#not because she was distracted by her notes that she walked into the somewhat desolate and abandoned place

[itsmyara]

Playing Cards (SFW Fanfic)

Pairing: Chrollo/Machi (yep!)

Word Count: 1.7 k

Warning: Hisoka acting psycho.

Note: I've recently talked about Kuromachi with @takkarulz and it reminded me of this VERY old fic. It was supposed to be the first chapter of a story about Hisoka's first mission with the Troupe but I don't think I'm gonna continue it. Oh, and it was originally written in Portuguese, so maybe something got lost in translation. I hope not but sorry if it did!

The prey was aware of the bloodlust that emanated from his pores. Hisoka was bored when he felt that random aura and left in pursuit. Granted, it wasn’t a strong aura, but the relative abstinence made him lower his criteria. Any less-than-a-minute fight would offer some relief. The prey was already running ahead, looking back at him now and then in despair. He was sweating, breathing heavily, tripping over his own feet. It was a shame. Even so, the predator felt that in that aura there was an impulse to try to fight back, a courage that could spring from adrenaline and give him some precious extra time to live.

He focused entirely on instilling fear in him, as a favor to awaken that trace of hidden strength, and as a favor for his own sadism.

Fear and death roamed the desolate streets at night, accompanied only by concrete walls, garbage cans overturned by mangy dogs, and abandoned souls, drunken and empty, who wouldn’t dare to approach the source of that terrifying bloodlust.

Hisoka's expression was already inhuman.

The victim turned a corner, looked around, started to run faster. Perhaps he was close to home and struggled to reach it, with that false feeling that at home he would be safe. Poor fool. The predator licked his lips, he wouldn’t allow the prey to gain distance from him. In fact, he didn’t intend to let him free for too long.

Thirsty for action, Hisoka dashed and jumped to reach him faster but when he was in mid-air, something stopped his body, suspending it far from the ground, and a third presence was revealed. A woman fell gracefully in front of him and as soon as her feet touched the ground, her hands pulled a thread, making him realize that the trap had tightened around his body.

The pink-haired woman boldly stepped between him and his victim, and when she looked up and glared at him, her blue eyes were unfazed by his bloodlust. The victim stopped for a moment to try to understand what had happened, but he wasn't stupid enough to stay.

Soon it was only he and her.

Hisoka smiled and sought a comfortable position within her trap. It was worth exchanging the weak prey for that woman who either mastered zetsu very well or knew how to take advantage of his distraction to catch him. Either way, she was incomparably stronger.

“Well, well... and who are you?” His voice sounded mischievous as his eyes sparkled, studying her carefully.

She kept him in her threads without difficulty, as they crossed the deserted street trapped to the side of two buildings, forming a web that closed around him in the center. A spider web. She was skilled and agile to prepare that engineering in such a short time. Besides this, she also had that delightful demeanor. So under control. So cold. So full of an unshakable self-confidence. It wasn’t someone to be thrown away. Maybe he would keep her to play with, little by little, instead of killing her at once.

“I have a message from the boss,” when she said those words, Hisoka understood and closed his eyes. He definitely would have to save her for later. “Midnight at the sanctuary of St. Levi. If you’re too busy hunting mice, you will suffer the consequences.”

A crooked smile grew on the magician's face. Suffering the consequences was what he wanted the most, but not in the way they used to apply them.

“Will the boss be there?” He asked, but his question was ignored.

“I think you can get out of there alone.”

It was the last thing she said before disappearing into the night.

There was a possibility that Chrollo would attend the meeting, but there was also the possibility that it would end up being just another spiders’ meeting that would kill him with boredom at once. He had recently joined the Phantom Troupe for a single purpose, and so far he had successfully avoided childish robberies and meaningless missions, no matter who showed up to try to intimidate him.

An Ace of Hearts took shape between his fingers and he used it to slash the tangled threads that held him. To his surprise, not all of them broke on the first blow, demanding one or two more hits for him to break free completely.

He thought that maybe this time it would be worth it to show up at the meeting if she were there.

***

Their current hideout was a mansion away from the city and with a reputation for being haunted. The abandonment of the building made it cold and fragile, but there was a certain beauty in all those aged memories left by the corners, and in the way nature was taking over the place little by little. In a few years, the creeping plants will probably take it over completely.

Machi entered through the backdoor absolutely quietly, just in case. Soon she realized that there was someone in the basement and she walked down the stairs, equally silent, to find Chrollo sitting on an old wooden chest. By candlelight, he analyzed something on a table in front of him.

“Fascinating... whoever lived here, was someone impressive. It is not by chance that this house has a reputation for being haunted,” he whispered when she approached but kept his gray eyes fixed on the objects spread on the table.

In that room, Machi noticed opaque crystals, rusty metal objects that were supposed to serve very specific uses, animal skulls with horns, and some books so old and yellow that she thought they would turn to dust if she looked at them for too long. She stood next to the boss and realized that what captured his attention were cards, similar to a playing deck, but more numerous and richly illustrated even though -- like everything in that basement -- they were in dull colors.

“Did these objects serve any ritualistic purpose? They must be flooded with nen,” the energy of the place was somewhat obscure, and she thought that maybe this is why he felt comfortable there.

“I haven’t found any trace of nen in this basement,” he said, causing a brief expression of surprise in her. Fascinating, really.

Chrollo finally looked at her, his expression calm and pleasant. His eyes were more mysterious and dark than the energy of the place. By far more fascinating. Eyes that caused her the same feeling, again and again, after so many years.

Perhaps because she was so close that he could feel that commotion inside of her, or perhaps because he was feeling comfortable in that environment, he placed one hand on her waist, while the other held some cards.

“Sit here with me, as we used to do when I read to you,” he said, invoking the past and leading her gently so that she sat on his right thigh.

The memory stirred the feelings inside her even more. She was so young when she found him, a beautiful, intelligent and kind boy, as young as she was, who talked to her, played with her, and cared for her. Chrollo was always different from everyone else. He had ended up awakening in her still innocent heart that dream that he was a prince charming and that they would marry someday, even marriage being such an abstract concept in Meteor City. It turned out that the commitment she had made to him was far greater than that of a marriage.

Enjoying the moment, she rested her arm around his shoulders and studied the cards ahead more closely now.

“Are these tarot cards?” She asked, vaguely recognizing a couple of drawings.

“Yes, it’s the most valuable thing I’ve found here. The style is so unique, each card is a work of art by itself.”

Her eyes met an Arcana and she leaned over to pick it up, almost instinctively. The Fool, with his extravagant clothes and gestures, looking at the horizon from the edge of the abyss, projecting himself to it with nothing to hold him back -- from the infinite fall or from the flight to the horizon. Her intuition led her to believe it would be the first option.

“How was it with him?” Chrollo asked, noticing the card she was looking at so attentively.

“He's strong, I ended up having to set a trap with more aura than I've expected,” she replied almost automatically, only managing to return the card at the end of the sentence.

“He wouldn't have listened to you any other way.”

"No," she confirmed, and then they looked at each other. “The decision is yours, danchou, but I wouldn’t trust him.”

“This is why you didn't bring him here. You’ve decided to wait until tomorrow.”

Chrollo hadn’t told her to take Hisoka to him, he had left the option in the hands of her interpretation. Since the magician was one of them, he belonged -- in theory -- to that place with them, and it would have been natural for her to invite him. But it wasn’t.

Machi knew that sometimes Chrollo let her interpret his orders because he trusted her judgment. And in addition to not having taken him to the boss, she also left promptly so as not to be followed.

“You have been more receptive to new members before,” he said softly.

And the fact that he pulled her to him gently to place a kiss on her temple softened his speech even more.

“Sorry, he seemed to have a special interest in you,” she spoke in a slightly serious tone. Intuition. Concern.

Something that made him snicker as his free hand touched her hair.

“Don’t worry too much, Machi.”

That was the end of the subject brought up by the card. Soon he would touch her thigh and his hand would roam her body. Soon he would show her how comfortable he felt, to the point of allowing himself to enjoy the tenderness that Machi dedicated to him right from her lips, her skin, and her embrace.

[kabhi-haath-pakad-k-tu-mera]

If The Stars Align In Our Favour

Ch.4 The Consequences

                            "... your conscience up in flames."

_/\_/\_

It has been two days since the incident. The heads of both East and West are furious with the Guerilla attackers from the East who, as per the latest news, have blown up the bridges in the East with the help of weapons supplied from back home. To add fuel to the fire, Pakistan has lost crucial intelegencia information in the actual fire. Sehmat is presented with the menfolk coming home with news. Within a month, they'll be at the border against India in both the East and West. Her expression is purposefully neutral when that piece of information is being discussed, even as Iqbal glances at her.

There is a blanket ban on civilians moving in and out of the cantonment which had been imposed hours after the fire incidence—to make sure that if the culprits are inside the cantonment they cannot get out, and no help given to them from outside. A headcount is being conducted of everyone inside the cantonment. All calls are being monitored for that purpose also, movement should be allowed soon, but until then she only has her thoughts.

With no communication, there is no way for her to know if her allies are secure, or if Mir Sahab has made it out unscathed. There is no way for her to contact South. She is fairly positive, however, that Mir Sahab is fine, wherever he is. He is a seasoned agent; he's been doing this job for years now. If memory serves her right, he had been in a similar situation a few years ago. So she buries her small sprout of worry to the far back of her mind, and focuses instead on things that she thinks are more pressingly worrying. Including whether or not she is with child, and whether the father of, said child, would make it out of the war alive to be able to see them.

They haven't been able to visit the doctor as planned due to the current restrictions, but with every passing second Sehmat is more sure that she is pregnant. She has spent hours tracking and re-tracking the dates and weeks, and several others trying to coax out of her sister-in-law what symptoms of pregnancy are without causing her too much pain. She is very helpful, of course, because that is just what she is like, but Sehmat cannot unsee the melancholia that descends upon Munira every time they talk about a child.

Iqbal has barely spent more than three hours at a stretch at home since the past two days, and those are spent in eating and catching up on sleep, so she really hasn't had a chance to talk to him either. However, she is not completely sure what she would say to him if she did get the chance—she isn't even sure yet. But the restrictions on movement are ending tomorrow, and Munira has already booked an appointment with her doctor, so she supposes she'll find out soon enough.

_/\_/\_

She is lying awake in bed in the middle of the night when he comes in from work, and in spite of the darkness she can see that Iqbal is tired. His shoulders are sagged and he deposits his possessions on the futon with such an intensity that Sehmat can feel his frustration. She knows the reason for this, of course, the upcoming war—for which they will depart in less than a fortnight—but she has to admit that seeing him so desolate is very disconcerting.

"Would you like dinner?" she asks quietly after a moment.

