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jeogiyall · 4 years

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𝐈𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐝𝐞; 𝒏.𝒚𝒕

⚓︎ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷𝟺𝚔 (𝚒𝚔 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜)

⚓︎ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾; 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝗋! 𝖺𝗎, 𝗒𝗎𝗍𝖺 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

⚓︎ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ: 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒! 𝗒𝗎𝗍𝖺, 𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗄𝗂𝖽! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗂! 𝖺𝗎, 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒, 𝖮𝖢 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 :) || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗏𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗍, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀.

⚓︎ ᴀ/ɴ: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 5𝗄 𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾!! 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖼𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗁𝖺𝗁𝖺 <3 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁 + 𝖺𝗋𝗂'𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗑𝗈𝗑𝗈! -𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

The first thing you do upon entering ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack’ is wipe dried tears from your cheeks. It wasn’t that you weren’t beyond ecstatic to be spending a summer in Oahu, Hawai'i, you really were! It was just terrible to be there with your family, terrible to be anywhere with your family. Seriously, you had been on the island for a week and the closest you’d come to having fun was watching your dad golf. Your mother had called you selfish upon your complaint, so you grabbed your bike from the front lawn and left with nowhere to go.

It had been an hour of pedaling with salty tears falling down your cheeks before there was a sign of people actually living here. Before you stumbled upon the small complex of stores it was just ‘Discount Golf Cart Tours!’ and ‘Authentic Oahu Dining!’ but something about this place felt real. Maybe it was the sound of water sloshing on the stilts that supported each building, or the smell of mango wafting out of the fresh grocers, or perhaps the man selling pineapples in front of the surf shack who had fallen asleep face first on his booth, but something about this felt genuine. It also didn’t hurt that you had been wanting to try out surfing. You parked your bike next to the pineapple stand, taking extra precaution to not wake him, and entered the surf store.

The first thing you noticed was that your cheeks were still wet (hence the wiping,) followed by the smell of sunscreen and cedar wood. It felt like stepping through a portal, one that transported you to a place without overbearing mothers or artificial golf courses. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, entirely missing the tan boy perched on the storefront counter.

The boy in question was prepared to spill out the usual speech, ‘Welcome to Yuta and Johnny’s surf shack, I’m Yuta and am here to help with any of your needs. Are you interested in renting or purchasing today,’ but something about you made his voice stop working. He blames it on the way your head tilted back, like you were soaking in rays of sunshine, then inhaled deeply as if to take it all in. It seemed personal, fragile. Like it’d be criminal to impose. He doesn’t even consider speaking until you catch him.

“Um... Are you interested in a rental?” His voice was low and gravelly, laced with an accent. You laughed awkwardly, entire body going pink.

“That obvious, huh?” You felt like an idiot standing there in pinstripe pajama shorts and a tacky button up that’s a few (read: three) sizes too big. Clothes weren’t exactly on your ‘escape the mother’ agenda.

“Oh, no!” His eyes go wide as he takes in your outfit, “I mean now that you mention it yes, but that wasn’t what I meant at first. Sorry.” You almost see his cheeks turn red.

“It’s okay, I look ridiculous.” He chuckles a little bit, a low and warm sound. You think that he has a nice smile, “I’m actually just browsing today, but I’ll let you know if I need help.” You watch his hair bounce as he nods, it’s light purple and so long that it tickles the tip of his chin.

You doddle around the store for thirty minutes, pretending to look at surf equipment that you have no idea how to use. You almost ask the boy what’s what, but something clenching at your throat prevents you from speaking. In the end you buy a bottle of SPF thirty and a pineapple from the man out front (it feels like you should, seeing as he didn’t kick your bike off of his booth.) The ride home is tranquil and quiet, like a scene out of a movie.

“I want to try surfing.” You lament aimlessly while hugging a pillow. It’s been a week since your excursion to the surf shack, and it’s been on your mind ever since. The surfing, and also maybe the boy working.

“Why?” Maddie Prescot, your neighbor, best friend, and (conveniently) father's largest business partner's daughter, asks while plopping onto your bed, “It’s so scary looking! Like what if you fall off or something, there’s no one else out there with you!” You roll your eyes playfully at the worried expression spreading on her face.

“That’s like the whole point, y’know our dads can’t talk to us if we’re in the middle of the ocean.” The words come out casual, almost as if they weigh nothing. When you see Maddie’s face her eyes are wide and her jaw is dropped.

“I take it back, sign me up right now.”

(While you two laugh together you think about the first time you met Maddie, the summer spent in Europe. It was when your fathers had just started working together, and terribly miserable. Seriously, two fourteen year old girls forced to sit in stuffy dresses and eat small portions at restaurants where you had to speak softly. She had approached you after the first dinner right as your stomach grumbled lowly.

“Are you still hungry?” You nodded reluctantly, “Me too, let’s get food delivered back to our houses.”

“Oh, um, I don’t-”

“Dad! (y/n)’s sleeping over!” She called across the narrow, Italian street. It was a summertime friendship, yet in a way it meant so much more. Maddie was the first person that understood any part of your life, and despite the fact that during the school year she was an entire country away it always felt like you could talk to her. Even if it was about something dumb, she was always there. )

“Are we getting uber food after dinner?”

“Always!” She answers, smiling in a way that looks familiar, “I do have to go get ready though, see you tonight!” She exits the room in a flurry, leaving behind the scent of strawberry shampoo and a grin on your face.

“Oh my gosh Maddie-”

“Shush, you’re gonna wake up my parents!” Maddie chided, loading a glass plate with a pink bar of soap on it into the microwave. Your brain was certainly tired, but not tired enough to think this was a good idea.

“You’re trying to make something explode, but yes my convincing you to not explode things is gonna wake up your dad who’s two floors away!” She smiles brightly at your words while pressing the on button.

“I’m glad that we’re on the same page!” You groan, feeling gray hairs popping out of your scalp just from the sight of her.

“I swear being friends with you is like being a babysitter.”

"Hiding from the rain?” The boy at the counter asks. You immediately notice that it’s the same boy that was manning the counter the last time that you ran away to ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack,’ except now his skin is even tanner. You inhale deeply while cringing at the wet clothes on your skin.

“If I was, I definitely failed, don’t you think?” You tease, motioning to the soaked hair on top of your head. He laughs, a sound that nearly warms up your wet limbs, and nods.

“Pretty miserably, let me get you a towel.” You’re about to tell him ‘No, don’t even worry about it! I’m fine!’ but a shiver runs down your body, and you want nothing more than to be warm.

“Please.” He giggles at the slight crack in your voice, you think that it’s the first time you’ve ever heard a boy giggle. It suits him, “So are you Yuta or Johnny?” You ask while the boy rummages beneath the counter.

“Guess.”

“Umm, Johnny?” When he resurfaces with a pink fuzzy towel in hand he’s wearing a hurt expression, like you just told him that you don’t like his hair. Not that you would ever say that. Much like giggles and wide smiles, long lilac hair suits him.

“How dare you?” Despite your best efforts you laugh, walking over to take the towel where he offers.

“Sorry, Yuta.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” You take the towel from his hands, still biting back laughter, “I’m just kidding. Sorry, I tend to do that too much, what can I help you with?”

“You’re not joking too much, and I’m not sure. Surfing, I guess.” His eyebrows furrow as he watches you wrap the towel around your body like a blanket.

“You guess?”

“Yea...” Your voice is tiny, confused. It makes something inside of him turn pink.

“And you’ve been on the island for how long?” Your response barely sounds like words, but he somehow manages to gather ‘three and a half weeks’ from your sullen mumbles, “Yea, we’re done guessing, come back next Wednesday. One work for you?” It feels like your head is literally made of rocks as you nod, “Okay. You’re learning to surf.” If it weren’t for the fact that they weren’t rolling around on the floor, you would’ve thought your eyes had popped out.

“Oh, thank you. How much?” He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, “Like... How much should I pay you?”

“Don’t be goofy, that’s why we have Johnny. To be goofy.”

“Seriously, I can’t not pay you.”

“(y/n,) I want to do this.” His eyes are trained on you, they feel heavy.

“How do you know my name?”

“Back of your bike.” The fact that he already has the answer to everything makes your cheeks heat up. You don’t know if it’s in a crush way or in the job interview kind of way. Judging by his strong arms and honey skin you think that it’s crush kind.

“That’s kind of weird... Really weird.” You move to leave, but turn around one last time. He’s smiling at your back, and you know in that instant that he’s going to ruin your life “I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

His smile follows you out the door and to the pineapple booth, then all the way home.

Your mom questions why you always come home with an enormous pineapple. You fib through your teeth and tell her that you pick them off the side of the street. She doesn’t really buy it, you don’t either. It’s clear that she’s about to push harder, but then your father walks through the front door of the rental home and suddenly everything is about him. For the first time in your life you don’t really mind it. There’s something nice about having the surf shack (and Yuta) all to yourself.

“You’re going to fall off, that’s just how it works. Everyone falls.” Yuta reasons while staring at your panicked frame. Everything was going great with the lesson, right up until you saw Johnny (co-owner of the store, and resident gentle giant) get entirely wiped out on a huge wave. Now you’re sitting on the lavender colored surfboard (that you definitely didn’t choose because it matches Yuta’s hair. Definitely not) with trembling arms, “Besides, when you fall it won’t hurt as bad as when Johnny does it.”

“Why?” It’s genuinely obnoxious how high your voice shoots up.

“Because you’re not seven feet tall. You really don’t even need to worry about it right now, not like you’re catching any waves today anyways.” You cringe, the blue rash guard you got from their surf shack suddenly feeling too tight (you tried to buy it, but each time you moved to give Yuta the cash he would squeeze his eyes shut and pretend like you weren’t there,) “Seriously, just enjoy being out here.” He reaches out to grab your arm before realizing that his board is definitely too far away. He laughs, and you can’t help but join in. He has that effect on people.

When you two eventually paddle back to shore the sun is getting ready to set, casting a golden haze over everything. You think that the boy standing in front of you looks beautiful. It’s the first time a boy has ever been that to you.

“Thank you for my first ever surf lesson. It was really fun, but I sadly have to get going now.” Wet hair is tickling your chin, and you’re dreading explaining this to your parents.

“Alright, same time next week?” Your heart catches on the hook of his words, slowly unraveling into a useless ball of yarn.

“Yea.” The word feels like it weighs five thousand pounds. It gets heavier with every step you take towards your baby blue bike, parked up against the shabby pineapple stand.

“(Y/N!)” Yuta shouts, still standing on the white sand of the beach. For the first time all day you notice that he’s not the only person there.

“What?” You call back, voice uncharacteristically loud. Yuta also has that effect on people, pulling out the daring parts that shout across crowded beaches and lie to their parents.

“Can I get you dinner next time?” A smile erupts on his face as if it’s volcanic, there’s one on yours too. You think to yourself that his smile could fix everything bad inside of you.

“I’d love that!”

You wear his smile to sleep that night.

Four days after your first surf lesson your muscles are still sore. It’s not a normal kind of sore either, one where you can take an advil and get over it, of course it’s not. It’s the kind of sore that makes your muscles spasm at the most inopportune times ever. In example: right now, standing in front of Maddie’s entire family while sipping red wine that you weren’t supposed to have. The fact that your dress was white cotton didn’t help to ease your nerves.

“Are you okay?” Maddies oldest brother, Warner, asks you. You try to nod, then quickly give up after remembering where your pain was.

“Yea.” You exhaled, rolling your head backwards, “I’m just sore, it’s a pressure thing I guess.” He chuckles, low and crunchy. It makes your stomach churn, but not the same way that Yuta’s does.

“Can I ask you something?” Yuta asks while shaking water from his hair. You two were waiting for grubhub to arrive at the surf store with post surf lesson dinner. Yuta had taken to putting on dry clothes while you sat shivering on the counter, wrapped up in a fluffy towel.

“Depends.” There’s a small smile playing on your lips, immediately pulling a giggle from the tanned boy. You want to bottle up the sound and keep it tucked underneath your pillow.

“Why do you... Hold back so much?” You look at him as if you don’t know what he’s talking about. You do, obviously, you’ve been holding back for as long as you can remember, but it’s almost embarrassing that he’s noticed it “Don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean. Like... Like how whenever I make a joke you try to not laugh, why don’t you laugh? Not just that, but... That.” A part of you wants to not tell him, wants to keep Yuta and everything nasty inside of you completely separate. There’s a bigger part of you that gives into his dripping honey smile and blanket laugh.

“My parents sent me to a boarding school that’s really... Strict, I guess? I don’t know, it’s competitive and no one is friends with anyone. You’re literally my second friend ever, we are friends right?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, imagine if you had said no.” You pull wet hair off the back of your neck, suddenly feeling very dizzy, “Anyways, yes. My parents, like... They are also super strict. I’m always too loud, or too goofy, or too serious, or just... Just too much. Too much.” You mean to keep talking, but your voice gives out as tears stream down your face. Yuta doesn’t notice for a second, but as soon as he does you have strong arms wrapping around your shoulders.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry!” He coos while squeezing you tight. If you weren’t bawling into his chest you would think about how this is the first real hug you’ve gotten in months, “Oh gosh! You’re gonna get sunscreen in your eyes, here! Use my shirt!” He’s shoving his shirt into your face, and if you weren’t crying out basically every frustration that you’ve ever had, it would be kind of funny. You wipe the tears out of your eyes, then the sunscreen from your forehead, and then you just hold the fabric.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” You sob, clenching onto his (once) dry shirt, “It’s the first time I’ve ever talked about it, a-and I ruined your shirt, and I’m so sorry!”

“S’okay. You’re okay.” He makes the words feel true, holding you in a way that no one ever has. It’s a clingy kind of hold, one that doesn’t let up until his phone dings. He keeps an arm slung around your shoulder while reading the lit screen, “Food is here, why don’t you go put on some dry clothes?” You rub the sticky tears from your cheeks while shaking your head lightly.

“I didn’t bring any, my parents would’ve asked where I was going and then I’d have to-” He brings up one hand to cover your mouth while the other one fishes under the counter. You think this is the nicest way that anyone has told you to shut up.

“Borrow mine.”

The shirt falls to your mid-thigh, so you don’t even bother with his shorts. (With how tiny that boy's waist is, the shorts probably wouldn’t fit anyways.) He spends dinner cracking jokes just to make you laugh and staring at your profile when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Okay,” You manage through dad joke induced laughter, “I really do have to get going now. Sun’s starting to set, and I don’t have a helmet light.”

“I’d pay to see that.” He helps you gather up your trash and walks you to the door, which is only two seconds away from where you were previously, “I’m gonna say something, and I hope I don’t make you cry again, so I’m telling you that I’m gonna say something.” You smile, playfully rolling your eyes. It’s ridiculous to you how easy it all feels.

“It wasn’t your fault I cried, it’s just because-”

“Okay talking now!” Laughter floats in the space between your bodies as he smiles shyly, “I think you’re really sweet. Like, the way that you buy a pineapple from Mr. Kahale every time you leave, or how you still try to buy stuff from me, or... The way that you laugh at all my jokes? Even the ones that really aren’t funny, you still laugh. I think that makes you sweet, and you’re also funny, and sarcastic, and hardworking... And not too much. Never too much.”

The words scratch into the back of your eyelids, and you read them in between every blink.

“Hey Johnny!” You chirp upon entering the surf shack. It’s half past noon, but you doubted that anyone would send you packing for showing up too early.

“(y/n,) hi! Come on in, can I get you a cup of coffee?” The tall boy asks, already turning around to prepare the mug. Honestly? You had already made a cup early in the morning and two cups would definitely make you jittery, but Johnny was so eager that you let him go ahead.

“Sure, go ahead. No sugar and four creams, please.” You assume your usual position on the checkout counter while Johnny plugs in the Keurig machine. Words float out of his mouth and around the room, never quite hitting your ears. It’s not that he’s boring, just that something feels off, “Hey, where’s Yuta?” The boy rolls his eyes exasperatedly, knowing fully well that you didn’t hear a single thing that he said.

“He’ll be here soon. Didn’t come in this morning since it’s his day off and all; here’s your coffee!” Johnny sees something on your face, written in furrowed eyebrows and down turned lips, “Don’t worry, he’s still coming in for your lessons!” You take the cup, head swimming with tan skin and hair that’s a little too long.

“I didn’t know it was his day off.” Johnny smiles brightly, exhaling a laugh.

“Wednesdays have always been his off days, well until recently. He comes in to teach you but that’s it.” Your cheeks turn bright pink, spreading quickly down your neck, “You know, he told me that- Yuta! Welcome home!” Something rises in your chest at Johnny's unspoken words, only to crest when you see the boy in question's beautiful smile (the one that reaches everything around him and paints it into something pretty.)

“Hi (y/n)! Happy to see you!” And that’s when it crashes in a big mess of soft smiles and snotty confessions. You want to tell him that he’s the second person that’s ever listened to you, that he’s the only boy that’s ever made you smile. You want to tell him that pieces of him live in your head, coming up in the moments where everything is too hard to handle.

The only words that manage to squeeze out of your throat are, “You too, ready to start?”

If his bright laugh was any indicator, then he certainly got the message.

“Sweetie, why is your face sunburned?” Your mother asks while dumping eggs on your plate. The burn across your nose was from staying out just a little too long with Yuta, but obviously she could never know about that. Instead you shrug, pretending like you didn’t even know it was there.

“Don’t know, sun’s bright I guess.” Her eyes narrow, and you know from eighteen years of stretching the truth that she doesn’t buy it. A groan (partnered with dread) rises in your throat at the idea of trying to dig your way out of this, just like you had to last week when she asked about your wet hair. This whole lying thing used to be so easy, something that just rolled off your tongue, but upon realizing that people can make you smile and that life can be enjoyed you always get terrible cottonmouth whenever you need to lie. A small part of you knows that it’s because you don’t want to lie about being happy, that you want someone to tell everything to, but a bigger part wants to stay in the dark.

“You lie like a cheap carpet.” She teases, voice twinging with a southern accent that she never had. It almost makes you want to tell her, then you think back to your last summer roller derby practice. When you had scraped your knee open. Your mom had been shocked after seeing the blood that stretched from the bottom of your thigh to the middle of your calf, but that was all replaced when you told her where it was from. Within twenty minutes you learned every synonym for ‘irresponsible’ that there was

(”I do everything around this house and this is how you repay me?! By getting injured, and oh I don’t know lying?!” You had cringed at her harsh words, right leg still aching with pain.

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed out, praying that the high ceilings of your kitchen would crash down on your head.

“I’m sure you are, God (y/n) do you even know what it’s like to run a household?! I am exhausted, and you’re running around and hurting yourself?!”

“Well maybe you wouldn’t have to ‘run the household’ if your stupid fucking husband would ever come home and raise his child! And maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to keep things from you if you didn’t react like this!” Tears trickled down your mother's cheeks, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You had been crying first, anyways.

“To your room.” Her jaw was clenched so tight that even water wouldn’t be able to slip through it, “Now!”

You had run up the stairs and into your room as fast as possible, then proceeded to slam the door and hurl your skates into a bookshelf. Needless to say, you never got to go back to derby.)

“I’m not lying, mom.” You breathe out, shoveling the last bit of scrambled eggs into your mouth, “I’m going over to Maddie’s, see you at the dinner party tonight!” Her gaze follows you out the door, sitting on your shoulders and swallowing you like a denim jacket.

You checked the time on your phone for the fourth time in the past ten minutes, only to groan upon realizing that not even a minute had passed since the last time you checked. Maddie had been getting the food for around fifteen minutes, and while the grubhub delivery boy was probably tripping over his tongue at the flirting that was definitely going on, your stomach was starting to grumble. It’s starting to sound violent

“Hungry?” A gravelly voice asks from behind you, causing hair to prick up on the nape of your neck before realizing that it’s just Warner.

“You shouldn’t scare people like that! Especially when they’re sitting on the ledge of a balcony!” It feels like your mother crawls out of your mouth, so you close it harshly and swallow before even considering speaking again, “And yes, extremely. Maddie’s supposed to come back up with the food, but she’s been gone for fifteen minutes.”

“Yea,” He chuckles while sliding onto the balcony railing, it makes you think of Yuta’s soft giggles, “she’s flirting with the delivery boy.” A heavy breath runs down your cheeks while eyes roll into the back of your head.

“How did I know?” When he laughs a hand brushes on your thigh, then stays there. Your cheeks turn red, but it’s more of an embarrassed blush. Not the innocent sunrise blush that Yuta paints your body with. You stare at his hand, begging for it to move. It never does, “(y/n,-)”

“I have t-to go. I have to go check on Maddie.” The way your body stumbles over the railing and through the French glass doors is embarrassing, but you don’t care. You’d trip over a million banana peels if it got rid of Warners expectant gaze.

It follows you down the hallway, through one living room, and into a stairwell, only leaving when Maddie bumps into you with a loud ‘oomf!’

“Hey honey, where are you going?” Her voice is so sweet, like the way someone would talk to a puppy. With anyone else it’d be patronizing, but with Maddie it feels like home.

“Warner like... touched my thigh, but it wasn’t a big deal. Just made me uncomfy.” She smiles sympathetically, knowing fully well that this wasn’t her brother's first time leaving a girl feeling like this.

“He’s an asshole.” The blunt words look funny coming out of your friend's soft face, so you laugh.

“Yea.”

“Let’s eat, I’m starved.” You think to yourself that you’ll never find a person like her, before nodding and falling in line behind her.

The first time that you manage to catch a real wave, not the baby ones that Yuta made you ‘ride’ right by the shore, you feel so free that you could cry. The wave is at least six feet tall, but in your head it feels much taller. Like something that could swallow you whole, but also something that you told not to. And something that listened.

You don’t even know what to do with all of the energy coursing in your veins, so you do nothing. Just let it fester while riding the wave, exactly the way that Yuta taught you. With feet planted strongly in the center of the board, everything smelling like salt water, and a huge smile spreading across your face. Although you don’t see him, Yuta is cheering from the sand, which is exactly where you go once the wave breaks.

You start to run to the boy, adrenaline still writhing in your body, but the running stops as soon as you pummel face first into the shin deep water. Perhaps running with something attached to your ankle isn’t the smartest move, but you’re too high to care. It’s all you can do to not burst out laughing at yourself.

“Are you okay?!” Yuta asks as his arms materialize beneath you. His eyes are slightly worried, causing a ridiculous contrast to your wild ones.

“Never better, did you see that?!” He barely has you out the water before you’re bouncing around again.

“What, you cleaning the ocean floor with your face or-”

“Don’t be a butt!” You tease while flicking his temple, “Did you see it?!”

“Of course I did! I was cheering and everyth-” Your lips are on his. You’re standing in the water of a Hawaii beach, and kissing Nakamoto Yuta. You’re (y/n,) who just rode a six foot tall wave, and you are kissing Nakamoto Yuta. You are kissing him, and he tastes like sun drenched honey. There’s nothing that could make this feel real, not even if someone came up and pinched you.

Even as his tongue swipes over your lower lip, even as his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, even as your hands tangle in the ends of his long hair. Nothing could convince you that this isn’t a dream. Maybe it’s the way that Yuta kisses like he needs it to survive, or how he’s listening to you despite the fact that no words have been exchanged, or maybe even how the waves are crashing you endlessly closer to him. Everything about his mouth on yours is far too good to be true.

“Was that okay?” You exhale, hot breath fanning against the boys cheeks, “I mean like, that I kissed you?” Everything feels hazy as your eyes focus in on his giddy smile. You think to yourself that his smile rivals every sunset that you’ve ever seen.

“Yes.” He responds, chest heaving, “Yea, it’s okay.” He rests his forehead against yours as a wave brushes the hems of your rash guards.

“Did you really see?” Something in your voice sparkles, it makes Yuta’s heart stop.

“I see everything that you do. The sharp inhales, the way your head tilts back when you enjoy something, the way you smile when Johnny offers you coffee. I’m starting to think that the only reason I have eyes is to look at you.” The words ricochet around your head, leaving your eyes watery and heart heavy.

“Yuta?” You ask before swallowing hard. There’s a hand tangled in his lilac hair, the other cradling the back of his neck. He thinks to himself that he could die like this and still be happy, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Okay.” He answers. The word feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and also like you could lift it with your pinky..

There were three times in your life where you felt peace. The first time was a week spent in Spain with your boarding school, everyone stayed together in a hotel with a huge open air courtyard. You had spent each day out there amongst the plants, doing nothing except for school readings and breathing in the fresh air.

The second time was your first sleepover with Maddie. She had ordered Chinese and rented some Italian film that you can’t remember the name of anymore. She was the first person to listen to you about anything, and even though it was over something as simple as beef or chicken lo mein and what movie to watch, it felt nice. You remember falling asleep that night feeling like your heart was full.

And the third time was now, sitting on your board past where the waves break with Yuta. You’re about to paddle back to shore, but for now the boy is just basking in golden sun and splashing water at you.

“Stop!” You cry out, holding up one hand uselessly, “If I fall off you’re coming with me!” He smirks playfully, splashing the water even harder.

“Good, then maybe I can kiss you.” Something in your heart clenches at his childlike smile, and you almost understand the want to be pushed into the ocean just so you can kiss his honey lips.

“Come on, let’s head in.” As the two of you roll in with the evening tide, you can’t help but think that no one will ever make you happy the way that he does.

Despite growing closer with both shop owners, entering the surf shack still manages to transport you to a new planet. It’s like there’s nothing in the world that can brace you for the smell of bananas and fresh cut wood, or the sight of Johnny beaming from behind the counter while Yutas legs dangle from his perch. It’s nothing special, but in a way it is. At least to you.

“(y/n!)” They both cheer, Yuta sliding quickly off the counter while Johnny starts up the keurig.

“Four creams?” Johnny asks as Yuta presses a loud kiss to your tanned cheek. The taller boy pulls a face of disgust, so you giggle and push the sweet boy away.

“Yea, please!” Yuta is still trying to kiss your face, his tan arms wrapping around any part of you that he can reach, “Yes, hi Yuta, I’m excited to see you too! Now, stop being gross.” You and Johnny both chuckle while Yuta pouts, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

“I like being gross.” He grumbles, returning back to his spot on the counter. You follow close behind and ruffle a hand in his lilac hair.

“We know.”

“No matter how hard he tries, he will never be as gross as keurig coffee.” Johnny states, head shaking solemnly. Yuta busts out laughing and pushes his friend's shoulder.

“I like keurig coffee!” You protest, causing Johnny to chuckle while Yuta continues to giggle. You accept the mug from Johnny when he hands it to you, and everything feels so regular that it hurts.

It’s another breakfast spent shoveling runny eggs into your mouth in hopes to leave before your parents bring up any taboo topics, except this time something is off. Your father is actually here, for starters, then add that to the part where him and your mother are staring at you as if they’re waiting for an answer and you end up with a churning feeling in your gut. Your mother's eyebrows haven’t relaxed since you sliced up the pineapple.

“Sweetie, have you ever considered dating?” The words are so unexpected that you choke, a hand flying to your glass of water.

“Excuse me?” You wheeze, cheeks flushing bright pink. She’s going to ask about Yuta, you just know she’s going to ask about him. It was the love bite that gave it away, the one in the hollow of your throat. You knew he shouldn’t have done it, but there were no real thoughts in that moment. Just his lips and your skin.

“Oh, you know, just going out to dinner. Seeing a movie, you know plenty of nice boys right?” The words are swimming through your head, pushing hard into the back of your eyes.

“I don’t think I understand-” Your response is choked, your throat clenching around each syllable that comes out.

“Like um... Cameron, the boy you did that group project with? Or Donny, the one who ran for class President?” You nod slowly, waiting for the final blow, “Or Warner! Why don’t you date Warner?”

“Warner?” You don’t have to play dumb anymore, you actually have no idea what she’s talking about. Aside from the relief that no one knows about Yuta, confusion washes over you.

“Yea!” She chimes, hands clapping together, “He’s so sweet and smart, and I think he’s kinda handsome, right?” All you can think of is the way his eyes peeled you apart in the worst way possible, like you owed him something. Like it didn’t matter that you didn’t want his hands anywhere near you.

“Um, yea. Warner’s sweet.” The words taste like bile coming up your throat, “I have to go now, see you guys later.” You run out of the house like your heels are on fire, and the only way to put them out is to get as far away from their expectant stares as quickly as possible.

“Yuta, come on! I told you, no more love bites!” You groan, pulling him away by the hair.

“But I know you like them so much!” He pouts, moonlight cascading through the shop windows and across his tanned face. Tonight had been a dinner party night, which meant that right now you should be at Maddie’s house. Except for the fact that she had a secret date with the grub hub delivery boy.

(“I’m so sorry, please don’t tell anyone!” She had pleaded, eyes growing wide and watery. You always thought it was ridiculous how she could make herself cry on command. No one person should have that much power.

“So long as you don’t tell anyone that I’m sneaking out too.” Her eyes (now entirely void of tears) widened, one hand reaching out to push your shoulder while you giggled shyly.

“Who are you and what have you done with (y/n?!)”

“... Nothing?”)

“I do, but I think my mom saw…” His pout expands into a smile while your cheeks turn bright pink. A giggle slips past his lips as he rests your foreheads together.

“Really?” The boy whispers, as if you’re not the only other person in the room.

“Yes!” You laugh back, “Stop laughing at me!” The words just make him laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, it’s just funny!” Your eyebrows furrow as you stick your tongue out at him, making him smile even brighter, “Come on, don’t be mad at me! Honey, don’t be mad at m- mmph!” The words (and teasing) stop as soon as your lips collide, swallowed by something hot and needy. You think to yourself that his lips taste like honey, then that you’d give anything to kiss him for forever.

“Yuta,” You breathe out, trying to get the boys attention. It doesn’t work, his lips stay on yours, “Yuta!”

“Yea?” He asks, pulling back so little that his lips brush yours upon moving.

“I love you.” The smile on his face is worth a thousand dollars. You want to kiss it, so you do.

The action is slow and fueled with passion, him whispering ‘I love you too’ against you any chance that he can get.

A long time ago you decided that the only good thing about dinner parties was the fact that you got to get ready for them. Last week you wore your favorite blue dress, the one with ruffles on the sleeves, and a petite golden chain (which ended up on the checkout counter of your boyfriends store. You’re ninety percent sure that he took it home.) Yuta had nearly lost his mind when you stumbled into the store looking like that, with high heels dangling from your fingertips.

This week was something slightly different, seeing as it was something that your mother insisted on. A form fitting white dress with detailed embroidery around the waist. You found it to be repulsive, but it matched your favorite pearls so you let her go ahead and take it to the dry cleaners.

“Sweetie, I’m coming upstairs with your dress in ten minutes!” She hollers up the stairs. You clamp the pearls quickly, then throw your electric blue rash guard into the closet.

“Okay!” You respond, opening up the makeup drawer of your desk.

She enters the room quietly and hangs the dress on your closet door. You were hoping it would get less ugly the more you looked at, but it was turning out to be quite the opposite. It really just looked like a bad ice skating costume.

“It’s sad to think that we’ll be leaving in two weeks, isn’t it?” You hum in agreement while taking a brush to your eyelid. This talk is barely something that phases you anymore, seeing as you’ve already discussed everything with Yuta. Leave for two months, take your gap year on Oahu, and then apply to all of the local universities that you can, “We have to go back to the real world, with all of the responsibilities.” The way she’s talking feels rehearsed, as if she’s been waiting to say this to you for a long time.

“... Yea?” Her smile is so sweet that you barely believe it’s hers.

“But you don’t have many of those right now, do you? Nothing but enjoying your gap year and-”

“Mom, can you just tell me whatever you’re trying to say?” You snap, the brush clattering out of your hand and onto the glass top of the vanity. She slides down onto your unmade bed, hands making fists in the fabric of her skirt while she swallows heavily.

“You’re not going to like it very much.” It feels like your tongue is made of cotton again.

“Tell me. Please.” Her lower lip quivers, causing your stomach to clench even tighter.

“Do you remember when we spent the summer in Europe with the Prescot’s?” You nod slowly, remembering your very first encounter with Maddie, “And your father spent the entire time negotiating with Mr. Prescot?” You nod again, vividly remembering all of the lonely nights spent pretending to be asleep while your father stumbled home drunk off of wine.

“Yea, but he decided to go along with it because dad offered him a huge share of the income.” She looks at you as if you didn’t finish the sentence, “Right?”

“Right... Mostly right.” You inhale deeply, hoping for a breath of fresh air. You don’t get it, the entire room smells like a thunderstorm, “They also reached an agreement regarding you.”

“W-what?” She reaches out to hold your hands, you’re so confused that you let her.

“Your father and Mr. Prescot agreed that when you turn eighteen, and Warner twenty, that you two would become e-engaged to be-” The realization settles in right as your pearls begin to tighten. She keeps talking, saying things like ‘legal,’ and ‘sweet boy,’ but you feel nothing. Nothing other than your pearls tightening, suffocating you slowly but surely. They tighten like a vice, and you’re sure that you’ll never breathe again.

