find yourself responding strongly to others' personal scents, particularly those of alphas."

"Like yours," said Will slowly.  "You smell--"  A long pause.  "You smell good."

Hannibal quashed his smile.  "Thank you."

Will blinked, then squinted.  The scrutiny seemed aimed chiefly at himself.  "Sorry, was that inappropriate?  Is being inappropriate a symptom?"

"A degree of lowered inhibition is typical.  If you continue to scent me, you may experience an increase in the flow of your natural lubrication--"

"No kidding," muttered Will, looking away.  "So it's like being on the rag, except I'll be leaking from a different orifice, and instead of cramps I'll have fits of lust?"  The back of Will's head met the cinderblock wall.  His throat worked visibly in an effort to swallow his fate.  "God.  How soon can I take drugs to make it stop?"  A thought seemed to strike him, and dawning horror with it.  "Do I have to wait for my dad?  Because I'm a minor?"

"Most non-emergency treatment would require parental consent," said Hannibal, "but there's an exception for 'family planning services.'  If you like, we can start you on suppressants immediately."  

Relief spread in Will's face, followed by a return of tension.  The mobile play of feeling was remarkable.  "How much are they?  I don't--we don't have insurance."

"Thanks to the pharmaceutical companies, I'm well supplied in the way of samples.  You can take your first dose now--" Hannibal reached into his bag and drew out a pill packet, "--but for a full supply, I'll need to stop at my office."  He paused.  "You're welcome to come with me.  There's a private room you can use to study or rest until your father can arrange to pick you up." He cast a meaningful glance around the room. "It may be more comfortable than this one."

"Can't imagine it'd be less," said Will.

*

The doctor's car was parked in one of the visitor spots, black and gleaming.  Will tossed down his book bag and slid into the passenger seat:  dark leather, immaculate.  Then the smell hit, and he nearly toppled sideways out of the car.

Dr. Lecter hovered, hand on the passenger door.  He'd opened it for Will, to Will's incredulity, like some kind of gentleman alpha relic from a previous century.  Will prayed no one in chem lab had been staring out the window to see it happen.  

Concern showed on the doctor's mild face.  "Would you prefer to have Dr. Bloom drive you?  I'm sure she'd be willing."

Will thought of Dr. Bloom, the stylish dress that clung to her figure, the tepid scent he'd never thought bland until today.  Her look of too-knowing sympathy as she'd handed him a hygienic pad.  She was a beta, but she knew what it was like to leak.  Will jerked his head in an emphatic no.

Dr. Lecter closed the door and came around to the driver's seat.  Will could barely hear the engine's purr when he turned the key. 

"Kind of car is this?" he asked, to distract himself from the scent, which was everywhere, dizzying, far more concentrated than it had been in the nurse's office.  His head tipped back on the leather headrest and lolled.  

"A Bentley."

Will peered at the dash as they pulled out of the lot.  "European?"

"British."  Dr. Lecter glanced sideways.  "Shall I open the window?"

At Will's unsteady nod, Dr. Lecter reached for the controls.  The passenger side window slid down.  The rush of clear, humid air from outside brought both relief and--from the just-wakened part of Will that appalled him--a twist of loss. He slumped toward the open window, this close to sticking his head through it to ride with his face in the wind like a dog.  It seemed a better choice than slumping the other way and plastering his nose to Dr. Lecter's sleeve.

His glance strayed sideways, to Dr. Lecter's hands on the wheel at eight and four.  Dexterous, confident in their grasp.  Will wondered how it would feel if they touched his neck, then tore his gaze away.

He wasn't gay, at least not if his previous attractions were anything to go by.  Insofar as he liked people, which wasn't much, he liked girls.  Alphas were mostly insufferable.  The idea of finding them sexy, if only under the influence of hormones--of slavering after their big alpha dicks--made Will want to claw his own face, or maybe the car's fancy leather interior.

Dr. Lecter kept his eyes on the road.  They were heading into the old part of town, the good part, all ponderous houses big enough to qualify as mansions in Will's mind, with broad porches and manicured yards and mature trees hung with moss.  

"Dr. Bloom tells me you're a recent arrival in town," Dr. Lecter said.  "How are you finding the school?"

"It's a school," said Will. 

"Are there many other omegas in your class?"

Will snorted.  "There's not even an AO students' union."  They were supposed to be five percent of the population, give or take, but he knew of only two omega seniors, both girls.  Families that could afford it didn't send their omega kids to shitty Louisiana public schools--coed schools, where they might get bullied or knocked up by randy teenage alphas.  He'd be the only male omega in his class.

Just when he'd thought maybe school would be endurable here, if he kept his head down and did his work.  A few more months, a few more credits and he'd be done, gone, off to basic training at Cape May.  Did the Coast Guard even let omegas serve on active duty?  He shut his eyes and pulled his arms close to his ribs.

At that moment a fresh spurt of wetness--slick, he thought, forcing himself to think it--oozed from his butthole, squishing up and down the crack of his ass.  Will stiffened.  He held himself rigid, praying it wouldn't soak through the pad, through his pants, stain the doctor's expensive leather seats.  