He looks in her general direction in the dark in what she assumes is surprise and says, with the slightest hint of a smile in his tired voice, "I thought you were asleep."

Sehmat smiles back, not that he can see it. "I never am, am I?"

Iqbal does eventually agree to eat, and once she has gotten out of bed and turned on the lights, she comes to know that it is past one. She remains downstairs to provide him company even as he tells her to go back to sleep, knowing that she is not going to get any, whether in bed or not. She thinks instead of the child—if one exists.

If it does, it will change everything drastically. What would she do then? She'd have to be a lot more careful ... If she is completely honest, she is sacred. Scared of this new development, if it really is … Because what of her job? If, ever in the future, she is discovered, what will become of her child?

She looks towards Iqbal, whose features are tired and distracted. Right now is probably not the best time to have a child, in such an uncertain environment. She then mentally scoffs at herself—as if there will ever be a good time for them to have a child. She chides herself immediately after—whatever their nationality, they are still a wed couple.

To have a child should have been a 'thought out decision', Sehmat thinks. But what has been done cannot be undone. And under no circumstance would she consider aborting. There still remains the question, however, of how Iqbal might react to the news—'If there is news,' part of her brain tells her, and she shushes it. The prospect of his reacting with anything except joy is very real, and her heart constricts at the thought.

Even after returning to bed Sehmat doesn't immediately fall asleep, whether due to nervousness for the next day, or some other reason she is not sure. But she lies in bed for that time thinking about what would happen if she were with child. Ma would be happy, she thinks, if only she could tell her. No letters are being sent home right now, and no calls are being directed there. Nothing will change in that regard, at least until the war ends.

_/\_/\_

Sehmat is nervous when she wakes up the next day, though she tries not to show it, and there is a strange sort of excitement in her stomach as she opens her eyes. Iqbal is asleep beside her, which is a surprise after days of consistent absence during these hours. She slips off the bed silently, careful not to disturb him, and sets about beginning her day.

She descends into the kitchen, which is occupied by Salma and Munira, the latter of whom smiles upon noticing her presence.

"Nervous?" she whispers to her while stirring a pan in an effort to efficiently fry whole spices, the smell of which is making Sehmat nauseous. Sehmat nods with a grimace and turns to get herself some water, following which she situates herself at the far end of the kitchen.

"We'll leave after breakfast," Munira says over her shoulder as Salma rushes out with the breakfast dishes when she notes Abba's arrival. "Abba and Miyaan are both very worked up today," she adds, watching the helper leave.

"Why?" Sehmat asks, both out of curiosity and self-preservation.

Munira scoffs and turns off the stove, much to Sehmat's relief. "Why do you think? Whoever is responsible for the fire has not yet been caught, and is obviously not in the cantonment. The attack has lowered the soldiers' morale, and they need to leave to prepare for war—within two weeks."

She begins to gather the toast and Sehmat grabs the jug of juice, following her out to the dining table from where Abba has already risen and Mehboob bhaijaan is just sitting down to eat.

"Are you leaving already?" Sehmat asks Abba, noting that the clock shows only seven, and Abba normally leaves at nine.

"There's a lot going on in the country, child," he replies distractedly.

"Should I wake Miyaan?"

"No—Iqbal had come home very late last night—let him sleep a while longer."

_/\_/\_

Iqbal does not, in fact, sleep any longer and is awake before Sehmat has entered her bedroom. After another hour he has left, and it is just her and Munira. They are also preparing to leave. Sehmat sits on her bed for a while before she leaves the bedroom, feeling her nervousness spread until all parts of her body are functioning only on adrenaline. She rubs her face and sighs. She thought she had made peace with her situation somewhat, but the uncertainty has returned.

She finally makes it downstairs, where Munira bhabhi is waiting, and together they walk towards the foyer. Sehmat is thankful as her sister-in-law gives her a reassuring smile.

There is more security around the cantonment, Sehmat notes, as the car stops at a check post inside the cantonment and then again at a check post outside it. The clinic is situated in a more urban area than the ones she usually travels to—towards the heart of the city. Despite taking a new route to a new destination, Sehmat cannot bring herself to look out of the window or enjoy the sights. She fiddles instead with the zip of her purse and tries not to think about her circumstance or the persistent butterflies in her stomach.

This does not go unnoticed by Munira, who gently holds Sehmat's hand. It's in a calm but serious voice that she says, "It's all going to be fine, Sehmat."

Munira might not know what aspects of having a child Sehmat is worried about, but her words do have a calming effect on her. So much so, that it makes her take in a deep breath and nod gratefully at her companion.

Sehmat takes a moment before she gets out of the car upon finally reaching their destination—a three-storied structure which is entirely a clinic—and before she walks towards it she looks over it apprehensively.

"We'll be about an hour," Munira tells the driver, and squeezes Sehmat's hand lightly.

"This is it," she says, "The moment of truth."

There is excitement in Munira's eyes, but unlike a few minutes ago, this sentence serves only to further deepen Sehmat's doubts. She takes a few deep breaths as if to brace herself, and then the two women walk into the clinic.

_/\_/\_

Sehmat is fidgeting in her seat across from the doctor and beside Munira. The two women make light conversation while they wait for the result to come back. Sehmat has filled out three different forms and a questionnaire. She is then given two different tests in the fifteen minutes that she has already been there. She suspects the fact that she is part of the Syed household to be the reason her test is being conducted immediately. She has heard of women having to wait for two to three days before getting their results, so she supposes she really shouldn't be complaining—and she's not.

She's simply very concerned. About the child, about herself, about her job, and about Iqbal. She is not quite sure if her testing positive would be a good thing. Probably not, as far as her mission is concerned. And it is an unexpected surprise, which she cannot help but feel has dropped at the wrong moment. She does think she would be hugely disappointed if she were to test negative, however, because this child—or, at the very least, the idea of this child—has grown on her. She feels quite protective over it. There also remains the question of what she would tell Iqbal. Should she say anything at all, if she tests negative? And would it be prudent to tell him right now, if she tests positive? And more importantly, what of the vague 'options' that Mir Sahab had been talking of? She is sufficiently positive that he intends to send her back home as soon as possible, perhaps for good. A child would not help.

She gnaws at her lip as she contemplates her questions, and bites it hard enough to draw blood when the assistant steps into the room, a file in hand. She swipes her tongue over her lips, tasting the metallic blood, and watches anxiously as the doctor reads the file, not even daring to breathe. She feels Munira's hand take hold of hers, and vaguely realizes that they are both on the same level of ... excited nervousness.

The doctor finally shuts the file and says with a kind smile as both women draw in their breath, "Congratulations, Mrs. Syed. You are with child."

_/\_/\_

A Masterlist of All Chapters with links will follow if you want to read those thanks :)

Glossary

Ma : Mother

Abba : Father

Bhaijaan : Brother

Miyaan : Here, husband.

Bhabhi : Sister-in-law (brother's wife)

Phool chadar : A sheet of knitted flowers used as offerings for worship.

Rajma : Kidney beans

Kabuli Chane : Chickpeas

Assalam aalekum : 'Peace be upon you', an Arabic greeting

Chachi : Aunt

Walaikum assalam : 'And unto you be peace', an Arabic greeting

Beta : here, Child

Ammi : Mother

Mohtarma : Madam

Choti Begum : 'Choti' means younger, and 'Begum' is the title of a married Muslim woman, equivalent to Mrs. Together in this context they refer to Sehmat being the younger daughter-in-law of the house.

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

Misery Loves Company part 1

                                         Chapter Three:

                     The One Where Violet’s Invention Works

Lemony Snicket could not believe his ears. There was no way that Arthur Poe was taking those children to Olaf’s. That was never the plan. When Beatrice was pregnant with Violet, she and Lemony always agreed that Violet would be sent off to Montgomery Montgomery if anything were to happen to both of them or Bertrand. Olaf was never a part of that plan. Even when everything in VFD was perfect and fine. Olaf never struck either of them as a parental type. He’d be as good of a father as Esme Squalor would be a good mother, which was very unlikely. Both of these characters from Snicket’s past were narcissistic and only truly cared about themselves when it came down to it. So Lemony knew this was a huge mistake. A mistake he had to fix. But how? He was on the lam after all and anyone who knew of his innocence believed him to be dead.

When he finally made it back home, Violet looked at him questioningly. “Why are you covered in ashes?” she asked looking at his suit.

“Oh, just some on the side investigating,” He half-lied. “Have to pay the bills somehow.”

Violet looked at her father in utter confusion. “What are you investigating?”

“Oh, honey. That’s not important. I’m home I really don’t want to talk about work,” He said trying to desperately change the subject. “So how have you been,”

He hadn’t noticed when he walked in, but Violet’s hair was tied up in her classic red ribbon. “I’ve been working on an invention.”

“Of course and what has my brilliant inventive daughter come up with this time?” he asked smiling. He was always happy to hear about Violet’s inventions.

“Well you see,” she said untying her ribbon allowing her brown locks to fall passed her shoulders. “I’ve combined this old toaster with our grandfather clock...I am trying to get the clock to control the toaster but you see…” Violet knelt down next to the invention and Lemony took a seat on the other side of it. “I’m having a problem with the grandfather clock,”

“Can you show me what the specific issues are?” Lemony asked, “Maybe your old man can help.”

“Of course, Mr. Lemons,” Violet said with a small giggle. She, of course, being fourteen had outgrown her nickname she had given her father when she was just a young girl but she knew how much it made her father happy to hear that his little girl was still his little girl. Violet started up her invention and to the untrained eye, it seemed as though it worked flawlessly like all of her other inventions had. “See? It toasts the bread but the minute hand keeps falling behind five minutes.”

Lemony merely nodded. He was someone with an untrained eye because he hadn’t noticed that. “It...could be a problem with the gears?” he replied, trying his best to be of some assistance to her.

“Well, that would be disappointing. I made them myself,” she replied sighing.

Lemony stood up, “Well maybe you should come back to this one. I know you’ll figure it out kiddo, you always do.”

Violet nodded her head but didn’t look back up at him. She had the stubbornness of her damn mother. She tied up her hair again and went to work trying to determine the issue with her invention. Lemony smiled as he walked to his small desk.