“W-when?” Your words are small and pathetic, one hand reaching up to grasp the dainty necklace.

“We’re announcing it tonight, I-I’m... I’m gonna leave you alone to process.” She squeezes your hands one last time, then leaves, “And please do a little bit of makeup, there’s going to be photographs. We don’t want to see your splotchy skin, do we?” With that she’s gone, door shut tightly and room silent.

Something pounds heavily against your skull, turning everything blurry. The only thought you can register is that you have to vomit, now. It takes everything in you to stumble towards the en suite, but once you get there your body knows exactly what to do.

There’s cold tile on your exposed knees as you empty the contents of your stomach into the ivory toilet. You vomit for nearly forty minutes, pulling at the suffocating pearls the whole time. The strand almost snaps, you barely even care.

Your head feels empty, like you puked out every thought and anxiety until you were just a shell of a person. A shell of a person who was engaged to Warner Prescot, and not Nakamoto Yuta.

The dinner party feels more like a trip to the aquarium, but you’re the fish. You and Warner sit at the head of the table, his hand taking home on the small of your back (he wiggles his fingers far too much, which sends the worst kind of shivers down your spine,) and everyone is staring. It makes you wonder how many people knew about this before you did.

When Warner stands to announce the engagement you almost vomit again. Maddie looks at you, her eyes screaming “I’m so sorry.” You ask her to help, to get you out of here. She looks away. It feels like there’s no air left to breathe, you think that even if there was you wouldn’t inhale. You want to suffocate, you want to stop existing. You want the carpeted floor of this high scale restaurant to swallow you whole.

Most of all, you want Yuta.

It’s half past eleven when you barge through the doors of the surf store, and Yuta’s leaning against the counter. There’s lilac hair falling in his eyes, painting the picture of not having a care in the world.

“(y/n!)” He beams, heart clenching tightly, “You look beautiful baby- baby? What’s wrong?” You don’t know what it was, maybe the stress of everything. Maybe the taste of vomit that was stuck in your throat, despite brushing your teeth ten times. Maybe the feeling of Maddie’s sad eyes telling you that there was nothing she could do to help, but you start bawling.

They’re ugly, wet sobs that shake you from your toes to your shoulders. You’re on the floor, hands gripping your hair so hard that it hurts. Yuta’s rushing over to you, and you can’t even bring yourself to look at his face.

“What do you need me to do?” He asks, voice soft and warm and painfully comforting.

“Hold me.” You whimper, suddenly afraid that if you say anything else your voice will give out and you’ll be nothing but a sobbing mess. A sobbing mess who’s engaged.

So Yuta holds you, and holds you, and holds you. It’s a loving touch, one that wants nothing for him. A touch that gives endlessly, with warm skin and heaving chests. His fingertips brush your shoulder while his lips kiss the shell of your ear.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers, causing your heart to clench violently. You grab his face, hoping that if you kiss him he’ll stop asking questions. He doesn’t go for it, “Sweetie stop, tell me what’s wrong.” You don’t want to tell him, you’d rather plunge yourself face first into the ocean than tell him. Something about telling Yuta makes this real.

“It’s nothing,” He knows that your eyes are too sad to be telling the truth, “I just love you.” You sob out, collapsing once again onto his shoulder. His hand strokes your hair while your back shakes.

“I know, I love you too.” You wonder if this last time that you’ll feel like those words are true, “I love you too.”

Ever since the start of your engagement (a week and a half) you’ve been running out of the house as early as possible, not even bothering with the under cooked eggs. The days find you in different places, usually at the surf shack or trying to catch some waves, but never home. And never with Warner.

Today you’re on the checkout counter, slicing up pineapple with a knife that you probably shouldn’t have and passing it to your friends. Yuta is tending to a customer, a poor sunburned guy well into his thirties who’s trying to buy a board, while Johnny smiles and taps away on his phone. It’s not the usual smile, goofy and carefree, now he’s beaming like he has to outshine the sun. He almost does.

“What’s got you so happy today?” You ask, passing him a paper plate with perfect cubes of pineapple. That was one of the best things about Mr. Kahale’s booth (other than the fact that you’re still allowed to park there,) you’ve become a pro at cutting up the fruit. Yuta always asks you to cut his into stars.

“Nothing.” He answers, giddy smile threatening to crack his face. He knows that you don’t buy it.

“People don’t smile like that over nothing, Johnny.” There’s a nervous laugh, then he pops a cube into his mouth.

“Well, I do.” You roll your eyes so hard that it almost hurts, then return to cutting up the pineapple.

“He’s texting his girlfriend.” Yuta interjects, pressing a kiss to your temple while thumbing through a stack of cash. You were so busy trying to pull an answer out of Johnny that you didn’t even notice him closing the sale.

“Girlfriend?!” You gasp, laughing at the way his cheeks turn pink, “Tell me more!”

“Her name is Maddie.” Your stomach drops as Johnny bites out his answer, but it’s probably nothing. There are thousands of girls named Maddie, right?

“Just wait until you hear how they met!” Yes! How they met! Maddie’s going out with the grubhub delivery boy, Johnny works here.

“How did you meet?” Your voice tries to give you away, so you continue to cut up the pineapple. Maybe if you focus on this they won’t pick up on your uneven breathing.

“Well I was doing a late night delivery, for grubhub?” Oh no, “I guess I never mentioned that I do that. Anyways, it’s like half past midnight and I pull up to this huge house, like seriously the biggest house I’ve ever been to, and this girl opens the door. We talked for like twenty minutes before she took her food, but just as she was about to go inside I grabbed the bag and wrote my number on it.” Okay, so that’s definitely Maddie. Johnny is definitely dating Maddie, but this isn’t the end of the world. They know Maddie, but that doesn’t mean that they know about you. They probably don’t even know that she has a friend who happens to be engaged to her brother.

“And she has this friend, Johnny what’s her name?” Oh no, oh no, oh no. You can feel Yutas eyes boring into your skull.

“I don’t think she’s said, but (y/n) this story is just... Insane, really.” Maybe she just told him about the time that you tried to backflip into her pool when you were nine and nearly broke your neck. That’s probably all that it is, “She’s engaged to Maddie’s brother! It’s some ridiculous arranged marriage plot with their parents companies, it’s like a tv show!” There is no air left in the room, and you briefly think that you’re going to pass out. He keeps talking but you can’t hear. You don’t know if you want to hear, for some reason hearing Johnny talk about how insane it is reminds you that it’s terribly insane.

“Shit!” You cry out as your knife slips away from the fruit and then across the skin of your thumb. There’s blood, but you barely even feel it over the lump in your throat. Johnny’s getting you a napkin, Yuta’s cradling your hand. It feels like you're going to pass out, you think if you don’t leave then you’re going to fall onto the floor and pass out, “I have to go outside.” Yuta’s mouth moves, but there are no words. No words as you stumble out the door and down to the beach, or as you gasp for air and collapse onto the hot sand.

You sit there for at least twenty minutes, cradling your bleeding thumb and watching the waves retreat, before Yuta materializes next to you. He’s holding a band aid while wearing a concerned expression.

“Let me see your hand.” Suddenly he’s holding your hand, wrapping up the cut and then pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm. It makes your heart feel watery, or your eyes. You’ve kind of lost track at this point, “Will you please tell me what’s wrong? You show up to the shack at midnight and just start bawling, which is fine! I don’t mind, but you’ve been off ever since then. It’s like, the only time I’ve ever felt helpless, I don’t know how to help because I have absolutely no idea what’s wrong, a-and-”

“I’m Maddies friend.” He’s about to laugh, but then he sees your tear streaked cheeks. You don’t even know when you started crying, “I’m Maddies friend, a-and I have to marry her brother, who I hate! And my parents didn’t even tell me until the night they announced it to all of the business partners, how fucked up is that?!” There’s something breaking in your chest, Yuta thinks he feels it too, “I mean, how fucked up is all of this?!”

“You’re engaged?” The words make you laugh, which is probably inappropriate. It is inappropriate, but you can’t even make yourself care.

“Yes, and I hate him. And I love you.” His hands are buried in his lilac hair, it reminds you of the first time that you kissed.

“Can’t you say no?” You want to say yes, say that you can leave everything behind and be nothing but his. Be nothing but yours, but there’s something clamping down on your tongue. He watches as your jaw tightens and a fresh set of tears fall down your cheeks, “Okay, I get it.” And then he’s leaving, and you know nothing other than the fact that you want him to stay.

“Yuta!” It sounds like you’re begging, in a way you are.

“I have to go!” You sit on the beach sobbing for hours, or minutes. Everything around you turns gray, and you think that this is just the perfect start to the rest of your life.

Maddie is lying on her bed and speaking into her phone when you find her. Her eyebrows are furrowed, eyes full of crystal tears that won’t fall. You can only assume that she’s talking to Johnny.

“Yea she’s here, I have to go. See you tomorrow, bye bye.” The words were quiet, her voice trembling, “He’s telling Yuta that you’re with me.”

“Oh.” The sound is pathetic; all broken, and watery, and tired. You want to cry again, but there are no tears left. Just a hollow feeling returning to your chest.

“(y/n,) I’m so sorry. I was sorry before,” There’s a heavy silence, one that expects you to say something. Or do something, but you can’t. There’s no energy left anywhere in your body, it’s a miracle that you’re still standing, “but this is just... I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The words come out of your mouth, but you can’t feel your mouth move. You can’t feel anything other than Maddie’s sad eyes.

“No, it’s not. Come sit down.” She pats her white comforter, your legs carry you there, “Have you told anyone?”

“No.” The word tastes sour on your tongue.

“Do you want to tell me about him?” Her hand is in between your shoulder blades, offering a comfortable weight. You think of how hard it’s been to keep this all from Maddie, of how many times you considered spilling everything.

“Yes.” Your entire body relaxes with a sigh, Maddie smiles at the feeling.

“Tell me everything.”

You tell her about his smile that outshines every star in the sky, about his beautifully sun kissed skin. You tell her about the way he pushes Johnny’s shoulder whenever the taller boy made a bad joke, and the time that you two paddled past the waves and he splashed water at you. She giggles, then asks to see a picture. You immediately know the perfect one.

(”(y/n,) pose with me!” Yuta cheered, voice growing closer. You turned, board still in hand, to be greeted with the sight of Yuta running at you while holding your phone.

“Wait, I’m not ready!” Before you could protest anymore there was a wet kiss on your cheek and the clicking sound of your camera ��You’re too much.”

“Yea, but you love me anyways.” He had pecked your lips, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead. It made something happy bubble in your stomach.

“I do, I love you so much.”)

“We had just finished surfing, that’s why we look like... That.” Your phone glares at you, flaunting yours and Yuta’s tanned skin. There’s two pictures where he’s not kissing you, just staring with lovesick eyes. It makes your heartbeat stutter.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n.)”

“Yea,” you sigh, “me too.”

It’s not exactly clear how your bike ride turned into you sitting in front of ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack.’ It’s not like you were trying to come here, you just wanted to see the island one last time before leaving tomorrow, that’s all. But you ended up here, with a heaving chest and a dry mouth.

Something carries you off your blue bike, then parks it against Mr. Kahale’s pineapple stand, then makes you walk through the front door. The smell of bananas and fresh wood hits you like a memory, taking you to a time where everything is normal. Briefly, you catch a glimpse of life without Warner or your parents; Yuta perched on the counter and exchanging embarrassing anecdotes with Maddie, who’s working the register. She laughs, then casts her eyes to where you and Johnny are selling a customer on surf gear, and everything is perfect.

“(y/n?)” Johnny asks from his spot behind the counter, “What are you doing here?” His eyes are kind, soft even. You want to thank him for not kicking you out.

“I um... I don’t know? I-I just,” A sigh escapes your lips, ringing out loudly in the empty store, “is Yuta here?”

“No, it’s Wednesday so...” It feels like he snapped a rubber band against your forehead, “He misses you, you know?”

“Really?” You think it’s pathetic how small your voice sounds.

“Yea, like... A lot, he’s always holding that necklace that you left behind that one time. And looking at pictures, and watching rom-coms, then getting sad and eating all of the fudge pops in the fridge. I’ve had to buy about three new boxes in the last week.” He laughs quietly, in a squeezy and forced kind of way.

“Oh.” You want to cry. You want to cry, and scream, and throw things. But there’s nothing left in you except for the heavy silence permeating the room, and the act of accepting sad glances.

“I’m sorry.” You’ve heard the words so many times that they don’t sound real anymore, “I know that you leave tomorrow, so um... Is there anything that you want me to say to him?”

“Um... I guess just that,” You want to say: I only have a heart so that I can love you, echoing his words from your first kiss, “never mind. Don’t tell him anything, I don’t want to make this any harder.” He wants to tell you that he’s never seen someone love another person more than Yuta loves you, but he doesn’t want to make this any harder.

“(y/n,) I’m-”

“Really sorry?” He cheeks go pink at your correct assumption, and he nods, “It’s okay, just let me rent a board for the day?”

“Alright, but don’t expect for me to let you pay.” He tosses a pen at your face, eliciting a giggle from your mouth. It’s the first time that you’ve laughed all week.

“C’mon, I haven’t paid for a single thing here!”

“And you never will!” He’s about to add, Yuta would kick me out if I made you pay.

“Alright, alright. Let me go get the board.”

When you finally get to surfing, the waves are relentless. A small part of you wants to climb off the board and let them whip you around until you feel something again. The other part of you rides any wave that you can catch, and it feels so damn good to have something listening to you again. So good to do something just because you want to.

There’s salt water mixing with tears and sweat, and sun setting on your skin. You think about how perfectly Yutas lips fit with yours, then about how soft his bleached hair felt between your fingers.

“Maddie, why are you making us go this way?” It’s been thirty minutes of Maddie instructing your cab driver to turn down various back roads that don’t even lead to the airport, “Seriously, your flight is forty minutes before mine! You’re gonna be late.” She tries to wave the words away, then grips onto the front seat.

“Yea and then take this right. Yes, the one down that dirt road, thank you!” Now this is just getting ridiculous! You’re about to say something before she’s plopping back into the seat with wild eyes, “I’m not leaving.”

“What?!” Your scream startles the driver, causing him to slam on the breaks. Which may or may not slam your face into the headrest of the passenger's seat, “Sorry sir! Sorry!” He grumbles in response, you make a mental note to tip him extra.

“I’m not leaving! I talked it over with Johnny last night and then told my parents and put down the payment for an apartment! Then they cut off my card; sir?! It’ll be the next right, thank you!”

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” She grabs you by the shoulders, then squishes your cheeks lightly.

“Honestly? Not exactly, but at the same time I’ve never felt so free. I don’t owe them anything anymore, and like... Like, I scheduled an appointment to get my septum pierced just because my parents would never let me. I can do stuff like that now!” You want to ask how she can even afford it, then realize how awfully rude that is.

“I-I’m... I’m really happy for you.” Her eyes roll so far back in her head that you think she’s going to pass out.

“I’m asking you to come with me! And don’t argue with me on it, you know that you don’t want this! Marrying Warner, being a trophy wife? That’s not you, (y/n!)” She’s right, of course, but you don’t want her to be.

“Maddie, I can’t-”

“Why not?” The words are exasperated, almost angry, “Your parents are like, really mean to you. And it’s not like you owe this to them, if anything they owe this to you! They owe you one thing that’ll make you happy!” She’s pleading with you, forced tears taking home in her eyes. You just want everything to be done.

“But I don’t-”

“All of your favorite clothes are in your suitcase! You won’t need any cold clothes for a while, and you had a plan already anyways, right? With Yuta?” And there it is, the real reason that you can’t say yes. There’s the clenching of your heart, then your eyes falling to the dirty floor of the cab.

“I don’t know if Yuta still wants me. I mean, I really messed him up. Johnny said he’s watching rom-coms.” A shiver shoots up your spine at the thought of Yuta holding your necklace and staring with sad eyes. You don’t even think that you would take yourself back.

“Don’t. Be. Stupid.” She punctuates each word with a slap to the side of your head. You were going to complain, but then she’s spewing out more instructions to the cab driver and you can’t even remember how to breathe, “Of course Yuta still wants you! I saw those pictures, he looks at you like... Like...”

“Like it’s the only reason that he has eyes?” Her face lights up, now filled with hope instead of fake tears.

“Yes! We’re going to be at the airport in three minutes, so that you can either tell your parents that you’re leaving with me or make the biggest mistake of your life-”

“Maddie!” Her hands fly up defensively, and you’re not sure if you want to hug her or hit her.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“It doesn’t mean that you should say it.” The words are mumbled, and you both know it’s so that you can avoid answering the question. She sighs heavily, then moves her hands to hold yours.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but please consider it? Pretty please, I don’t want you to live the rest of your life knowing what could have been!” She’s begging, the words slipping freely from her mouth as if they’re memorized. Meanwhile, you have the worst case of cottonmouth known to man.

“I-I...” There’s no air left as the cab skids to a halt in front of the airport, “I just don’t know, I’m sorry.”

You move out of the car, then to the trunk, then through the doors. Your parents are waiting by the small coffee shop, Warner sitting next to them and laughing. His head tilts backwards as the sound rings through the busy airport, and you realize how wrong all of this is.You shouldn’t be listening to loud, staged laughter! It should be Yuta’s soft giggles, the ones that you’ve never heard before this summer. The ones that dance through your dreams and paint everything bright pink.

And maybe it’s not just about Yuta. Maybe it’s also about having a life that you live just for you, and not for your parents. Or for Warner,or business partners, or anyone. A life for you, filled with things that you love. Maybe if you run you’ll make it outside before Maddie pulls away.

“Shit!” So it looks like piggybacking off of her taxi was no longer an option. But that’s fine, you can get your own. The airport is basically crawling with them, it shouldn’t be too hard to get one, “Taxi!” A yellow cab pulls up in front of you, the driver looking terribly annoyed.

“We’re not in New York, you know? Hop in.”

“Yes sir, so sorry, thank you, thank you!” The top half of your body is arranging your luggage in the seat, while your mother stares at the bottom half.

“(y/n?)” She asks, voice hushed yet stern, “What in the world are you doing?”

“Oh, mom! I-I’m just...” About a million lies run through your head. ‘I left something at the house,’ or ‘This was my cab, just dropped something in the back!’ One’s about to slip past your lips, but you choke. Maybe it’s time to start telling the truth, “I’m not leaving with you.” You’re facing her now, trying to read her expression. It’s actually kind of hard, until her eyes shoot harshly into the back of her skull.

“Yes you are, now get out of the car!” She grabs your wrist, but you yank it back.

“No, I’m not leaving! I’m staying and moving in with Maddie, and not getting married. At least not now, or to Warner! I don’t like him, and you don’t even care!” There’s pressure building in your rib cage, it feels like it’s about to crash and drown everything else out. Her mouth opens to speak, but just the thought of her voice makes you want to scream, “Don’t speak! Don’t say anything, there’s nothing you could say to mess me up anymore than you already have, so just stop!” You’re yelling. So loudly that it almost hurts.

“No, you stop! You owe this to your father, how can you be so selfish?” It doesn’t register that she actually said that. That anyone would actually say that.

“I owe him?!” She’s gripping your wrist again, trying to drag your body out of the cab and to where the man in question waits by the entrance.

“Yes! He’s provided you with a home, food, and private schooling for eighteen years! This is the least you can do to pay him back!” The pressure in your ribs finally crashes, and you see nothing but hot red.

“I owe him nothing! All the things you just named are basic things I need to survive. I owe him for not letting me starve?! That is ridiculous! If anything he owes me for all of the summers I wasted at dinner parties, or the months where I begged him to teach me how to ride a bike, or the spring break where I came home and said that the boys at school were bullying me and he was too busy on the phone to even hear me! Or for, I don’t know, not raising me?” There are tears welling in her eyes. You notice for the first time in a while that they’re the same as yours.

“Stop. Get out of the cab, you’re coming with us.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.” She stammers for a solid minute before you grab the cab door, ready to slam it in her face and drive far far away, “That’s what I thought, goodbye mom. Call me if you want.”

It takes four days of settling into the apartment before you can bring yourself to go see Yuta. Maddie and Johnny had harassed you for the last two, claiming that the boys moping was just getting harder to deal with.

(”Seriously (y/n,) please tell him that you’re here! I can’t take another rom-com!” Johnny had whined while dumping coffee grounds into your french press. Well, his old french press that he gave to you as a housewarming gift.

“I’m going to! I just need more time, that’s all.” You’re not lying, there’s still a lot to process. Your parents cut off your credit card basically as soon as their flight landed, which meant that your net worth was about fifty dollars. It was an adjustment to say the least.

“We get it, take your time!” Maddie interjected, taking a soft hand to your tensed shoulder while the other played with her new septum ring, “But maybe tell him before Friday?” You’re eyes widen while Johnny laughs into his mug, and you think about slapping Maddies hand away. You don’t, obviously, but you definitely think about it.

“How does giving me a time frame go along with waiting until I’m ready?!” You’re definitely whining, but it barely even matters. At least Johnny is laughing.

“I’m sorry! But if you wait forever then you’ll never do it, I know you!” You’re about to say that she’s right, but then her mouth opens again, “And he keeps asking if we can have dinner together...”

“I have to rush my reunion for your dinner party?” There was a meek ‘yes,’ then you rolling your eyes, “I love you. And hate you, but love you.” She smiled brightly and wrapped her arms around your shoulders.

“I love you too!” She pressed a kiss to your temple, Johnny may or may not have made a joke about being jealous. You remember thinking to yourself that there was only one thing in the world that would make this perfect.)

From where you stand now, it doesn’t look like Yuta’s moping at all. He’s surfing with a wide grin and whooping excitedly, you always thought it was so cute how he does that. It’s like he’s an endearing little kid, the kind that you want to give dessert to.

He finishes the wave off triumphantly, then pulls in with the tide. He looks calm. Calm and happy, until his eyes settle on you. At first he thinks you’re just any other tourist, but then your arms are waving as you wade into the cold water.

“(y/n?)” He shouts, eyebrows furrowing harshly, “What are you doing?” The whole ‘following Yuta into the ocean’ thing wasn’t exactly part of your plan, you didn’t even bring a swimsuit.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working in the store?” You respond as the water starts to soak the hem of your shorts. Yuta’s not sure if he should smile or cry, but either way he’s paddling towards you. He’s paddling towards you and you’re here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be gone?” His voice sounds strained, and you can’t wait until he’s close enough for you to explain everything, but in the meantime your mouth hangs open as he jumps off his board “Why are you still here?”

“I left them! My family, a-and fiance, I left them, I live here now! I live here, with Maddie we have an apartment and I left! Forever, I’m free a-and here!” Words are spilling out of your mouth like you can’t help it, and in a way you can’t “I’m here and yours, I’m here and mine!”

“S-so you’re not engaged anymore?” Everything feels frantic, like you have to say the right things as quickly as possible, which is ironic seeing as how before getting here you were sure that you wouldn’t even be able to speak to him. But it’s not like that. It’s more like you can’t breathe and the only thing that will give you air again is explaining all of this to the beautiful boy in front of you.

“No! I mean yes! I mean- shit! I mean that I don’t have a fiance anymore!” He’s smiling hopefully, something warm and beautiful blossoming your bodies.

“And you live here? Like, permanently?” You nod your head so fast that something sloshes between your ears.

“Yes! I live about fifteen minutes from the shack and ten minutes from you, not that I just know where your house is! You never told me that, so why would I know that?! Not like Johnny’s been at my apartment everyday for the past four days-” Then his lips are on yours, and they’re just as you remembered. Soft, hungry, and drenched in honey. He bites your lip softly, eliciting a quiet moan as your fingers tangle in the boy's hair. It’s a little bit shorter than last time, but you still like it nonetheless. You like everything about him, he could’ve grown an eleventh toe since your last meeting and you’d still like him.

“Why did you wait so long?” He grumbles before pressing a kiss to your jaw. You’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to answer while he’s doing that, but it’s probably worth a shot.

“I-I was scared.” His face shoots up to look you in the eyes, wearing furrowed brows and quirked lips. All you can think of is kissing him again.

“Why were you scared?” The words make your cheeks flush terribly pink.

“Because! I thought that I like... Broke your heart! I thought you’d never want to see me again!” He pushes the side of your face softly, then presses kisses all over your skin. You think that you’ve drowned and gone to heaven.

“Of course I was heartbroken, because I missed you! All I could think of was how badly I wanted you back, sitting on the counter at the store. I never hated you!” He smiles widely, and you realize that it’s the same one from the first day in the surf shack. It’s warm, and inviting, and it heals something inside of you. Not everything, but definitely something, and you think that you want to kiss it off his face. So you do.

He wants to kiss you back like it’s what he needs to survive. So he does.

It’s a Wednesday, which usually means surfing with Yuta until you’re both sore everywhere. They’re your favorite days, but this one is painted a little differently. You’re standing on the shore with Johnny and Yuta while Maddie fumbles over waves. She’s fallen off three times (which is about where you would’ve drawn the line and come to shore,) but she’s determined. Before going out she said, ‘I am not coming in until I ride a wave. Guys, guys stop laughing!’ and she’s really sticking to it. It’s been almost an hour, you want her to catch one just so that you can go out.

“You’ve got this Maddie!” There’s almost a zero percent chance that she can hear you, but you feel guilty for not being able to help her back up after the fourth fall, “She’s going to have so many bruises.” Johnny suppresses a laugh, because even if the sweet girl can’t hear your cheering she will be able to pick up on Johnny teasing her. It’s like a radar.

“Says you! Remember that giant one on your butt that poked through your shorts?” You instinctively rub the spot where it was, cringing at the memory of not being able to sit anywhere for a week. You want to scold Johnny for bringing it up, but then Yuta pinches the skin on your hip and your brain stops working.

“I remember that bruise,” He mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss quickly onto your scalp before reverting his eyes to Maddie, “made everything so damn difficult!” Johnny gags as you slap your boyfriend, who’s giggling in the chaos that he created. He tends to do that.

“Stop. Being. Gross.” You punctuate each word with a flick to his temple. He giggles and grabs your wrist, pressing a gentle kiss onto the skin of your palm. Then he flicks you back, to which you screech loudly, “Yuta! Stop it, oh my gosh!”

“What? Am I too gross? Personally I think-”

“Guys, look!” Johnny’s voice pulls you back to reality, but it’s okay. Reality has warm sand, and crystal blue waters, and your best friend in the world successfully riding her first wave. Before you can even process it Johnny is cheering like he’s her number one fan (he is. You know that he is,) “That’s my baby! That’s my freaking baby!”

“Go Maddie!” Even from far away, you can tell that she’s smiling. You’re smiling, Yuta is smiling, Johnny is more than smiling. Johnny is grinning like it’s going to split his face in half. Everyone cheers as she breaks the wave left, Yuta doing nothing more than letting out an incoherent whoops as Johnny runs out into the water. You briefly think that they’re doing what you and Yuta did after-

“Isn’t that exactly what we did after your first wave?” A laugh bubbles out of your throat while you wrap an arm around his dainty waist. His skin feels warm under your hand, you think that you want to live in that feeling for forever.

“I was just thinking that! And yes, yes it is.” Your words bring up a flood of memories; kissing underneath a setting sun, ‘I love you’s whispered into hot skin, and this beautiful feeling in your chest. A feeling that feels like everything is becoming right. You sink your head onto the boys shoulder, eyes trained on the crashing waves, “That was a good day.”

“The best one yet.” He turns so that you’re facing each other, and you know it’s because he’s going to kiss you. He always does this, then smiles with one side of his mouth, then pulls you in by the waist, then kisses you like he means it. It’s your routine, but one that you don’t think you’ll ever be tired of.

His hands skirt across your jaw, then yours in his hair. He’s never gotten used to how that feels, and you’ve never gotten used to the way he turns into putty under your hands. Maybe there are some things about Yuta that you’re not supposed to get used to, like the way that he giggles like a school girl whenever something is funny. His hand pushes your hair back, then cradles your neck and pulls you impossibly closer. It feels like everything is perfect.

“Come on nasties! We’re surfing!” Maddie splashes water at the two of you, pretending like she and Johnny weren’t doing the exact same thing less than two minutes ago. You were wrong before, now everything is perfect.

“Alright, alright, Yuta will you pass me my board?” He smirks while turning to pass the purple surfboard.

“The one that you chose because it matches my hair?” Maddie snorts at your boyfriend's quip as your cheeks go bright pink.

“Johnny, you promised not to tell!” You screech while chasing the tall boy into oncoming waves. Your respective partners tail behind, giggles slipping past their shouts of protest.

You think that nothing in the world could be more perfect than this, and you’re right.

#nakamoto yuta #yuta x reader #yuta fluff #yuta imagines #writekpop #admin r #im reposting bc the last one didnt show up in tags grr #if this doesnt show up idk what im gonna do :((#lemme know if u can see it pwease and enjoy!

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ryqoshay · 4 years

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How to Handle a Nico - The No. 1 Masseuse in the Universe

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Words: ~1.8k Rating: T’ish? Time Frame: Summer break of Maki’s 2nd year of high school and Nico’s 1st year of college. Story Arc: “Beach Reunion” Sunscreen The No. 1 Masseuse in the Universe

Author’s Note: This was originally intended to be about a 100 - 200 word addition to the end of Sunscreen, but I thought I might be able to build a full scene around it. So I did.

I’m also hoping my readers have seen the LL movie by now, as it’s referenced a little bit here.

And here she comes… Nico thought to herself as she spied a certain meddlesome purple haired girl heading in her direction. Ughn… that smug face of hers… Unfortunately, Nico was busy tending the grill as her part of preparing dinner for the group and thus had no means of escaping the teasing she knew was incoming.

“Ne~, Nicocchi~,” Nozomi drawled as she approached “I heard someone was having a bit of fun earlier.” She emphasized the word heard, accompanied by a wholly unnecessarily waggle of her eyebrows.

“Shut up, Nozomi.” Nico grumbled, trying to make it obvious she was focusing on the meat skewers in front of her.

But of course, someone like Nozomi would never just let something like this go. “You and Maki-chan seem to be getting along nicely as of late.” She continued. “I haven’t even heard much of your usual study session bickering. Are you two perhaps making some progress I should know about?”

“No.” Nico dismissed flatly. “And you know the reasons why.”

“I see, well, that’s too bad.” At least that part sounded sincere. “I still think you two would make a cute couple, and you know I’m here to support you however things go.”

“I know.” Nico nodded. “Say, what’s that behind your back?”

“Oh, Elicchi and I just prepared some fruit kebobs” Nozomi revealed the food “with the extra sticks and thought the No. 1 Grill Master in the Universe would be willing to cook them up.”

“Wow, those look amazing.” Nico marveled. “I mean,” she puffed out her chest with pride “of course Nico would be more than happy to reveal more of her mastery of the flame.” She clapped her tongs together a couple times for emphasis.

Nozomi giggled and started to place the kebobs onto the grate.

“Wait, not quite…” Nico snapped up one of the meat skewers and turned it for inspection “well, maybe it’s fine. Uhm, hand me that plate so I can put these on it.”

“Here you go.” The purple-haired girl did as instructed.

“And don’t be stealing any of these before putting them out on the table.” The raven-haired girl warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh-huh…”

Once the plate was full, Nozomi turned and began to walk away.

“So that was it?” Nico couldn’t help asking.

“Hmm?” The other girl paused and turned to look back over her shoulder.

“I mean…”

The Cheshire cat grin returned. “Don’t worry, Nicocchi, the cards told me something good will happen very soon.”

“Hrm… Hey! What did I say about taking…” Nico was about to chase after Nozomi when she remembered the freshly loaded fruit kebobs that now needed tending.

“Oh, Mama just messaged me” Maki announced, retrieving her phone as the credits began to roll for the movie the girls had just finished “she says she’s sorry for not remembering earlier, but the staff moved all of the futons to one of our other places for some retreat a friend of hers hosted last week and they haven’t been able to bring them back.”

“So, we can’t all sleep here like the other times?” Honoka asked.

“Well, we could.” The redhead acknowledged. “I’m sure there are enough blankets, but there are four bedrooms we could use if we don’t mind sharing.”

“So kinda like our New York trip?”

“Something like that, though each room only has one bed...”

“That’s fine! Umi-chan and Kotori-chan and I can share one.”

“The biggest guestroom is at the end of the hall.”

“Alright, let’s go to bed!” Honoka cheered, grabbing the arms of her two fellow third-years.

“H-Honoka…” Umi protested verbally, though didn’t appear to offer any appreciable resistance. “You had better not start snacking on chips the moment the lights go out.”

“That was just one time!” The orange-haired girl pouted.