Even if it didn't, an alpha could probably smell it.  He should've asked to ride with Dr. Bloom, after all.  He turned his face miserably to the window's edge.  

"Will?"

"Sorry," rasped Will.

"There's no need for apology.  The changes in your body are--"

"If you say 'perfectly natural,'" said Will, voice cracking, "I will jump out of this moving car."

Dr. Lecter was silent for a moment.  "If you'd like to talk about what you're feeling, I'd be glad to lend an ear.  I'm no Dr. Bloom, but I've treated many young omegas.  Nothing you say will surprise me."

"What I'm feeling is that human biology is bullshit," said Will.

Dr. Lecter didn't smile.  "It may seem hard to believe at the moment, but in some cultures, presentation is an occasion to celebrate.  In Lithuania, omegas were considered blessed by Laima, goddess of birth and fate.  At first heat they were crowned with flower garlands and feasted, before and after."

"Lucky them," muttered Will.  He paused, considering the doctor's accent.  "Is that where you're from?"

"Originally, yes."  The car slowed.  "Here we are."

Will had expected an office building, but they'd pulled up to the curb in front of a stately double-gallery house, surrounded by other stately houses and a Catholic church.  A low fence of wrought iron lined the edge of the yard, too short to keep people out or dogs in.  Aside from that, it was a good yard: generous, green, shaded by a live oak that spread soft fingers of moss over the eaves. 

A sign along the sidewalk read, in neat gold lettering: H. Lecter, M.D.  Family Practice.

H. Lecter, M.D. rolled up the window and unbuckled his seatbelt.  As soon as the window sealed shut, the scent of him overtook Will again.  Will drew a shaky breath of it.  If he'd ever noticed how alphas smelled before, he'd found them off-putting, too musky, rank with masculine excess.   Dr. Lecter smelled intricate, with an edge of sweetness, like the trace of caramel in good bourbon. The kind you could get hammered on without regret.  When Will didn't budge in his seat, the doctor paused with one hand on the door.  

"Will you come in?" he asked.

Will turned his head.  He didn't want to move, and not just because he was afraid to see if he'd stained the seat.  Fucked up as it was, he didn't want to leave this small, dark, enclosed space that reeked of alpha.  Not for any place other than his own shitty bedroom in the shitty rental house.

The words welled up of their own volition, like slick.  "Could I maybe just...wait here, while you go in?"  He hated asking for things, and here he was, asking. His eyes met Dr. Lecter's.  He was pretty sure they reflected some portion of how pathetic he felt.  "Maybe I could get a ride home?"

Dr. Lecter's pupils dilated.  He hesitated for a second before he spoke.  "It would be best if someone remained near you, at least for the next several hours.  Adverse reactions to suppressants are uncommon, but not unheard of."  He looked conflicted, as if denying the request of a heat-stricken omega contradicted his principles.  "Is there someone who could stay with you at your home?"

Will looked away.  He could lie.  Invent a neighbor, a family friend, a local aunt.  Say they'd come over and keep an eye on him.  He shook his head.

"Not unless you want to.” He felt a dim disbelief at himself for saying it aloud.

"I'm more than flattered to be asked."  Dr. Lecter's voice grew gentle and low.  Will wanted to roll in it, and to yank back the part of him that wanted to roll by the scruff of its neck.  Yank it back and lock it up in a shed.  "I only wish it were appropriate.  Would you like to try again to reach your father?"

Reluctantly Will took out his phone.  The call rang, and rang, and went to voice mail, as it had when Dr. Bloom had tried before.  Will cut it off without leaving a message.  Dr. Lecter was watching, solemn-faced.

"He's not very good about checking his phone," said Will, hating that it sounded like an excuse.  "Forgets he turned the ringer off."

Dr. Lecter shifted toward him in the driver's seat, all earnest brown eyes and sandy brown hair that fringed over the side of his brow.  "I understand you'd prefer to be at home.  Let's at least see that there are no ill effects from the medication first.  If in a few hours all seems well, and there's still no word from your father, I'd be happy to drive you."

Will's shoulders sank.  It was hard to say no to an alpha, let alone one that sounded so goddamn rational and adult.  He nodded, silent.  He dragged his book bag onto his lap, then opened the door before Dr. Lecter could sweep around the car and do it for him.

As they walked up to the office, the doctor asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Not really."

"If not now, you may be soon.  Do you like profiteroles?"

Will squinted sideways.  "Why?" 

"Because I made some to share with my staff.  I'm afraid there's an excess."

Will shouldered his slumping book bag with a huff.  "For my presentation feast?"  They stepped onto the porch.  Through the front window Will could see an airy waiting room, a reception desk, a young woman behind it.  He sidled closer to Dr. Lecter without thinking.  "Do I get a flower crown, too?"

Dr. Lecter's arm came around Will, gently shepherding, as he held open the door.  "It would be my pleasure."

*

Continued on AO3