At least she was distracted with an invention, that gave him time to figure out where to start in his quest to figure out what happened to Beatrice and what he could do to help her children. There was no way he was going to sit back and allow Count Olaf to take custody of those kids. Especially when he knew that Olaf hated Beatrice and Bertrand, and him for that matter. Those kids were not safe. He looked over his shoulders and made sure Violet wasn’t watching him as he unfolded the newspaper article and began to cut out the picture of the two kids and the picture of the burnt remains of the Baudelaire home. He made sure to cut out any mention of the word ‘Baudelaire’. He couldn’t let Violet know what had happened to her birth mother. Not yet, at least. He had no idea how to go about telling her that all of his research and investigating had failed them both. He was never able to locate Beatrice and she was living in the same city for who knows how long. He also didn’t want her to learn about the fact that she had two half-siblings, whom she couldn’t help. It was his fault, that they couldn’t help in the best, most sensible way possible. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he had to protect her. There were too many secrets in his past that were better left unsaid. He would one day explain everything just not today. Not any time soon. She was still a child, he wanted her to keep her childhood for as long as she could. Heaven knows, he didn’t get that chance. He remembers being thirteen when he had started his apprenticeship and he remembers his siblings being even younger than that. It was somewhat of a blessing, as well as a curse for everyone he knew to think that he was dead because that meant none of them knew about Violet’s existence, which ultimately meant that at least right now, she was safe.

He tacked the two black and white pictures on the wall in front of his desk and began to jot down notes. He needed intel. He thought about who he could call. Who he could trust with the knowledge that he was alive and well. He refused to mention anything about his daughter. There was no one he trusted with that information, not even his siblings. They were still too involved with VFD. They always had been. Lemony feared they always will be. He, too, at one point in his life was very much into VFD and their rhetoric but so many horrible events in his life changed that. Did he still follow them? Yes. Loosely though. He had to. That way he would know the phrases or codes that would help him detect if someone was VFD or not. Like the storekeeper. The storekeeper had commented that they ‘didn’t realize this was a sad occasion’, Lemony knew, just like any VFD member knew, that the correct response to that statement is ‘the world is quiet here’. But Lemony bolted out of there with Violet before the storekeeper could recognize him.

He thought long and hard. Mr. Poe worked at Mulctuary Money Management...Lemony was sure that there was someone there from VFD in charge of making sure things go according to plan. There had to be. This organization wouldn’t leave their precious future recruits solely in the hands of one of the most incompetent bankers that Lemony had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Lemony took the chance and looked up the number to the bank in the phonebook he found in the drawer of the motel room’s nightstand.

“Mulctuary Money Management. Mr. Poe’s office.” a woman answered.

Lemony didn’t recognize the voice but he hadn’t been in the loop with this organization in nearly fourteen years. He sighed and turned again to Violet to make sure she was tinkering with her invention and not eavesdropping on his conversation. “I didn’t realize this was a sad occasion.” He whispered into the phone.

He could hear the woman gasp and he thought he heard her drop a pen on the floor and scurry under her desk but he could be mistaken. “The world is quiet here,” she replied in a whisper. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

Lemony closed his eyes. “Snicket.”

“Jacques?”

“No.”

“Well, Kit...you sure have mastered the art of sounding like a man. I couldn’t tell it was you at all,” the woman replied.

“No...I am not Kit, either,” he replied still glancing over at Violet.

“Well. You can’t be Lemony. He’s dead.”

“Not as dead as Beatrice,” he replied in a low whisper.

“L-lemony? Is it really you. The Daily Punctilio…” the woman began.

“ The Daily Punctilio is lucky I haven’t decided to sue them for defamation and the only reason I haven’t sued them is that I am on the run.”

“Where have you been all this time?”

Lemony looked again to his daughter. “I’ve been in hiding. But that doesn’t matter right now. That’s not why I called. I called regarding the Baudelaire case.”

“Oh.” the woman replied. Lemony could hear in the background that a man, he assumed to be Mr. Poe since Lemony could hear this same person in a fit of coughing yelling at the woman.

“Jacquelyn! Jacquelyn!” he could hear Mr. Poe call out.

“Now isn’t a very good time, Snicket,” Jacquelyn replied. “Why don’t we meet somewhere and we can have a chit chat about that .”

“Fine with me. Although, you will have to meet on my terms. I am on the run and I can’t afford to get caught. I have...I have too much to lose.” Lemony replied.

“Where will we meet?” Jacquelyn replied as she rolled her eyes when Mr. Poe called out her name again.

“Meet me at the building where this all began.” He said simply. “Tonight. 9 o’clock. Come alone.”

“Got it,” Jacquelyn replied hanging up.

Lemony hung up the phone and was startled to see Violet was now right behind him. “Dear God, sweetie. Are you trying to give your old man a heart attack?”

Violet smiled, “Maybe…”

“Did you get the grandfather clock to work?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s next on the agenda of Miss Violet Snicket?”

Violet shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I was hoping to work on my invention that would help me retrieve a rock that I’ve skipped into the ocean but to do that...we’d have to go to Briny Beach.”

Lemony thought about it. He hated going out in public, especially to places that would be more likely to be crowded. He glanced out the window. It was a dark, cloudy day. Briny Beach was usually desolate on days like this. He looked at Violet who was wearing her famous puppy dog face.

“Please Mr. Lemons,” she asked keeping her puppy dog face in full view. Lemony sighed.

“I can be ready in ten minutes…” He said.

The trip to Briny Beach was a quick one. Lemony was lucky enough to have a taxi cab as a car from his days in VFD. He used this on rare occasions and after the stint in the store, he didn’t want to risk being recognized anywhere else. He also was simply not in the mood for interactions of any sort.

Violet glanced out the car window. “It’s so weird that we have a taxi,”

“I told you, Violet. Your uncle gave it to me a long time ago.”

“I know. I know. After he helped you escape the authorities. So when will I be old enough to know what really happened that day?”

“Hmmm...how old are you now?” Lemony joked as if he didn’t already know the answer to that.

“Fourteen.”

“Maybe when you’re fifteen.” He watched her smile fade. He knew she hated secrets, she hated not knowing things especially things about her parents. “Why do you want to know such a dreadful story anyway? It’s not like it ends happily…”

“Well, if you think about it, it hasn’t ended yet. It can still end happily.”

“Spoken like a true optimist.”

“I’m not an optimist, I’m a realist. Besides, you’re the one who told me that stories don’t truly have a beginning or end. They all interject into each other, new stories begin in other stories and life is just a bunch of stories sewn into one.” Violet stated matter of factly, “and all endings are not real endings just new beginnings to different stories.”

“Trust me. This story doesn’t end happily, Vi.”

“I want to believe it still can. We can find her one day. We can be a happy family.”

Lemony frowned at this. He knew he had to tell her, it just didn’t seem right. She was happy, she was excited about her newest invention and he knew this news would kill her. He just gave her a small smile. “Well, I will say...the story did get happier after a while.”

“Why?” she asked glancing out at the window again.

“I may have lost her...and everything else but I gained the whole world.” He said simply looking at her and not paying attention to the road. Violet smiled at him. “I gained my daughter and sure, it wasn’t due to circumstances that either of us liked but in a way, I do have everything I ever wanted.”

“Except for her,” Violet stated.

“But I have you.” He reiterated. “You know, you remind me so much of her every day, Vi.”

Violet looked down at her locket and opened it up to look at the picture of her birth mother that Lemony had put in the locket for her. The picture was one of Beatrice from one of her stints at the opera house. She wore a gorgeous dragonfly costume and she was smiling holding a bouquet of violets in her hand.

“She named you after her favorite flower and color, you know.”

Violet nodded but kept looking at the picture. “How’s your investigation going? Have you found any new leads?” she asked hopefully not looking up from her locket.

Lemony sighed, keeping his eyes on the road, “Nothing yet. But I am sure some news will come up.”

“I hope so, I wish nothing more to meet her.”

“I know. I wish you could meet her, too.”

“Do you know what I would tell her if I ever have the pleasure of meeting her?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever told me…” Lemony began.

“I would tell her that I understand...I understand why she had to give me away. I would tell her that I don’t hate her, even if she continued living her life and got married to another man and had other children; I would tell her that I understand...the timing was off.”

Lemony was taken back by what his daughter just said. He had always believed most kids with the upbringing that his daughter had would show some resentment towards the absent parent. It’s not like he wanted her to hate Beatrice, he much rather she is understanding and respectful...it was just quite odd to him. He glanced at his daughter as he began to park the taxi alongside the beach’s entrance. Maybe he didn’t completely fail Violet. Maybe he was doing a good job being a father to her. For her to be this mature at such a young age, he wondered. “That’s...very mature of you, Violet.”

Violet smiled. “Honestly, it would do me no good to hate her. How would we ever have any kind of relationship if I don’t at least meet her halfway.”

As Violet got out of the car and raced down the desolate beach, Lemony trudged slowly behind her. He wanted to cry. He wanted to just break down right then and there in the hot sands of this beach. Violet was so optimistic about meeting her birth mother and unknowing to her, she would never get that opportunity now. It made him feel only a bit better that Violet doesn’t hate Beatrice. But what if she knew the truth? What if she knew about VFD and what he and Beatrice did to fuck up their lives so much? Would her opinion on Beatrice change? Would her opinion on him change? He couldn’t afford that. When it came down to it, Violet was his only family. Unfortunately, for Violet, that sentiment worked both ways. He was her only family...that she knew of. He quickly thought about Beatrice’s other children. He hoped Count Olaf wasn’t harming them in any way. Tonight, he would talk to Jacquelyn and figure this all out. Maybe he would be able to get everything on track...maybe...just maybe.

When he finally reached Violet she was already setting up her picnic basket in the sand and looking around for a rock. He watched as she began to tie up her hair to keep it out of her eyes. “Need any help, hun?”

“No...not yet. Do you know the angle of the prevailing currents?” she asked not looking up at him as she was too busy looking for the right projectile. Lemony merely shrugged. “It’s fine...it’s more important if I can find the right projectile.”

She reached down and grabbed a regular looking grey rock. “Do you think this would work?”

“Hmmm...maybe we should find a rock that’s not sandstone?” Lemony replied.

“Ah-Ha!” Violet cried out as she picked up a smooth disc-shaped rock. She studied it with a puzzled look on her face. “Are these teeth marks?”

Lemony rushed to her and examined the rock himself, he had never seen a rock so smooth and disc-shaped before in his life. He could see what Violet was talking about. The rock did look like it had teeth marks on it but Lemony couldn’t think of what kind of animal or marine life could have made such teeth marks.

“They look human-like,” Violet said still studying the rock, forgetting about her invention.

“Violet...there’s no way a human-made those marks. What kind of human would bite a rock?” Lemony replied laughing.

“I don’t know. A baby with piranha teeth? Maybe?”

“Now, Violet. Doesn’t that seem silly to you? A baby... a human baby with piranha teeth? Honestly, with an imagination like this, you should dabble in writing.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “When I was a baby, I had sharp teeth.”

“Not sharp enough to bite a rock,” Lemony replied laughing.

“I’m still going to say it was a baby with piranha teeth.” She said laughing. “Whoever or whatever it was...I wish I could thank. This is the best projectile for this invention.”

Violet pulled out a small piece of white chalk from her pocket marking the rock with an X. She placed it into her left hand.

“Violet? Why are you using your left hand?”