“More like pretty much every time…”

“Don’t worry, Umi-chan,” Kotori chimed in “I’ll be sure to check her bag for any contraband.”

“Kotori-chan!” Honoka whined. “You two are mean.” Though despite her words, she continued to drag her friends up the stairs toward the room she had claimed for them.

“Rin and Kayo-chin are fine with the smallest bedroom.” Rin proclaimed next. “We’re used to sharing a bed these days, nya!” She pulled the other second-year into a one-armed hug.

“Rin-chan…” Hanayo murmured but didn’t disagree.

“Actually, the remaining two guest rooms are the same size.” Maki explained.

“You’re taking the master bedroom, Maki-chan?” Nozomi asked of the host.

“Of course, I thought that much was obvious.”

“Then Elicchi and I will take whichever room Rin-chan and Hanayo-chan don’t use.” She tossed a quick wink to Nico.

“See you all in the morning.” Eli said before yawning and following her girlfriend.

“So, that leaves…” Nico turned to the other remaining occupant of the living room.

“You can stay with me in the master bedroom.” Maki offered quietly. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

If it’s alright? Nico thought to herself. Of course, it’s alright! This is how I wanted the room arrangements to be in New York!

But instead of giving voice to these thoughts, what came out of Nico’s mouth was “I suppose it can’t be helped. Nico will grace Maki’s bed with her presence tonight.”

“Or you can sleep on the couch.” The younger girl motioned to the mentioned sofa.

Nico giggled before striking a dramatic pose and held out her hand. “Lead the way to the master suite, Maki-ojou-sama.” She teased with the title she had heard used by the Nishikino household staff.

Maki rolled her eyes but took the older girl’s hand anyway as the two headed up the stairs.

“Ne, Nico-chan…”

“Mmm?” Nico looked up from the idol site she was browsing on her phone and took in a pleasing view.

Maki had just exited the bathroom, clad in her favorite purple pajamas with white stars and still drying her hair. She had insisted that since Nico was the guest that the older girl take the first turn in the tub and was now done with her own.

“About that offer of a massage…”

“Oh ho!” Nico couldn’t help feeling a bit giddy. As if sharing a room wasn’t enough to make her believe Nozomi’s prediction, this certainly solidified things. “Maki-chan is anxious to take advantage of the No. 1 Masseuse in the Universe’s skills already?”

“Just realized in the bath that I’m a little sore after everything we did today.” Maki admitted.

“Someone having a bit too much fun?” Nico happily added a sing-song tone to her voice.

“…” Maki puffed out a frustrated breath as she made her way toward the bed.

“Well, Nico is ready to provide the service, even if Maki-chan hasn’t paid for it yet.”

“You know I’m good for it.” Maki lay down on her stomach. “Besides, I’d probably end up helping you anyway, even without this; heck I’ve probably already paid for it several times over.”

“You sure you want to strike an attitude with someone about to give you a massage?”

Maki sighed. “No, you’re right. It’s just that cram school has been really stressful lately…”

“Yeah,” Nico said, getting up off the bed “I figured that when you upped your order from quad to quint.”

“Nico-chan?”

“Just getting you some water. I’ve read studies recently that say drinking before a massage may actually be better than after, as the water is already starting to work through your system when the toxins are released from the massage.”

“Hrm…”

“Trust me. Here.” Nico held out a bottle.

“Alright.” Maki accepted the water and drank a good portion of it before handing the remainder back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Nico put the bottle on the nightstand.

“Anyway, this little vacation has honestly been the best break I could ask for…” Maki continued. “And… I’m happy you’re here with me for it.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Nico couldn’t help smiling at the unexpected, but by no means unappreciated honesty. “Nico always enjoys her time with her favoritest Maki-chan.”

Maki hummed an affirmative response.

“So, how thick are the walls here?”

“Hm?”

“Because…” Nico placed her hands on the other girl’s back. Immediately, she found one of the knots she had noticed earlier that day and pressed into it with her thumb.

“Ughn…” Maki pressed her face into the duvet.

“That’s why.”

“I’ll… be fine…”

“So you say…” Nico chuckled as the redhead was forced to muffle herself again.

As Nico found yet another knot, she wondered how hard she should work it. She had taught herself many advanced techniques over the years to help her mother deal with the stress of working multiple jobs, and nowadays to help a certain roommate deal with tensions stemming from things that made Nico jealous. As such, if she really put her weight into things, she could probably completely alleviate most of the smaller knots, if not a few of the larger ones as well.

However, it was almost time to turn in for the night and the group still had another day of fun planned as well as a long train ride back to Tokyo. She didn’t want to leave Maki too sore because as much as the tsundere’ish girl would deny it if confronted, she would want to participate in tomorrow’s activities. With this in mind, Nico decided to keep things on the lighter, more relaxing side. If Maki enjoyed the massage and its benefits, Nico could offer another one later that would leave the redhead unwilling to leave the couch the next day.

Of course, with that thought, Nico began imagining other things she could do to Maki that would leave her sprawled out on the bed, exhausted. For example, she could…

No. Nico shook her head. Focus. Now is very much not the time for that… We’re not even going out yet! … yet… She sighed with that last thought.

Having been lost in her own mind for so long, Nico suddenly realized that whatever conversation she had been holding with Maki had ceased, likely a while ago.

“Maki-chan?” Nico ventured quietly.

Silence.

Did she fall asleep? Nico smirked to herself before leaning over to confirm her suspicions. Sure enough, Maki’s eyes were closed and her breathing had slowed to a soft and steady rhythm. Good thing I had you drink beforehand. Nico glanced at the mostly empty bottle on the nightstand. Or else you’d really be sore in the morning.

Now Nico faced a dilemma, Should she wake Maki so she could get under the covers or find something else to use and let her sleep? Hrm… Nico eyed the closet door for a moment before getting off the bed to investigate. Thankfully, her suspicious proved correct as she located a small collection of folded blankets. As it was summer, she chose the lightest one and brought it back to the bed.

As Nico spread the blanket over Maki, she noted that it was not the right size for the humongous mattress and as such, it didn’t leave much room for her. She could, of course, just retrieve a second blanket, but… After a moment, Nico shrugged and slid in close to the other girl.

“Good night, Maki-chan.” Nico murmured as she pulled her share of the blanket over herself and closed her eyes.

Author’s Notes Continued in Followup Post

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #How to Handle a Nico #Love Live #fanfic

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jojoreadwhat · 4 years

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i'm the best book you'll never read / honey & smoke - m.h. x OFC story

Lucy's POV.

It's been a weekend and three days since Matty tried kissing me under the stars. His breath still a lingering scent that wouldn't subside, so close to my pale skin. Laced with the red wine shared between us and the minty menthol he had threw before hovering over me. Sending this racing chill through my body that was fitting with the warmth of the wine I had consumed. His dark chocolate eyes like daggers against my crystal blues, tracing my face like transparent paper. A scene that wouldn't leave, a scene I was wish I played into instead of pause.

The words replaying in the savory tone of Matty's thick accent, 'You're not one of them' his calloused index finger running over my forehead. Moving the little strand dancing across it. 'Not in the slightest.' Watching as his rare lips, so defined and gloss-like. Curl into this unconventional smile that was so.. inviting.

I sighed to myself, opening my eyes to the window with the picture perfect scene. Lightly shaking my head to possible mistake I had made. His strange absence painting the bigger picture that all was not the truth, that I was different in that moment. Only because I wanted more grammar rather than the tongue tied language he wanted to perform.

It was best to keep it a subtle memory, keeping me at bay for all the wonders I was expected to see in London. Matty was just an introduction to it all, starting the carpet that would lead me to all I was hoping to find here. Experience.

I looked down at my leather bound in my lap, writing the finishings of my entry before reading the watch on my wrist. Today is my first day working in the university's library. I buckled the strap of my journal, throwing it into my bag before grabbing another coffee for the walk.

I walked to the west wing of campus to the building separated from the rest of it, I swear the library for this campus was bigger than two mansions. Three floors full of magic aligned each shelf. A different world for a different day of the week. The smell ventilating so much that I could catch it into a jar like you would sand on a foreign beach.

I clocked in, placing my belongings into a locker in the back. I bent down to fix the buckle of my mary jane's, before I stood in front of a community mirror. Straightening out my navy and green plaid skirt, readjusting the black tulip hem shirt following the placing of my lanyard over my neck.

Taking a breath, before going to look for my supervisor, Matilda. Blonde long haired woman approaching her fifties. Blue eyes similar to mine and this angelic face that you only seen in those old Victorian paintings in museums. With a very laid back style, a different patterned skirt everytime I seen her during study hall. Loaded with different amounts of jewelry, and smelling of fresh eucalyptus.

She was marking books with little color tags on their linings. Separating them from different genres. I lightly tapped her because you know the rules of libraries, six inch voices. She spun around with a warming smile, kind of like the one my mom gave.

"Ah, Ms. Collins. It's your first day!" She exclaimed ever so quietly. Placing her arm around my shoulders blades as she directed me. Her light embrace warming me heavily, "I've been looking forward to working with you."

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

Matty's POV.

I stood at the counter of Rocket Records as each strike of the clock moved and people browsed through the plastic wraps of wonders. I was in the mist of heading to uni when James called in a frantic. Ryan, the morning shift had an emergency to attend too. Taking me out of the terrible excuse of books and lectures. So I could stare at the girl a few rows in front.

Friday kept replaying in my head.

The way she danced to the strums of my guitar. The way her face squinted after her first sip of her drink. Her refreshed skin glistening against the neons as she came out of the ladies room. Her little hand in mine as I led her on the outskirts, buying cheap wine to watch the street lights and stars make align in her eyes. That laugh cascade over the sounds of the stale city, making it ever so bright in the night. The way she was so small laying slightly beneath me, how every bit of the details etched on her face. Were what she considered flawed, but to I so beautiful blended. Lastly how guarded her valuable heart was as her small hands barely amounted to the strong opinions running from her mouth.

I smirked in thought at the way her eyes widened when I didn't move my stance. Which them open from fear she was trying to have subside, to the curiosity of why I was still lying there. Showing that what I remarked back was the most truth I had ever spoken. She was not the red head in the bar when she seen her hands resting around me. Not the blonde that left my flat the day I found Lucy in my Creative Writings class. She was Lucy. Lucy Collins, a girl with lines to read and understand.

The little bell over the door had rang, my two friends and bandmates Ross and Adam peering from the sunny autumn breeze. Holding bags of clanking bottles and snacks as they rested them on the counter in front of me.

"It's Wednesday." I reminded. Very aware of the events taking place tonight.

Ross looked at me taken back on my greetings. "It's two days till Friday. We are just preparing." He replied, Adam chiming in beside him with a chuckle. I sighed to myself, taking the tagging gun and running along a pile.

"Is it a big one?" I asked, my mind flooding with papers due and studying to do. As much as I would be usually stoked for the midnight ride, I wasn't feeling it much.

Adam shook his head, "Preparing remember?" He remarked, resting his arms on the counter. "It's just enough for good food, good tunes and some nice company." He added, picking up a record.

"Plus, we think you should invite Lucy." Ross added once more, "She's quite the catch."

For my usual laid back, very unreadable expressions. I could feel the curl in my cheeks with only the truth filling the room. She's a definitely a catch. A catch so difficult to grasp.

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

Lucy's POV.

Matilda had directed to me the front desk, giving me light duty today because we were pretty swamped. It was the middle of the next week now and there was essays and exams due. I felt all the same pain, I had a double whammy of exams on Friday that I was dreading to bits.

I worked with the computer, helping my fellow classmates if we had books available or if they had been checked out. It was definitely a sucky job, I hated the feeling knowing you didn't get to a book in time. It was like getting to class late... And naked to top it off.

Eventually it had died down. Matilda was now at the desk with me, eating peanuts and checking library check out slips.

"So Ms. Collins. What are you studying?" She asked, during my interview it was cut short so she didn't get to ask about why this American was in London.

I helped check slips with her, "Literature. I write." I explained, I didn't really have a direction when it came to what type of writing I was studying. I took up creative writing and women studies as extras cause many books I read were along those lines. But honestly, I just wanted anything to everything about writing at my fingertips. Writing never had directions, just flows.

She seemed pleased, "My daughter is a writer too." She went on, looking just like her I bet, pretty long blonde hair, taking the world by storm. Writing about experiences she had and was experiencing things as we spoke. Wearing a coat of many colors without any shame. That would be a level I'd like to reach after this.

"I bet you have great stories." She continued, I smiled at her positivity. She had no idea that I only had a first kiss in Junior high and talked to a homeless guy once or twice. All my experiences being so blah and that standing in this library. In a place so new, was more exciting than all of them combined. "I bet he knows that too." She added once more, my face immediately flustering into confusion.

She smiled at my questioning look of her mentions. "He was here a few days ago when you had picked up My Life On The Road." She explaining more specifically, "His eyes were all over you more than the book in his hands."

She went on to describing him but I didn't need more, instead I was beginning to feel more guilt than I already had. Totally judging him by his past when mine was just a sheet of lined paper. Jotted with scarce notes that never even made it to the market, just a list of things I never did.

Matilda set the alarm before locking the doors and saying goodnight. Day one of work had been surprisingly smooth than I expected. Leaving me now with enough energy of diving into textbooks and paperbacks of my own. Excited for the fresh bottle of pumpkin spice creamer in the fridge, the Coldplay record that was delivered to the house via email and the half eaten tub of apple crisp flavored ice cream. Waiting to be devoured in the freezer hidden behind the stack of frozen peas.

With the unlikely exciting things to be thrilled about for some when getting home. I retraced the familiar route to the tube that would lead me to my happy events of the night. The mixed aromas of firewood and the brisk winds tickling my nose, I went to slip in my headphones. Finishing from the middle of Moose Blood when the voice I kept hearing replay in my mind. Was now colliding against the autumn winds.

"Hey Blue." His voice sliding down my spine like ice.

Leaning against his car that was dark like the sky above. His hands in the green army jacket over the white and blue of his flannel, edging out all the tone of his build. His black infamous holed jeans meeting at the bottom where his vans were crossed. Casually playing the aesthetic he walked.

I walked towards to him, stopping two feet but only itching to get closer.

"How did you know I was here?" I asked with his absence from Creative Writing remained on my mind.

He smirked, probably mentally preparing for all the questions to roll off my tongue like a ball on the ground. "Abby told me that you were working." He replied, surprised that he went looking for me in the first place.

"Were you hoping I fetched your homework?" I remarked. My mind immediately regretting the bantering remark.

He shook his head, "No." looking down at his shoes. "I was hoping to catch you." Before his brown eyes met mine again, even with the indigo that surrounded us. They were so bright, golds so prominent like the moon dancing with stars.

"The boys and I are having a party tonight." He said, "I was hoping you could stop by."

My mind playing tricks splitting like a Gemini on a off day, one part wanting to cover my face with apple crisp ice cream. The other was Matty opening the door to the passenger seat of his car.

The party was smaller than I had thought about on the drive here. Just a handful of friends, good brews and fresh tunes.

Matty grabbed me a drink before grabbing my hand and pulling me to the dance floor. I was never much for parties or the way my hips move off beat. But for Matty's hands to lay on my waist as his wine breath danced along the skin of my neck. I was fabricating more ways in my head for this feeling to be more frequent. The past thoughts of earlier as I was dealing with guilt for Friday. Were beginning to feel sighs of reliefs with all the words Matty babbled and the laughs he caused to ripple against the music.

More people started coming in from the yard, changing the vibe and it was getting more difficult to listen to Matty talk. Finding the words that would fall so easily were being replaced by nods and smiles. Trying to hint a bit that it was beginning to be crowded and he was all I wanted to listen too.

"Let's go to my room." He slightly slurred without waiting for a response, his hand moving from the fabric resting on my waist. Now running along into my hand as he moved through the crowd till we reached stairs.

He turned the knob of a door covered in nonsense stickers of bands till we entered his room. The room loosely matched his door, posters in multiple different sizes overlapping, collages, and a tapestry of different faces he admired plaster on the walls. I looked around, Matty turning on a lamp on his nightstand before sitting on his bed. Silently watching me as I silently observed the things that hadn't fallen from his mouth.

I chuckled to myself as I counted a few more pictures of Prince than Michael Jackson. The first week of his friendliness and his one man protest of who was better coming to mind. "You really think Michael Jackson is better?" I recanted, pointing out some of the snippets of articles I had found. "Okay, maybe. But Prince definitely has killer style." He replied as I shook my head in amusement. Trailing my eyes to the colorful bookshelf with bold names seeping. Picking up Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. A book I had all intentions of picking up in the bookstore back home, but it never made it to the register.

The sound of a lighter clicking as Matty lit his menthol was followed with his towering figuration standing from his gray duvet covered bed.

"Ever read it?" He asked, the cigarette moving with every curl of his lip. Wrapping his fingers around it as he pulled it away to exhale. I shook my head, a look of surprise gracing his face. The English major failing to read a book that fallen between cracks and rolled up lists.

I watched as he brought the cigarette back to his perfectly formed lips, inhaling once before exhaling into a question. "Do you remember your first English class?" He began, middle school replaying in my mind, Ms. Lindsay's pretty floral dress, the posters aligning the walls with every author you could imagine. She was a big part of my decision of devoting my life into words, journals and novels.

Matty's voice breaking me from my memory, "Remember when they taught you to never judge a book by it's cover?" He added, I looked back down at the book that was falling to pieces, the cover was beginning to wear and the colors becoming stale. "Even if it's a over read story or just a plot you'll never fully understand?" Inhaling once again, "Or just a author with too much exposure?" I ran my fingers over it's folded pages, the old and fresh notes made in the indents.

All his questions beginning to connect like the lining of the book. Matty was a book, folded at it's edges, full of knowledge and secrets some old from past lives, some new. Over read like the one in my hands.

I looked up at Matty who was beginning to raise his hand to take another swing of his cigarette. I had other ideas when I gently grabbed his wrist before I reached up and met his lips with mine. He was taken back my sudden action, making two of us. I was nervous about what I had begun but it all subsided when his hands wrapped around my waist. Pulling me closer, tasting what I was about to guard myself from, like he was a banned book that I was going to go through all lengths to read.

#the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy imagines #slutforbritdick #wattpadarchives

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worryinglyinnocent · 5 years

Text

Fic: Love in the Highlands

Summary: In Lochdubh, Hamish acts as self-appointed matchmaker to newcomer Belle as she tries to make sense of her feelings for taciturn landlord Gold. Hamish Macbeth/Once Upon A Time fusion: rumbelle, bellish / Isobel&Belle broship.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “AU: Fusion”

Rated: T

=====

Love in the Highlands

Small, isolated communities like Lochdubh were naturally suspicious of incomers, especially if they came from anywhere further afield than Glasgow and even more so if they came from the other side of the world entirely. Belle had been prepared for more than a few strange looks when she had first moved to town and started to work at the newly opened bookshop slash library slash local information office slash community centre slash back-up post office.

Once she’d made it clear in a firm but friendly manner that she wasn’t going anywhere and that she was going to try and fit in with the local customs as much as possible, people started to be more accepting, and now the locals would smile at her in the pub and would only express incredulity that someone would ever want to move from somewhere like Australia to the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Highlands.

There was only one person left in the town whom Belle had yet to win over, and, considering the way that the rest of the locals gave him a somewhat wide berth, she thought that this was something to be proud of.

Ciaran Gold was Belle’s landlord, and he owned the village antique shop; how he managed to stay in business in a place as small as Lochdubh was anyone’s guess and theories among the town varied wildly: from him being a vampire, to him being a mob boss, to him running an underground moonshine operation to rival Lachlan McCrae’s.

He was also the most reticent and surly man that Belle had ever met, keeping to himself for the most part and barely ever leaving his dusty shop. He hardly spoke two words together to her when she ventured into his lair to bring him her rent, and although she would have loved to stay a while and browse the veritable Aladdin’s cave of treasures in the shop, she always received the impression that her presence was unwelcome, and he was shooing her out of the place with his aura alone.

“He’s like that with everyone,” Hamish assured her when she was lamenting her lack of cordial relations with her landlord in the pub one evening. The local policeman and his girlfriend had welcomed her from the very first and it was largely due to Hamish and Isobel’s practical common sense that Belle’s popularity was increasing, and the library was gaining in foot traffic daily. (The fact she’d started bringing in cake probably helped as well.)

“But why?” Belle pressed. “No one’s naturally that miserable, something has to have happened to make him that way.”

Hamish made a face and pointedly changed the subject by announcing that he was going to get another round in. Belle waited until he was out of earshot and turned to Isobel.

“There is a reason, isn’t there?”

Isobel nodded and leaned in over the table.

“It’s a bit of a local gossip legend,” she said. “Gold left Lochdubh for the bright lights of Glasgow, married a city girl who then left him and took their wee son with her. He came back to Lochdubh a broken man. Hamish doesn’t like it talked about; Gold’s a cousin on his mother’s side and even if they’re not incredibly close, he’s still family.”

Now that Belle knew the connection, she could see the resemblance. Gold’s face was older and worn with life’s hardships, his hair greyer, but the familial traces were there. Isobel’s words had only served to make him seem even more mysterious in her eyes, and she wondered if perhaps she could be the one to bring him out of his shell of hurt…

Armed with the admittedly scant knowledge that she had gleaned from Isobel, Belle decided that she would take a different approach the next time she tackled Gold. She would simply refuse to be cowed by him. If he wanted to be left alone, then he shouldn’t have a shop open to the public.

So, on the next rent day, when Belle went into the antique shop with her cheque, she didn’t go up to the counter straight away. She was determined to look around and browse with the proper respect that a lifetime of collecting all in one place deserved.

Gold was watching her as she moved around the shop taking in the veritable Aladdin’s Cave of treasures there, and occasionally, their eyes would meet. At first he seemed to be in just as much of a foul mood as usual, but the longer that Belle stayed, the more he seemed to become used to her presence and relax in it. When he finally spoke, Belle was so surprised that she startled out of her perusal of a delicate tea set.

“Do you see something you like the look of? Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he added when Belle jumped.

To Belle, those few words - spoken in complete earnest, she could tell - were incredibly revealing. He didn’t mean to scare her. All the other times she had been in the shop, something about him had given off a fearmongering aura. Now, he was a little different. As she glanced over at him, she saw that there was a slight shy smile on his face.

She pointed out the tea set. “This is beautiful.”

He came around the counter and crouched down beside her to open the display cabinet, taking out one of the cups and handing it to her. This was certainly unprecedented. Everything about the shop had a general air of ‘do not touch’ around it, and now Belle was being allowed to handle the goods.

The bell over the door went, and this time they both jumped, with Belle losing her grip on the cup. Gold’s hands shot out to catch it and ended up cradling hers as she regained her hold. She looked up at him, suddenly aware that she was blushing furiously, and noticing that Gold had gone distinctly pink around the ears as well.

Belle glanced over her shoulder to see who had come in, finding Hamish standing in the doorway. He was looking rather amused at the scene he’d just interrupted.

“Can I help you?” Gold asked coolly.

“No, no. As you were.”

Hamish backed out of the door and closed it behind him, leaving Belle and Gold standing in the middle of the shop. The moment had become awkward now thanks to Hamish’s inadvertent intervention.

“I think you’d better take that back,” Belle said hastily, handing over the cup. “And this.” She put the rent cheque down on the side and almost ran out of the shop, glad to be out in the cold air so that she had an excuse for her flaming cheeks. Oh, this was bad. She definitely wasn’t supposed to be developing a crush on the landlord when she’d set about trying to ingratiate herself with him. Now what was she supposed to do?

Ever since Isobel had moved into the police house, she’d extended an open invitation to Gold to join her and Hamish for Sunday lunch, doing her best to give him some familial contact. So far, she’d been incredibly pleased with her efforts. He generally came about once every two months, which was about as much as his introversion could handle. When he came this week, however, Isobel was quite certain that he’d never come again.

Ever since Hamish had walked in on Gold and Belle’s ‘little moment’ in the antique shop, he’d been determined to matchmake.

“Hamish, you know your cousin better than anyone else in the village, but even I know that he’s not going to welcome you interfering in his love life, no matter how honourable your intentions might be. Besides, you don’t even know that they like each other, let alone want to get to know each other more intimately.”

“Iz, if you had been there, you would know that they definitely like each other. I think ‘smitten’ is the word.”

When Hamish, on learning that Gold would be joining them on Sunday, had suggested inviting Belle as well, Isobel considered putting her foot down for all of ten minutes before she realised that if she did, Hamish would simply resort to more drastic measures to get the two of them in a room together. His enthusiasm was borne out of a simple desire to see his closest relative happy, and all Isobel could do was try to temper him for fear of him doing more harm than good.

Although she wouldn’t interfere in Hamish and Gold’s relationship more than she already had done by extending the lunch invite in the first place, Isobel felt that it was only fair to let Belle know what she was letting herself in for in accepting Hamish’s invitation.

On learning that Gold would be present, Belle had just given a little smile, quickly covered it with a cough, and said that it wouldn’t be a problem.

Reluctantly, Isobel had accepted that maybe there was something in Hamish’s observations.

Now Sunday was here, and they were all sitting around the table with anticipation hanging heavy in the air. So far, Belle and Gold had been perfectly civil to each other and shown no signs of mutual attraction, and Hamish was thinking of increasingly ridiculous methods of trying to leave them alone together. It was painfully obvious to all parties what he was trying to do, and now he’d dragged Isobel into the kitchen on the pretence of getting her to help make custard.

“Hamish, if you keep this up then neither of them will ever come here again.”

“We have to give them a chance!”

“We’ve given them several chances, now be reasonable. These things don’t happen overnight. Look how long it took us to get together.”

“That was different.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Whilst this argument was continuing in the kitchen. Belle and Gold were still left to their devices in the other room. Belle couldn’t help continuing to sneak little glances at Gold. She’d been doing it ever since she’d arrived, and sometimes she caught him doing the same. This was one such occasion. He gave a little smile, although it was becoming clear that he was getting increasingly stressed by the whole situation.

Figuring that conversation was better than awkward silence, Belle decided to start talking.

“Are they doing this on purpose?”

Gold shook his head. “No. Hamish is doing this on purpose and Isobel is probably giving him grief for it as we speak.”

“I think he just wants us to get to know each other a little better.” Belle inched her chair a little closer around the table. Since she’d been given this opportunity, however contrived, she might as well make use of it. “I mean, I’d like to get to know you better, if I can.”

Gold’s expression was a strange one, part hope and part disbelief. “There’s not much to know,” he mumbled. “Not much good, at least. I’d rather talk about you.”

“If that’s what you want, I’m sure that I can be persuaded, Mr Gold.”

“Please, call me Ciaran. If we’re getting to know each other better then maybe first name terms would be a start.”

“As you wish, Ciaran.”

She didn’t realise how long they continued to talk for, but by the time Hamish, looking somewhat smug, and Isobel, looking somewhat exasperated, returned to the room, the custard was stone cold and had set into a solid lump in the jug, and the apple pie that it was supposed to accompany had burned to a cinder. Isobel got out some ice-cream instead, and the ruined dessert was tactfully not mentioned in the hope of avoiding breaking the proverbial fourth wall that had sprung up around the table and Hamish and Isobel’s prolonged absences from it. Still, conversation seemed to flow much more easily now that Hamish had achieved his goal, and Belle was almost disappointed when the time came for her and Gold to leave. Not too disappointed though. They walked along in the late afternoon sun together until it was time for them to part and go their separate ways to their respective homes.

“It was nice to get to know you, Ciaran,” she said. “Perhaps we could get to know each other a little better over lunch again. Without an audience, this time.”

Gold smiled, and his ears had gone rather pink again.

“I would like that very much, Belle.”

“I could bring a picnic to the shop tomorrow?”

“That sounds perfect.”

As they said their goodbyes and continued down their different roads, Belle couldn’t help but grin. It turned out that Hamish’s interference had done the trick after all, and if he was attempting to play matchmaker like this, then he obviously approved of her interest in his cousin.

Belle couldn’t wait for their next date.

(But she probably wouldn’t tell Hamish about it.)

#A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Mr Gold #Belle French #Hamish Macbeth #Isobel Sutherland #Hamish/Isobel #AU #Fusion #Crossover

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shuwuwua · 5 years

Text

farmboy!joshua

in which your first time in the rural countryside–crap internet, 20 minute drives to the nearest grocery store, random deer in the roads, and all–is not bad. not bad at all. (aka joshua and animals and being very soft) [fluff]

word count: 3k

disclaimer: not all rural areas are the same. you can get high speed internet. (just not in my personal experience lmao)

you were born, raised, and spent most of your livelihood in the same city

a proper skyscraper sort of city, not a “it’s bigger than a town so i guess we have to call it a city but the tallest building here is still only 4 stories high” city

your family wasn’t really one for vacations but this summer your parents decided to switch it up and spend a few weeks with your relatives who live in the countryside

and although you’ve been skeptical as to what’s possibly worth spending that long in the boonies, you figure it’s been a while since you saw those relatives and don’t say much against it

you’ve tried unsuccessfully for the past few days to avoid nature by browsing YouTube, but it’s proving difficult with your relatives’ lack of surfable internet

they finally suggest you go to the petting zoo

and you snort a little at first bc it’s not your ideal pastime but you suppose that’s what you gotta work with now in the boonies

so you drive to the nearby petting zoo. you exit your car.

and your hit with the Smell™ (of dried grass and poop, to clarify)

and you’re like. oh yeah. i’m definitely in the countryside.

you proceed.

as you walk up the path to the main buildings, you see some of the larger animals around you. horses. cows. the pigs are outside feeding at this hour. you’re kind of in awe because you’ve never seen a Live Cow and,,, they’re kinda cool how they’re so chill and they look sorta Smooth like they’d be really pettable and you wonder if you’d be able to milk one or smthn

but you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.

you open the barn door. and are immediately hit with more Smell™

you wonder if it’ll attach to your clothes. you figure you will deal with it later.

there is something else to deal with at the moment.

“wait, no–lucky! come back!” someone yelps as they rush around in front of you, chasing what seems to be a ball of fur that moves at the speed of light

or a puppy. same thing, really.

that someone takes a giant leap of faith, only to just barely miss the pup and end up face first on the floor, which you can’t imagine being the most sanitary of surfaces

you look away in search of the flurry of fur. you can’t see it, but you can definitely hear it. unfortunately, it doesn’t sound like it has a collar, so you prepare yourself to scoop it up completely rather than grabbing its collar. as expected, it runs into your direction and you launch at it...

success!

lucky squirms in your grasp, barking and sniffing at your shirt. they must decide that you’re an agreeable human, because they start trying to lick your face

“wow, you caught him!” you look up at seemingly the body from earlier

and like,, not to exaggerate but is this what looking at an angel is like?

the boy you’re looking at looks back with such bright eyes and with a gaze full of affection, although after a second you realize the affection is probably for the dog. he has the best smile you’ve seen in a good while, because people you pass by in the city don’t smile that much. he just radiates Warm and Good and is probably great for business, because he’s just as cute as the puppy who is still going at your chin

“i… yeah, guess i did. uh, you kind of have straw all over you” is what you settle on saying to him, because out of all the things you noticed about him, your brain decides that the straw and dirt still sticking to his cheek and various parts of his shirt were the most acceptable features to point out. while they weren’t the more flattering options, they probably saved you from the complete AWKWARDNESS that would have come from mentioning his eyes or beaming smile or really anything else bc the straw and dirt were the only flaws.

“oh!” he exclaims, straightening up and brushing off his shirt

“… here too,” you say, grasping lucky in one arm as you move your other hand to your cheek

of course, he wipes at the wrong side.

“the other side”

“right. ok. am i good? sorry, that’s not a great first impression.”

he still has a smear, but you decide it’s probably not going to budge and he’ll figure it out later. and he has no clue what a great first impression it was. clearly. “no, it’s fine.”

he continues to smile at you and you’re still crouched, clutching lucky. lucky then decides to yelp because he’s tired of the severe lack of attention, which snaps you back to the situation.

“oh, right.” you stand and give lucky back.

“here he is!”

once lucky is back in the boy’s arms, he immediately starts to lick at his jaw. the boy sighs and pulls a treat out of the pocket of his apron, waving it around lucky’s face. “what are we going to do with you?”

he turns back to you. “sorry about that, lucky is a very excited young pupper, as you just saw. the most problematic of all his siblings. anyway, i’m joshua! welcome to nabiya petting zoo. is it your first time here?”

you nod. “er. it’s actually my first time in this area, or in this part of the country, really. i’m from a pretty big city.”

“oh! well, a bigger welcome, then. i hope you enjoy your stay.”

he rubs lucky between his ears. “isn’t it nice to get away from the busy urban life sometimes? i’ve always thought it’s really relaxing around here.”