“I’m curious to see if I can skip the rock further with my left hand than my right.”

“Now, you know I don’t mean to criticize but standard scientific method calls for stable systematics. You should use your right hand.”

Violet laughed but smiled at her father. He was right. She hated when he was right but he had to give him credit. He was paying attention to her attentively as he always had. The attention made her feel special. She knew she was his entire world and he was her entire world but it made her feel special to have a father who not only believed everything she created was the work of a mechanical genius but she had a father who paid very close attention to her and her inventions so much that he even noticed her trying to change which hand she would use to skip the rock. She placed the rock into her right hand, “That does seem sensible,” she replied as she skipped the rock using her right hand. The rock went far into the ocean, skipping about eight times.

“Dad, what was that thing Einstein said?” she asked smiling.

“The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.”

“Now, what’s that thing James Brown said?”

He chuckled, “I got something that makes me want to shout. I’ve got something that tells me what it’s all about.”

Violet smiled turning a small knob on her invention and Lemony couldn’t believe his eyes, a mechanical arm rushed out of the picnic basket and extended itself to the far depths of the sea. After a moment, it stopped and the mechanical hand went into the ocean and in mere moments, the hand reappeared above the water holding the same rock that Violet had marked with an X. The mechanical arm reeled itself in after dropping the rock into Violet’s hand. Lemony was purely amazed. Sure he had seen many of Violet’s wonderful inventions throughout the years but she still could surprise and wow him with every new one she showed him.

Violet stood up, her face lit up with a smile. Her father hugged her as they both exclaimed, “I’m super bad!” Violet started laughing.

“It worked!” Violet squealed happily.

“I never expected otherwise, dear,” Lemony replied still hugging his daughter.

Yes. Violet’s invention worked. This would be a perfect time to leave. You can pretend that the rest of the story of Violet Snicket was as happy and wholesome as this day on the beach was. You can pretend that Lemony does get every opportunity to tell her all about his past when she turns fifteen or you can continue reading on and with each turn of the page, with every new chapter, you can weep and wish that you had taken my advice. For you don’t want to know what happens on Violet’s fifteenth birthday. You don’t want to know how she spends the rest of this story as bitter as her father drank his tea. You don’t want to know all the dark secrets that she uncovers and the questions that she never gets answered. You can leave right now. No one will blame you. I wish I would’ve seen this coming and maybe I wouldn’t be as haunted as I am these days. Although this chapter ended happily for Violet Snicket, I reiterate my promise that very few happy things happen in the lives of these three children. Indeed, Violet Snicket doesn’t start to suffer the hardships of her siblings until later on in this tale but that does not mean that her story is filled with happiness. Her story is full of secrets, betrayals, and dark discoveries that I promise you will change her life for the worst. So look away before it is too late.

[writinghq]

Hiya I really enjoy this accounts writing and I was wondering if I could ask for some headcannons with Oikawa, Kuroo and Ushijima and how they'd be with a shy/nervous S/O and how they'd help them with their social anxieties and trying to help with their confidence? Thank you!

hey! thanks for requesting. darian was really feeling this headcanon since she’s been surrounded by so many strangers for the past week. oh how she wished one of these captains were there to help her out. anyway, we hope you enjoy! also headcanons are slowly just becoming mini scenarios im laughing.

OIKAWA TŌRU

On most days, Oikawa would be flocked or stalked by people because of his fame as the Great King of the court, and as well as the fact that his looks were to fawn over

So, to have someone like that take interest in someone who gets pretty anxious with large crowds was somewhat a shocker

But Oikawa liked being with ___ because of their calm and alluring nature, and the lack of people that seemed to follow him whenever he was together with them

How he managed to escape them was thanks to ___’s hiding places in school they had found to avoid the cluster and it became their own place of escape

Oikawa may seem like a social butterfly, but even he needs his alone time

However, one particular day of relaxing with ___, his fangirls had followed him to that secret area and bombarded him, leaving ___ to gape in surprise, uneasiness rising within themselves

It was a common thing for ___ to be in the sidelines of a crowd and the disquiet that came along with it, but these girls were surrounding Oikawa and making shy and flirtatious comments while the man himself was smiling politely at each of them

___ shifts uncomfortably, the growing anxiety and insecurity only worsening each quickening beat of her heart

When ___ cant take it anymore, they take little strides away from the bunch and closer to the exit

Oikawa catches their movements in the corner of his eye and quickly, but gently, shoves past the girls with a mutter of halfhearted apologies

He catches up to them and tugs on their wrist gingerly making ___ turn around to face him

“Are you alright?” Oikawa would ask

Oikawa catches the fleeting glance of their eye towards the group of girls behind him who stared back at them in return with a hint of malice

___ then fixes their attention back to him and wears a strained smile

“Yeah, just the thought of finding another hiding place is weighing me down I guess,” would be ___’s reply

___ flicks their eyes once more to the girls but this time Oikawa takes notice of the slight panic in them

Oikawa travels his hand from their wrist to take their hand before giving it a small squeeze

“I’ll help you look for one!” He responds with a growing grin, which earns him a puzzled look from ___

Oikawa walks away dragging ___ along with him, leaving the group of grumbling girls behind

“___-chan, if you ever feel uncomfortable, please let me know.” Oikawa would say in a soft gentle tone as his thumb caresses small circles on the back of their hand. “You don’t have to say anything just squeeze my arm or try to catch my eye instead of silently slipping away.”

___ looks down to the floor. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to disturb you or anything…”

Oikawa stops them in their tracks before releasing their hand to cup the bottom of their face.

“You don’t have to apologise for that,” he murmurs, pouting. “You’re way more important to me than them. I don’t want you to feel uneasy in the slightest way.”

___ gives him a silent nod and a small smile blooms on Oikawa’s lips as he presses them against ___’s temple

“Now, let’s go find our new hiding place!”

KUROO TETSURŌ

Kuroo is quite familiar with the signs of social anxiety since he’s been friends with Kenma all these years

So, when he saw the tremble of ___’s hands as they fidgeted with their clothing, he knew something was up

It was the end of the summer training camp and the invited schools were celebrating the end of it by having—you guessed it—a barbecue party

Kuroo had invited ___ just for that gathering, wishing that he could finally introduce them to Nekoma’s destined rival, Karasuno

Now, the couple stood together overlooking the crowd of men devouring food and laughing about

When Kuroo looked down to ask if they wanted to meet the crows, he took notice of their quivering hands playing with loose thread on the bottom of their shirt

He also took note of the uneasiness in their expression as their eyes hastily flit over the gathered people

Kuroo gently calls out their name and ___ flicks their gaze up at him, disguising the restive expression with a small, forced smile

“How are you feeling?” Kuroo would ask, trying for a grin himself

“Okay,” they’d reply, their fingers still picking at the thread. “Holding up better than I thought, at least. I didn’t expect so much people…”

When they trail off, their eyes wander back towards the crowd, the mask of fake calm cracking to reveal the anxiety laying beneath

Slight panic bubbles up inside Kuroo but he forces it down. It wouldn’t be of help if he’d tense up too

He quickly tries to think of ways to ease ___, his eyes also travelling around their surroundings

Kuroo’s eyes then find Kenma in the sidelines, his fingers dancing across his phone he held

At that sight, Kuroo then finds himself blurting out, “Let’s play a game.”

___ looks back at Kuroo with questioning eyes

Kuroo shifts his gaze back on them, smiling. “To keep you distracted?”

A look of hesitation crosses their face. “What game are you suggesting?”

Kuroo ponders for a moment, then suggests ‘I Spy’ since they were looking over the rowdy crowd anyway

___’s expression remains unchanged but relents anyway

They play for what may seem like hours full of shared jokes and laughters

Kuroo could see the gradual change in their demeanour—their fingers off the thread, the big smile they wore, the brightness of their laugh

Kuroo himself began to feel light as well

“I spy a tall, salty teen,” said Kuroo

___ scans the area and finds a tall, blonde, glasses-wearing boy frowning down at a shorter boy with orange hair who was screaming about something

“Could it be him?” ___ says, pointing at blonde

Kuroo roars in laughter, “You are absolutely right.”

___ couldn’t help but laugh along with him

“Hey, Tetsurou,” they begin, tugging onto the sleeve of his shirt.

Kuroo turns to look down at them. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” they say, grinning.

Kuroo mirrors their grin before throwing an arm around their shoulder and pulling them against his side

He then presses his lips on the top of their head before murmuring, “Anything for you.”

When ___ feels better, Kuroo finally introduces them to Karasuno

___ thought it would be nerve-wrecking but they still had that high from playing so it didn’t seem so bad

And Kuroo’s presence made them feel at ease

___ never felt so grateful

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Ushijima was not one to read underlying situations right off the bat

So, when ___ was unusually silent in their walk home after finally meeting his teammates, he didn’t seem to question it so much

It was when they neared ___’s home did they finally speak up, “Do you think they like me?”

“I can’t speak for them,” would be Ushijima’s reply. “However, Tendou does seem like he has some interest in you.”

“Is that a good thing or bad thing?”

“Too soon to tell.”

___ deflates, an exhausted sigh escaping them.

Ushijima frowns at that. “Is everything alright?”

___ would shrug, “I don’t know. I just can’t help but feel like I didn’t make a lasting or interesting impression on them. They may be wondering how you got stuck with a plain and boring person like me…”

As they went on about their insecurities with desolation clear in their now-watery eyes, Ushijima listens intently

___ expected him to say something rational as he usually does but he doesn’t and instead stays silent

It takes him awhile to say something, to form the right words to say that would be of help

They reach ___’s front door when Ushijima finally speaks:

“I know little of what you are feeling, but I understand it. It’s no good to aggravate this situation so much and dwell on negativity when you aren’t sure of the true outcome.”

___ feels a little bit like they’re scolded right now and their frown deepens, tears still stinging their eyes

“If it’s helpful,” Ushijima continues. “I do not think they’ll come to hate you.”

___ raises a brow at that, “Why not?”

“Because you are not boring and plain as you say you are, and you didn’t do anything that could possibly make them dislike you. And also, I don’t hate you.”

___ huffs a laugh, “I don’t hate you too.”

The tiniest of smiles was on Ushijima’s lips now, “If it also helps, I would be glad to ask them of their opinion of you tomorrow.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary -”

“I’d be glad to call them now -”

“Please don’t.”

Ushijima relents with a single nod, that same smile carved on his lips

___ sighs and thanks him to which he responds with a soft kiss on their forehead before wishing them goodbye

The next day, however, Ushijima would ask Tendou’s opinion of ___ (which turns out his interest was in a good way) and would relay the information to ___

___ only shakes their head at that but would still feel a little grateful for it

[akatsukigadaisuki]

Beautiful Disaster Chapter 15

GUYS I FINALLY UPDATED MY MULTICHAP STINGUE FIC AFLDKGGHG OKOK

this is a huge thanks to @hauntedpotatocollector​ who was the main source of my motivation to update/finally finish this chapter after like nearly two years. 

idk if i should put the ao3 link since tumblr has that weird bug... but my ao3 is SeraphOfTheGay and you should find it on there! 

but anyways, enjoy! this took days of looking back on old chapters to see wtf i was doing and changing/adding a lot of things so i hope it’s worth the read! thank you all for your patience and support <3

They say certain types of weather can be a strong trigger for nostalgia, which is why Rogue isn’t surprised when a sudden thought pierces his mind, nagging him like a woodpecker pecking away at his brain. It’s a question that pops up as he’s casually walking towards the home of his three friends, the ones whose conversation he’d supposedly zoned out of a few minutes ago.

The slight breeze, warm weather, and faint sunlight peeking through the clouds remind Rogue of a time when he was out at a market shopping area. The memory was very blurry, so he couldn’t recall much of the details, but he remembered getting on a horse carriage to control the vehicle that’d gone astray, and while doing so, had gotten extremely sick. After all, Dragon Slayers were prone to motion sickness.

So what he wondered now was this: How was he able to ride the bus without becoming sick? He was sure he’d get motion sick in some way, which was also another reason why he’d been avoiding the bus since school began. He hadn’t even thought about this when he agreed to Sting’s suggestion of taking the bus with him, as if it was something that wasn’t significant at all when really, it should’ve been.

Carefully, he snuck a glance at Sting and Natsu, who were laughing together at whatever they were talking about, and wondered about their motion sickness condition. They were Dragon Slayers too, were they not? So how were they able to ride the bus daily without turning green or puking their guts out?

“…favorite is Paper Towns,” Natsu was saying when Rogue finally returned from his palace of thoughts. “What about you, Gray?”

“Ah, I liked that collaboration he did with two other authors. The book was called Let it Snow,” Gray answered, and a lightbulb flickered in Rogue’s mind, realizing what they were discussing.

“Oh man, I didn’t know he did a collab! I gotta read that at some point,” Natsu said, tilting his head as he took a mental note of it.

“I’m glad I got you into his novels, considering how you don’t even like reading,” Gray said smugly.

“Can you guys stop talking about books already?” Sting pleaded with exasperation. He grasped strands of his hair, exhaling. “I’ve heard things about that John Green guy and it seems like he fucks with your emotions or something. How about we talk about video games for a change?”

A minimal silence followed as Natsu’s face scrunched up contemplating this idea, and Gray took this moment to shoot a glance at Rogue, noticing his strained expression. “Hey, you alright?”

It took Rogue a moment to realize Gray was talking to him, and when he did, he snapped out of his daze and looked at his friend, blinking wildly. “Oh, y-yeah! I was just thinking about something, and actually,” he went on, before losing the chance to speak, “I have a question for Sting and Natsu, if they don’t mind answering…”

Gray nodded, his raised eyebrows hinting at his curiosity. “Oi, morons! Rogue has something he wants to ask you, so listen up!”

Sting and Natsu immediately stopped what they were discussing and turned towards him, giving Rogue their full attention. “Yes?” they said in unison, grinning widely. To Rogue, they looked almost like twins in that moment––same energy, same wild, windswept hair, same dorky smile.

Rogue then swallowed, slightly nervous. Having everyone’s eyes on him made him falter as if their gazes were weighing him down, but he was able to keep a decently steady composure, or at least one that was enough to get his words out. “You both are Dragon Slayers, correct?”

“Hell yeah we are!” they boasted, again, at the same time. But there was a twinge of uneasiness before they said that, sparking Rogue’s attention.  

Rogue decided not to think too much of it and just nodded, touching his chin with his fingers. “And Dragon Slayers have motion sickness… right?”

Sting and Natsu gave each other an odd look, their smiles receding, to which Rogue panicked a bit, wondering if he’d said something bad. However, almost immediately, Gray spoke up, slightly easing Rogue’s tension. “Are you asking because they were fine on the bus?”

“Yes…” Rogue confirmed, watching the others’ expressions. There was a natural yet somewhat forced happiness, as if what they were discussing held some sort of abnormal malice. “Um, was that not a good thing to ask?” he added quickly, sensing the discomfort he thought he’d raised in the air.

“No, you had the right to be curious,” Sting said finally. Rogue didn’t take his eyes off of him for even a second, afraid that he’d miss something important. “It’s just, we can’t discuss it in public, because the reason why we’re fine is something that isn’t really allowed. Or normal.”

“What he means is—“ Gray began, but Natsu cut him off.

“We aren’t allowed to reveal ourselves as Dragon Slayers.”

Rogue’s jaw dropped as sweat began forming on his temples; he blinked twice, trying to comprehend what Natsu just said.

“See, there’s no one around,” Sting followed up, gesturing to the desolate streets around them, “so when you asked if we were Dragon Slayers, we were okay with admitting it, even being proud of it. I mean, being a Dragon Slayer is one of the coolest things to be!”

“Don’t confuse him, just explain the motion sickness fiasco already,” Gray said, catching on to Rogue’s puzzled expression.

“We have this friend named Wendy,” Natsu stated, still serious like earlier despite his usually cheery personality. “She’s also a Dragon Slayer. In order for us to blend in around us and not be completely sick to our stomachs whenever we’re on a vehicle, she made us Tr— uh, Trolly… Taro… Toya…? No, wait, I got it! Troia pills. It has her magic that can allow us to not get sick, but we can only eat them in small amounts otherwise it won’t last for long and we’ll become immune to it. Anything longer than a short bus ride to school would still affect us, which would be bad.”

“Oh,” was all Rogue said, his eyes blown out wide. That part made sense. But why in the world were Dragon Slayers supposedly a forbidden species? And wait, did the others not know he too was a Dragon Slayer? Then, if he was one, how come he was fine despite not taking this Troia pill or whatever? Rogue yearned to ask more questions, but everyone seemed fretful and he felt awful for ruining their cheery mood, so he simply said, “I’m sorry for asking, we don’t have to discuss this further.”

“No need to apologize,” Gray assured him, giving Natsu a strange look. “I mean, it is kind of a sensitive topic, but you probably didn’t know since you’re new. Dont worry though, Sting and Natsu aren’t mad at you or anything, if that’s what you’re concerned about.” He smiled, turning towards them. “Right, guys?”

A smile stretched on both of their faces and they gave Rogue a reassuring thumbs up. “Yup!”

Rogue forced a small smile in return. They’re definitely like twins, he thought. He did feel that they were being genuine with their reassurance, but still, he felt bad. He had no idea that this was such a taboo topic, and if he’d known sooner, he wouldn’t have brought it up at all. Everything was getting stranger, and Rogue didn’t even know where to start looking for answers. If such a place even existed, that is.

The silence Rogue expected to follow that intensity never came. Although that discussion had seemed really strained, things progressed as if it never happened. Gray went on to talk to Natsu about something, and as Rogue tried to eavesdrop and/or join in, he was interrupted when Sting bumped his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, in the softest voice, looking ahead at the sky above them, which was slowly turning to hues of crimson and orange.

“H-hey,” Rogue responded, a little startled.

Sting remained silent, and Rogue normally would’ve felt uncomfortable, but for some reason, a calmness overtook him instead. He followed Sting’s gaze up to the sky, watching as the brightness reflected in Sting’s eyes. In that moment he couldn’t tell what was more beautiful—the sky, or its reflection in someone who had eyes the same color as it.

Rogue could feel Sting’s warm skin against the thin fabric of his shirt, and it gave him a tingly feeling, like Sting was lighting little sparklers in his veins. Sting’s clothing style was very bold, to put it lightly. He didn’t cover a lot of his body, probably because he had a really nice figure. His muscles were so defined, his physique toned with skin that was practically glowing. Rogue could feel every part of Sting’s arms press up against him, and Rogue closed his eyes in that moment, melting into the calmness and thriving off the slight contact between him and Sting.

The moment, however, was short-lived, because Sting decided to say something finally, causing Rogue’s eyes to pop back open.

“Is there something you’re worried about, Rogue?”

Sting’s eyes never met Rogue’s, but Rogue could tell somehow that he wanted to look at him. He probably thought Rogue wouldn’t answer if he did.

Rogue looked on ahead before answering, seeing Gray and Natsu push each other around as they walked, clearly distracted. Logically, this was a good time to bring up all those questions he had, but then he remembered Sting being extremely confused when he talked about this strange feeling before, when he asked about them knowing about each other in the past, so he completely shut down the idea of mentioning it any further.

“It’s nothing,” Rogue lied, biting his lip. “But… I appreciate your concern.”

Rogue did not like lying, but found himself doing it a lot whenever someone asked him about what was on his mind. He didn’t think he could handle the atmosphere of that tense feeling from before, plus, he preferred this side of Sting instead ––calm, peaceful, serene––and did not wish to fracture this nice moment they were having.

He snuck a glance at Sting then, mostly to check if he believed what he said, and felt his heart beat oddly when he saw the look of determination in Sting’s eyes. They were captivating, the alluring sapphire making him want to spill every secret he’d been keeping. The intensity of Sting’s look almost made Rogue confess, but he held himself back, breaking away from Sting’s eyes. He thought he’d owed him a little explanation though, and didn’t want Sting to think he didn’t trust him, so after he swallowed the lump in his throat, he started speaking again.

“Well…” At that, he could’ve sworn he saw Sting’s eyes sparkle, “I wanted you to know…” he took a deep breath, preparing for how Sting would react, lowered his voice, and said, “I’m a Dragon Slayer too. A Shadow Dragon Slayer.”

“Wh— Wait, seriously?” Sting exclaimed so loudly that even Gray and Natsu, who were a few feet ahead, turned back to look at them. “No freakin’ way!”

“What is it, Sting?” Natsu called, his head still turned as he kept walking. This caused him to walk into a pole, and he yelped in surprise. “Ow!”

“Pole, one, Natsu, zero,” Gray commented, snickering.

“Shut it, Frosty!” Natsu spit out, rubbing his sore nose.

“Awww, do you want some ice?” Gray offered, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’ll burn you, Droopy Eyes,” Natsu snarled, bashing his head against Gray’s.

“I’d like to see you try, Lame Brain Lizard,” Gray retorted, pushing hard against Natsu to match his force.

“Seriously guys?” Sting huffed out when he and Rogue had caught up to them. “I don’t know what’s more lame, the nicknames or the petty fights.” He let out a sigh, and then looked on ahead. “Oh hey, we’re almost back home!” He began to walk forward, when suddenly, he was gripped by the handle of his backpack and yanked backwards.

“Hey, you never told me what happened earlier!” Natsu, the culprit, yelled, shaking Sting wildly.