“yeah, it seems… nice so far,” you say loosely, reflecting on how you haven’t really seen enough to come to that conclusion

he still has that warm smile. “i’m going to put lucky in his pen. hm… you’re the only one who’s come in so far today, so i could show you around if you want?”

“yeah, sure! i haven’t seen a lot of these before,” you reply, going down the list of animals at the side on the wall.

“ok, i’ll be right back!”

when he comes back y’all walk around n look at things and he asks you if you want to hold or feed some animals and you take everything pretty well, more than even you expect

you look at the normal domestic sort of animals like a litter of kittens, and the pen with lucky and his other pupper brothers and sisters

typical farm animals like pigs and sheep

sheep are not as fluffy as you imagine, they’re actually kind of gross looking if they haven’t had a bath recently

nonetheless you find them kind of cute, and you even pet one of the rams, aptly named… sam the ram

something tells you joshua was responsible for the name

you guys go out to the field and observe some turkeys strutting around

“huh so that’s the thing you see in clipart, the thing hanging off their faces”

“yeah it’s called a snood”

“LOL huH”

“only the dudes have snoods”

“um”

“during mating season, female turkeys pick male turkeys with longer snoods. you could say they’re in the snood for love.”

“please stop”

y’all spend a lot of time with the rabbits bc “bunnies are my favorite animal” says josh as he crouches next to a brown fluffball of a bunny, petting it

it’s just such a Good n Wholesome scene you can’t help but let slip “wow ur so cute”

he looks up, but his expression says he is otherwise unbothered

“sorry, what’d you say?”

“i SA ID the buNNY is sO cuTE” panics

“oh” joshua says. “alright” he turns back to the bunny, a tiny smile on his face

before you know it, 4 hours have passed and your stomach is letting you know dinnertime is approaching, so you bid josh farewell and wonder if you’ll ever see him again because that was a hecking nice 4 hours

you find yourself coming back again two days later lmao

today, joshua is putting out slop for the pigs. he grins at you.

“hey again. what brings you back so soon?”

you find some excuse like “ykno i just bonded with sam the ram so well i had to come back, we’re bros now” and josh just laughs softly at you

“ok. you wanna look at some horses today?”

“whoa. o-okay.”

when he brings them out ngl you’re kinda intimidated bc like,, they’re some toL bois.

one time you saw a pony at the state fair but that was smol n cute and walked at a pace of 3 miles an hour

but these horses?? threatening. now you understand where the horse in horsepower comes from

“hey, don’t look so scared. they’re harmless!” the black stallion chooses that moment to snort and buck a little.

you gulp.

“no, really.” he pets the stallion. “snuffles has never hurt anyone.”

you blink

“,,, snuffles ??”

joshua gives you a hard stare. “7 year old me thought that was an appropriate name and today years old me still thinks it’s fine”

you raise your hands to say “ok man ur turf ur way”

joshua clears his throat dramatically and turns back to ,, snuffles. “so aNyway, i brought snuffles out because i think he’s the best for a beginner to ride, and i’m assuming you’ve never ridden a horse before.”

“yeah i haven’t… wait did you say we’re gonna riDE them??”

“yeah, we don’t usually let people do that but i feel like you need the whole farm experience so you can go home and tell your friends the country isn’t just yeehaw and old town”

“but like… isn’t this just proving the point of old town? you literally have the horses in the back.”

“however, my hat is not matte black. i don’t even have a cowboy hat. or Wrangler. or anything else the song mentions. just the horses.”

“ok joshua if it makes u happy i will take snuffles to the old town road”

he gives u a big :D

he instructs you on how to mount the horse and stands behind you in case you start falling but thankfully you don’t so we don’t have to go over any kind of cliche

~ gripping of the waist for balance ~

~ catching you in his arms ~

scenes

: ))

“hey, good job! give snuffles some pats or something.” you reach a hand out to stroke the side of snuffles’s face. he whinnies a bit. Well frick, you think, that was kind of cute.

joshua decides he’ll walk some laps around with you before letting you actually ride snuffles by yourself. after you seem to be comfortable, you guys walk/trot around some and that’s how the rest of that afternoon goes :)

picture this with me

the sun is low in the sky

and y’all and your horses are just looking out over the hill

skin lookin immaculate bc it’s the golden hour

a massive grin you don’t even realize you have on your face.

and then you gotta go home, as your stomach reminds you again.

over your stay at your relatives’ place, you visit the petting zoo more times

you and josh become pretty comfortable with each other

he always has a lot of time to spend with you bc people don’t come that much this early in the summer, and in general they don’t get a huge amount of traffic but that’s okay financially bc the petting zoo is just a side thing, it’s mainly his family’s farm

and so you learn more things about him and his family from your times together, you guys sometimes sit around with some lemonade and hold some bunnies. lucky has also taken a liking to you, so you hold him a lot.

joshua tells you about his parents having always wanted to live peaceful and healthy lives, eating their own produce, moved to the area before he was born and it just expanded into the farm.

so although no one lives on the farm, they live pretty close by and he spent most of his childhood around all the animals.

you wonder if he was born with the soft, patient, and gentle nature needed to care for all the animals or if the animals shaped him to be that way.

but on top of that, he really loves spending time with them. even though he’s there basically every day, he never seems tired of his job.

“but what about you though? i’ve never really been that far from here, so i wonder what a big city is like.”

you trade your chaotic urban stories for his peaceful rural ones, and he trades his farm accident horrors for your memories of solidarity in the city.

you tell him about all the great food, countless different flavors of restaurants and a bubble tea chain every few blocks

you tell him about the convenience, the variety of transportation and the proximity of things, like basic groceries

the crowded sidewalks, the crowded metro, the crowded shops

the neon signs that light up the night, the period of quiet and calm somewhere around 3 in the morning, when you can open the window and hear the city nightlife in its most muted yet most raw state.

not only has time in the countryside made you appreciate it more, but also your home life more.

while you’re still wrapped in your memories, joshua smiles softly at you from the side. lemonade long forgotten, ice long melted. “that sounds really nice. your stories make me want to visit you in your hometown some time.”

huh. he could’ve just said visit the city, but he said visit you in your hometown. joshua has such a way with making the conversation personal.

you process what he said again and think about what it’d be like if he came. you could take him to all those places you raved about… it’d be like…

,,, a bunch of dates really. your brain frazzles a bit at the thought.

“… yeah! … that’d be pretty cool.”

and that’s how your afternoons pass these days. lemonade at the side, bunnies in hand, breeze passing through hair.

eventually josh asks you if you want to hang out like… nOT at the petting zoo

and you’re like whoa ok what’s your idea

and he’s like “can you meet me at watchtower hill tomorrow at 8pm?”

he thinks about what he just said and quickly follows with “i know that’s kind of a really late time, but i promise i have no nefarious intent! oh, shoot that makes it seem like i do. i really don’t i promise! i just wanted to show you what the sunset and night sky are like in the countryside. oh, i just spoiled it…” he flashes you an awkward smile and some finger guns. “yep, that’s what we’re doing! no nefarious activities.”

you grin at him. “calm down dude, i didn’t think like that in the first place. i’m usually out even later at home anyway.”

he rubs the back of his head and laughs it off with you.

you do meet the next day at 8pm. he brings some midnight snacks that his mom made. except they’re not really midnight snacks, because you’re not trying to stay out there until midnight (spoiler: you do, because y’all yak a lot)

you guys sit on your jackets, watching the sunset. it’s the kind of temperature that’s says it was mad hot during the day, but now that the sun is going down, it’s cooled into a pleasant room temperature with an occasional warm breeze.

for once you all don’t say much, because it’s nice to just share the moment.

you reflect on how you’ve come to experience the area recently. most of it was the petting zoo, but sometimes you’d take up some of joshua’s suggestions about the area and report back to him how the experience was later on.

looking out at the sun that bleeds out into the blueish black night, you think that it’s been a pretty good time here, and maybe it does have an edge on city life.

as the last of warm colors finally seep out of the sky, the moon takes over the night and the stars become more apparent than you’ve ever seen before.

seriously, it’s a scene out of a movie. you know, the wide screen shot of the protagonists staring at the sky, mystified. the panorama over the constellations that twinkle down at you, a little gift from the galaxy.

“i’ve never seen the sky like this. all the twinkling lights in the city come from the streets, and the buildings. which are pretty in their own way, i think. but Mother Nature… is really something else,” you say.

“yeah,” he says, looking at you as you’re still in awe at the sky. “something else.”

a few more moments pass, but it’s a timeless night as the sky is frozen in space.

joshua lays back on his jacket.

“hey,, maybe this is sort of crazy but.”

you turn to him, raising a brow.

“it’s been really, uh.. it’s been. really awesome getting to know you. i’ve just kind of… seen the same sorts of things all my life. the same sorts of people. i mean! of course, everyone is unique in their own way but! you know.” he takes a glance at you. “rural folks, urban folks. there’s a difference. so I’ve really enjoyed talking with you. uh, i mean i enjoy talking to you regardless of if you’re from the city or not!”

he puts a palm to his face and sighs. from behind his hand, he says, “i just like you.”

“i like you too, joshua! you’re a really great guy.”

“no, not like that. i mean. i like you.” he finally removes his hand.

you blink a little. and finally burst into a grin. “yeah. i like you too. you’re a really great guy.”

it’s his turn to blink

you lie back as well. he slowly starts to smile next to you

the stars above shine on.

yeah. this is a life you could get used to, too.

a/n: i stole the snood puns from a website i was reading sry website. hope you guys enjoyed and i had a lot of fun writing joshua this way (he’s all squishy, not exactly canon i would say lol)

#joshua scenario #joshua scenarios #seventeen scenario #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #joshua #hong jisoo #joshua hong #type: scenario #genre: romance #genre: fluff #format: bullet #scenario: seventeen #scenario: joshua #words: 5k #author: jae

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Seventy-Three: A Screeching Halt ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, blood, serious injury ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“All right, I’ll see you after class, then.”

“Okay! So, are we still going to have our take-out and movie Friday, or…?”

Sasuke chuckles, bringing his wife forward with an arm around her waist, planting a kiss against her temple. “Of course. I even delayed a quiz so I’d have less to grade this weekend.”

“Oh, scandalous, putting aside your work!” Hinata can’t help but tease, going a light shade of pink at the gesture.

“Hey, you teach first graders, you don’t have to deal with teenagers and their boatloads of homework like I do. If I want to give myself a break, I’ll do it. We’re not about to fall that far behind on the curriculum. We’ve had this planned for two weeks, now. A few days’ break from an algebra quiz won’t kill anyone.”

“All right, all right...well, I better get going. I’ve got a mini field trip to prepare for.”

“Heading to the park for the day?”

“Mhm. The high school band is hosting a concert and the elementary classes all get to go watch.”

“You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”

“I will. See you later, hun.”

“Bye.” Dropping Hinata off in front of their small town’s elementary school, Sasuke watches her reach the door before heading off further down the street to the high school. While his wife is a first grade teacher, he himself hosts algebra classes, typically for freshmen, but a few older students tend to get sprinkled in. True to his word, he’s skipping their quiz that was scheduled so he can, instead, have a guilt-free night without anything to grade to finally get a little peace and quiet with his wife. With the school year newly begun, they’ve both been up to their ears with work since the tail end of August. Any chance they get for a break is more than welcome.

Parking in the staff lot, Sasuke fetches his supplies from the back seat before making his way into the building...which means navigating a sea of teenagers. Easing his way through, he occasionally gives a greeting, nodding to students he knows. At one point he gently taps a teen’s head, giving him a scolding look at having found him lip-locked with his girlfriend.

“Try to keep PDA to a minimum, please,” Sasuke chides with a sigh.

The pair just pout, making no promises either way as they sulk. Sasuke just snorts. He knows well how it was being a teenager in love...at least, a bit. He and Hinata didn’t really get together until their senior year, carrying on into college when they both went into the same basic major of education, just with different focuses. While Hinata loves small children and early education, Sasuke prefers math and people a little more...grown up.

...not that all teenagers are mature, by any means.

Making his way into his classroom, he starts sorting through his things: reviewing today’s lesson plan, making sure he has graded homework to pass back, taking out today’s roll call sheet...and sending Hinata a quick text.

Did you pick a movie, by the way?

As he awaits her reply, he glances up as a few early bird students file in before the bell, eyes then lowering back to their textbook. His first period class has actually turned out to be one of his most productive, averaging a bit higher grades than the other slots he has through the day.

His mobile then buzzes.

Hm, not yet...we’ll have to browse Netflix and see what’s what. Should we watch an old favorite, or try something new?

He mulls that over.

Personally, if this is a relaxing kind of night, I’d prefer something we know so we don’t have to pay TOO close of attention...I might just doze off.

After a pause she responds, and he can almost hear her laugh.

All right, oldie but goodie it is! But next time I want to see that new drama...can’t remember the name but you can’t put it off forever :P

Sasuke can’t help a snort. Oh, yes he can.

But by then the warning bell rings, so he puts the phone on silent and gets ready to address his gaggle of teens. What with it being Friday, he doesn’t have the highest expectations for attention spans, but...hopefully they can get through his lesson, and then they’ll have all weekend to study. Or...in most cases, probably just cram a bit Sunday night.

He knows their ways.

“All right class,” he calls as the final bell rings, every desk occupied. “I’ll take roll call, and then we’ll jump right into things. I know you’re all eager to get through to the weekend, so...let’s just get today’s lesson over with, shall we?”

With everyone in attendance, he dives right into their current chapter section, explaining and giving examples on the white board. A few students have questions toward the end, but otherwise it seems to be smooth sailing.

So, when the bell rings, he announces the upcoming quiz as they take their leave. “Be ready on Monday! No homework for today, so go enjoy your weekend outside studying, all right?”

Second period he has free, finishing up a few stray assignments for an afternoon class he has yet to finish grading. When third period rolls around, he finds several students missing.

“They’re at the park for the concert,” one girl explains, and Sasuke nods in understanding.

“Right, the one for the little kids, gotcha. All right, well let’s get started, and -”

Before he can go on, the door slams open, and the entire class (including him) give a jolt. Beyond it is the gym teacher, looking harried and out of breath.

“Sasuke, I’m sorry but - your wife, she -”

Dread immediately weighs in his gut like a stone. “...what happened?”

“There was a-a car, and -” He swallows. “She was leading her class across the road to the park. They aren’t sure if the driver was drunk or not, but Hinata was struck, and -”

Sasuke’s face slackens, quickly draining of color. “...I...I have to -?”

“I’m free this period, I’ll watch your kids - get going!”

Nodding jerkily, Sasuke wastes no time in rushing past him through the door, sprinting down the hall to the door nearest the elementary school as frantic voices fill his classroom.

Please, please no...please no!

Shoving the door open, he doesn’t slow down, running flat out the entire way to the school and the park across the road. Already there’s sirens cutting through the air as the local ambulance makes its way to the scene. Elementary school students are gathered in the park, many crying as confusion and panic spread through the classes like a wildfire.

On the sidewalk, several teachers are gathered around, frantic and gesturing. One looks up, and he recognizes the elementary nurse. “Oh Sasuke, good you’re here - she’s pretty badly hurt, but she’s going to be okay. I think she’s got a few broken ribs and a broken arm, but her head and spine appear to be fine. We’re not moving her just in case, until the EMTs get here.”

Let through as the other adults part, Sasuke feels his heart stop in his chest. Hinata lays on the sidewalk, a bit of blood smeared across her chin. Her breath is short and gasping, an arm wrapped around her middle with a grimace of pain. The other lies weakly along her side.

“Oh shit...Hinata…” Carefully kneeling, he gently lays a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, I’m here…”

“Sasuke…? Oh, thank God...I-I’m all right, just...just a little banged up.”

“Shh, don’t talk - save your energy, and don’t make it any worse for those ribs.” He smooths at her bangs, expression gaunt with worry and apprehension. A glance up, and he asks, “What happened?”

“Hinata was leading her kids across the street when a car just...swerved around the corner,” a man replies, tone hushed. “It was all over the road, and going far above the speed limit. Hinata managed to corral the kids and get them out of the way just in time, but she was hit instead. The car tried to stop, the tires screeched something awful, but...it was still moving at a good clip when it hit her. She saved those kids...no telling the damage someone that small would have had. She kept them from panicking and scattering all over the road...”

“And the driver?”

The other teacher nods, and Sasuke looks up. Only then does he see the car smashed into a tree, a small swarm of police cars surrounding it.

“Seems they were in some kind of high speed chase. What possessed them to go through a school zone is beyond me…”

Siren blaring, the ambulance finally pulls up, EMTs rushing to evaluate the situation. Once they have her checked out, a stretcher is fetched, Hinata lifted onto it and loaded into the back.

“Sir, are you her husband?”

“Yes, I am. Can I go with you?”

“Of course.”

Turning back, a teacher lifts a hand in understanding before Sasuke can speak. “We’ll get word to the high school. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“Thank you…” Climbing in beside his wife, Sasuke takes her hand, face still drawn.

“I’m all right, Sasuke...it could be w-worse.”

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any better. You got hit by a car…!”

“A few weeks, and I’ll be right as rain,” she assures him, smiling tiredly. “But...I guess this m-means we’ll miss our movie night...huh?”

“...I’m sure we can reschedule. For now...you’re my priority.”

Lacking any more words, Hinata just blinks slowly at him as the doors are closed and they pull away.

.oOo.

Oh man, I hate writing a hurt Hinata ;o; But this was the first thing that came to mind upon reading the prompt. She'll be okay, just needs some recup time...and she was a hero saving those kidlings! Poor Sasuke's very shook up, tho... Anyway, not...much else to say? I'm v tired and tomorrow's gonna be a long one, so I better get some sleep~ Thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #blood //#serious injury //#best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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paramedicsuicide · 6 years

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First responder suicide -- PTSD, or something else?

Its 1:30am. I sit on my computer in complete darkness, having just slept for the past 10 hours. As a Paramedic in a suburb of a relatively small US city, I work 12 hours shifts for 4 straight days. I get 4 days off to recuperate after that, and at this point in my career those days are essential for my survival. Many of my co-workers are not lucky enough to be able to stop at just 4 days, and must work additional overtime shifts in order to make ends meet. The private EMS industry has relatively low wages nationwide. We are the "red headed step child" of emergency services, often hiding in the shadows of police officers, firefighters, and nurses. There is no such thing as a "typical" shift when working in EMS. There are the occasional shifts where I will sit in the parking lot of the local convenience store chain for 12 straight hours without picking up a single patient. The glow of my cell phone screen illuminating my face for each passing person to see the life draining out of my body. The boredom sets in after hour 2. My legs and butt hurt. I am hungry, but I can't tell if its true hunger or just my body telling me to get up and move. I decide to walk inside to browse the aisles of colorful treats, getting nauseous at the thought of eating "lunch" out of a gas station at midnight for the 3rd day in a row. Despite my disgust, I walk outside with 2,000 or more calories of junk food at a time in an attempt to eat myself to death. "Ill be diabetic by the end of the week" I say to my partner as I open my fudge dipped granola bar. As the career of a first responder goes on, most quickly start to pack on the pounds like a bear preparing for winter. Company policy prevents you from sleeping during your shift, so your food (if you can call it that) is washed down with 16oz of your favorite energy drink to keep you awake and ready to pick grandma up off the floor when she attempts her 2am bathroom run. I have palpitations from all the caffeine. Hopefully one day those PVC's turn into an arrhythmia and the lord takes me. "Anything to get out of this job" I say, as I polish off my second monster of the night. Morning rolls around. 50mg of benadryl will help me fall asleep after drinking energy drinks all night long. I have severe shift sleep disorder. I am depressed. I just want to sleep. I wake up ready to go after just 4 hours of sleep. Great. Another night of pounding monsters. I punch in 15 minutes early for my next shift and am assigned a call before I am even scheduled to start. I am the only ambulance available in the surrounding 15 square miles of suburbia, and that trend will continue for the next 12 hours. Call after call, I don't have time to finish my paperwork before being sent on the next run. Its 11pm and dispatch calls my unit number for the 5th time today-- "With the fire department for a 1 year old post choking". I have taken 50 calls of the same nature before and say out loud-- "Great, another bullshit call". Every day, nervous parents call 911 over the slightest cough or sniffle which eventually numbs you to the potential of a true pediatric emergency. Its never a real emergency. Until it is. Rolling up on scene after the fire department, I grab my house bag and begin to waddle towards the low income apartment building for the third time this week. I think -- "I should have brought the tablet for a signature so I don't have to walk back outside". Suddenly, a firefighter rounds the corner carrying a limp child like he is holding an offering platter. "That's not good" I blurt out , going from zero to 100 in the snap of a finger. The firefighter tells me the child was eating chicken and rice when he began to choke. As my partner digs out the pediatric bag valve mask that has been sitting unused in the house bag for an unknown number of years, I set up the suction, only to find an unresponsive, apneic child with a clenched jaw. "That doesn't make sense" I think to myself as I try to peel apart his tiny jaw without any luck. Thank god-- he has a gap in his front tooth that fits a small, 12fr suction catheter. I start to go through the motions. Is he seizing? Nope. Any trauma visible or reported? No. Mom was asked again-- and again says the child was sitting up, eating, and suddenly started choking. What is going on here? With little to be done on scene, I rush to the small local hospital, nervous that the next squeeze of the bag could lodge a piece of food in this kids airway. I am getting good air exchange but his spo2 isn’t amazing. He must have aspirated. Great news. He is now moving his arms, and his eyes just opened. Wait, why is his jaw still clenched? That's not great news. This kid hasn't made a noise. What the fuck is going on. As I roll the stretcher into the small emergency room closest to the scene, I am greeted with that dreaded sentence from the ER Physician-- "why did you bring him here and not children's hospital". I bite my tongue-- its not the time to have that fight. The kid is now posturing. A few minutes go by and the doctor asks me to get my laryngoscope because the emergency room is not currently stocked with the proper pediatric equipment. Maybe he was right. The thoughts start rushing through my head-- "they are going to kill this kid. I should have just risked it and bypassed. It was only an extra 7 minutes or so further". As I sit there and wait for the next order, new thoughts take over. "Someone shook this kid. There is no other explanation". Hypertensive, bradycardic, posturing. But mom said he was choking on rice? Where would she get that from? Hmm. She doesn't seem as concerned as a mother should be. She answers a text message while being questioned by the police. She has yet to ask anyone how her son is doing. The texts start to come in to my phone. "Are you ok?". "I hear you had a bad call. You guys ok?" "WTF was that all about?". I am fine. Any provider who plans to have a lengthy career has to distance themselves from their patients. I can think back to every "bad" call I've taken, and never once have I been able to recall processing a patients face. Its not important. What they look like is irrelevant to my job. Its the circle of life. Some people live, some people die. Its my job to try and make that circle a little bit bigger if I can. Sometimes you are successful, sometimes you aren't. You have to come to terms with that early on. Minutes after calling in service from restocking, the radio chimes my unit number again. "Cold response to the fitness center for a hand laceration". I arrive on scene to find a psych standing out front in his blue paper clothes, clearly having been to an emergency room at least once today. “Hop on in buddy-- take a seat” I say as I shake my head. We drive him 3 blocks down the street to the same emergency room we left just a couple hours prior. I am not greeted like one would expect. Not with "Hello", not with "whats the chief complaint". I am greeted with a sentence that is never good news. "Did you hear?". Our child from earlier had been emergently transferred 6 miles away to the childrens hospital by a specialty transport team. The news from them was not good. "That kid -- he has a brain bleed". My suspicions were confirmed. He was never choking. Someone hurt this kid and tried to cover it up. I know how to handle this, because its not even the first time this situation has happened to me. People hurt kids often enough that I am not even shocked. Stories like this don't make the news *for a reason*. People cant handle stuff like this. No one needs to know that savages live in apartment 3. Some people have to know though. WE have to know. Its not OK. I talk about suicide often. My previous partner was a veteran and has PTSD from being deployed overseas. He has had many friends commit suicide after returning from war, and was concerned about my mental health. That should concern me. He would ask me once a week-- "Are you sure you are ok?". My little comments here and there come off as jokes to most people. "Id rather die than come into work tonight". "Pull out in front of this semi truck-- we wont feel a thing I promise". "Stage for police? Fuck that. I hope I get shot". In reality, its not a joke. I am not suicidal at this point in my life-- I am apathetic about living. I'm not going to take my own life, but I am definitely not excited when I wake up each morning. This feeling has slowly crept up on me over my almost 10 year career as a paramedic. I tell myself daily that I need to get out before its too late. What will be the breaking point where I become truly suicidal? I have to answer one question before I leave. "Where will I go?" I am burnt out. Everyone says "go to nursing school", but the passion-- the fire inside that makes you want to help people has been extinguished for years. Where can you go at 30+ years old with a paramedic certification and no useful degree. I have made financial commitments at my age that makes starting from scratch somewhere at entry level wages an impossibility. What can I do? Where can I go? I am stuck. This job is like quick sand, and I'm up to my shoulders. If I struggle much more it will be above my head. We get to see what goes on behind the curtains of society. How much would you enjoy a magic show if you knew how the magic was performed? That is what life is like for many first responders. Members of the general public get to wear blinders during their day to day lives. There are people who post rants to facebook if the garbage man didn't put their garbage can back in the correct spot. A terrible day for a typical person is a flat tire on the way home from work. They have no idea what happens in their town or city on a day to day basis. They have NO IDEA that 3 doors down, a husband beat the shit out of his wife for the 4rd time this year and she wont tell the police what happened. They have NO IDEA that people call an ambulance from the parking lot of an emergency room because they don't want to wait in the waiting room. They have NO IDEA that someone in apartment 3 just hurt their baby and tried to cover it up. But we know. We see it all. I have talked with a lot of people who have similar feelings. Its due to me being so open about my apathy towards life. People who I see every day, smiling at their coworkers and telling war stories and laughing. You would never guess these people were at the end of their ropes-- fighting off their own demons. "Make sure they have bagpipes at my funeral". I don't try and talk these people down because they don't want help. How could I help anyways? You cant just "un-know" the things we know. These people just feel comfort in the fact that they aren't alone. I have been lucky that none of these people have taken their lives yet. I know the day is coming. Its been a long time since a co-worker has committed suicide, and the statistics say we are over-due. How will I handle it?

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deepdickdaniel · 7 years

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Kang Daniel | FlowerShop!AU

prompt: while shopping for flowers to give to your favorite professor as a going away present, you see the most unlikely character preparing the bouquet.

note: this is the flowershop!au that no one asked for, but take it anyway! also, i love researching flower meanings but i’m not too sure about the seasons in which they grow, etc. so please excuse any inaccuracies!

your favorite professor was transferring to another university on the other side of the world so you decided to get her flowers

a few blocks away from your school, you found a cute little flower shop so you stopped by to ask for a custom-made, good luck bouquet for her

when you walked in, you saw that there was no one at the counter but the flowers were all watered and displayed prettily so you just assumed the staff was in the back

and you were right

after a minute or two of browsing, you finally heard the curtain from the back slide open and close

you looked up and saw the most unexpected person: kang daniel

you had a few classes with him before and one currently + you always found him attractive, but he never actually went to class enough for you to know him well

and whenever he went to class, he was asleep lmao

“hi, do you need help?”

his smile was as pretty as the flowers surrounding him

“yeah! i’d just like a bouquet of flowers, please”

he nodded and stared at you for a bit, his smile getting brighter in realization,

“wait, you’ve been in a few of my classes, right???”

and he proceeded to say your name and you’re honestly surprised because while you have a few mutual acquaintances, you weren’t expecting much

he asked you what it was for and you said it’s a good luck/encouragement type of bouquet

“ooh is your boyfriend taking some type of exam or something?”

“b-b-boyfriend?! i’m single af”

you didn’t know if it was your lack of sleep but his smile seemed to grow even bigger at that

so you told him who the bouquet was for and he came up with the prettiest bunch of flowers

“white carnations are a good symbol of luck for females!!! your prof’s a lady, right? and goldenrods are a sign of encouragement and good fortune! hollyhocks are for ambition and while the colors may at first seem a bit odd together, when you look back: white, gold, and variations of a berry color are really nice together, no?”

he honestly lost you at goldenrods

so you just nodded in shock and he seemed to be relieved at your approval

after you paid, you guys talked for a bit and found out you actually got along really well + had a lot of similarities

you exchanged numbers even, ayyyyyy

when it was time for you to go, daniel randomly handed you a single white flower

??? = you

“o-oh, we just had some extra gardenias, so just take one, okay? have a great day!”

you were confused but also touched so you left the flower shop lowkey giddy and excited to see him again

and that would come soon!!! because he actually started to come to the class you guys had together and even sat next to you

and stayed awake…lmao

he brought you another one of those flowers

“more extras!!!”

with the brightest smile and despite the curious looks of your classmates who had never seen you talk to each other before, you smiled just as brightly back at him

tbh you wanted to look up the meaning of this flower but you forgot the name of it, sigh

you started hanging out at the flower shop, too, sitting around and using a spare desk near the counter

“my boss is this really nice lady, i’m sure she’ll be fine with you being here”

so you and daniel got even closer and while he’d prepare bouquets for orders, he’d also tell you the meanings behind the flowers he’s putting in them

and you started to realize what certain bouquets meant by the way daniel would react while making them

he’d get the saddest while making it for a husband who’s obviously cheating on his wife

“as if a bunch of flowers is going to make the pain go away for her and the guilt go away for him!!!”

or how daniel would get bittersweet while making a bouquet for a woman who visits her deceased father once a week

overtime, you just really got to observe daniel and you started crushing on him big time

he’s just such a genuine person who has a heart of gold

it’s just an added bonus that he’s probably the most attractive person your eyes have ever landed on

but he was also such a dork who loved his two cats more than he could ever love a human most likely tbh

“i always get the safe catnip plants for rooney and peter!!! my boss is really nice and always lets me take a bit home for my cats whenever we have them in stock!”

he also would occasionally bring you that same white flower or even a delicate, small bunch of yellow ones in class

“extras as always!”

one day you went into the flower shop, calling out daniel’s name in greeting

but instead, an elderly lady came to the counter

“oh, you’re the one daniel’s always talking about! i’m so happy to finally meet you after all this time!”

wow, after about two months of never seeing her, you finally met his boss!

“he’s not here today, but please, feel free to stay!”

she was the sweetest, old little thing and she tried to teach you about most of the flower meanings, too

you were unmistakably looking a bit down that daniel wasn’t there but you were happy to have such kind company

this brilliant lady noticed and decided to tell you a story about daniel to make you feel better

“do you know how daniel came to work for me? one day, i was struggling to carry some of the heavier potted plants since my son just moved out of the country and i was left to do most things by myself and daniel was passing by - he saw me and dropped his things just to help me!”

you smiled - typical angelic daniel!!!

“he started helping me every day out of his own free will and became interested in learning about the different kinds of flowers, so i just ended up hiring him”

she then laughed a bit mischievously

“and it helps that we get a lot of business from young girls who find him attractive!”

this made you frown while made her smirk hehehe

“don’t worry, he hasn’t looked at anyone but you since you first bought that bouquet”

“e-excuse me!”

she just laughed and continued to make the bouquet that was in her hands

you then noticed that the bouquet contained the flowers daniel always happened to give you but refused to tell you the names of again

so you asked the sweet lady and she smiled dreamily,

“they’re gardenias and yellow acacias. yellow acacias are a sign of a valuable friendship but…they can also mean secret love. gardenias also mean secret love…this is probably going to the object of affection of a secret admirer!”

you were so shook that you ended up leaving the shop, thanking her for her time and hospitality and wanting to think for yourself

you were super happy but didn’t want to get your hopes up

what if he was just being friendly???

so you were super confused but returned to the flower shop the next day as always after researching a bit about flower meanings

your turbulent heart, however, calmed at the sight of daniel’s special smile just for you

but he was a bit more quiet today, focusing on the bouquet he was making and answering you only when you spoke to him

finally, when he was done, he actually went around the counter to where you were seated

and placed the bouquet right into your lap

“what’s this?!”

“it’s for you and it’s my newest creation: white dittanies to represent a man’s romantic desire towards an individual, roses as a sign of traditional love…”

he paused, looking at you while biting his lip

“…and yellow daffodils are a sign of new beginnings…and hopefully today will be day 1 for you and me as a couple…”

he trailed off there, watching your every movement intently

you smiled the most beautiful smile he had ever seen and said one word,

“ambrosia”

he laughed happily and picked you up after you gently placed the bouquet on the table

while you were being spun around by your newly acquired boyfriend, you couldn’t help but be even more thankful to your professor for all that she had done for you

she even (indirectly) got you a love life!

daniel’s boss came out of the back to witness this adorable scene, clapping for the two of you

“he always mentioned a pretty little thing in one of his classes and to his luck, his object of affection ended up stopping by here to get flowers!”