“I can’t… tell you… out here! Wait… till we… get home!” Sting wheezed out, stumbling. “Let me go!” He was starting to get dizzy from all of the rapid movement and had to grip onto Natsu’s scarf for support, which caused Natsu to nearly topple over. Natsu reached for Gray’s shirt to stabilize himself but ended up pulling him along into their chaos until they were all tangled in Natsu’s scarf.  

Rogue watched as the three of them shouted at each other and dragged each other around, and it made him think of a group of playful children who didn’t have a single care in the world, freely doing whatever they wanted to their heart’s desire. They were like a small, close family, and seeing them like this squeezed Rogue’s heart in a warm, fluffy kind of way, making him smile.

It wasn’t long before the four of them reached a mediocre-looking house, which Rogue soon learned was the home of his three friends. Sting, Natsu, and Gray had successfully managed to get untangled from the mess a few minutes ago, and now they proudly stood in front of the main entrance, grinning. Rogue didn’t expect much of their house, really, but despite the way it looked on the outside, the inside was exquisite. Or at least, as exquisite as a house occupied by three energetic, teenage boys can be.

“Welcome to our home!” Sting announced the minute he switched on the main lights.

Rogue sucked in a breath, not expecting what those lights revealed to him. The first thing he noticed was the kitchen, which was big, and cluttered with dishes and various packaging. Across the kitchen, there was a living room, occupied by a big TV, its stand surrounded by Xbox controllers and game discs. The couch looked worn yet comfy, and as he looked past the living room, he spotted two more rooms which he guessed were the bedrooms. Overall, the house was messy, yet exceptional.

“Wow…” Rogue marveled, giving their living space another once-over. He could see Natsu grinning from the corner of his eye, while Gray and Sting simply watched him as he checked out their home.

“First things first, WE EAT!” Natsu proclaimed, throwing his bag on the floor. He rubbed his hands together, staring at the kitchen as if food would appear and deliver itself to him.

“Is there ever anything on your mind besides food?” Gray asked with a sigh, tossing his backpack next to Natsu’s. “I actually think we don’t have anything left, so we should probably go grocery shopping before anything else.”

“Aw man, but I’m hungry NOW!” Natsu whined, frowning. “And to answer your previous question, Gray, there is one other thing that’s on my mind besides food.” Rogue noticed a sly smirk forming on his face, but before he could see anything else, Sting grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

“Sooo Rogue, do you wanna join us for grocery shopping or would you like me to stay home with you while Gray and Natsu go out?” he asked, not letting go of Rogue’s arm.

Rogue pondered this for a moment, the thought from a few seconds ago disappearing out of his mind. Admittedly he didn’t know everything about those two, but he did believe one thing: they probably couldn’t handle going out alone together without some chaos occurring. He knew that much from the library incident. Also, the thought of staying in the house alone with Sting made Rogue a little nervous, but not in a complete bad way. There was also some excitement mixed in there, but he had to be responsible here. Either way, the faster they got done with shopping, the sooner they could start on their project. Natsu was his partner anyway, not Sting, so there wasn’t much he and Sting could do if Gray and Natsu were out on their own.

“I think it’d be better if we went along, you know, to prevent any disasters from happening?” Rogue supplied after some time, rubbing the back of his head. He hoped what he said didn’t sound too offensive.

Sting’s bubbly laughter made that doubt vanish out of his mind. “Hahaha, you’re so right! Alrighty then, off to the grocery store we go!”

“Hold it.” Natsu stopped them as they approached the front door, a serious expression on his face. “You owe me an explanation, Bumblebee.”

“Huh?” Sting blinked, slightly startled.

Bumblebee? Rogue thought, feeling a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. That’s actually…kinda cute.

“Don’t give me that look! You were gonna tell me something when we got back inside, right?” Natsu reminded him, his arms now crossed against his chest.

“Oh! That’s…well––“ he looked at Rogue in that moment, as if asking for permission through his eyes, and Rogue simply nodded. “Rogue is a Dragon Slayer too! A Shadow Dragon Slayer!”

“WHAT? SERIOUSLY? THAT’S SO FREAKIN’ AMAZING!!” Natsu shrieked suddenly, causing Gray to punch him in the shoulder for being too loud. Rogue could tell that Gray was intrigued and maybe surprised as well, and Rogue laughed nervously, playing with his sleeves. Hopefully this revelation wouldn’t affect them too greatly or change the way they thought about him.

“Now that’s something I didn’t see coming,” Gray said, looking at Rogue more closely.

“Looks like Gray is the only one in the group who isn’t a Dragon Slayer,” Natsu teased, sticking his tongue out as he winked.

“Aw come on, don’t make me feel left out like that you jerk!” Gray moped, a slight frown on his face. He didn’t look too upset though, to which Rogue was thankful for.

“Is that how you knew that Sting and I were Dragon Slayers? And why you asked about the motion sickness thing? I bet you’ve learned to control your motion sickness or something because you looked totally fine this morning!” Natsu went on, not over this revelation.

His questions made Rogue come to a halt. He hadn’t even thought about that—Natsu was right, how did he know that Sting and Natsu were Dragon Slayers? He’s never seen them use their magic before, and he’d only started talking to them yesterday, so how?

“I—well, um, you see…” he was struggling to find the words now, his head throbbing with more unanswered questions.

“Ooh, maybe its a special Dragon Slayer connection where we can all sense each other’s magic or something! It probably just kicked in now that our bond is stronger, right?” Natsu offered, and Rogue decided to accept it for lack of better knowledge.

“Could be,” he replied, nodding. His stomach lurched, but he tried to focus his mind on something else, not wanting to cause a scene in front of them.

“I actually kind of figured,” Gray said then, making the three of them turn to him.

“What? How?” Sting wondered, his eyes widening. “Didn’t you just say you didn’t see it coming?”

“Well, yeah, but then I remembered something. Yesterday, when we were sharing each other’s emails, Rogue said his was shadowdragonrogue7. So I thought he might be a Dragon Slayer.”

Natsu and Sting stood there, dumbfounded. “How…how did we not realize this sooner?” Natsu muttered, looking at Sting. All Sting could do was shrug, not being able to find the words for this predicament.

“We should get going now,” Gray said with a chuckle, and Rogue breathed out a sigh of relief, glad that this conversation was over for now. He had more things to think about, and it was still hard for him to accept this whole Dragon Slayer thing, but he decided to let it go for a bit and enjoy this upcoming shopping trip with his friends.

Friends. Every time Rogue thought of them as that, it made his heart flutter. He couldn’t have been luckier, to meet three caring, friendly people who took him in without hesitation, and made him feel like he’s always belonged. He’d surely have to thank them at some point, maybe even do something for them in return for their kindness. He hoped they could stay friends and still hang out even after this project ended.

“Rogue, you comin’?” Sting asked with a smile, pulling him out of his thoughts. Rogue nodded and swiftly followed the others out the door, their bright smiles illuminating the path in front of him.

_______________

The grocery store wasn’t too far from their home; at best it was no longer than a twenty minute walk. Natsu had showed them a shortcut, a path that seemed a little dangerous considering the massive highway with no pedestrian walkways that they had to cross, but they ended up making it across just fine. Rogue found Natsu shouting “Told ya so!” multiple times to Gray, who had been the most worried about getting hit by a car or something on the way down, very amusing.

“Shut up, Natsu! I get it already!” Gray grumbled, grabbing Natsu by the scarf. “Don’t make me freeze your mouth shut.”

“You know I could easily burn your ice off Gray, plus, if you did that, how would you k—“

Sting interrupted him, yelling, “Natsu, watch where you’re going!”

Natsu turned around, realizing he nearly bumped into an elderly couple.

“Agh, sorry!” he yelped sheepishly as Gray let go of him.

The elderly couple just smiled at him and walked away, and Natsu took that as a sign of ‘apology accepted.’

“Good thing we came along,” Rogue whispered to Sting, who smiled at him in response.

The four of them entered the store then, and immediately Rogue was captivated by all the scents filling the air. This place was some sort of international market, consisting of goods from all over the world. Although there were various foods that one would be eager to try from another country, all Rogue could think about was the different kinds of chocolate he could get his hands on.

“Okay guys, who’s got the shopping list?” Sting asked, looking around to see where they could start.

“We ain’t need no shopping list! Just grab whatever ya feel like eating!” Natsu suggested with a huge grin.

“If we did that, we’d run out of money faster than you go through the food you eat,” Gray told him, shaking his head.

“How about we split up? Rogue and I will get some snacks, and you and Natsu can get stuff we can cook for meals, like vegetables and meat.”

“I’m all fired up!!!” Natsu exclaimed, reaching for Gray’s hand. He pulled him to the frozen section in the back, already starting without a second thought.

“Well that settles that,” Sting said. “Let’s go, Rogue.”

“Right!” Rogue said, following Sting down to Aisle 4, where most of the snacks were located.

“What’re you in the mood for?” Sting had asked, grabbing boxes of assorted chips and cookies.

“Chocolate…” Rogue said subconsciously, reaching for a box of pocky sticks.

Sting laughed, and Rogue noticed a slight blush on his face. “A chocolate lover, huh? We’ll definitely be buying some chocolate then.”

Rogue felt like his eyes were literally sparkling as Sting showed him this one kind of chocolate called Dairy Milk, which was popular in the country of India.

“I think you’ll love this one, it’s really good,” he said, and Rogue took it without a second thought. As long as it involved chocolate, he didn’t have to think about wanting it or not. The answer was always yes.

“Or should I say, it’s dairy good,” Sting said then, and Rogue couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up in his throat. That pun was awful but somehow…it’s funny, he thought.

“That wasn’t bad,” Rogue said, meeting Sting’s eyes.

“Oh, you butter believe it!” Sting replied, holding up a bag of buttered popcorn.

Rogue felt like the smile on his face was permanent now. He watched as Sting ran to grab multiple boxes of berries, and was surprised and slightly confused when he laid down on the floor, covering himself with the containers.

Before he could ask what he was doing, Sting said, “Look, I’m berried alive!”

Rogue burst into a fit of laughter, feeling so light and fluffy and free. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt happy like this, so full of life and unbridled laughter.

“I know my puns are cheesy,” Sting stated with a smile, holding up a packet of cheese, “But as long as you think they’re funny or even decent, I’ll continue to make them.” He stood up and put some boxes of berries into the shopping cart, then returned the others to the shelves.

“Please do,” Rogue responded, watching him. He figured he should help, but there weren’t a lot of boxes left to put away. Plus, watching Sting do something like this fascinated him in some way, like he was under a trance. There was just a nice flow to his movements, a fluid motion that made Rogue feel warm and calm.

Once the mess of berries was cleaned up, the two of them looked around to see if they were missing anything else. As they checked out a small section of sweets, they heard an all too familiar voice not too far away, and turned their heads towards the sound.

“Natsu, get off the shopping cart!” Gray yelled from across the aisle, struggling to push a cart full of items and one too exuberant Dragon Slayer.

“You’re just weak, Gray! You can’t even handle this weight?” Natsu retorted, laughing maniacally.

Rogue blinked twice, surprised even though he should have expected this.

“What can I say?” Sting said from beside him, picking up a box of graham crackers, “A shopping trip is never boring with those two around.”

Rogue was inclined to agree to this statement. Whatever they were doing, it seemed fun. He wished he could be that bold sometimes, to be able to speak his mind, be open about his feelings and just completely be himself, but it’d take a while for him to get even close to that level. He couldn’t focus on that too much now though, because there was another box of chocolates practically glowing in front of him, calling out to him to grab it and eat it up.

Sting got close to him then, his shoulder brushing up against Rogue’s. Rogue’s breath caught for a moment, and he could’ve sworn he felt his heart beating in his ears.

“Rogue, I just got a great idea,” Sting whispered, not bothering to leave even a centimeter of space between the two of them. His eyes flickered between the graham crackers and the chocolate he must’ve noticed Rogue was practically drooling over. “Let’s make s’mores!”

Rogue was about to agree, to tell him that it was a splendid idea, when suddenly, the world seemed to stop completely. Everything went silent with the exception of a high pitched ringing in his ears, his blood felt cold in his veins, and a lightheadedness overtook him, his body abruptly too heavy to support. As he gasped and reached for something to hold onto, which ended up being Sting’s shoulder as he later found out, everything started spinning, plunging him into a suspended-like state, as if he were floating inside an ocean, lost, helpless, and unable to breathe.

“S’mores are the best part of camping,” said a familiar voice.

A figure that looked just like Rogue started smiling, holding an item of food that resembled a s’more.

“Hey, Rogue?” the voice said, taking a bite out of the s’more-looking thing.

“Hm?” Rogue-look-alike-who-had-the-same-name-as-him said.

“Are you a campfire?”

“What?”

“Cuz you’re hot and I want s’more!”

“STING…YOU DIDN’T!!”

“I JUST DID.”

“Wh…what’s happening? What was that just now?” Rogue cried out once he found his voice again, the death grip on his lungs slowly loosening. He clutched his head, fingers scraping into his skin, leaving scars. He could finally move, and his breathing returned, coming out in fast, hitched puffs.

“Rogue…hey, are you alright? Talk to me!” a voice yelled in worry. It sounded very distorted, like an octave too high. Two arms were holding him up, but he could barely feel them, just the vibrating and numbness spreading into his body.

“Jeez, what’s happening? You two are making more of a ruckus than we are!” another voice yelled. “Seriously, there’s a bunch of boxes everywhere, even Natsu and I don’t make this much of a mess!”

The rest of the conversation only rang in his ears, so he couldn’t hear or understand what they were saying. Rogue shook his head rapidly, clearing his mind. When he finally calmed down enough to breathe normally, he realized he was clutching hard onto Sting, leaning against him as if letting go would cause him to fall into a deep, never-ending abyss from which he’d never return.

“Should we take him to a doctor?” Rogue recognized this is as Gray’s voice, once his ears regained their hearing.

“There’s no need, I’m okay for now,” he said quickly, his trembling hands still holding onto Sting. He wasn’t completely sure if that was the truth, but the weird pain from earlier had suddenly dissipated, and the only thing that bothered him now was what that whole ordeal was.

“What happened dude? Are you okay?” Even Natsu was nearby, worry evident in his tone.

“I’m sorry…I have no idea what happened just now. Sting was talking about something and suddenly…I heard voices…saw something strange…”

“We’ll take you home,” Sting said, holding him tighter. “I think you need some rest.”

“But…your shopping…did you get everything you needed?” Rogue asked, his voice raspy, barely a whisper. He didn’t want his situation to cause any trouble for them, especially after all they’d done for him.

“We got what we need, and hey, you don’t need to worry about that. Just focus on you right now, okay?” Sting told him, swinging one of Rogue’s arms across his shoulders. “Gray, Natsu, I’ll meet you guys at home. I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

“Be safe!” Natsu yelled as Sting made his way out the doors, carefully supporting Rogue. As Rogue slipped out of consciousness, he barely missed Sting telling them to buy more chocolate, and a small smile stretched across his face as his mind went dark once again.

________________________________

When Rogue came to, he was in a bed that had a distinctly familiar scent. It made him wonder where he was, but there were no lights on, so looking around wasn’t much of an option. To compensate, he felt around for something recognizable, but nothing his fingers brushed upon was something he owned. So he wasn’t in his own bed, that’s one thing he knew now. He decided to get up and figure this out, but as he sat up, something cold landed in his lap, surprising him. He picked it up and touched it, trying to see what it was through the small illumination coming in from the crack under the bedroom door.

It didn’t take long for him to discover that the cold slush was an icepack, one nicely wrapped in a towel, which had probably been sitting on his forehead for a while considering that most of it was dripping wet. The memory of earlier hit him then, making him shudder. At least, for now, he felt a lot better since then, almost as if that whole crazy thing never happened at all. He didn’t know how much time had passed since that moment, but he hoped it hadn’t been too long, since he did have the project to work on.

Wait, does this mean I’m still at Sting, Natsu, and Gray’s place? he wondered, pushing himself out of bed. Slowly, he made his way to the front of the room, being very careful not to trip on anything, and pulled the door open.

When he entered the main area of the house, he was blinded by flashing lights. At first he thought he was experiencing some sort of epilepsy, but soon realized that it was coming from a video game that Gray, Natsu, and Sting were playing. So he was still here.

He peeked over the edge and saw the three of them sitting on the rug, each with a controller in their hands as their fingers rapidly smashed different buttons.

“Sting, you’re such a cheater! Stop using Minato, his flashing is annoying as hell!” Gray was shouting, his dark hair a ruffled mess. He also wasn’t wearing anything except his boxers, which made Rogue wonder what was going on.

“Ha, you’re just mad cuz you can’t keep up! Natsu and I will show ya!” Sting boasted, pressing buttons to begin what seemed like the next match.

Rogue decided to stay put and watch from the shadows, curious about this game they were playing. He was never a confrontational type anyway, so he decided to enjoy the view from where he was until one of them noticed he was there and invited him to come join them.

Less than five minutes had passed when Sting’s chill, cocky attitude was replaced with some sort of rage, one that wasn’t scary yet still intense.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? MY CHARACTER GLITCHED AND MY COMBO DIDN’T FREAKIN’ WORK!” he whined, tossing his controller at the couch behind them. “Gah, I hate tournaments against you guys sometimes!”

“Want me to hold that ‘L’ for you, Sting?” Gray said in a teasing manner, poking Sting in the cheek. Rogue observed this closely, noting that Sting had very squishy-looking cheeks. That softness reflected in his current outfit; he looked really comfy, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, a change from his normal clothing style.

“You’re a jerk!!” Sting practically exploded in frustration like a little science-experiment volcano, grabbing a nearby pillow and smacking Gray’s face with it.

“Oooh, pillow fight!” Natsu said once he had his eyes off the screen. He dropped his controller and reached for a pillow, a sadistic grin spreading across his face. As soon as he stood up and got into a predatory-like position, getting ready to leap at Sting most likely, he caught sight of Rogue and yelled, “Rogue!! You’re awake!”

Sting and Gray immediately stopped wrestling with the pillows and scrabbled their way onto the couch, peeking over the edge of it.

“Rogue! How are you feeling? Did you get enough rest? Was my bed okay? Were you comfortable?” Sting rambled on with questions, almost going on longer if Gray hadn’t smacked him in the back of the head.

“Chill out for a sec.” He looked at Rogue, a soft expression in his eyes. “I hope we didn’t wake you with our loudness. And sorry for Sting’s rage quitting, it’s not as bad as Natsu’s but it’s almost on the same level.”

“I do NOT rage quit!” Natsu argued, pointing a finger at Gray.

“Oh really now, Mr. I-should’ve-won-against-that-Akatsuki-combo?”

“You kept spamming it! That was a jerk move, Frosty!”

“It’s badass, that’s why!”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can spam it!”

“Do you remember how many vases we had to replace because you broke them?”

“That never happened!!”

“I have proof—“

“Guys, enough already!” Sting stopped them, pushing their heads apart from one another. “So, Rogue, you hungry?”

Rogue’s stomach beat him to a verbal answer when it grumbled loudly, and Rogue blushed in embarrassment, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Come on, let’s go eat what I made and begin working.” Sting turned off the Xbox and stood up, making his way into the kitchen. Rogue had been so drawn into figuring out what the others were doing that he didn’t even notice the delightful scent coming from behind him.

“Whatever you made, it smells really good,” he said, sniffing the air.

“I hope it tastes as good as it smells!” Sting said sheepishly, bringing a steaming hot pot over to the dining table.

“Oooh Sting did you make curry?!” Natsu asked, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Why yes, yes I did,” he answered, lifting the lid off the pot. Clouds of steam escaped into the air, giving the atmosphere a humid feel.

“You’re the best!” Natsu cheered, reaching for the serving spoon, only to have his hand slapped away by Gray’s. “Hey, what gives?!”

“Jeez, do you have any manners? Let Rogue have some first,” Gray scolded, clutching onto Natsu’s hand.

“Oh no, it’s okay, he can have some first!” Rogue insisted, shaking his head.

“Nah it’s cool Rogue, you go ahead and take some,” Sting said, holding his arm out in front of Natsu before he got the idea to hurl himself across the table to take some.

From the corner of his eye, Rogue caught a glimpse of Gray’s fingers intertwining with Natsu’s, or at least that’s what he thought he saw. He couldn’t be completely sure of it because Sting’s torso blocked the view when he reached to scoop some curry and rice onto Rogue’s plate, making Rogue blink in his daze.

“Okay, now you can have some,” Gray told Natsu, whose eyes were practically shimmering in delight. Their hands were apart, so Rogue figured he just imagined what he thought he saw.

Natsu swept in and took a huge spoonful of curry, licking his lips in the process. He grabbed nearly half of the rice out of the cooker and tossed it into the mix on his plate, then reached for his chopsticks. Before Rogue could even say ‘thank you for the meal,’ Natsu had finished his food and was rubbing his belly in content.

“Do you even breathe while you eat?” Sting asked in worry, sitting down after he and Gray had taken their share.

“I dunno, but Gray sure takes my breath away!” Natsu commented smoothly, which caused Gray to turn red. Gray was probably caught so off-guard by Natsu’s statement that he almost didn’t realize that he froze his chopsticks from the shock of embarrassment.

Before Rogue could understand what was happening, Gray pulled the book of demons out of his backpack and slammed it on the table, causing their plates to rattle.