“oooohhhhh, that’s why you kept giving me gardenias! you’ve liked me secretly from the start!”

daniel was silent as you and his boss ganged up on him

and just like that, you found a new beginning in your favorite little flower shop

ambrosia = your love is requited

#wanna one imagines #wanna one #kang daniel #kang daniel imagines #kang daniel scenarios #daniel scenarios #daniel imagines #daniel #wanna one scenarios #flowershop!au

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mldrgrl · 7 years

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Not Again: Part 1

by: mldrgrl Rated: PG-13 Summary: A rewrite of season 8 from an anon request for Scully to have been the one to have been abducted instead of Mulder.

Behind the cut is part 1 in full, in preparation for the start of part 2.

Part 1: Gone

Prologue:

He should’ve fought her, trusted his gut instincts and fought her. Or, he should’ve just left her behind, even though he’d promised her he never would. He could’ve gotten down on his knees the next day and begged for her forgiveness.

“They’re taking abductees,” he’d told her, taking her in his arms even though they were in the hallway outside Skinner’s office. “You’re an abductee. I’m not going to risk...losing you.”

She’d pushed him away, defiant. Her jaw was set, mouth a grim line. Her eyes blazed with what could’ve been fury or fever. He’d heard her throwing up that morning, but they’d both ignored it.

“I’m not letting you go alone,” she said.

“I can take Skinner. Or the gunmen.”

“I’m your partner. You go, I go.”

He’d relented. Against his better judgment, he’d just nodded his head and relented.

And now, as runs through the forest towards the bright white light, kicking up dead leaves and tripping over branches, trying desperately to reach her and convince himself that this is not happening, this is not happening, he knows it’s his fault in the first place for taking her back to Bellefleur.

******

Chapter 1, Day 1:

Mulder waits in the pocket-sized interrogation room of the Bellefleur PD for Skinner, his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up when the door opens, just closes his eyes and presses his fingers deeper into his scalp. He hears the chair across from him slide back and then silence.

“She’s gone,” Mulder says, his voice hoarse from screaming Scully’s name for hours the night before. “I lost her. Again.”

“You wanna tell me what you mean by that, Agent Mulder?”

Mulder looks up. The man across from him isn’t Skinner. He looks military. Hard features, chiseled jaw. Close-cropped dark blonde hair. A hint of an accent in the way he pronounces Mulder’s name - Mold-ah - New York or New Jersey native, maybe. Piercing blue eyes. He’s sitting back with his arms crossed and his head tipped back to look down at Mulder like he’s passing judgment.

“Who are you?” Mulder asks. “Where’s Skinner?”

“Skinner will be along. Why don’t you tell me what you mean by that last thing you said. You were referring to Agent Scully, weren’t you? You lost her? Again?”

Mulder bristles at being treated like a suspect. If he didn’t have other things on his mind, finding Scully being one of them, he thinks he may have already thrown a punch at the guy. Knocked the smug off his face.

“You’re wasting your time,” Mulder says.

“How’s that?”

Mulder shakes his head. He purses his lips and rubs them together, wanting to tell this jerk across the table to go to hell, but knows he should keep his mouth shut. The man takes a file out from under his arm in the silence and drops it on the table. He flips it open, browses it casually, and then looks at Mulder.

“Eight years together,” he says.

Mulder says nothing, but he drops his eyes to try to read what’s on the paper in the file.

“Rumor is you didn’t want Agent Scully on this case. You wanna tell me about that?”

“I’m not interested in telling you anything, quite frankly. I don’t know who you are or what you’re getting at, but the only person I want to talk to right now is Assistant Director Walter Skinner.”

“Easy, Agent Mulder.”

“Get me Skinner or get out.”

“Just how have you and Agent Scully been lovers?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is all this because of the baby?”

Mulder can’t stop himself from jumping up out of his seat at this point. “What the hell does that mean?” he yells, kicking his chair back and pushing the table away as the other man gets up and takes a step back.

Suddenly, Skinner bursts into the room and steps between the two men, both hands on Mulder’s chest pushing him back. “That’s enough,” he says, turning his head down and away from Mulder. “John, that’s enough.”

“Were you out there this whole time?” Mulder yells, effectively pushing at Skinner’s arms. “You sonofabitch!”

“Get out, Agent Doggett,” Skinner barks.

The man, Agent Doggett, glares at Mulder before leaving them alone. Skinner takes a painfully tight grip on Mulder’s shoulders, urging him to calm down. They both know he’s stronger and could forcibly subdue Mulder if he needs to. Mulder stops fighting, but he doesn’t relax.

“What the hell is going on?” Mulder hisses.

“He’s following Kersh’s orders,” Skinner says, his voice low. “Right now they’re looking into this as a possible homicide.”

“Homicide!” Mulder yells. “They think I killed Scully?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Fourteen people went missing last night in those woods, did I kill them too?”

“No one thinks that.”

“I can show you the site. We need to get the gunmen the coordinates.”

“Mulder, we’ve got a task force-”

“You and I both know there isn’t a task force in the world qualified for this.” Mulder makes a plea to his boss with his eyes. He needs to get out of this interrogation room and back on the hunt for Scully. He’s wasted too much time trying to follow protocol.

“Alright,” Skinner relents. “Show me.”

“Sir.” Mulder stops Skinner from turning away and squeezes his upper arm. “What did that man, Agent Doggett, mean when he asked if it was about the baby?”

Skinner takes off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. He hesitates before he hooks them back over his ears and looks Mulder directly in the eyes. “Agent Scully used the bureau labs yesterday afternoon to run some bloodwork on herself,” he says.

“She wasn’t feeling well.”

“According to the results of those tests, she was pregnant.”

Mulder feels like the wind has been knocked out of his chest. He leans over, bracing his hands on his knees, and takes shallow breaths. Skinner’s hand drops to his back for a moment, but then he pulls him up by his shoulders.

“You didn’t know?” Skinner asks.

“It’s not possible,” Mulder says, shaking his head.

“She ran the test herself, Mulder.”

“But, it’s not possible.”

“How do you know that?”

“We tried...we...last year we tried three times to get pregnant by in vitro. It wasn’t...it just isn’t possible.”

“So, you didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“It’s better that you didn’t. Do you have records of your attempts to corroborate your story?”

Mulder looks at Skinner with a bit of contempt. “It isn’t a story. And I don’t exactly feel comfortable sharing that kind of information with the rest of the bureau.”

“You may have to Mulder. Right now, the theory is, you found out about the baby and couldn’t handle it. That you used this investigation as a way to cover up something.”

“Scully’s not dead. She was taken.”

“Show me the place.”

*****

The clearing looks different in daylight. The tops of the trees circling the perimeter are singed and black. An ashy substance dusts the ground. Skinner and Mulder stand at the outer ring, where the foliage is still thick enough to warrant flashlights. Skinner tucks his flashlight under his chin and checks his GPS.

Mulder feels absolutely helpless. He can’t do much of anything except stare at the vacant circle of forest where he last saw Scully, looking up into a beam of light with group of strangers before they all vanished before his eyes, along with the light. It’s not like tracking down a deranged kidnapper. He can’t put out an APB on a spaceship.

Skinner walks the perimeter like there’s evidence to be catalogued, but Mulder stands and stares. If only he’d been quicker. If only he’d seen the light ten seconds sooner. If only he’d made Scully listen to reason. If only Scully had told him about the baby. He can’t imagine what she’d been thinking, knowing she was pregnant and following him anyway.

“I’m gonna call this in,” Skinner says. “Have it marked off as a crime scene.”

“They won’t find anything,” Mulder answers.

“No, I don’t imagine they will, but for your sake, Mulder, it’s better they find nothing than something.”

“I need to get those coordinates to the gunmen. And if Krycek-”

“Krycek is gone. He slipped out after you and Scully left.”

“Of course he did.”

“Do you have any...contacts left.”

Mulder shakes his head. “The last one died helping me get to Antarctica.”

“I don’t know what to do here, Mulder. Where do we even look?”

“Get the coordinates to the gunmen,” he says, dead leaves crumbling under his feet as he walks away. “If they can’t find anything, I don’t know either.”

*****

Chapter 2, Day 2:

Mulder hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten, hasn’t showered or shaved. He waits for a phone call from the gunmen that hasn’t come and he stares blankly at maps and profiles of fourteen missing people. Inside his mind, he’s frantically searching for Scully, trying desperately to come up with something, anything that could help find her. He also knows, deep down, that this is going to be a long, torturous waiting game, one that could last weeks, months, years, or forever. And this isn’t like two years ago, or five years ago. The deputy director would like nothing more than to toss Mulder out on his ass. If he doesn’t toe the line, the resources afforded to him in the FBI will be gone.

Agent Doggett has been demanding an interview with Mulder, and Mulder can’t refuse, and he’s afraid his temper will get the better of him. The guy rubs him in too much of the wrong way not to get worked up over. To Mulder’s surprise, a woman comes in instead, with dark hair and the perpetual hint of a smile. Where Doggett was too aggressive, she is too relaxed.

“Agent Mulder,” she says congenially. “It's nice to meet you. I'm Agent Reyes.”

“Where’s Agent Doggett?” he asks.

“We thought it might be better if I spoke to you instead.” She sits across from him. She doesn't carry a notepad or a file with her. She looks like she's here for tea and conversation, not an interrogation. “I've been assigned to the task force to find the missing fourteen.”

“Good luck.”

“I’m sorry about your partner.”

He wants to answer her politeness with sarcasm, but he hears Skinner in the back of his head telling him to play nice if he wants any hope of being allowed in on the investigation. The sooner they could clear him of any wrongdoing or negligence, the sooner he could do something substantive.

“I appreciate that,” he says. “Sorry won't help me find her though.”

“What will?”

“What's your specialty, Agent Reyes? What do you know about alien abduction?”

“Not much. I work in the ritualistic crime division in New Orleans.”

Mulder pauses and thinks for a moment. “Monica Reyes?”

“Yes.”

“You worked the Lafontaine murders last year.”

“I did.”

“I wanted that case. Submitted a requisition for it, but got denied. Kersh had us working shit detail at that time.”

“Why would you have wanted that case? It was horrible.”

“It bore a striking similarity to a mass murder in 1979.”

It's Reyes’ turn to pause and she tilts her head slightly. “Were you my anonymous tip with the news article from The Times-Picayune?”

“Anonymous tips are meant to be anonymous for a reason. I read your report. You didn't find a connection.”

“No, I didn't.”

“I didn't kill my partner. So ask me what you think you need to know so I can get out of here.”

“You and Agent Scully were close?”

“Yes, we are close.”

“Right.”

“To pick up where Agent Doggett left off, yes, we’re more than just partners, though that's been a more recent development in our relationship.”

“How recent?”

“About four months recent.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you decide to become intimate with your partner?”

“It wasn't so much of a decision as...it just happened.”

Mulder sits back and closes his eyes. He thinks about the first night they spent together, when he put his arm around her as they watched a movie, when she looked up at him with surprise, but smiled. When he’d let his thumb graze her arm past her short sleeved top. When she’d shifted closer and cautiously rested her hand on his thigh. When she'd looked at his mouth and he had to know what it would be like to kiss her. No, it hadn’t been a decision, it had been a compulsion.

“I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable or embarrassing for you.”

“If?” Mulder gives a little snort. “People have talked about me behind my back for years. I'm not worried about what anyone says or thinks about me, it's what they might say about Scully that bothers me.”

“I'm told she's a good agent.”

“The best.” A headache that Mulder has been fighting starts to pulse behind his eyes and he pinches the top of his nose before rubbing his brows. “I have medical records I'm supposed to give you. Of our attempts to have a baby, and her infertility. I didn't know she was pregnant until yesterday. I'm not even quite sure I believe it, but I would never, ever hurt her.”

“If you were trying to have a baby, why didn't she tell you she was pregnant before you went to Bellefleur?”

“I can only imagine it was because she knew I wouldn't let her come.”

“Wouldn't let her?”

Mulder puts his hand down and looks Agent Reyes in the eyes. She looks at him neutrally, but he has the feeling she thinks she's caught him in an admission of guilt. He tried not to clench his jaw, but it's hard not to.

“I had a bad feeling about coming back,” he says. “I tried to talk her out of going, but she insisted. If she had told me about the baby, I would’ve tried a lot harder.”

“What would you have done?”

“Not come at all, probably.”

“You would stay behind and not chase a lead?”

“For her I would.”

“That's not what I've heard about you.”

Mulder swallows. The even tone in Reyes’ voice is unsettling. She has a way of stating things without malice or surprise, but the judgment is still there in what she says. He was wrong about her being too relaxed. Perhaps she's even more calculating than Agent Doggett.

“Let’s just say I haven’t felt the need to go haring off on my own lately.”

“But, she has, hasn’t she? Wasn’t it just a few months ago that she followed the lead in an investigation without telling you where she was going or that she was with a man you’ve described as an enemy of the government.”

“Jesus, how did you even-”

“And you said you’ve only been together intimately for four months. Was she running out on you then, or was this before you were together? Did she run off on you now?”

Mulder can’t take it anymore. He stands up and slaps both hands down on the table, but Agent Reyes doesn’t flinch. “This is insane,” he shouts.

“No, fourteen people vanishing without a trace is insane, Agent Mulder.”

“Not if you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

“According to you, you didn’t see anything more than a bright light in the sky.”

Mulder scrubs his face with both hands, frustrated and tense. He pushes his hands back through his hair and tightens his grip as he turns away from Agent Reyes and paces the room.

“I’m here to help you, Agent Mulder,” Agent Reyes says.

“Help me?” Mulder turns towards her and shakes his head. “You can’t help me if you don’t believe me.”

“I never said I didn’t believe you.”

The door opens and Agent Doggett enters, followed by Skinner. Agent Reyes stands and pushes her chair back into place under the table.

“You’re gonna accompany the task force to Arizona,” Doggett says.

Mulder cuts his eyes to Skinner, whose face reveals nothing. “What’s in Arizona?” he asks.

“Boy by the name of Gibson Praise,” Agent Doggett answers.

“What do you want with Gibson?”

“I don’t know,” Doggett says, holding a red file up in his hand. “But, someone wants us to find him.”

*****

The sun is still high when the caravan of black SUVs stops in front of the tiny desert boarding school for the deaf. The air is hot and thick with the dust the cars have kicked up. Mulder wipes a gritty sheen of sweat off the back of his neck. He hasn’t had a chance to be alone with Skinner, to find out what this is about. He still hasn’t heard back from the gunmen. He’s flying blind in this situation and he feels like he needs to proceed with the utmost caution.

Agent Doggett is on one side of Mulder, Agent Reyes the other, like a police escort. Mulder thinks they may as well just put him in handcuffs. He feels like they’d like to. There are at least ten other agents in the task force behind them, buzzing with adrenaline and excitement, like invading a school for deaf kids is going to be the high point of their careers. He wonders if any of them has ever been out of the bullpen. It wouldn’t surprise them if they hadn’t. Kersh likes to keep his agents on a tight leash.

“I thought we were only here to talk to him,” Mulder says to Doggett, glancing back over his shoulder at the team behind them.

“They’re not here for the boy,” Doggett answers, eyes forward. His face glistens in the heat.

Mulder takes another look back. It becomes clear to him then. They’re there to make sure he doesn’t get away. He searches for Skinner amongst them, and then sees his boss standing alone and apart from the group, his cell phone pressed to one ear and a hand over the other. It looks like he’s shouting something, but there’s a strong desert wind blowing that carries his voice away.

“Wait,” Mulder says, stopping and turning fully to watch Skinner. “Something’s wrong.”

“What is it?” Agent Reyes asks.

Mulder takes a step away from the two agents and squints out at the desert. There’s a glimmer of something in the distance, but he’s distracted when Skinner pockets his phone and starts briskly for them, his face red and wet, tie billowing over his shoulder in the wind.

“Someone breached the FBI database overnight using Agent Scully’s credentials,” Skinner says.

“What were they looking for?” Mulder asks.

“Files on Gibson Praise.”

Mulder turns to go back to the school, but Skinner stops him. “There’s something else,” he says.

“What?”

“I heard from your...friends…” Skinner pauses and glances at Agent Doggett and then back at Mulder. “They say they’re getting reports of activity in Clifton.”

“Clifton? How far is that from where we are?”

“Thirty miles, maybe.”

“We need to find Gibson. Now.”

With Agents Doggett and Reyes hot on his heels, Mulder rushes towards the entrance of the school and throws open the door. There’s a receptionist at the front desk that looks up with puzzlement, but it’s clear she can’t hear the commotion that follows him. He starts yelling Gibson’s name, trusting that at least Doggett or Reyes has flashed a badge by now to someone, and searches the school room by room.

“He’s not here,” Mulder says to the agents that trail after him. “He knew what was coming.”

“Where could he go?” Agent Reyes asks.

Mulder shakes his head and pushes open the back exit. He squints out at the desert again and then looks down at the ground. There are footprints in the dirt, two sets of shoes, tennis shoes and what looks like high-heeled boots. The imprints are clean at first, even steps out towards the open desert, but they soon grow messier and more chaotic. Mulder follows the tracks, slowly at first, and then picking up speed.

“Agent Mulder!” Agent Doggett calls after him.

Mulder doesn’t stop. He runs alongside the fading footprints and doesn’t have to look back to know Agent Doggett is behind him. Through the desert brush and tumbleweeds, he spots something in the distance, taking shape the closer he gets. He sees what looks like Scully, dragging a stumbling Gibson Praise behind her, marching defiantly towards the edge of a cliff. Agent Doggett must see what he sees at the same time, because he calls her name.

“Agent Scully!”

Scully doesn’t slow or stop or acknowledge Agent Doggett’s call to her. Gibson is resisting her pull as best he can, but she’s relentless in her hold. Mulder stops in his tracks about twenty feet away and puts an arm out to stop Agent Doggett as well. He didn’t notice Agent Reyes behind them, who skids to a stop on the other side of Mulder.

“Agent Scully, stop right there!” Agent Doggett shouts.

Scully finally pauses and looks towards them. There’s something cold and dead in her eyes. She’s unmoved by the boy struggling in her grip and her hold on him is effortless. She blinks slowly as though she’s studying the three agents. Mulder can hear Gibson wheezing, trying to say something.

“Sssnoter,” Gibson croaks, staring at Mulder with wide, fearful eyes.

“Sssnoter,” Mulder murmurs to himself, repeating it and forming the shape of the words with his mouth. “Sssnoter. Snot ter. Snot her. It’s not her! It’s not her!”

Instinctually, Mulder moves his hand to his hip to reach for his weapon, only remembering that his gun was taken from him by Skinner before they left Oregon. Agent Doggett, following Mulder’s lead, draws his weapon and Agent Reyes follows.

“Let him go!” Mulder yells.

“Hands in the air,” Agent Doggett orders.

The Scully imposter still looks unmoved, but she releases Gibson, who falls to his knees and starts to crawl away. Agent Reyes breaks away from Mulder and Agent Doggett, her gun still pointed at Scully, and steps to the side to where Gibson is crawling.

“I’m not gonna ask you again, put your hands in the air!” Agent Doggett takes aim, ready to fire.

“Don’t shoot unless you can hit the base of the neck,” Mulder says to him.

“What?”

Agent Reyes has knelt to pull Gibson out of harm’s way and Mulder moves behind Agent Doggett as he stalks forward. The Scully imposter cocks her head to the side and then almost with a shrug, turns and steps off the edge of the cliff.

“No!” Mulder screams, knowing full well it isn’t Scully who’s just fallen, but it looks like her, and he knows it’s an image he’ll never be able to shake. He stands rooted to his spot while Agent Doggett runs to the drop site and peers over the edge.

There’s the sound of activity surrounding him, of Skinner rushing past to join Agent Doggett, of members of the task force trying to help Agent Reyes with Gibson, of Agent Doggett shouting orders to people, but it all blends into a cacophony. It’s Skinner that breaks the spell by pulling Mulder to the side and asking him what happened.

“It was a bounty hunter,” Mulder says. “They’re after Gibson.”

“Why?” Skinner asks.

“I don’t know. He needs protection.”

“He needs a hospital. They think his leg might be broken.”

“Someone’s got to stay with him.”

“Are you asking me?”

“You’re the only one with any idea of what we’re dealing with here.” Mulder looks towards Agent Doggett, who’s organizing a team to head down into the canyon and retrieve the body of the Scully imposter. “I don’t trust anyone else at the moment.”

“What will you do?”

“Keep searching.”

Skinner looks away, contemplative. He finally nods once, but doesn’t say anything to Mulder before he walks away. Mulder watches as he lifts Gibson into his arms and orders another agent to get to one of the SUVs to go to the hospital. No one but Agent Reyes notices when Mulder heads further out into the desert.

*****

Mulder has been walking for over an hour. He’s been feeling lethargic for awhile, his throat is dry and he has a headache. He hears Scully in his head, can’t even leave you for a day, Mulder, and you’ve gotten yourself dehydrated. He stops and hunches over, his hands on his knees. The sun has gotten low and the air has cooled somewhat, but he’s still hot all over. Dirty sweat has dried on his skin, making him itch.

Even in the middle of the desert, he has the feeling of being watched. Several times, he’s paused to search all sides of the vast landscape, but it’s hard to see through the brush and cactus. He’s completely alone save for the few lizards he’s passed, a low-flying vulture, and a scorpion he nearly stepped on from not being attentive enough. It only now starts to occur to him that he could die out here and no one would know. He wonders if there’s anyone left to care at this point.

He hears a noise he can’t identify close by and he goes still, immediately fearing a snake of some kind. When he finally dares to glance over, he’s more relieved than he cares to let on seeing Agent Reyes approaching. He straightens and sways a little on his feet.

“Have you been following me?” Mulder asks. He notices a canteen at Agent Reyes’ hip and unconsciously lips his chapped lips.

“Water?” she asks.

“Please.”

Agent Reyes pulls the strap holding the canteen over her head and hands it to Mulder. His grip is almost too weak to unscrew the cap and he fights the urge to gulp at the water. Slowly, Scully’s voice reminds him. Small sips, Mulder.

“I grew up in New Mexico,” she says. “Most parents probably tell their kids never to talk to strangers. Mine told me never to go into the desert alone.”

He coughs on a sip of water and screws the cap back on the canteen before he hands it back to her. “Yeah, well…”

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“Aircraft. A force field.” He shrugs. “You don’t really find it, it finds you.”

“What happened back there on the cliff?”

“That wasn’t Scully.”

“Then who was it?”

“Not who. It.”

“It looked like Agent Scully.”

“It can look like whoever it wants.”

Mulder turns away from Agent Reyes and looks out into the grey nothingness. There’s an orange glow behind the mountains in the distance. It will be pitch black soon. He wasn’t thinking earlier.

“Agent Mulder?” Agent Reyes asks. “If that wasn’t Agent Scully, who was it?”

“An alien.”

“How did you know?”

Mulder hesitates. He isn’t sure of how much he should tell Agent Reyes. He doesn’t know that he can trust her, but there doesn’t seem to be much of a point in being discreet now. Keeping quiet certainly won’t bring Scully back.

“Gibson Praise is part alien,” he says. “At least, that’s what I think. He knows what they’re thinking. He knows what all of us are thinking, actually. We should head back. It’s getting dark.”

Agent Reyes cups her hand at Mulder’s elbow when he walks one way and pulls him in a slightly different direction without comment. He follows her, sensing that her confidence comes from experience. When it starts to get darker, she pulls a flashlight out from her pocket and points it at the ground in front of their feet. After some time of silence, she speaks.

“I first met Agent Doggett about eight years ago,” she says. He was NYPD at the time. Did you know that?”

“I don't know anything about Agent Doggett,” he answers.

“He was a suspect at one point for the murder of his son.”

“That's...that's awful.”

“Yes. Luke was seven. Agent Doggett was cleared very early on. I was in the New York City field office at the time and I was on the investigation.”

“What happened?”

“Stranger abduction, we think. Never made an arrest.”

Mulder quietly contemplates this bit of information. He wonders what Agent Doggett was like as a cop. He wonders if that incident in his life propelled him into joining the FBI. If Agent Doggett was also there for a personal cause.

“I only tell you this so that you'll know that Agent Doggett is on your side,” she says. “He’s been in your shoes.”

“Scully isn’t dead.”

“It’s about loss, Agent Mulder. He knows what it’s like. And I think he must have felt a particular way about this case to call me in on it. He doesn’t keep in touch. I’m sure I remind him of Luke, and why we met. He will call though, if he needs the help. He’s here to help.”

“Like I told you before, you can’t help me if you don’t believe me.”

“And like I told you, I never said I didn’t.”

“Wait,” Mulder whispers, putting his arm out and catching Agent Reyes’ wrist to stop her. “Do you see that?”

In the sky up ahead is a light, slowly moving closer, growing larger. He thought at first it might be a shooting star, but it’s not falling across the sky, it’s heading towards them.

“I see it,” Agent Reyes says. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure.”

Mulder steps ahead and holds his arm up over his head to block the light from his eyes. His heart pounds with hopeful anticipation, but it soon becomes apparent what’s approaching them is a helicopter. He deflates a little and drops his arm as he turns to Agent Reyes. There’s a look of deep sympathy in her eyes when he looks at her.

The helicopter descends and Agent Doggett hops out, beckoning to the two of them. Agent Reyes comes forward and pauses next to Mulder. She doesn’t say anything, let’s him make the decision to cooperate and follow her, which he does. She gets into the helicopter and he pulls himself inside as well, Agent Doggett behind them both.

“We didn’t recover a body from the bottom of the canyon,” Agent Doggett shouts over the noise of the helicopter. “And we haven’t been able to reach AD Skinner.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Mulder asks.

“As he was putting the boy in the SUV. I’ve got men searching the hospital now, but they can’t find him.”

“Can we land there?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

*****

The hospital seems to be even smaller than the school, and equally as quiet. The only staff is a doctor and a night nurse and a janitor. One of the task force agents meets the helicopter as it lands on the highway and drives them across the main road to the building. Agent Shaffer, who drove Skinner and Gibson to the hospital, is posted outside of Gibson’s room on watch.

“Sir,” Agent Shaffer says to Agent Doggett as the trio approaches Gibson’s room.

“You were the last to see AD Skinner?” Agent Doggett asks him.

“I entered the hospital with AD Skinner and the boy,” he confirms. “AD Skinner hasn’t been seen since leaving this room to take a phone call approximately half an hour ago.”

“Any idea who that phone call was from?” Agent Doggett asks.

“No, Sir.”

“He wouldn’t leave,” Mulder says. “He’s still here.”

“So, we’ll do another search,” Agent Reyes says.

“I want to talk to Gibson,” Mulder says.

Agent Doggett seems to mull the request over, his piercing blue eyes staring hard at Mulder. He finally nods once and turns to Agent Shaffer. “No one enters or leaves this room,” he says, glancing at Mulder. “You got that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Monica, you’ll search with me.”

Mulder slips into Gibson’s room and watches through the small window beside the door as Agents Doggett and Reyes head down the hall. Agent Shaffer blocks the door with his body and assumes a crossed-arm pose. Mulder rolls his eyes a little as he turns around. Gibson is lying in a hospital bed that makes him look even smaller than he is, his leg propped up in a fresh white cast, eyes closed.

“Gibson?” Mulder says, moving closer to the hospital bed. He can tell the boy isn’t sleeping, but feigning.

Gibson opens his eyes. “I don’t know where Agent Scully is,” he says.

“I wasn’t...nevermind, you’d know I’m lying.”

“I know they have her. But, I don’t know where.”

“Do you know if she’s close?”

“I’m sorry Agent Mulder, I can’t tell you anything.”

“Can you tell me what they want with you?”

“They want what anyone wants, to study me, keep me like a lab rat, cut me open, kill me if they have to.”

“Gibson, no one wants...you’re not a lab rat.”

“Sure. The only reason you’re in here is because she’s gone.”

“Yes, I want to find Agent Scully, but I want to protect you too, Gibson.”

“You know, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

“I’m certifiable, Gibson.”

Gibson snorts, but it isn’t with humor, it’s with derision. He shakes his head a little and looks away. Mulder pulls a plastic chair over to the side of the bed and sits down. He’s starting to feel the effects of the lack of sleep, food, and water on his body. He still has the headache that started in the desert and now his bloodshot eyes are starting to feel dry and irritated.

Suddenly, Gibson turns his head again, sharply, like he was startled by a noise. He sits up and Mulder straightens, turning his head in the direction Gibson is staring. The boy is listening to something, Mulder’s sure of it.

“What is it?” Mulder asks.

“It’s coming,” Gibson answers.

Mulder looks around the room for a place to hide. The window is too small to climb out of. The cupboards next to the bed are too narrow. It’s too late anyway, the door opens and Skinner walks in. Behind him, Mulder sees Agent Shaffer, slumped on the floor. He pulls Gibson from the bed and stands in front of him, backing up slowly as Gibson hobbles behind him on his cast.

“Agent Doggett!” Mulder yells. “Agent Reyes!”

The thing that’s posing as Skinner moves slowly, but purposefully towards Mulder. Mulder stands his ground and blocks the thing from reaching Gibson. The imposter reaches out and grabs Mulder by the throat. Mulder scratches ineffectually at the hand choking him.

“Stop,” Mulder wheezes, just before he’s lifted into the air by his neck and tossed to the side. He hits his head and his shoulder. There’s an explosion of pain throughout his entire body. He manages to stand, though his knees are shaking and he’s seeing double.

“What the hell is this?” Agent Doggett shouts, rushing into the room with his gun drawn. “Get away from the boy!”

“Base of the neck,” Mulder croaks, losing his balance and stumbling against the cupboards.

It’s Agent Reyes that fires, her aim remarkably accurate. The bullet hole oozes a sizzling green sludge. The body falls and moments later, begins to liquify. Agent Doggett stands perplexed, a look of shock and horror on his face. Gibson is huddled against the wall, inching away to escape the toxic blood that pools closer to his feet.

“John, the boy,” Agent Reyes says.

Doggett holsters his weapon and rushes over to Gibson, stepping over the liquid corpse to escort the boy to a safer place. Agent Reyes goes to Mulder, who has lost the ability to stand and has slumped against the side of the bed.

“It can look like whoever it wants to,” she says. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Mulder nods and his throat tightens with a surge of nausea.

“We just found AD Skinner in a storage closet,” she continues. “He was unconscious, but alive.”

Mulder coughs and retches bile.

“We need a medic in here!” she shouts.

Mulder loses consciousness.

*****

Chapter 3, Day 5:

The hospital wants to keep Mulder longer, but he refuses any more treatment. He has a mild concussion and bruised trachea, but nothing serious. He thought he may have fractured his shoulder, but his x-rays were clear. He’s still sore and his wrist aches from the saline IV used to treat his dehydration, but he feels well enough to travel. Besides, Skinner was released the previous day and it will be easier to travel back to DC together.

He sleeps better on the flight than he has in the past few days. There’s no one waking him up every two hours to check his vitals. He misses both beverage carts and meal service, but he doesn’t care. When they land, he realizes that Scully’s car is the one in long-term parking and he doesn’t have her keys. He has a set at home. He can pick up the car later. He takes a taxi to his apartment.

The bed is still rumpled and messy. Scully had actually admonished him for leaving it that way the morning they went to Bellefleur. This was after she'd woken him before the alarm had gone off with her fingers trailing down his chest and her hand slipping inside his boxers. He'd feigned indignation at having been pulled from sleep fifteen minutes before he had to be and she pretended to let him pin her down as penitence. She wore a slow, easy smile as he moved inside her and the alarm later punctured the leftover euphoria.

Mulder touches the pillow on the left side of the bed which still bears the indentation of her head. He's sure if he looks, he could probably find a strand or two of her hair. Her underwear, pulled off and kicked from her restless legs, peeks out from under the crumpled sheets.

Eventually, he’ll have to do simple things like change his sheets and throw out the soy milk inside his refrigerator that only she uses. He’ll have to see her shampoo and conditioner in his shower and either resist the urge to close his eyes and remember what her hair smells like, or give in to the temptation. He’ll have to find the little items she’s left around his apartment like a trail of bedcrumbs marking her existence in his life. There will be a bobby pin on the floor next to the toilet in the bathroom. There will be the coffee mug with her lipstick on the rim in the sink. There will be the extra toothbrush in the cupholder. There will be the balled up pantyhose under his bed that she was going to throw out because of the run in the calf when they were both too hasty to get her out of them.

Mulder can’t face any of that right now. He’s too tired and he still doesn’t want to believe she’s not just away for the weekend, but coming home soon. He closes the door to his bedroom and spends the rest of the night on the couch, in the dark. He doesn't sleep.

*****

Chapter 4, Day 6:

Mulder’s shoulder is still sore as he dresses for work. Skinner called him early in the morning and let him know he had a meeting with Kersh at nine and not to be late. He wonders if he’s getting fired. He checks in with the gunmen before he leaves, but they tell him things have been quiet. No reports of any activity at all.

Kersh’s secretary looks at Mulder with curiosity while she announces his arrival. He’s early, for once, and he wishes he’d been late.

“Can I get you anything, Agent Mulder?” she asks, sweetly.

“No.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine.”

He knows this woman is only pretending to care when all she wants is for some gossip she can spread around the secretarial pool. She’s never liked him, and she’s certainly made it clear she’s never liked Scully. The feeling is mutual on both their behalves.

Agent Doggett arrives and looks just as surprised to see Mulder as Mulder is to see him. He takes a seat next to Mulder on the couch with nothing more than a nod to acknowledge his presence. Kersh finally calls them both in a few minutes later. He doesn’t offer either of them a chair in his office, so they both stand in front of his desk.

“I read your report, Agent Doggett,” Kersh says, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands together with an air of smug superiority. “I have to say I’m disappointed.”

“Sir?” Agent Doggett’s expression doesn’t change, but Mulder can tell he’s bewildered. This experience of being called to the carpet must be new to him.

“I sent you to Oregon to find a missing Agent and to explain the disappearance of not just her, but fourteen individuals. I gave you free rein to select a task force to take with you, and you come back here with stories of shape shifters and psychic children.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder can see Agent Doggett clench his jaw. He’s irritated, but he won’t argue, good soldier that he is.

“That’s something I expect from Agent Mulder,” Kersh says. “Not from you, John. I thought you were more level-headed.”

“What’s in my report is the truth,” Agent Doggett says. “I’m sorry if that’s not what you want to hear.”

At least he has integrity, Mulder thinks.

“And if you need witnesses to corroborate,” Agent Doggett continues. “Agent Reyes, Agent Shaffer, AD Skinner, and at least ten other agents have submitted their reports on the incidents in Bellefleur and Flemington.”

“That’s all, John.”

“And the fact remains, the case of the missing fourteen is still active. This is only a preliminary report. With time-”

“Not for you, John. Effective immediately, you’ve been reassigned to the x-files division as senior investigator.”

“Sir?”

“That’s all. You’re both dismissed.”

Mulder can tell Agent Doggett wants to say more, but he clenches his jaw shut and stares at Kersh with the same kind of incredulous contempt Mulder’s had for the man for nearly two years. And for once, the brunt of Kersh’s scorn isn’t directed at him. Without having even said a word, Mulder walks out of the office and hopes Agent Doggett is smart enough to follow.

At the elevators, Agent Doggett grabs Mulder’s arm, the same expression of bewilderment on his face that he’d had in the hospital watching the bounty hunter dissolve into a puddle. Mulder could almost feel bad for him, but not quite.

“What the hell just happened?” Agent Doggett asks.

“I was punished for being me,” Mulder answers. “You were punished for doing your job.”

The elevator opens, but Agent Doggett doesn’t follow Mulder inside. Mulder doesn’t head for the basement though, he presses the button for the parking garage.

*****

Mulder has done a lot of difficult things in his life, but driving to Mrs. Scully’s house to tell her that her daughter is missing, again, is right up there in the top ten list of difficult things he’s done. Part of him wishes Mrs. Scully won’t be home so that he doesn’t have to go through it, but on the other hand, he would prefer getting it done with as soon as possible. Procrastinating won’t change the situation.

Mrs. Scully doesn’t look too surprised to see him at her door in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday. She looks as weary as he feels, which means, someone has already told her what’s happened. She lets Mulder in anyway and asks if he’d like to take a seat in the dining room, but doesn’t offer him anything to drink or cookies or freshly baked muffins, as she’s been known to do in the past.

“I wanted to come in person to tell you,” Mulder says, trying but unable to look Mrs. Scully in the eye.

“I already know,” she answers. There’s coldness in her voice. “Your boss, Mr. Skinner, informed me.”

“I’m doing everything I can.”

“Yes. I’m sure you probably are.”

“Whatever I find, I’ll let you know every step of the way.”

“No.” Mrs. Scully shakes her head and he finally looks at her in surprise.

“No?”

Mrs. Scully gets up from her chair and wraps her arms around her middle, slowly making her way to the window that overlooks the backyard. She gazes out at the lawn and speaks to the window. Mulder watches her reflection.

“I know there’s a lot that Dana hasn’t told me,” she says. “About the work you do and the danger you’ve been in. But, what she has made abundantly clear to me, is that she doesn’t want me to know or to be involved or share my opinions on the matter. And so she’s gone again? Well, she chose to stay when I asked her not to. Just as she chose not to tell me about her illness or her gunshot wound or probably countless things I still know nothing about. I’ve always had to find out from a hospital, or from you, or from the FBI. I asked Mr. Skinner to remove me as Dana’s personal contact. I don’t want to know these things anymore, Fox. I don’t want you to call me to tell me what you know or don’t know.”

Mulder is stunned. He’s always thought of Margaret Scully as a pillar of strength. He was unaware of the toll their work had taken on her. Scully never made any indication that there was turmoil between her and her mother, but clearly there was.

“I don’t think she ever meant to exclude you,” he says.

“Yes. She meant to exclude me. Dana thinks about the consequences of every action she takes. I’m sure you know that.”

He does know that. He nods unconsciously, but hopes Mrs. Scully hasn’t seen him in the reflection. He can see her toying with the cross she wears at her neck, just like Scully does when she’s anxious or deep in thought. He decides right then, that he’s not going to tell Mrs. Scully about the pregnancy, or about his relationship with Scully. He was going to, but now it feels like it would be throwing salt into an open wound.

The silence tells Mulder the conversation is finished. He gets up to leave, but hesitates, shoves his hands into his pockets. Mrs. Scully turns and gives him a brief glance before she walks away.

“You can let yourself out, Fox,” she says.

“I will find her,” he answers.

“If you do, you have her call me.”

Mulder sees himself out, but sits in his car in front of Mrs. Scully’s house for quite awhile, hoping that maybe she’ll change her mind, but she doesn’t come out. She is as stubborn as her daughter.

*****

Chapter 5, Day 12 and 13:

Agent Doggett has insisted on spending a week in the office getting to know the x-files, if he’s to be the senior agent. Mulder tells him to suit himself and spends his time searching message boards and underground networks the gunmen have contact with for patterns in UFO sightings. He also spends time checking into every single John Doe and Jane Doe intake notification that comes through from the missing persons databank supplied by national hospitals. There are more of them than he would have thought, and also less than he imagined.

Agent Reyes, to his surprise, contacts him almost immediately upon his return to the office. She lets him know her AD has given her permission to continue working on the missing fourteen in some capacity and that she will provide him with updates when she can. He has the gunmen set up an encrypted email for her to use. The only information she has so far is related to background information on the abductees. Nothing that’s going to help find them.

Skinner issues their first case. It has the appearance of routine homicide, which Mulder can tell leaves Agent Doggett feeling rather relieved. As Mulder reads the file, he comes to the conclusion it’s anything but routine homicide. The victims have human bite marks with secretions of anti-coagulants that only exist in bat saliva. It’s obvious what they’re dealing with is a half-man, half-bat.

Batboy, Mulder? Scully’s voice says in his head. Seriously? You picking up cases from the Weekly World News again?

Agent Doggett doesn’t comment much about Mulder’s theory. It isn’t hard for Mulder to imagine John Doggett as a cop. He thinks the man would be so much more comfortable in a uniform, patrolling streets and keeping order. Agent Doggett is very by the book. Black is black and white is white. A person is good, or they are bad. A man is a man and a bat is a bat. No grey areas.

By chance, Agent Doggett discovers a newspaper article that helps put the pieces of the puzzle together. They track down surviving members of a hunting party from fifty years ago who were written up for the killing of a creature the county coroner could only describe as not quite a man, not quite a bat. Shortly thereafter, the coroner was killed and the creature disappeared.

Mulder and Agent Doggett split up to interview the men they track down. During Mulder’s interview, the creature appears and attacks both Mulder and the man he’s interviewing. Mulder manages to get a shot in before he’s knocked down and Agent Doggett arrives just in time to get in a few more shots, but ultimately, the creature gets away.

“What the hell am I going to put in my report?” Agent Doggett asks on their way out of Idaho.

“What you saw, what you did, what you stopped,” Mulder answers.

“I don’t know what I saw. I sure as hell don’t know what I stopped.”

At least he didn’t tell me there was a more rational, scientific explanation for it, Mulder thinks.

*****

Chapter 6, Day 17:

Agent Reyes calls Mulder, not about Scully or the missing fourteen, but to ask his advice on a case that’s come to her way. She’s currently in Utah, where a young hitchhiker was found murdered, stoned to death, possibly as the result of some sort of cultish ritual, however the strangest thing was, that the body showed signs of decay usually attributed to the elderly. She mentions the word ‘glycoprotein’ and he knows it sounds familiar to him. He tells her he’ll check his files and get back to her.

When Mulder can’t reach Agent Reyes on her cell phone a few hours later, he tries the local sheriff’s office, but they tell him Agent Reyes never showed up. He tells Agent Doggett he has an errand to run and heads to the airport. He catches the first flight out to Las Vegas, rents a car, and drives over to the sheriff’s office in Utah with a x-file on a stoning death that’s similar to the hitchhiker’s case. Agent Reyes is still nowhere to be found.

Thinking it might be possible that she’s had a breakdown on the road somewhere, Mulder sets off again in the area he thinks she might have traveled. Dusk comes quickly, and he stops at a gas station to question the attendant, and though the man says no, he hasn’t seen a dark-haired FBI lady come through here, Mulder spots a slightly dusty Ford Taurus parked at the side of the station with a Nevada license plate. He thanks the man, hides his car back down the road a bit, and then sneaks over to a cluster of clapboard houses beyond the gas station.

He hears muffled screams as he approaches one of the houses, and he draws his weapon and crouches low. He cautiously peeks into a window and sees a group of people, at least ten, kneeling together in a circle. Whatever they’re murmuring is so monotonous, that it just sounds like a low hum. Mulder moves to the next window at the back of the house and spots Agent Reyes, gagged and tied to a headboard on a sagging mattress. Her back is exposed and she writhes in pain as her spine ripples in an unnatural way. She screams around her gag.

There isn’t a lot of time to stop and think. His priority is getting Agent Reyes out of harm’s way. He holsters his gun and slowly pushes the window open, trying to be as quiet as he can. Agent Reyes turns her head to the sound. Her eyes are wide and full of panic. Mulder puts his finger to his lips to remind her to stay quiet, and hoists himself through the window.

Swiftly, with the aid of a pocket knife, Mulder cuts through the binding on Agent Reyes’ wrists. He pulls the gag out of her mouth and helps her sit up. She’s wincing and moaning and actually shoves the gag back in her mouth to scream in pain when Mulder tries to get her to stand.

Mulder stops to regroup. He moves to the door, leaving Agent Reyes where she sits on the bed, and puts his ear against it to listen. The group in the next room is still in prayer, or whatever it is they’re doing. The low hum comes back at him through the door. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get Agent Reyes through the window, but he’s not going to be able to sneak her past ten people either.

There’s an oil lamp on a bedside table, flame low. Mulder tests it by turning the flame up a little and then down again. He crouches in front of Agent Reyes and squeezes her arms. She’s panting hard and sweating, but she looks at him.

“Can you walk with my help?” he asks.

Agent Reyes shakes her head and shrugs, but then she nods slightly. Mulder doesn’t wait for her to change her mind, but pulls her up and slings her arm over his shoulder. She’s still hunched, and he has to lower himself a little, but she walks with him as he takes most of her weight. He has to let go of her arm to grab the oil lamp, but he keeps one arm around her waist and then whispers to her to open the door.

After a few heavy breaths, Agent Reyes pulls the door open and without hesitating, Mulder throws the oil lamp out towards the front room. The glass shatters and there is shrieking and yelling behind him as he hurries in the other direction towards a door at the back of the house. He kicks it open and rushes down the stairs. Tucked into his side, Agent Reyes is sobbing and growling. She can’t keep up and Mulder knows they’ll never make it to his car.

There are people appearing out of nowhere on all sides of them. If he doesn’t act fast, they’ll be surrounded. He drags Agent Reyes into a barn where he finds an abandoned bus. He locks them inside, deposits Agent Reyes onto one of the bus seats, and turns the key in the ignition, but it won’t start.

“Get it out of me,” Agent Reyes moans, scraping at the back of her neck with both hands. She slides out of the seat into the center aisle of the bus and starts crawling to the back. “Oh God, get it out of me.”

Mulder steps over Agent Reyes and pulls her up so that she’s kneeling in the aisle and she drapes herself across one of the seats as she moans. Her neck bulges and pulsates and she screams.

Outside of the bus, a hand slaps at the window where they’re at, then another, and another, until the bus is rocking from the force of all the hands banging on the side and on the glass. Agent Reyes begs Mulder to kill her. To please, oh God, just kill her. He can only ask himself, what would Scully do?

“Hold on, Reyes,” Mulder says, flipping open his pocket knife. “Just hold on.”

Quickly, so he can’t talk himself out of it, Mulder grasps the back of Reyes’ head and pushes her face down into the seat. He makes a slice in her neck with the pocket knife, just above the spot where it’s bulging, and screws up his face before he pushes his fingers under her open skin. He doesn’t know how he accomplishes it, but he manages to pull a pink, squirming slug out of Reyes’ neck, tossing it onto the floor and kicking it away from them as Reyes sags against the seat.

The slug starts wiggling its way down the aisle and Mulder pulls his gun and shoots it. As soon the slug stops twitching, so does the banging on the side of the bus. The people outside stand mute and stunned and make no move towards them when Mulder hoists a limp and exhausted Reyes back to his side and drags her from the bus. The back of her tank top is covered with blood and it seeps down her back and soaks Mulder’s jacket as well.

If it was Scully that was stumbling beside him, he would pick her up and carry her to the car, but he can’t carry Reyes. He tries to encourage her by telling her they’re almost there, almost there, every step they take, but she can barely stand and she’s losing blood. He’s momentarily blinded by a pair of headlights that swing in their direction and he tightens his grip on Reyes and shifts his hip, ready to pull his weapon if he needs to.

The car lurches to a stop and the door swings open. It’s too dark for Mulder to clearly see the man that springs out, but he can see his silhouette. Strangely, it looks like Agent Doggett to him.

“Agent Mulder!”

It sounds like Agent Doggett too. Reyes lifts her head at the sound of his voice and murmurs his name. And then Agent Doggett is beside them, taking Reyes from Mulder and lifting her up in his arms as she collapses.

“We need to get her to a hospital,” Mulder says.

They rush Reyes to the car and Agent Doggett puts her in the back seat. Mulder climbs in behind her and tries to staunch the blood flow by tearing a strip of his shirt off and pressing it to her neck while Agent Doggett drives.

“You want to do me a favor, Agent Mulder,” Agent Doggett says. “The next time you want to run an errand in Utah or wherever the hell else isn't the same block as the Hoover building, you want to let me know?”

“How did you find us?” Mulder asks.

“The sheriff you spoke to called the office after you left and wanted to let you know that he sent a deputy out along the highway to look for Agent Reyes, but didn't find her.”

“Obviously that deputy did a piss poor job of looking.”

“You should've had back up. You both should've.”

“That's why she was headed to the sheriff’s office.”

“Yeah? What's your excuse?”

Mulder meets Agent Doggett’s gaze in the rear view mirror and then looks away, back down at the blood-soaked cloth under his hand. The dome light in the car makes the blood look darker than it is.

“Like it or not,” Agent Doggett says. “We’re partners.”

Scully is my partner, Mulder thinks. You're temporary.

*****

Chapter 7, Day 19:

Every day that Mulder can, he’s stops by Scully’s apartment on his way home. He’s already met with the super and told the landlord that Scully would be away indefinitely, and that he would take care of the rent and be picking up her mail. He’s been particularly concerned about one of the plants in her kitchen window. He waters it and he gives it pep talks, but the leaves keep getting more and more shriveled.

It’s obviously dead now. There is nothing left but bare, brown stems. All the leaves have fallen off and litter the inside of the pot. He sits with it at the kitchen table and puts his head down. What good is he? It hasn’t even been three weeks and he can’t even keep one of her plants alive.

He thinks about Scully’s pregnancy as he presses his thumb into the damp soil inside the pot. He wonders why Scully asked him to father her child when she wanted to try in vitro. He said yes to her, but not because he wanted a child, he actually didn’t, but he said yes because he would do anything for her. Maybe she knew that, and maybe that’s why. He was relieved, at the time, when it didn’t work, but also sad for her.

Now, he thinks how unfair it is that he would like nothing more than to be sitting with her and reading pregnancy books, rubbing her feet, holding her hair back during morning sickness, rushing out in the middle of the night for pickles and ice cream, shopping for cribs and car seats, or arguing about baby names. How unfair that when he doesn’t just want a baby for her, but for him and for them, it’s taken away. They’d had a discussion about fate a few months ago and about choice and all paths leading to one destination. Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something. After all, he can’t even keep a plant alive.

Mulder tips the potted plant over and pounds his fist into the dirt.

*****

Chapter 8, Day 32:

Mulder is doing everything he can possibly think of to do. He’s got the gunmen broadening the scope on abductees, looking for more than just patterns, but trying to put himself ahead of another abduction by looking at hot spots of the past and clusters of activity. Without a syndicate communicating with aliens though, he can’t do much more than work on hunches. If it was possible to profile an alien, he would’ve done so a long time ago.

Cases come and go. He doesn’t feel the same motivation he usually does to investigate. He lets Agent Doggett lead and he follows, which is very unlike him. He keeps his sarcasm and opinions to a minimum and maintains a superficial, arms-length kind of relationship with the guy. He wouldn’t say he dislikes him, but he wouldn’t say he likes him either.

Reyes is the only person he talks to on a regular basis, aside from the gunmen. She hasn’t found anything pertinent in the investigation of the missing fourteen, but he appreciates that she keeps him informed and she’s interested in his working theories whenever he’s out on a case. All things considered, he wishes that she was his temporary partner instead of Agent Doggett.

They take a case involving a kidnapped child that returns ten years later as the same age he was when he was taken. Initially, Mulder’s interest in the case is purely selfish. He thinks it’s possible the boy might have been an abductee, but a lot of things don’t sit right with him once he meets the boy. He can tell it rattles Agent Doggett, working on a kidnapping case. He calls Reyes to join them on the investigation because he knows the boy isn’t what he seems to be, and he also knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’re on the verge of finding a dead child and putting to rest a ten year old mystery. The family will soon have the closure Agent Doggett never had and he knows it will be hard.

The end of the case does hit Agent Doggett hard, but he takes it stoically and heads off by himself. Mulder and Reyes are sitting in a diner near their motel when Agent Doggett returns and silently slides into the booth next to Reyes. He keeps his eyes down and his hands are squeezed into loose fists on the table.

“Did you know about my son?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Mulder answers.

“Have you been lookin’ into me?”

“No.”

“I told him, John,” Reyes says.

“Why the hell would you do that, Monica? He’s my son. Mine.”

“She was trying to tell me that I wasn’t alone in my suffering,” Mulder says. “For some reason she thinks it’s important that I trust you.”

Agent Doggett snorts, clenches his fists for a moment and then relaxes them. Reyes puts a hand on his back and they all sit in silence for awhile. You’re a lucky man, Doggett, and you don’t even know it, Mulder thinks. Then again, it took him seven years too long to realize what was right under his nose the whole time too.

*****

Chapter 9, Day 47:

Mulder has a fickle relationship with dreams. They disrupt his sleep more often than not, but he sees value in them. He once told Scully that he believed dreams were the answer to a question one hadn’t yet learned to ask. He still believes it, even during the hardest of nights, he still believes that.

Since she was taken, Mulder’s dreams are exclusively about Scully. Sometimes they’re happy dreams of happy times they had or that he wanted to have with her. He dreams of flirting with her until she laughs more freely than she normally does. He dreams of making love to her in other impossible places and scenarios. But, he also dreams of what’s happening to her out there on the spaceship. He dreams of her torture and her screams and her begging for him to help her.

He hasn’t slept in his bed since Scully disappeared. He sleeps on his couch or at his desk or, on a few occasions, at the gunmen’s lair. Once, and only once, he fell asleep on Scully’s couch and he had the sweetest dream about her he’s ever had. They were making love under a canopy of shooting stars and she held his face and looked him in the eyes and asked him not to look away, not to look at the stars, but look at her. So, he did. As he held her gaze, he began to see the stars in her eyes and he realized, he never had to look elsewhere. He cried when he woke up.

Mulder sits and listens to the gunmen give their little spiel on the history of the third eye and its significance. It’s not new information to him, but he likes the way Frohike tells the story. He’d actually asked the three to put together a presentation for him, with visual aids, that he could present to Doggett to explain what he thought was happening with their latest case, but they did such a good job with it, he asked them to show it to Doggett. It all boils down to dreams and how their suspect has the ability to inflict his will upon others through when they’re asleep.

“I see where you guys are going with this,” Doggett says. “Tipet believes he opened his third eye.”

Mulder waits for the eye-rolling and the Mulder, you’re crazy, speech, but Doggett remains quiet and thoughtful. The gunmen look to Mulder, as though also waiting for an argument that doesn’t come. Byers continues with the presentation by moving on to the CIA’s experimentation with mind control portion. Again, Doggett stays quiet and thoughtful.

“What if Tipet could invade his victim’s consciousness in their sleep?” Doggett asks. “That’s what you’re getting at here isn’t it? I mean, that's why you'd be afraid to fall asleep, right? If you thought your nightmares might come true?”

That’s not the only reason, Mulder thinks.

When Mulder and Doggett go to make their arrest of the suspect, Tipet, he tries to take his own life by slamming his head into a table saw. Despite seeming receptive to Mulder’s theory, Doggett still believes it was an act to avoid arrest and not to obliterate the third eye.

Before Mulder goes home, he stops at Scully’s to collect the mail. Her apartment is filled with a strange, blue glow. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he get the feeling he’s not alone. He goes to reach for his weapon, but discovers there’s an axe in his hand and he’s not sure why. He creeps down the hall and pushes open the bedroom door.

Scully is asleep in her bed, a slice of moonlight across her cheek. He’s angry that she came back and didn’t even bother to tell him. He goes up to the side of the bed and stares down at her, breathing heavily. He raises the axe, ready to bring it down on Scully’s head, but he’s startled awake by a touch on his shoulder.

“You sleepin’ in the office these days?” Doggett asks.

Mulder blinks and shakes his head to clear the haze of sleep away. His heart is pounding like he’d just run a mile. The phone rings and he picks it up on reflex, mumbling a gravelly hello into the receiver. It’s the agent posted at the hospital where Tipet was taken, wanting him to know that Tipet died just minutes ago of his injuries. Mulder thanks him, hangs up, and gives Doggett the update.

“I’m gonna go splash some water on my face,” Mulder says.

In the bathroom, Mulder brings cold water up to his face and holds his hands against his cheeks. He looks up at his reflection and rubs his dripping wet thumb into the space between his brows for a moment and then looks again. He hasn’t realized just how angry he is with Scully for being taken until now.

*****

Chapter 10, Day 75:

The body of one of the missing fourteen is found by a hiker in Great Smoky Mountains National Park, approximately 2,400 miles from Bellefleur. The coroner hasn’t made a determination on the cause of death, but puts the time to be roughly six to eight hours before discovery. The crime scene was highly contaminated, and the forensic team sent out to collect evidence returns with next to nothing.

Reyes sends Mulder photos of the crime scene and of the body. The wounds evidence nothing short of torture. There are scars that look both old and new on the chest, abdomen, and face. To Mulder, it looks as though someone attempted an autopsy on the person while they were still alive. He has to leave the office to be sick.

The gunmen don't find any chatter about UFO activity in the area, or even remotely nearby. The channels are quiet and they’re no closer to finding Scully now than when they started.

*****

Chapter 11, Day 83:

The second body of the missing fourteen washes up on the beach at Gulf Shores, Alabama. It’s ruled a drowning. There is salt water in the lungs, which means that the victim was returned alive, though unfortunately, in the middle of the ocean. This body has undergone a bit more decomposition, and the consensus is that, he was probably returned prior to when the first body was found. The same scars are noted on the face, chest, and abdomen.

The gunmen are sorry to say there are still no reports of any activity that they can find.

*****

Chapter 12, Day 96:

Theresa Hoese is the first of the missing fourteen to be found alive, but barely. She’s found by a family vacationing at the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah. She’s unconscious and wrapped in a blanket. The husband reports to police that there’s a woman off the side of the road with a head wound, bleeding from the nose, and he thinks she may have been hit by a car.

Before Mulder and Reyes make it to the hospital in Salt Lake City that Theresa was brought to, she disappears. The intake nurse explains that a doctor from another hospital came by not more than an hour ago with transfer papers to take her to a facility in Boise. They review footage from a security camera, but neither the man who took Theresa from the hospital, nor the man who loaded her into a waiting ambulance, is identifiable.

Two days later, Theresa Hoese walks into her parent’s home in Bellefleur as though nothing happened. She remembers nothing about her experience, how long she was gone, how she ended up in Utah, or how she even got back home. The last thing she says she remembers is putting her baby to bed.

*****

Chapter 13, Day 132:

One of the missing fourteen are found every seven to ten days for the next few weeks. Out of seven abductees returned, three are found alive. It doesn’t quite put the odds at 50/50, but it’s something to hope for.

Mulder studies the photos of the bodies and of the crime scenes day and night. He isn’t very helpful to Doggett with the cases that come through the office, but Skinner turns a blind eye. As long as he keeps his head down and off of Kersh’s radar, he’s allowed to pursue the investigation as much as he can from DC. Reyes is extremely helpful, his eyes and ears in places he can’t go.

He notices something while studying the photos of the sites where victims were returned. The same shoe print amongst the dozens that are catalogued comes up in four of the sites, not least of which, the three where the victims were found alive. The pattern of the print is unique enough to be distinguishable from the rest, but ordinary enough not to be identifiable. There are straight lines across the full length of the shoe and a circular stamp of some sort just off-center at the heel. He wonders the bodies aren’t being returned so much as someone is placing them in these locations to be found.

*****

Chapter 14, Day 161:

Mrs. Scully calls Mulder and asks if he will come to the house. He agrees without hesitation. She doesn’t tell him what she wants, but it’s Scully’s birthday, so he thinks that might have something to do with it. He’s been trying not to think too much about the date, but as it looms closer, it’s constantly on his mind.

He doesn’t feel as anxious knocking on Mrs. Scully’s door this time as he did before. Now that the missing fourteen have been appearing so frequently, he’s been more hopeful than when they’d had nothing to work from.

“Hello, Fox,” Mrs. Scully says, pulling the door back to admit him into the house.

“It’s nice to see you,” Mulder says.

This time, Mrs. Scully directs him to sit with her in the front room. He takes a seat in one of the chairs that frame the picture window and before she sits opposite him, she retrieves a manilla folder from the the coffee table and holds it on her lap.

“I need to know that I appreciate your dedication to Dana,” Mrs. Scully says. “Through the years and now in this disappearance, I do appreciate your dedication.”

“Of course.”

“It’s been nearly six months. I think it’s time that we all move on.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I need to move on, and Dana’s brothers need to move on.”

Mulder feels his skin grow clammy. He’s afraid Mrs. Scully has done something rash. “Look,” he says. “You asked me not to share any part of the investigation with you, and I’ve respected that.”

“I know, Fox. But, obviously Dana still isn’t here, so I think it’s time to put this behind us.”

“I disagree.”

“My son didn’t think I should call you.”

Bill, of course, Mulder thinks.

“But, I thought you at least deserved the courtesy,” Mrs. Scully continues.

“Courtesy of what, exactly?”

“I’ll be submitting papers to have Dana declared legally dead.”

“Please, don’t do that.”

“Fox, look at you. You look like you haven’t slept. You’ve lost weight. When was the last time you had a hair cut?”

“I don’t know.” Mulder rubs his sweaty palms against his knees. He doesn’t need Mrs. Scully to point out how badly he looks. He feels worse inside, so it doesn’t really matter.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself. Dana wouldn’t want you to. You know that.”

Spanning a hand across his forehead, Mulder rubs at his temples and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels awash with desperation. He can’t let Mrs. Scully do this. He keeps his hand over his face and his eyes closed as he begs for her to reconsider.

“Just give me until May,” he says. “Please.”

“What difference will nine months make from six, Fox?”

“Seven abductees have been returned so far.” He thinks he hears a slight gasp from Mrs. Scully, but she doesn’t reply. “I have reason to believe that when Scully is returned, she will be of the last to come back.”

“Why? How could you know that?”

“Scully was pregnant when she was taken.”

This time, he definitely hears a gasp come from Mrs. Scully and he takes his hand down from his face to look at her. She has her fist at her mouth and it looks like she might be biting the side of her finger. Her other hand moves to the chain at her neck and the folder of papers slips from her lap. Mulder thinks that as long as he’s opening the door to revealing this information to Mrs. Scully, he might as well share all.

“It’s not something she kept from you,” he says. “She only found out the morning we left for Oregon, and I didn’t even know until after she was taken.”

“She knew?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Mrs. Scully takes a deep breath over her fist and shakes her head slightly.

“We’d...been together for about four months. But, about a year prior, I helped her attempt in vitro fertilization and we weren’t successful.”

“My God,” Mrs. Scully murmurs. Her fingers work restlessly at the cross at her throat.

“I should have told you. I wanted to tell you.”

“These people that have come back. Have they told you where Dana is? How to find her?”

Mulder pauses for a moment with his lips pursed. Mrs. Scully must sense that he’s hesitating to choose his words carefully and she relaxes her wet gaze on his face.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” she asks.

“No,” he says. “Not all of them. Three of the seven were found alive.”

“But, they can’t tell you where Dana is?”

“They can’t remember anything.”

Mrs. Scully nods and then folds her hands over her face for a few moments with her eyes closed. She drops her hands, blinks open her eyes and then picks up the spilled envelope from the floor.

“I’ll give you until May,” she says. “But, then I will be submitting these papers and next time, I won’t call you ahead of time.”

“Thank you.”

*****

Chapter 15, Day 169:

Reyes calls Mulder and asks him how quickly he can get to Montana. She doesn’t tell him why, doesn’t want to say over the phone. Doggett is in the hospital under a short quarantine from possible exposure to a biological agent. With no one to make excuses to, he tells her he’ll be there right away.

When Mulder arrives in Helena, Reyes gives him the file of a suspect in custody who was arrested the night before for trespassing on a rancher’s property. While the police were arresting the young man, another call came in from a rancher a few miles away that he’d found a body in a field on his property. No body was recovered, but the neighbor of the rancher spotted two men coming out of the field shortly before the police arrived.

“The boy in custody, Richie Szalay, claims he was chasing a UFO and followed it onto the rancher’s property,” Reyes tells Mulder. “He says his best friend was abducted in Oregon, just a few days before the others.”

“That’s true,” Mulder says, nodding. “I know him. Scully and I met Richie in Bellefleur a few days before the abduction. Gary was already taken at that time.”

“I thought you’d be the best person to interrogate him. He may not know anything about our missing fourteen, but he may still know something.”

“Hello again, Richie,” Mulder says as he enters the interrogation room. “Do you remember me?”

Richie takes a moment and then nods. “The FBI Agent. Scully?”

“Scully’s my partner. I’m Agent Mulder.”

“Oh, right.”

Mulder nods towards Reyes. “You met Agent Reyes. We want to ask you a few questions.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Richie says. “I swear!”

“I believe you, Richie. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“You should be out there looking for Gary. He’s been gone six months and no one’s done anything about it!”

“Believe me, Richie, I can tell you that’s not the case.”

Richie is momentarily subdued, but jittery. His knee bounces constantly and he wrings his hands together under the table. His dark brown hair is greasy and unkempt. There are dark smudges under his eyes. He looks older than his nineteen years. Mulder feels sorry for him. His desperation is palpable.

“You told the officers that picked you up you were chasing a UFO,” Mulder says.

“I’m not crazy.”

“No one thinks you’re crazy.”

“I thought you believed me about Gary.”

“I do believe you, Richie.”

“Agent Mulder and I are here to help you,” Reyes says.

Richie scrunches his face and shakes his head. Mulder can tell Richie is as skeptical and distrusting as he is impatient.

“You can help us help you, Richie,” Mulder says. “And you can start by telling me what you know about that UFO and how you found it.”

“Chat rooms, mostly. I made friends with a few people who track that kind of stuff. One of them is an abductee like Gary. He wanted to help me find him.”

“Do you know how they get their information?”

“Sightings and stuff, I guess.”

“But, those would be after the fact,” Reyes says. “You came to Montana because they told you a UFO would be here. How did they know that?”

“I don’t know. Algorithms?”

“What’s the name of the man who helped you?” Mulder asks.

Richie hesitates. “I don’t know if I should...is he in trouble?”

“He’s not in trouble. Neither are you. You’re being let go with a fine for trespassing, but no charges are being pressed. You’re talking to us of your own free will right now.”

“I can go?”

“You’re free to leave anytime. I’d like it if you stayed for a bit to talk to us though.”

Richie is torn. Mulder can see it in his face. He takes advantage of Richie’s indecision and gets up from his chair to lean against the table in front of the boy.

“You want to help your friend,” Mulder says. “I also want to help your friend, and the rest of the people who went missing in Oregon.”

“Is it true that half of them have already been returned?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“The man in the chat room.” Richie pauses and he shifts his eyes back and forth between Mulder and Reyes. “His screenname is Absalom.”

“Absalom?” Reyes asks, a look of recognition in her eyes when she looks up at Mulder.

“Yeah, I mean...that’s not really a name, you know? It’s what he calls himself. I don’t know his real name.”

By the way Reyes is shifting in her seat, Mulder can tell she’s anxious for the interview to be over. He’s confident that Richie doesn’t really know anything past what he’s told them, so he pushes away from the table and takes his seat again.

“Richie, I’m going to ask you to do me a favor,” Mulder says.

“Okay,” Richie answers.

“Stay in town for a few days. Give your contact information to the Sheriff so we can reach you if we need you.”

“I can only stay until tomorrow. I gotta be back in Oregon by Friday.”

Mulder nods and Richie stands slowly, as though waiting for someone to stop him. When no one does, he heads to the door, taking glances back over his shoulder along the way. He finally rushes out, hastily slamming the door behind him.

“What do you know about Absalom?” Mulder asks Reyes, as soon as the door closes.

“He’s the leader of a doomsday cult. I was part of a team that investigated him a few years back. At that time he had a compound in Baton Rouge where he and his followers were preparing for an alien invasion at the start of the new millennium. He claimed that first Y2K would cripple the world, and while we were trying to rebuild our technologies, an alien army would begin systematically abducting prominent citizens, returning them as super soldiers to eventually wipe out the human race.”

“Hm.” It doesn’t sound that illogical to Mulder. “And what happened?”

“Well, the group disbanded when there was no Y2K. He lost the faith of his followers and just disappeared.”

“But, now he’s back. With apparently credible information on UFO activity.”

“Should we find him? Bring him in?”

“Let’s see if we can’t get him to talk voluntarily.” Mulder already has an idea of who he’ll get to reach out to try to contact Absalom. Who better to speak his language than three like-minded conspiracy theorists in a converted warehouse office?

*****

The gunmen waste no time in finding Absalom and begin sending Mulder archives of newsgroup postings and chat logs they are able dig up. They reach out to him under the guise of official magazine business, requesting an interview of him, and then wait for a response.

In the meantime, Mulder and Reyes drive out to inspect the field where the rancher says he discovered a body. The air is cold and crisp, even though the sun is high. There's still a bit of frost on the ground even though it's midday.

The two agents make separate tracks through the field, parting ways to inspect patches of ground more closely, coming back together to silently ask if they'd found anything. A shake of the head. Not yet.

Mulder is crouched down, running his hand across a line of flattened grass, when Reyes calls his name. He looks up and sees her stand from her own crouch and turn to him. She cocks her head for him to come take a look at whatever she's got. He brushes dirt from his knees as he rises.

“Footprints,” Reyes says, pointing out two sets of tracks that almost seem to overlap each other, but they're pointed in opposite directions.

“If we were carrying something heavy,” Mulder says.

“Like a body?” Reyes interjects.

Mulder nods. “Like a body. Someone would probably be moving backwards.”

“And someone would be moving forwards.”

The tracks are smudged, as though the two individuals were dragging their feet. Mulder follows the backwards steps as they head in the direction of the nearest highway. At one point, he stops, bending to squint at the most clear footprint he can see. He can't be absolutely certain, but he's almost positive the lines in the shoe match the footprints of the other photos.

“That's the same shoe,” Reyes says.

“That's what I was thinking,” Mulder answers. He looks out into the field and turns to check all angles. A hill slopes in the distance to the north. The highway to the south is empty and calm. The neighbors house, the one who reported seeing two men in the field, is about fifty yards to the east.

Something seems to be clicking into place in Mulder's mind. A missing body. Two men. Footprints heading south. The highway. The hill. The land.

“He's not placing the bodies,” Mulder says.

“Who?”

“The man with the shoes. I thought he was placing the bodies in areas they'd be found.”

“What's he doing then?”

“Taking them. Or, trying to.”

“And bringing them back?”

“I think...I think it depends on how bad off the person is who's returned. I think he's...healing them.”

“How?”

“I've seen it before. I need to call Doggett. No, I can't call Doggett, he's still in quarantine. I need to call Skinner and have him pull my files on a man named Jeremiah Smith.”

*****

Skinner is none too pleased that Mulder is in Montana, but not only does he send the files to Mulder, he lets him know in his email that he’ll be on the first flight out to Helena. Mulder shares the material with Reyes in the small conference room the Helena PD has allowed them to utilize. He paces the room, rolling up his shirt sleeves as Reyes reads bits of the file out loud. When she finishes, he turns one of the chairs around and sits backwards, draping his arms over the back.

“I don’t understand how this guy is any different from the bounty hunter,” Reyes says.

“I don’t quite know myself,” Mulder answers. “Only that while they can both take on the forms of anyone they choose, Jeremiah Smith is, at least, a healer. He saves lives, he doesn’t take them.”

“So you think he’s essentially rescuing the abductees after they’re returned. Or, attempting to?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of that makes sense to me right now.”

“How does he know where to find them?”

“I don’t know.” Mulder shrugs and pushes up from the chair in frustration. He puts his hands on his hips and paces the room again.

“Is there a possibility that this is related to the doomsday cult?”

“How so?”

“What if those people weren’t taken by a UFO?”

Mulder gapes at Reyes and shakes his head. “I know what I saw.”

“I know, but hear me out. What if that’s what they wanted you to see? What if Absalom staged the abduction and took these people to reignite the interest in his prophecies. If they’re not coming true organically, he’s going to make it happen.”

“No.” Mulder shakes his head again. “That’s not possible.”

“And what if Absalom is giving the same information to Jeremiah Smith that he gave to Richie Szalay? What if he’s controlling this whole thing?”

Mulder laces his fingers together at the back of his head and puffs his cheeks. He circles the room once and bobs his head a little. He sits down and scratches his bottom lip with his teeth.

“All right,” he says. “Let’s explore that theory. An abduction hoax to regain the trust of his disciples. It’s pretty elaborate, and risky. How has he gotten this far without getting caught? How has he done any of it?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s too much for one person. There’d have to be dozens of people involved. People that would kidnap and torture without asking questions.”

“Like a cult?”

“Like a cult. That still doesn’t explain how they would’ve pulled it off. And I know what I saw.”

“Let’s hope your friends can find Absalom and maybe we can ask.”

*****

Skinner arrives that evening and knocks on Mulder’s motel room. He has a grim look on his face and asks Mulder to take a walk with him. Mulder follows his boss out to the edge of the parking lot, where concrete ends and nothing but the dark expanse of empty fields begins. The stars are as luminous as Mulder has ever seen them, large and bright and plentiful.

“I’ve come to escort you back to DC,” Skinner says, without preamble. “Kersh caught wind of your trip out here.”

“I can’t leave, Walter,” Mulder says. “Not now.”

Skinner rubs the back of his head for a few moments. “What have you really found that’s going to make a difference in the investigation?”

Mulder tells him, briefly, about Reyes’ theory, and about the gunmen working to find Absalom, and the missing body and the footprints in the field. Skinner listens without reacting or asking questions. It’s too cold out for the thin sweater Mulder is wearing and he rubs his arms briskly with both hands.

“What we’ve got right now are seven returned abductees,” Skinner says. “Seven still missing. Half of those returned are dead.”

“I know.”

“And nothing tangible but theories.”

“Even if Reyes’ theory doesn’t pan out, we have a lead with Absalom.”

“Maybe.” Skinner sighs and puts a hand on Mulder’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “These bodies are appearing rather quickly now. Are you prepared for what might happen?”

Mulder pulls his shoulder away from Skinner’s grasp and crosses his arms tightly across his chest. He looks up at the sky and blinks back the tears that fill his eyes every time he has to think about the worst case scenario.

“I once had a conversation with Scully about starlight,” Mulder says. “How it’s billions of years old and how, even after they’re long dead, their light won’t die. I told her it’s where I thought that souls resided. If I’m wrong about everything else, I hope I’m right about that. Because, I would need to know that whenever I look up, she...”

Mulder lowers his head and bites his lip. His throat has closed too much to continue. Skinner puts an arm around him and squeezes his shoulder again.

“She will be,” Skinner says. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

*****

Chapter 16, Day 170:

Things happen quickly the next morning. As Mulder and Skinner are loading the car to head to the airport, Mulder gets a call from the gunmen. They're on speakerphone, talking over each other with excitement until Mulder tells them to calm down. He moves away from the open car door and puts a hand on his hip.

“We made contact,” Byers says.

“With Absalom,” Langly adds. “Dude fell for our line like flies to cow turds”

“I gathered that,” Mulder says. “And get a better metaphor, please.”

“We pinged his ISP in Helena,” Frohike cuts in, getting to the point.

“He's here?” Mulder turns to face the car and raises his brows at Skinner. Skinner frowns.

“We can't tell you where,” Byers says. “But he's definitely in the Helena area.”

“What else can you tell me? Give me something less vague.”

“That's all we've got,” Frohike says. “Sorry, man. So far all he’ll talk about is spreading the word that prior abductees are in danger.”

“Danger from what?”

“Being taken again. Returned as something other than what they were.”

“Super soldiers?”

“That's what he called them,” Langly says. “An army of super soldiers that will destroy the human race.”

“Ask him what he knows about the missing fourteen. Get back to me.”

Mulder disconnects the call and slips his cell phone back into his pocket. He tells Skinner what the gunmen have just told him, but before Skinner even opens his mouth to ask questions, Richie comes running across the parking lot towards them.

“Agent Mulder!”

Mulder steps out from behind the car and walks towards him. The boy is agitated and jittery. He's sweaty and wild eyed, but Mulder doesn't think it's from the short run he just made.

“What is it, Richie?” he asks.

“I saw him! I saw Gary!”

“Where? When?”

“Like an hour ago. I was at the gas station and I seen him in the back of a car.”

“Are you sure?”

“Totally sure. I followed him.”

“Okay, okay.” Mulder looks to Skinner who shuts his car door and comes around to the back side to stand next to Mulder.

“Did you write down the license plate of the car he was in?” Skinner asks, taking a notepad out of his breast pocket.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie answers. “I have that, but I think they're getting ready to leave.”

“Who?” Mulder asks.

“A bunch of people. I followed them off the highway to a cabin behind the hills. They're all packing or something, and Gary was with them.”

“Did you see the guy driving the car?” Mulder asks.

“No, but I saw the guy in the passenger seat. He was old, kind of sunburnt face, with grey hair.”

“Can you show us where they're at?”

“Yeah yeah. That's why I came to find you. I was kinda scared to go by myself.”

“You did the right thing.” Mulder nods to Richie and then looks at Skinner. They're due at the airport in an hour.

Skinner puts his notepad away and then adjusts his glasses. His jaw is clenched, but he doesn't look angry, just indecisive. Finally, he nods to Mulder.

“You better go get Agent Reyes,” Skinner says. “I'll call the local PD and have them run the plate.”

Mulder spins around and heads to Reyes’ room at the end of the motel before Skinner can change his mind.

*****

The cabin Richie guides them to is only hidden by virtue of its position amongst the hills. The trees are sparse. Richie shows them where he stopped his car and where he hid so he wouldn’t be caught spying on the group.

Reyes stays with Richie at the car while Mulder and Skinner take the sloping, curved path towards the cabin. There’s not a lot of cover, unless you were to count the clouds that have blocked out the sun and blanketed the area in grey shadows. It will sleet or snow within the next few hours.

A man and a woman come around the side of the cabin as Mulder and Skinner approach. They look startled and the woman nearly drops the pile of blankets she carries in her arms. Mulder waves his hand in a friendly, calming gesture.

“We’re looking for a man named Gary Cory,” Mulder says. “We heard he might be here.”

Neither the man or woman say anything, but they turn around and hurry back behind the cabin the way they came. Mulder and Skinner glance at each other, but keep going towards the front porch. The wood is old and rotted in parts, making the trip up the flight of stairs a bit precarious. They test the weight of each step and tread lightly. The screen door rattles with each rap of Skinner’s knuckles.

A young man answers the door, barely out of his teens. He’s got dirty blonde hair and a dazed look in his eyes.

“Gary Cory?” Skinner asks.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Do I know you?”

“We’re FBI.” Skinner reaches for his badge and Mulder does the same. “I’m AD Skinner, and this is Agent Mulder. Would you come out here, son, so we could ask you a few questions?”

“Okay.”

Skinner and Mulder step back as Gary opens the door. He’s barefoot, wearing jeans that are too big for his hips and the cuffs of his sweatshirt dangle past his hands. The porch creaks as he shuffles towards the rail. Mulder and Skinner glance at each other again and follow.

“Son, are you aware that you’re a missing person?” Skinner asks.

“Missing?” Gary asks, his brows sliding together into a divot above his nose. “How can I be missing?”

“You disappeared six months ago,” Mulder says. “Your friend Richie has been very worried about you.”

Gary tips his head in puzzlement. “Richie and I hung out like two days ago in his basement,” he says. “We played video games and ate pizza.”

“Do you know what day it is?” Skinner asks.

Gary shrugs. “Friday?”

“What month, what year?”

Gary shrugs again. “I don’t really pay attention to that stuff.”

“Do you know how you got to Montana?” Mulder asks.

“I wake up in weird places a lot.”

“What kind of weird places?”

“I don’t know.” Gary shrugs. “Back yards, on top of picnic tables, the beach. Ever since the first time they took me, it just happens sometimes.”

“Who took you?” Skinner asks. “These people here?”

“Oh, no, the guy that lives here found me in a field. He’s going to drive me home today. I mean, the aliens.”

Mulder bites into his upper lip and nods.

“You think we could talk to that man?” Skinner asks.

“I don’t think he’s here right now.”

Skinner nods curtly and then looks at Mulder. Mulder is chomping at the bit to search the house and the grounds. He tries to keep it contained, but Skinner must see it in his face.

“We’ve got your friend Richie with us up the road,” Skinner says. “How about you come with me right now?”

“Okay.”

“You have shoes inside, son?”

“I’ll check.”

Gary shuffles back across the porch and goes inside. Skinner immediately pulls Mulder back to the railing by the elbow.

“I’m sending Reyes back here as soon as we get to the car,” Skinner says. “Do not do anything foolish.”

“Me, Sir?” Mulder gives Skinner his best mask of innocence.

“I mean it, Mulder. I don’t want you going inside, I don’t want you taking a tour of the perimeter, I don’t want you to move a muscle beyond the bottom of this porch. The only reason I’m leaving you here at all is to keep watch that no one gets in or out of here.”

Mulder raises his hand up to salute Skinner. Skinner lets him go. The screen door bangs open again and Gary steps out in shoes that are also too big for him. They all make their way gingerly down the steps and Mulder hangs back once they get down the stairs as Skinner and Gary head back to the road.

Skinner must know Mulder better than to stay still in one place, though. He wanders to the right side of the cabin where they saw the man and woman earlier and peers around the corner. Seeing nothing of interest, he wanders to the left side and peers around that corner as well. The left side is tucked up against the slope of hill, but the ridge is angled back behind the house. He hikes his way up to the side so that he’s just about the same level with the roof of the cabin and he spots a man going over the back ridge.

Mulder looks back and sees Reyes, just turning the bend to approach the cabin. He waves his arms at her and then points at the back side of the house before he takes off running. He doesn’t think about whether Reyes saw him, will follow him, or if she’s able to keep up. His goal is to find the man over the ridge.

The dirt softens under Mulder’s feet as he hits the high point and he slides down a few feet and has to catch himself before he loses balance. He pauses and looks over the top of the ridge down the other side. The man he saw earlier is almost half-way down, moving at a slow angle, trying not to stumble.

“Jeremiah Smith!” Mulder calls.

The man looks up and freezes. Mulder scrabbles at the sliding earth to get up and Jeremiah starts hurrying down the hill again.

“Wait!” Mulder calls. He claws at the dirt and crawls forward enough to hurl himself over the side of the hill. He comes down, bringing a landslide of dirt and rock with him as he slides his way down towards Jeremiah.

Mulder is only a few yards behind when Jeremiah reaches the flat end of the canyon of hills. He heads towards a grove of trees and rocks, but slips and Mulder easily catches up and grabs his arm. They’re both out of breath. Jeremiah doesn’t struggle.

“Are you responsible for this?” Mulder asks.

“I’m only here to help,” Jeremiah says.

“What's your part in all of it?” Mulder gets no response but a blink of Jeremiah’s eyes. “Answer me!”

“I'm only here to help,” Jeremiah repeats.

“You're picking up the abductees after they're returned. How do you know where to find them? Are you communicating with them?”

“No. They want me too badly for me to try that.”

“Then how?”

“Absalom knows. He offers me protection from being taken and in return, I heal the ones who are returned.”

“What's his interest in it? More followers for his cult?”

“He's also a former abductee. One of the first I healed.”

“How does he know where to find them?”

“I don't ask.”

“You have to know something.”

“I don't know anything.”

“Where's Scully?”

“I don't know.”

“When will she be returned?”

“I don't know.”

Mulder kicks one foot in the dirt in frustration. He takes out his handcuffs and Jeremiah shakes his head.

“I can't go with you, Agent Mulder.”

“You can if I arrest you.”

“If you stop us, you'll never see Scully alive again.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It's a prophecy. They're not returning this group alive. The only way to ensure she'll live is if you let us get to her first.”

Indecision pulls at Mulder's gut. He wants more answers that only Jeremiah and Absalom can give him, but not at the expense of Scully’s life. He would sacrifice his own life for her, if he could, would trade himself for her in a heartbeat, but he doesn't have that choice. Behind him, he hears Reyes calling his name over the hill and he looks back, but she's not there.

“Go,” Mulder says, nodding at the trees and rocks up ahead. “Go.”

“I'll do my best,” Jeremiah says, and takes off for the grove, disappearing amongst the foliage.

Mulder waits until he can't see anything more of Jeremiah and then he backtracks to the middle of the canyon, making it there just as Reyes reaches the ridge.

“Agent Mulder!”

Mulder waves at her to stay where she is and he slip-slides his way back up the hill. He's covered in dirt by the time he reaches her and it's beginning to rain ever so slightly. He hopes his footprints, and Jeremiah’s, will be washed out soon.

“He's gone,” Mulder says.

“Who? Absalom?” Reyes asks.

“We’re too late.”

“We'll interrogate those people at the cabin. We’ll-”

“Let it go,” he says, shaking his head. “Just let it go.”

*****

Chapter 17, Day 179:

Billy Miles is found alive, wandering down a highway outside of Miami. Of all the abductees, he's the only one with a memory of his abduction. Not of his time away, but of the moments leading up to their disappearance. Reyes sends Mulder the transcript of his interview. He reads it out loud to Agent Doggett in the office.

REYES: Whenever you’re ready, Detective Miles.

MILES: You can call me Billy. Everyone does.

REYES: Whenever you’re ready. Just start from what you remember.

MILES: I remember being pulled to the spot in the woods.

REYES: Pulled by who?

MILES: Not by a person, by a force. I had to go out there. I couldn't stop. It was like I didn't have control over my body.

REYES: What did you see?

MILES: I saw Theresa there. I wanted to talk to her, but I couldn't do anything more than just stand and wait. I saw Agent Scully as well. She was the last one to come into the circle.

REYES: What circle?

MILES: We were standing in a circle. Like we were placed where we were purposefully. When I walked up, I just suddenly stopped, but I don't know why. Only that it's where I had to be.

REYES: And then what?

MILES: And then it seemed like everything was gone. The woods were gone and we were all looking up at a light. The light, it was bright, but it didn't hurt to look at.

REYES: And that's the last thing you remember?

MILES: Just looking up at the light. And feeling like I was weightless. And it's like I fell asleep. When I woke up, there was a man holding a hand to my head, telling me that I would be okay.

REYES: What did the man look like?

MILES: Greyish whitish hair. Small eyes. His hands felt ancient, but maybe he was in his 60s or 70s.

REYES: We can go ahead and stop now. Please call us if you remember anything else.

MILES: I will.

“Something seems off about that interview,” Doggett says, when Mulder’s finished.

“I agree,” Mulder says.

“None of the other abductees have any memory about what happened.”

“I know.”

“And then this guy shows up walkin’ down a highway. Doesn’t really fit in with all the others.”

“I agree.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

*****

Chapter 18, Day 186:

It’s a Sunday night. Mulder is staring up at the ceiling above his couch, listening to the low drone of a sitcom on TV. He only turned on his TV for the noise, not to watch. There’s a nice warm, orange glow lighting the room from the sun setting through the windows. The stain of masking tape puts a light x-shaped shadow on the wall.

On the coffee table, Mulder’s cell phone rings and he reaches out to grab for it. It’s Agent Reyes’ number. He sighs and then connects the call.

“Mulder.”

There’s a beat of silence on the end of the line, then two. “I’m in Roanoke,” she says. “We found her.”

Mulder sits up quickly and springs from the couch. His throat goes dry and every muscle in his body tenses, waiting for the news. He thinks, if she’s alive, Reyes would’ve already told him. He thinks, if she’s dead, Reyes would’ve called Skinner to tell him in person. He swallows the lump in his throat and finally asks.

“Is she…?”

To be continued in Part 2

#i wrote this #xf fanfic #season 8 au #msr #mulder #scully

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starry-eyed-sanders-sides · 5 years

Text

Finals Week

Inspired by the dozens of students napping in increasingly unlikely places at my college this last week. (This is my first time doing this, so any feedback/ suggestion is appreciated! Thanks! Love you all!)

Sanders Sides College AU

One-shot

About 3,600 words

Slight angst. Mostly Fluff. It’s a bit of Prinxiety and Logicality, a bit of all of them?

Remus is kinda mentioned in passing, but he doesn’t say anything. IDK how do do warnings. If people notice something, go ahead and tell me!

Virgil stumbled out of the classroom in a strange haze of exhilaration and defeat, dark purple bag slung over one shoulder. One final exam down. Sure, maybe he could have done better, but right now he was too exhausted to care. It was over with, and his next one wasn’t for another four hours or so.

Just enough time to catch a power nap.

Suddenly anxious that someone would beat him to it, he sped up a bit, heading straight for his favorite nook in the school library. It was a secluded sort of place, all the way on the top floor where even the elevator didn’t reach, and in the far corner behind a towering bookshelf that jutted out from the wall.

Behind this barrier of sorts, there was just enough room for the single couch and the couple ottomans he’d shoved together a while ago. Secretive. Solitary. Quiet. It was perfect.

Legs burning a bit from the climb (one of the reasons people rarely came up here), he rounded the corner to his hideaway and noted with great relief that it was empty.

He hadn’t been the only one to discover this place. Once, he’d stumbled straight into one of the drama majors in the middle of a scene, the tall man in a bright crimson jacket reclining along the back of the couch, script held above his head as he mouthed his lines.

Virgil had quickly ducked back behind the bookcase unnoticed. And it was only because he hoped the other man would leave soon that he spent the next little bit browsing books on the opposite side of the shelf. And it was complete coincidence that he’d catch the occasional glance of a chiseled jaw and flashing eyes that would contort with fury or sadness as the scene demanded, so wrapped up in his work that the stranger hardly seemed cognizant of anything around him.

And Virgil was totally not at all charmed by the occasional song that the other would sing softly, simple melodies drifting in a low, hauntingly beautiful sonorous voice.

Nope, it was all around annoying and inconvenient when an uncomfortably attractive stranger would steal his favorite spot.

And there were others Virgil had to fight over the space with, too.

Once, a slim, pale man with dark hair had completely dominated the space with charts and maps spread over every surface, even climbing the walls and bookshelves. Once again, Virgil had ducked behind the bookshelf and peeked through the tiny gaps. He’d been able to figure out that the neatly labeled diagrams were star charts for various systems in the Milky Way, each labeled point carefully noting essential characteristics of the star, nebula, or exoplanet.

Virgil, an artist himself, tried not to be too impressed by what looked to be the hand-drawn astronomically-correct coloring and shape of each noted point.

He also tried not to be too entranced by the way that by all accounts the stranger kept a completely controlled, straight face as he methodically worked. Except for the way his eyes glittered with enthusiasm behind thin black frames.

Finally, there was the tiny light-haired puffball of a student. Virgil didn’t see him as much as the others, but when he did, this stranger usually took the Virgil route and used the space to nap, all curled up in a tangle of limbs like a puppy and snoring softly, usually with a therapist textbook in his hands or tucked over his eyes.

Virgil would never admit it, but the boy looked adorable when he napped.

He blushed slightly from the memory, suddenly realizing he’d been standing for quite a while, lost in his thoughts. He shook himself, plopping his bag to the floor and shoving it against the wall where it would be out of the way. With that, he crawled forward to the farthest corner of the couch, curled up, pulled his jacket hood over his face, and quickly fell asleep.

…

Roman left the drama room exultant, cheeks flushed red from the adrenaline. His performance had been magnificent! One of the best in the class, even! His teacher had even singled him out for his genuine reactions and subtle portrayal of emotion, even though most of it was on-the-fly work. Some of his fellow classmates patted him on the shoulder as they passed him, offering congratulations. Roman grinned widely and basked in it all.

A boy in a ruffled dark green jacket pushed past him without a word. Still glowing from success, Roman ignored him. Fame always begat jealousy. He would be the bigger person.

Roman headed straight for his favorite little refuge in the library. It would be the perfect place to be able to re-enact his performance, just to himself, before beginning to study for his next test later in the day. He was halfway to flopping on the couch before he noticed a certain black-and-purple shape in the corner.

Roman froze, studying the thin, slow-breathing form of the sleeping student.

Should he leave? If this space was already claimed, that was probably the most polite action, but where would he go? Almost every other space in the library was full up. If he was really quiet, they probably wouldn’t even notice, and he’d probably be gone before they woke up, right? There was no harm in that, right?

Roman put his bag to the side and carefully crawled into the middle space (it had the most room) just out of reach of the other student, script gripped in his hand. They didn’t even shift. Somehow soothed by the stranger’s soft, steady presence, (it was an audience, of sorts) Roman started into his lines, just murmuring them softly to himself. This monologue was read as a love poem, one of a heartbroken man describing all the beauty of the lover he pined for, but it was all for naught as their lover would never see them. It was a beautiful story. One of his favorites.

Roman tried very, very hard not to glance at the delicate, narrow face of the one he shared the couch with, nor the enchantingly whimsical wisps of purple hair that hung over their face, nor the exact way the light and shadow played on their skin, nor….

By the curse of the Dragon Witch Roman cursed softly, feeling himself fall deeper and deeper into yet another crush.

He was probably blushing up a storm right now.

…

Logan straightened his glasses, looking once more over his test. If he did not receive a perfect score, then he would receive one very close to it. It would be sufficient. He gathered his things and stood to turn in his packet, ignoring the way the other students stared at him. He had used approximately one quarter of the time allotted to take the test, but seeing as he was already as confident in his answers as he was going to be, any extra time he spent worrying over them would be counterproductive. Better to use the time to prepare for his next exam.

When he rounded the corner of the bookshelf, he was slightly surprised to note not one but two other students who had already claimed the space.

“My apologies,” He said softly, realizing that one of them was sleeping. “I was not aware that this space had already been allocated by others as a study area.”

The tanner one with golden-brown eyes looked up in surprise. Then, strangely enough, he smiled widely, flashing a white toothed grin. “There’s plenty of room,” He invited, one hand patting the unused end of the couch. “You’re free to join us.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a nod. He swept his gaze over the set up skeptically. The low hassocks had been pushed flush with the edge of the couch, leaving no room to stand in. While impractical and very likely not physiologically advantageous… Logan did have to admit that the stranger looked comfortable with his legs extended over them. Sighing slightly, Logan tucked his laptop under his arm and crawled into place. It took a moment of awkward wiggling to get where he wanted. He tried to mimic the other man’s posture.

“Roman,” the other man said, extending a hand.

“Logan,” He said in reply, shaking it briefly.

Roman, rather than letting it go of Logan’s hand immediately, flipped it so that his knuckles faced up, pressing them to his lips in a feathery-light kiss.

Logan blinked, short-circuiting for a moment. “You are… erm… part of the Drama department, I presume?”

Roman grinned winningly. “How ever did you guess?”

“Drama students carry with them a sort of confident, even flamboyant, attitude with them that most other studies in the university do not,” Logan said right away. “This often extends to more experimental and ostentatious styles and colors of dress, such as the bright red jacket you sport, and the ease with which you move and sit suggests ballroom training. Clear, well developed speech patterns indicate many years of vocal training, likely both in singing and speech roles that are cultivated by…” He trailed off, realizing that Roman was staring at him with a strange expression.

He cleared his throat. “I apologize. I see now that the question was rhetorical, not an actual request for an answer.”

He quickly opened his laptop and set to work, more to give him something to focus on than a desire to make progress. Mentally, he berated himself for allowing his reckless enthusiasm for explaining things ruin yet another potential connection with his peers. This wasn’t the first time it had happened. There was a reason he had to ignore most of the people in his class. They hated him, and now this charming man would, too.

That made the next words he heard a bit of a shock.

“There’s no need to apologize, Sir Arthur Conan ‘Dorable,” Roman said, smiling softly.

Though still humiliated and pink-cheeked, Logan chanced a look up at the drama kid. This softer, more gentle attitude suddenly felt more genuine. Like Roman was letting down a mask to try to console him. Logan didn’t notice the hesitant smile plucking at the corner of his own lip. “What did you say?”

Roman shrugged. “What you did was impressive, a Study in Scarlet.” Logan blushed a bit more at the nicknames. Scarlet indeed. “You don’t have to be ashamed of it. It’s… remarkable.”

Logan couldn’t help but be slightly impressed by the references, silly though they were. Word play had never really been one of his strong suits, but even he could recognize the value of a well-timed, conversationally associated pun.

Logan nodded, struggling to hide his blush and once again turning back to his work and allowing Roman to do the same.

On the other side of Roman, Virgil slipped a little in his positioning, sliding over almost imperceptibly closer until he was leaning against Roman’s shoulder. Almost but not quite cuddling into the tall man’s side.

…

Patton sniffed, struggling to wipe the tears away. He’d done well at his final, at least he thought so. He’d done his best, but sometimes it was so hard to know if his best was good enough. His teacher had decided that the best thing to do would be to have real practice in a therapy session, so he’d recruited some of the drama students to pretend to be patients.

They’d been given roles and told to react as genuinely as possible so therapists like Patton would be exposed to some of the emotional highs that might come out in a session.

There had been this tall boy in a bright red jacket that had looked nice, but he was assigned to work with a really nice black-haired girl Patton knew. When they’d come out of their fake session, both of them were smiling widely and the teacher was glowing with praise for how well both of them had done. The tall boy had hugged the girl, and it had looked like such a warm, wonderful, lingering hug that Patton had to try really hard not to feel jealous that he didn’t get to experience one like it. He loved hugs.

His teacher had called him next, as well as a pale boy with a wispy mustache and a ruffled green jacket. Patton had been nervous, of course, but he’d studied hard. He tried his best.

And it had been awful!

Nothing he said made the boy react at all! At least, react in a way that wasn’t erratic and horrible. Patton tried to reason with him, he tried to listen, he tried to guide him and coax him along and explain and get the boy to explain and not one single thing made a dent. In the end, his “patient” had this self-satisfied little smirk on his face that he’d worn almost the whole time, and Patton was almost reduced to tears.

He could tell he’d disappointed his teacher. His teacher tried to say that technically, the boy had played an acceptable role, and that sometimes they had patients that didn’t want to listen or change, and that’s something that they would have to deal with in their field and it wasn’t his fault and he would still get a good grade for trying.

Patton still felt like he’d let his teacher down.

So when he rounded the corner, seeking his little secluded place in the library, and he saw the tall drama student from before, smiling as he lounged on the couch, Patton couldn’t help it. He burst into tears and threw himself into the man’s arms.

…

Roman hardly had time to look up to see who else had rounded this increasingly popular corner when they burst into sobs and leapt into his arms. They were really light, so Roman hardly noticed the extra weight, but he didn’t have a chance to get a good look at their face because they’d already buried it in his chest.

His instincts took over. Part of his mind told him that he was now in a dramatic scene, and his job was to comfort his mourning scene partner. He wrapped his arms around the small, trembling frame, stroking his hand through their light, curly hair.

“Hey,” He said gently. “Hey, it’s ok. You’re ok.”

“Do you require assistance?” Logan’s voice said on his right.

“Need me to beat someone up?” A low voice offered on his left.

Roman glanced over sharply to notice that the ruckus had apparently awakened his sleeping couch mate. They blinked slowly at him, their eye makeup making them look a bit like a sleepy raccoon, but they didn’t seem bothered by the fact that three different strangers had co-opted his space while he’d slept.

The dark eyed man looked away, shy, before focusing on the huddling boy in the middle.

“Hey,” the emo one said gently. Soothingly. “Hey, it’s alright. We’ve got you now. Everything is gonna be ok, ok? Breath slow. It’ll help, I promise. In….and out….. In…… and out….” He breathed in and out, seeming to follow a count of some kind, setting the pace for the shaking boy in the middle, who tried his best to follow along.

Roman couldn’t help but suspect the one on his left was someone who was well acquainted with break downs and panic attacks.

In any case, it seemed to help, and the middle boy quickly calmed down. Logan had spirited a fresh water bottle and a pack of nuts out of nowhere and offered them to the sniffling boy, saying something about health benefits and rehydration after loss of fluid via tears. The boy laughed shakily as he accepted them, sipping at the water slowly.

“I’m Roman, by the way,” Roman said, for the sake of both the boy in his arms and the one next to him.

“Yeah, I know,” the latter said, then flushed suddenly. “I-I-I’m Virgil.” He rushed on.

Roman suddenly wondered how long, exactly, the other man had been asleep. And if he’d been asleep when he’d started leaning towards Roman and putting his head on his shoulder. The thought made him flush, too.

“I am Logan,” a voice on the other side of Roman said.

They all looked at the smallest one, still cuddled in Roman’s arms. He squeaked a little at the attention, huddling down further, but he managed to get out a tiny. “P-patton.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Patton,” Logan said. “And you as well, Virgil.”

Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a sort of half-salute. “Yeah,” He mumbled. Then, stronger. “So you’re the ones who’ve been stealing my space, huh?”

Roman blushed impossibly deeper. “I-I, we, ah, I mean, I assumed th-that you wouldn’t-”

“Nah, ‘S fine,” Virgil said, voice still low. Roman, though, trained by years of theater, could hear the slightest waver in his voice, as well as a quirk of a smile at his lips. Both were quickly hidden again.

“You don’t mind that I used this space, do you?” Patton piped up, craning his head to look back at Virgil.

At that, a real half smile lit up Virgil’s face, seeming to melt something as he looked at the innocent boy. “Of course not. I mean, technically, it’s not mine, so…” Looking down and trailing off, Virgil seemed to be struggling to keep a smile off his face. Suddenly, he leaned forward and stripped his black and purple jacket off, leaning to wrap it around Patton instead.

Patton squeaked happily and nuzzled down into it, once again reminding Virgil of a puppy. After a moment, he closed his eyes and his breathing began to slow and he seemed to be getting very, very close to drifting off to sleep. The other three couldn’t help but smile at the soft sight.

Virgil yawned. “If that’s all, I’m going back to bed,” He said sleepily. “I’ve got a test in a while, and I didn’t get any sleep last night.”

“Adequate sleep is vital for proper brain function,” Logan put in, sounds of approval at the choice to nap and disapproval at the choice to not sleep the night before both extremely apparent in his voice.

Roman suddenly lifted his arm and swung it around Virgil’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“You gave away your jacket,” Roman said when Virgil glanced at him questioningly.

Virgil continued to stare.

“Look, it doesn’t mean anything. If you want to be cold, go ahead and-”

“Shut up, Princey,” Virgil said, leaning in and tucking his head to Roman’s shoulder. Roman, smiling, did so. He turned to Logan, opening his other arm.

“You too, Scarlet Study.”

“You already used that one,” Logan said, typing something.

“Constellation Leo-gan,” Virgil suggested from the other side.

“Constellogan,” Roman countered.

“Unicorn Nebulogan,” Patton mumbled, half asleep but still listening.

Logan paused in his work. “How did all of you know that I enjoy learning about astronomy?”

Everyone paused, then Patton broke down into giggles. It was contagious, and soon enough, all of them were caught in the same. Even straight-faced Logan couldn’t help but smirk.

“It seems I’m not the only one who has paid attention to the others who use this space,” Logan observed wryly.

“Didn’t help that you’re all so darn attractive,” Virgil grumbled. Roman laughed heartily at that, but no one denied it.

“Can we meet up here more often?” Patton asked, voice still sleep-heavy, but obviously struggling against it.

Virgil yawned. “Sure.”

“I see no reason why not.”

“It shall be our very own glorious bastion against the assault of education!”

“Roman, education is hardly something we need to defend against. In fact-”

Virgil groaned jokingly. “Quick, Roman, cuddle him before he gets into lecture mode.”

Roman did so, wrapping an arm around Logan and pulling him close to the group. Logan blinked, straightening his glasses, which the sudden motion had made crooked. He seemed to be struggling to find something to say, but the abrupt closeness and warmth made him short circuit briefly.

Virgil smirked. Guess that worked.

Logan sighed and put his computer aside. He guessed he’d studied a sufficient amount to do well at the next exam. Besides, though he’d never really tested it before, human contact was supposed to be beneficial in boosting of oxytocin and serotonin levels, which would aid in relaxation and focus during a stressful exam. At least, that’s what he told himself when Patton crawled over so he was in Logan’s lap and wrapped his arms around his neck, nuzzling his face into the crook of his shoulder.

“There’s a blanket in my bag,” Patton mumbled to Roman and Virgil, wrapping Virgil’s hoodie so it covered both him and Logan. “I always carry one with me.”

Roman, with the longer reach, retrieved it and draped it over Virgil and himself, pulling the emo boy closer and chuckling. “You’re freezing.”

“Yeah, well you’re basically on fire, Blushing Beauty,” Virgil mumbled, wrapping his admittedly cold hands around Roman’s warmer ones.

They both listened as Logan gave up on his half audible stuttering and finally found the brain power to wrap his arms around Patton, bringing the small boy even closer and sighing happily.

Roman leaned forward as Virgil leaned into him, using his free hand to tuck some stray hair behind the emo’s ear.

“I’m trying to sleep.” Virgil complained half heartedly with his eyes closed.

Roman smiled, pressing his lips gently against the other’s brow.

“I’m trying not to.” He whispered.

#sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #mostly fluff #some angst #comforting #LAMP #Finals week #CALM

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bnymedic · 5 years

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First responder suicide – PTSD, or something else?

Its 1:30am. I sit on my computer in complete darkness, having just slept for the past 10 hours. As a Paramedic in a suburb of a relatively small US city, I work 12 hours shifts for 4 straight days. I get 4 days off to recuperate after that, and at this point in my career those days are essential for my survival. Many of my co-workers are not lucky enough to be able to stop at just 4 days, and must work additional overtime shifts in order to make ends meet. The private EMS industry has relatively low wages nationwide. We are the “red headed step child” of emergency services, often hiding in the shadows of police officers, firefighters, and nurses. There is no such thing as a “typical” shift when working in EMS. There are the occasional shifts where I will sit in the parking lot of the local convenience store chain for 12 straight hours without picking up a single patient. The glow of my cell phone screen illuminating my face for each passing person to see the life draining out of my body. The boredom sets in after hour 2. My legs and butt hurt. I am hungry, but I can’t tell if its true hunger or just my body telling me to get up and move. I decide to walk inside to browse the aisles of colorful treats, getting nauseous at the thought of eating “lunch” out of a gas station at midnight for the 3rd day in a row. Despite my disgust, I walk outside with 2,000 or more calories of junk food at a time in an attempt to eat myself to death. “Ill be diabetic by the end of the week” I say to my partner as I open my fudge dipped granola bar. As the career of a first responder goes on, most quickly start to pack on the pounds like a bear preparing for winter. Company policy prevents you from sleeping during your shift, so your food (if you can call it that) is washed down with 16oz of your favorite energy drink to keep you awake and ready to pick grandma up off the floor when she attempts her 2am bathroom run. I have palpitations from all the caffeine. Hopefully one day those PVC’s turn into an arrhythmia and the lord takes me. “Anything to get out of this job” I say, as I polish off my second monster of the night. Morning rolls around. 50mg of benadryl will help me fall asleep after drinking energy drinks all night long. I have severe shift sleep disorder. I am depressed. I just want to sleep. I wake up ready to go after just 4 hours of sleep. Great. Another night of pounding monsters. I punch in 15 minutes early for my next shift and am assigned a call before I am even scheduled to start. I am the only ambulance available in the surrounding 15 square miles of suburbia, and that trend will continue for the next 12 hours. Call after call, I don’t have time to finish my paperwork before being sent on the next run. Its 11pm and dispatch calls my unit number for the 5th time today– “With the fire department for a 1 year old post choking”. I have taken 50 calls of the same nature before and say out loud– “Great, another bullshit call”. Every day, nervous parents call 911 over the slightest cough or sniffle which eventually numbs you to the potential of a true pediatric emergency. Its never a real emergency. Until it is. Rolling up on scene after the fire department, I grab my house bag and begin to waddle towards the low income apartment building for the third time this week. I think – “I should have brought the tablet for a signature so I don’t have to walk back outside”. Suddenly, a firefighter rounds the corner carrying a limp child like he is holding an offering platter. “That’s not good” I blurt out , going from zero to 100 in the snap of a finger. The firefighter tells me the child was eating chicken and rice when he began to choke. As my partner digs out the pediatric bag valve mask that has been sitting unused in the house bag for an unknown number of years, I set up the suction, only to find an unresponsive, apneic child with a clenched jaw. “That doesn’t make sense” I think to myself as I try to peel apart his tiny jaw without any luck. Thank god– he has a gap in his front tooth that fits a small, 12fr suction catheter. I start to go through the motions. Is he seizing? Nope. Any trauma visible or reported? No. Mom was asked again– and again says the child was sitting up, eating, and suddenly started choking. What is going on here? With little to be done on scene, I rush to the small local hospital, nervous that the next squeeze of the bag could lodge a piece of food in this kids airway. I am getting good air exchange but his spo2 isn’t amazing. He must have aspirated. Great news. He is now moving his arms, and his eyes just opened. Wait, why is his jaw still clenched? That’s not great news. This kid hasn’t made a noise. What the fuck is going on. As I roll the stretcher into the small emergency room closest to the scene, I am greeted with that dreaded sentence from the ER Physician– “why did you bring him here and not children’s hospital”. I bite my tongue– its not the time to have that fight. The kid is now posturing. A few minutes go by and the doctor asks me to get my laryngoscope because the emergency room is not currently stocked with the proper pediatric equipment. Maybe he was right. The thoughts start rushing through my head– “they are going to kill this kid. I should have just risked it and bypassed. It was only an extra 7 minutes or so further”. As I sit there and wait for the next order, new thoughts take over. “Someone shook this kid. There is no other explanation”. Hypertensive, bradycardic, posturing. But mom said he was choking on rice? Where would she get that from? Hmm. She doesn’t seem as concerned as a mother should be. She answers a text message while being questioned by the police. She has yet to ask anyone how her son is doing. The texts start to come in to my phone. “Are you ok?”. “I hear you had a bad call. You guys ok?” “WTF was that all about?”. I am fine. Any provider who plans to have a lengthy career has to distance themselves from their patients. I can think back to every “bad” call I’ve taken, and never once have I been able to recall processing a patients face. Its not important. What they look like is irrelevant to my job. Its the circle of life. Some people live, some people die. Its my job to try and make that circle a little bit bigger if I can. Sometimes you are successful, sometimes you aren’t. You have to come to terms with that early on. Minutes after calling in service from restocking, the radio chimes my unit number again. “Cold response to the fitness center for a hand laceration”. I arrive on scene to find a psych standing out front in his blue paper clothes, clearly having been to an emergency room at least once today. “Hop on in buddy– take a seat” I say as I shake my head. We drive him 3 blocks down the street to the same emergency room we left just a couple hours prior. I am not greeted like one would expect. Not with “Hello”, not with “whats the chief complaint”. I am greeted with a sentence that is never good news. “Did you hear?”. Our child from earlier had been emergently transferred 6 miles away to the childrens hospital by a specialty transport team. The news from them was not good. “That kid – he has a brain bleed”. My suspicions were confirmed. He was never choking. Someone hurt this kid and tried to cover it up. I know how to handle this, because its not even the first time this situation has happened to me. People hurt kids often enough that I am not even shocked. Stories like this don’t make the news *for a reason*. People cant handle stuff like this. No one needs to know that savages live in apartment 3. Some people have to know though. WE have to know. Its not OK. I talk about suicide often. My previous partner was a veteran and has PTSD from being deployed overseas. He has had many friends commit suicide after returning from war, and was concerned about my mental health. That should concern me. He would ask me once a week– “Are you sure you are ok?”. My little comments here and there come off as jokes to most people. “Id rather die than come into work tonight”. “Pull out in front of this semi truck– we wont feel a thing I promise”. “Stage for police? Fuck that. I hope I get shot”. In reality, its not a joke. I am not suicidal at this point in my life– I am apathetic about living. I’m not going to take my own life, but I am definitely not excited when I wake up each morning. This feeling has slowly crept up on me over my almost 10 year career as a paramedic. I tell myself daily that I need to get out before its too late. What will be the breaking point where I become truly suicidal? I have to answer one question before I leave. “Where will I go?” I am burnt out. Everyone says “go to nursing school”, but the passion– the fire inside that makes you want to help people has been extinguished for years. Where can you go at 30+ years old with a paramedic certification and no useful degree. I have made financial commitments at my age that makes starting from scratch somewhere at entry level wages an impossibility. What can I do? Where can I go? I am stuck. This job is like quick sand, and I’m up to my shoulders. If I struggle much more it will be above my head. We get to see what goes on behind the curtains of society. How much would you enjoy a magic show if you knew how the magic was performed? That is what life is like for many first responders. Members of the general public get to wear blinders during their day to day lives. There are people who post rants to facebook if the garbage man didn’t put their garbage can back in the correct spot. A terrible day for a typical person is a flat tire on the way home from work. They have no idea what happens in their town or city on a day to day basis. They have NO IDEA that 3 doors down, a husband beat the shit out of his wife for the 4rd time this year and she wont tell the police what happened. They have NO IDEA that people call an ambulance from the parking lot of an emergency room because they don’t want to wait in the waiting room. They have NO IDEA that someone in apartment 3 just hurt their baby and tried to cover it up. But we know. We see it all. I have talked with a lot of people who have similar feelings. Its due to me being so open about my apathy towards life. People who I see every day, smiling at their coworkers and telling war stories and laughing. You would never guess these people were at the end of their ropes– fighting off their own demons. “Make sure they have bagpipes at my funeral”. I don’t try and talk these people down because they don’t want help. How could I help anyways? You cant just “un-know” the things we know. These people just feel comfort in the fact that they aren’t alone. I have been lucky that none of these people have taken their lives yet. I know the day is coming. Its been a long time since a co-worker has committed suicide, and the statistics say we are over-due. How will I handle it?

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luciaphototography · 5 years

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JUNO CALYPSO

Juno Calypso interviewed by Joanna Cresswell, 4 October 2016

“I’ve always liked to work with things that people sneer at,” 27-year-old artist Juno Calypso says, when trying to define the inspiration behind her photographs. “Anything that people considered tacky, low-brow, or that makes people say ‘women are so stupid for liking this’ – that’s exactly the stuff I want more of.”

It’s been one year since London-born Calypso set off on her first solo journey to a couples-only love hotel in rural Pennsylvania to create images for her series The Honeymoon. Posing as an aspiring travel writer, Calypso gained access to different suites in the resort and once inside, she spent the week dressing up in wigs and wedding lingerie and taking self-portraits. Slathering herself in green clay, adorning her face with anti-ageing contraptions and draping herself across heart-shaped bathtubs surrounded by mirrors, Calypso performed scenes of preparation and anticipation, acting out familiar rituals of beauty and seduction to an absurd degree.

In these images, Calypso created a fictional character named Joyce. With a wry wit, Calypso offered Joyce as a woman disenchanted by the “laboured construct of femininity”, mechanically testing out beauty treatments and body improvement devices, and consumed by the perpetual pursuit of perfection. Joyce was often seen gazing, seemingly exhausted, into the camera or at her own reflection. Calypso amassed a substantial cult following for this ongoing series of pastel pink-hued images.

In more recent images, the character that she portrays has an air of defiance, and now appears to be revelling in the construction of femininity where once she was weighed down. “I realised that I want people to laugh along with the character, like she’s in on the joke”, she explains. “Yes, the rituals we invest in as women can be bizarre, but that’s not really the problem. The real problem is the way women are considered moronic for wanting to indulge in those things. Stop patronising us. We know what we’re doing.”

Calypso has decided that she doesn’t necessarily want people to see Joyce when they look at her photographs anymore, but rather a more abstract figure. Armed with this sentiment, she has just returned from a second trip to Pennsylvania where she stayed at a new honeymoon resort. This time, she explains, it was much less about the ego of a character and much more about the way the body appears in relation to its surroundings. The promise of rooms designed only for gazing at one another, covered in mirrors and bathed in blue and pink light, is what drew her back. Everything else was improvisation.

Here, she invites Refinery29 to take the first look at her new work.

“Last year, when people asked what was next for me, I threatened that I’d go on a one-woman tour of honeymoon hotels around the world. Turns out there was something in that because recently I felt pulled back to the area of Pennsylvania I had visited the first time round. I knew that the hotel I stayed in had another branch a few hours away and so off I went. I wasn’t done with these places. This time I only packed cheap wedding lingerie, wigs and some electronic beauty masks. I tried to keep it minimal. It was all about the rooms this time. When I arrived it was the same thing all over again: nobody questioned the amount of excess baggage or the fact that I didn’t leave my room for three days straight. I was left to my own devices.”

“There was this one room with an indoor pool that really made me want to go there. Everything I loved about the pink honeymoon suite from my original trip was replicated in blue, but with even more mezzanines and glass ceilings. Being in the pool, bathed in low, blue light felt hallucinatory, and in some ways, sad – the perfect stage for my pictures. You could just tell that every room in the resort had been dreamed up in the head of one guy. There were no windows, just mirrors everywhere. Every part of the room was designed solely for looking at your lover, or at yourself.”

“I don’t have a studio, I always work on location – I like to search out private spaces that are made for indulging in fantasy and seduction. I began taking pictures in bedrooms and bathrooms, but as my work has grown, what better place than the honeymoon suite, where the archetypal rituals of the wedding night take place? My process is a bit like making a low-budget film, except it’s a one-person operation. Sometimes I’m the tyrannical director who wont let anybody stop working, and sometimes I’m the wayward actor who won’t get out of bed.”

“All of my work essentially boils down to two things: desire and disappointment. And I like to find humour in the path from one to the other. There’s a certain level of irony in all of my images. An important lesson I’ve learnt along the way is that humour is a powerful tool for women.

"The honeymoon hotel is a space charged with anticipation, and desire. I like to put my character through the rituals that would otherwise play out in these spaces with two people – the preparation, and then watch as disappointment unfolds. Solitude and loneliness are big themes. I’ll only ever appear alone."

“We’ve always been inclined to ‘dress up’ haven’t we? Since being little. I still like to do that, lots of us do. As RuPaul said, ‘you’re born naked, and the rest is drag’. I’ve always said that I use my work to explore the private underlife of a woman consumed by the laboured construct of femininity. And I do this because it’s a theme that I can relate to very well. It’s half autobiography and half nonsensical fantasy. Because of the kind of work I make, I always get male critics asking, ‘but can you really call yourself a feminist when you pose like that?’ Of course the answer is yes. It’s like there are certain conditions that you need to check off in order to prove you are one of the ‘good feminists’. I hate it when the privileged tell the oppressed how to protest."

“My generation came of age at the same time as digital photography, the internet and the selfie. It was an awkward time to be alive. There are a lot of female photographers publishing self-portraits alongside their photographs of female friends and models, which I think is wonderful. I just feel separated from that world because I exclusively photograph myself. It can feel very limiting at times, but morally, I feel very comfortable. I’m too neurotic to take on the responsibility of photographing someone else. The only person I’m exploiting is myself.”

"I’m too nervous to watch horror films and I’ve never gone deep into sci-fi, but I love the aesthetic of both so I skip and pause and try to absorb what I can. It’s funny these days that you can be a film expert without having watched anything. All you need is YouTube and Google Image search. The other day this guy said to me 'I like your work. It really reminds me of David Lynch'. I thanked him and told him that I’d only ever seen Blue Velvet. When I asked what he would recommend he told me, 'I don’t know, I’ve never actually seen anything he's done.'

"My favourite films are psychological horrors with a clean aesthetic like The Skin I Live In, Space Odysseyand Beyond The Black Rainbow. I reckon The Fifth Element also had a huge influence on me when I was younger. I thought a lot about that white bandage outfit Milla Jovovich wore when I was choosing costumes for these new images."

“If I’m in need of inspiration for new images, I’ll go on eBay. My key search words are ‘sexy’ and ‘pink’ and ‘mask’. I’ll start in the hair and beauty section and then move onto electronics, followed by a long browse in the wedding department. There are so many more trips I want to take. My location wish list is so long now that I’ve been considering setting up a fake online holiday agency called Joyce’s Choices.

"All of my best photographs are born from my worst ideas. If I try to be too serious the work becomes dull. When I’m setting up a photograph I’m usually thinking, ‘this is so bad’, but in the words of John Waters: 'Have faith in your own bad taste.' Show your dedication to the cause, whatever that may be. Yes, I find my own work tacky to look at, at times but I like that. I listen to Céline Dion, I watch reality TV, I have notifications on my phone reminding me to watch make-up videos on YouTube and all of that feeds into what I’m doing. There are no guilty pleasures.

AMERICAN SUBURBX

Five Uneasy Pieces: An Interview with Juno Calypso, March 18 2016

“I would consider it a personal investigation of the self, but my self is a feminine-feminist. So it also becomes political, but I wouldn’t say I’m pandering – certainly not self consciously and even more certainly not unknowingly.”

BF: Within the theatricality of your images, you seem to be hinting at a considered perception of the feminine conditioned to that of a ponderance of abjection…a horror within…or a horror from a separate vantage point. I struggle to have a discourse on the politics of contemporary feminism due largely to its current faddism and constructs of bandwagon sloganeering, not because I take issue with the importance of its measure. Would you consider your work a personal investigation of self or are you pandering to the potential of contemporary feminism? Is the self exposed personalized or politicized?

JC: I would consider it a personal investigation of the self, but my self is a feminine-feminist. So it also becomes political, but I wouldn’t say I’m pandering – certainly not self consciously and even more certainly not unknowingly. Feminism was never a topic I chose to exploit. My mum raised me with a brutal education on women’s issues, but social media didn’t really exist then. There was no so called bandwagon for me to jump on. It took me years to convince some of my close friends that women’s issues were relevant. So even with the slogans and fads, I’m glad that young women are talking about it. I don’t feel I am exposing my physical self by appearing in my photographs. It doesn’t feel like me anymore. I cringe every time click-bait articles claim my work is “blowing away perceptions of beauty”. What does that even mean? I use my body, but it’s the emotional self I’m focused on. I like making work where you can see the subject frozen in thought, you can hear them slowly dying inside.

Horror is something I’ve always loved. That was a topic I exploited thinking it would make me cool. The art I made when I was a teenager was so kitsch – everything had to be about sex or blood. I tried reading Powers of Horror to justify what I was doing but I couldn’t understand it. It was only when I got to university that my teachers all told me that what I was doing was obvious, and I realised they were right. So I re-read Powers of Horror and shifted my focus from the external horror, to the horror within. I discovered the powers of subtlety.

“The critique of repressive practices on the female body has not to my mind been exhausted by contemporary culture.”

BF: Why is “Joyce” a stand-in? Tell me a bit about the performance measure of your work…why do you employ yourself and not others for the project? Is it the ritual of work or the interest of diaristic importance in a fictionalized setting that gives you a control measure to center yourself within?

JC: I described her as a stand-in when that was the literal function. There was no mention of ‘Joyce’ then, it was just me trying out ideas for photographs that I wanted to do eventually try with other people. I didn’t think I was interestingenough to be the subject of my photographs. Now I work exclusively in this way because it suits me so well. I never felt comfortable taking pictures of other people. I’d get distracted and the images wouldn’t turn out the way I’d planned because I was too busy keeping them entertained. Iwasn’t confident in telling other people exactly what to do. When I’m alone I can beat myself up for hours until the work is done. Most of the time I don’t know what I want to do, I have to test things out until I get there. Being alone allows me to take my time. I was always so jealous of musicians and writers being self-sufficient in their practice. I wanted to have that life. I didn’t choose to use myself because I felt it was important to document my life. That’s a bonus. I chose to work alone because I like my own company and I’m always there. I don’t have to rely on anyone else to get work done.

BF: “The First Night”…the color blue…explain your choice of color if its worth mentioning. I can see cinematic and art historical contextualization within from Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” to transgressive Asian horror cinema, notable abstract anonymity of the hair and veil draping the female figure in an interior and familiar home environment. Do you draw inspiration for your tableau from cinema or art historical iconography?

JC: From both. Growing up I was taken to an Italian catholic church in London every Sunday but I couldn’t speak Italian, so iconography has been laser cut into my head. When I was a teenager I was obsessed with Battle Royale and the Korean psychological horror, ‘A Tale of Two Sisters’. This was around the same time I discovered Caravaggio and Goya. I googled ‘Picasso’s blue period’ a lot recently when I didn’t know what to do next with my work. Before I went to the Honeymoon Hotel I thought I’d had my time with pink so moved onto blue. Going to the Honeymoon Suite made me realise I will never be done with the colour pink. So now I alternate between the two. When I’m working on location I’ll allocate half my time to creating preconceived images, and the rest taking pictures of whatever. ‘The First Night’ was one of those whatever images. I had a bridal veil and an LED light, and that was the result. I placed the light behind me and saturated the blue in post-production. It was actually taken on a sunny day with the curtains closed.

BF: “wrinkle mask, baby oil, a tin of cold meat have become joyless and repressive”-Juno Calypso. Was it ever any different? When did the construct of consumerist intervention on the female body become a catalyst for your work? Was there a specific moment when these products equated to your own personal oppression?

JC: Yeah a tin of meat really pissed me off once and I had to do something about it. Nah, to be honest – that was actually one of the first things someone wrote about my work and I liked it so I took it. It’s true though, they’re all things that at one point in time were marketed as being nutritious or life-changing. When in reality they don’t work. I’m interested in moments of disappointment.

The critique of repressive practices on the female body has not to my mind been exhausted by contemporary culture. I became very interested in the consumerist intervention on the female body when I read ‘The Beauty Myth’ by Naomi Wolf. Hardly any of the products that appear in my images are souvenirs from my real life. I’ve tried making images more in touch with my own reality, but I prefer fantasy. An electronic wrinkle mask is more interesting to look at than a strip of wax.

“I feel like this question is saying ‘can you still be a feminist when your camera is aiming at your ass?” If so, my answer is yes.”

BF: “A Dream in Green”- The engendered use of color in opposition to blue-pink. The angle of the shot…the mirrors…if I were to speculate about the idealized nude…Botticelli’s Venus (you can’t help but notice the correlation)…do the matters of feminist diatribes become difficult under the totality of self-representation in an image like a dream in green? If so, how would you combat the display of desire aimed at the viewer from the camera’s position from that of the desire of self within an autodidactic methodology of display? Do you feel the image is eroticized and if so…to whose advantage or disadvantage?

JC: I feel like this question is saying ‘can you still be a feminist when your camera is aiming at your ass?” If so, my answer is yes. Does it become difficult? Surprisingly it hasn’t. I know you don’t like slogan feminists but I can’t tell you how relieved I am that someone has given ‘slut-shaming’ a name. When I was at secondary school, if I’d even draw parts of my body for an art project I’d be scolded for being ‘too revealing’. And that was in 2005. It’s such a useless way to treat women.

A Dream In Green is definitely eroticised. Too whose advantage or disadvantage? I don’t know yet. I don’t think I am creating a disadvantage for myself, or to the women’s movement by making this work. The green skin has helped communicate the context I’m working in. Not that it should be any different, but with that in place people understand my images as a type of science-fiction, and I like that. I like the way science fiction has it’s political undertones but ultimately it is a fantasy. I also get a lot of messages from Star Trek fans now.

BF: Your work points towards moving image. Is this a medium you could see yourself working in.

JC: Definitely. I always use a video camera when shooting to help me test poses and so I’ve managed to create a few video pieces out of that footage. The style is very rough at the moment. I’ve worked on film sets and what I’m doing is the most DIY bootleg version of a serious film production. Filmmaking requires team work and doesn’t leave much room for mistakes, but making mistakes when I’m alone is the foundation of my practice, so I think I’ll stick with it a bit longer.

DAZED & CONFUSED

“Calypso has created a bizarre world for her alter-ego Joyce: a woman of indefinable age seemingly teetering on the brink of either a nervous breakdown, or death by indifference”

'Using pastel-hued rooms filled with tacky decorations and edible props, London-born photographer Juno Calypso has created a bizarre world for her alter-ego Joyce: a woman of indefinable age seemingly teetering on the brink of either a nervous breakdown, or death by indifference. Surrounded by cream cakes, fluffy fabrics and unearthed 80s beauty products, Joyce stares emptily back from behind her office desk, her deadpan mien and glazed-over eyes reflecting a deeper exhaustion with unrealistic ideals of femininity and beauty. Juno brilliantly balances comedy and melancholy, capturing herself as Joyce using both analogue photography and digital video, always with a glossy finish that works as an ironic contrast to her character's expressionless face and ultimately mundane environments. Since graduating from the London College of Communication in 2012, the 23-year old has exhibited her work at the Simon Oldfield Gallery in London, and is now one of 12 final nominees for this year’s Catlin Prize. Ahead of the exhibition opening at the Londonnewcastle Projectspace on May 2, Juno previewed three new images and talked to us about tragic comedy, guilty pleasures and how close Joyce really is to that breakdown.'

HOTSHOE

'With the plethora of artists who have used perforative methods to explore notions of femininity, it would be comparatively easy to reel off a list of references that could be seen to permeate the work of this year's winner of the LCC Hotshoe Portfolio Award. However, rather than being preoccupied with representations of femininity in its finalized form, Juno Calypso's work holds its focus upon its laboured production, through her imagined character - Joyce.

“The rigmarole of beautification is carried out to the point of ritualised absurdity”

In a series of elaborately staged video pieces and large format, pastel-coloured photographs, Calypso explores the manufacture of femininity and seduction. The rigmarole of beautification is carried out to the point of ritualised absurdity, through which her perforative alter ego is reduced to, or perhaps heightened from a young woman to a vacant, sneering Spitting Image character.

The scale of production in itself echoes the ethos of the project; each of the videos allows us a glimpse at a different stage in the creation of Joyce. Within the first of the two films, Empty Pleasures, we see Joyce rocking disinterestedly back and forth on an exercise ball, and emptying a can of hydrating water spray on her face, as if trapped in a never ending, Energizer Bunny-like cycle. She appears expressionless, vapid, as she transcends her body towards her fantasised "better self".

The Second film takes the beautiful strangeness of the project a step further with an infomercial for a plastic anti-wrinkle mask, in which we are shown how to properly administer The Linda Evans Rejuvenique Facial Toning System by (silk clad) women who appear to be enraptured by the product, in what Calypso refers to as "the pre-orgasmic, masturbatory performance of women on television as they interact with cosmetic beauty products". Les Baxter's mamba sound track , grainy VHS visual production and a disconcerting moment in which in eye seems trapped inside the mask, (the human presence being eclipsed by the process of beautification) lend an ominous air, more appropriate to an exploitation film than, perhaps, a beauty informercial.

Each of the films builds to the final jigsaw piece of the project: a series of large format, and highly composed photographs, placing Joyce in cliche encounters with the male gaze. In Popcorn Venus, Joyce emerges Venus-like from a cake wearing a shell bikini, nestled amongst other party favours, aping a 1950s bachelor party, her expression, once again, vacant and tired. In the final stages of the series, A Modern Hallucination, Joyce lies, fists clenches, exasperated on a bed "acting" as Calypso puts it "as a mirror to the exhaustion felt whilst bearing the dead weight of constructed femininity".

Joyce is not purely a reaction to the male gaze, but also a darkly satirical indictment of the self-flagellating narcissism of the "bedroom-culture of image-making" created by young women, such as Calypso, with the rise of social media, altering the meaning of modern femininity for generations of young people. Juno Calypso is an artist from whom we can expect great things to come.' - Gregory Barker

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