“ANYWAYS, LET’S START ON THIS PROJECT ALREADY!” he squeaked out, shaking his head in an attempt to cool his face off.

“R-right…” Sting said, scratching his cheek. He began eating as Natsu took the book and opened it to the first page, getting ready to read it aloud since the rest of them were still finishing their meals.

“So what I’m understanding is that there are nine demons. We already picked which ones we want, but do you want me to go through the other ones?”

Gray refused to speak and Sting’s mouth was full, so Rogue built up a little confidence and answered. “That might be a good idea. Just in case we don’t find enough information about the demons we picked, we can decide on a back up one if that’s okay with you guys.”

Sting nodded, and Gray just gave a thumbs up as he stuffed his face with more food.

“Jeez Gray, lighten up a little. I didn’t think what I said would affect you that badly,” Natsu said, bumping his shoulder. Gray’s only response was a measly sound of some sort, and Natsu just shrugged it off. “Anyways, I’ll go ahead and read them and summarize it as much as I can.” He cleared his throat, turning to the page that had the first demon listed.

“Kyouka has some sort of body-manipulating curse. Not much is known about how it works exactly, but I wouldn’t want to be victim to it. Next is Jackal. He creates explosions, ones that are very destructive. Ooh, I wanna fight this guy! After that we have Tempester, who can control a bunch of natural disasters. Yikes, wouldn’t wanna get on his bad side. Then there’s Franmalth, who can absorb and manipulate souls. Holy shit…that’s insane! Torafuzar can summon poisonous water and he has bladed arms. Haha, he looks like a shark! Ezel has a bunch of limbs that he can turn into swords. Kinda like Erza, but she could totally kick his ass. Then there’s Seilah, who can control any person or object. Spooky… Keyes is a necromancer, whatever that means. And finally, not including the one under the hidden flap, there’s the one you guys picked, Silver Fullbuster. The book just says he’s an undead human exorcist mage who utilizes ice devil slayer magic…”

“Wait, what did you just say?” Gray finally spoke, nearly choking on his last bite.

“Gray… could that be…” Sting started, but Gray stood up suddenly, with so much force that his chair left a dent in the back wall.

“I’m sorry, but I need a second to think… Excuse me…” He ran towards the front door, and threw it open, running out with even bothering to close it behind him.

“Hey, Gray, wait!” Sting called, shoving the last spoonful of curry into his mouth.

Rogue stayed calm, but he felt paralyzed. He didn’t dare move another muscle, didn’t dare to say a word. He could feel the tension in the air almost as if it was a tangible, physical thing and not just a feeling.

From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Natsu running to the door and looking around for any sign of Gray, but apparently he’d completely disappeared.

“Where the hell are you, Gray?” Natsu shouted into the night, clutching onto the doorframe so hard it nearly shattered.

“Natsu…calm down, we’ll find him,” Sting said softly, coming up to him.

“I’m going after him. You two stay here,” Natsu yelled, completely ignoring Sting’s statement. “Don’t wait up on me if I’m late. I’m not coming back until I find him.”

He slammed the door shut as he left, startling Sting. Sting sat on the couch in defeat, still in shock from what just went down.

Rogue shakily let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in, and sat in the deadly silence of the once energetic, noisy household.

[canadian-riddler]

Riddler backstory, part two

Pre-note: the end of this leads directly through Arkham Origins, with the retcon that his real name was not revealed by Alfred at the end because that didn’t make any sense.

Part one here

At twenty Edward was ready to make his plans to get across the border.  He would have to acquire a car and drive over; the border agents were likely much more suspicious of people walking over the bridge with an overstuffed backpack than someone crossing over for a bit of sightseeing. By then he had made quite a few online American contacts, one of whom happened to make quite a lot of money helping people cross the border and arrive on the other side as citizens.  It cost a great deal of his savings but they arranged for Edward to be given a car registered in New York State, along with a driver’s license; any other documentation he would have to acquire later. He was assured he would not be asked to provide any.  He would have to leave the vehicle in a specific location in Buffalo and make his own way from there.  His contacts were… amused by his choice to change his name to Edward Nygma, but they did acquiesce even if they ribbed him quite a lot for it.

The hard part, however, was getting himself into the FBI.  They wanted a degree and years of experience he did not have.  He was going to have to find a police force that did not scrutinise their hires too heavily and start from there.  He fully believed that, if he proved himself sufficiently someplace else, the degree requirement would be made negligible.

He ended up in Gotham City, New Jersey.

He had enough money that he didn’t need to find a new job right away; as he was furnishing his new apartment a little more to his taste it occurred to him that he had been limiting himself with his future plans.  His father had made it clear in no uncertain terms what would happen if Edward even THOUGHT of getting into a relationship with another man… but Edward didn’t have to WORRY about that anymore.  There might be consequences for Édouard Nashton, sure, but Edward Nygma?  No one was going to tell HIM what to do or whom to be. He would turn over every stone that caught his fancy.  So he spent the next few weeks searching for the appropriate locales where he might meet other men without searching too hard – he still had work to do and money to make, after all – and every few nights or so he would spend his evening at a bar that, while unfortunately a little inundated with something called ‘house music’ for his taste, was not too far away from his apartment and not too loud for him to hear what the person next to him was trying to say.  He kept things as casual as possible, since he knew he was somewhat out of his element, given that he was not well acquainted with the area just yet, but there came a night where he was accosted by someone even more charming and handsome than he considered himself to be.  He agreed to relocate to the other man’s apartment, which was not as nice as Edward’s but still not terrible, and it all was going quite swimmingly until Edward found himself being pressed against the other man’s bed.  All of a sudden he was overtaken again by the panic he’d felt in the hotel room in Niagara Falls with the first man he’d tried, and he tried to extricate himself with as much dignity and poise as possible.  His would-be partner was quite obviously confused and more than a little upset, but he let Edward go without argument, and Edward returned with haste to his own apartment and sat on his bed for a long time, wondering why he could not stop his hands from shaking.  

In the morning, his thoughts were a little clearer.  He had no problems at all when women expressed intimate dominance over him, only the men.  And the more he thought about it, the more the conclusion seemed undeniable: he could not trust a man to be in control of him because of what his father had done. His father had RUINED Edward’s ability to have any sort of relationship with a man where Edward could not keep control over it.  He resolved that this would not be the end of it, but perhaps he would put it all aside for a little while.  His self-confidence had been shaken, and would not be helped by attempting to enter a stressful relationship with someone in an attempt to repair the damage his father had done.

To distract himself from this sobering turn of events, he began to search for opportunities to work in law enforcement.  There was, in fact, an open position at the Gotham City Police Department which he talked his way into despite the fact he did not have the education they wanted, and Edward soon sabotaged his superior out of his position at their very small cybercrime division.  After a year or so there Edward became extremely confused about just how much corruption there was; the city would almost have been better off with no police force at all.  He didn’t really care from a moral standpoint - he had sworn off those years ago - but he was hard-pressed to see the point in his job if the brass at the GCPD just let half the people they jailed out into the streets again without even pretending to fight.

Well, he was not terribly interested in catching criminals anyway and the police commissioner seemed to find his work trifling and a useless expenditure, so Edward did not even attempt to impress him or otherwise do too much more than what he had to do.  He spent a great deal of his time there using the credentials the GCPD had to help him get into as many encrypted data centres as he could possibly find, and to his chagrin not too many of them proved to be much of a challenge.  He was beginning to wonder if his desire to work for the FBI had perhaps been shooting too small.  

On some afternoons there would be a teenage girl wandering around inside the precinct; she was not supposed to be there, obviously, but if anyone told her to go somewhere she would just disappear until the person in question left the room and then she would return to what she was doing.  She took a particular interest in Edward’s business, for some reason, and if she asked he would tell her what he was doing merely because he was bored and it gave him something to do.  Now and again he would agree to play a game of chess with her, which he always won of course, but she never seemed upset about it.  She would instead back the game up several moves and just stare at the pieces as though that were going to reverse history and help her to win, somehow. He usually got up and left when she started doing that.  He found out later that she was the daughter of one of the officers the commissioner did not like, which he was sure made him look even worse in that man’s eyes.  

He was taking a very long smoke break out back of the GCPD – a habit he knew was deplorable but it was the only thing he had yet found that consistently helped with the bizarre compulsions that had not gone away – when a young lady came up to him and began making small talk.  There was something about her smile that he found… distracting.  He was not sure what.  They talked until Edward was called back inside, and he found that he could not stop thinking about her for much the rest of the day.  Especially after he returned home and discovered his wallet had disappeared.  For some reason he was not at all upset about this.

A few days later he did see her a second time: he was talking to one of the file clerks by the water cooler and watched a low-level officer leading her in by her elbow.  She smiled at him and gave him a discreet wave and he immediately forgot what he’d been talking about.  He excused himself from the conversation and followed behind her and her captor, and when he heard what she was being taken in for he made it his mission to ensure the evidence vanished.  Everyone else did it; why shouldn’t he?

He was outside smoking again when she made her exit, and when she saw him standing there she stopped and said, “I suppose I owe you for this.”

“I wouldn’t dare say that,” Edward answered, “but I’m not busy tonight if you aren’t.”

It turned out that she wasn’t, and they went for dinner at a mid-level restaurant and he had a much better time there than he had yet had anywhere in quite a long time.  When she paid for the meals with the money out of his wallet, which she then slid across the table to him, he only laughed.  She certainly was something, and he was hoping he would get a chance to find out what.

She eventually ended up spending a great deal of time at his apartment – not all of it, because she mentioned something about cats that needed taking care of – and his life did not magically turn around but it seemed a lot more worthwhile when she was over. He was doing less and less actual work at the police department and more and more illicit activities, some of which involved building himself back doors into their cyber security just in case he needed them, and he was becoming increasingly frustrated.  He’d put all that work into entering the United States to do THIS with his life?  He tried not to take it out on Selina – he had known since he was a teenager that he was too tall to become angry – but he did not have anyplace else to turn.  She seemed to be the only person willing to put up with him, other than the policeman’s daughter, and he couldn’t exactly engage her any further than the chess games.  He discovered Sambuca, which sort of helped both with this increasing desolation and with his compulsions, as long as he didn’t have too much… but he usually did.  Selina would leave on her own before he got too angry, which only meant he was alone there with the ever-mounting feeling that he had done something terribly wrong with his life and he had no way of ever fixing it.  When Selina returned on her own time afterward he never really apologised for yelling at her while he was intoxicated, but he would make an extra effort to be nicer to her for putting up with all of it.  Other than that their relationship was a lot of fun and he honestly did appreciate her, even if he wasn’t terribly good at showing it.

He didn’t cry the day she didn’t come back.  He wanted to. But he didn’t.

Having a job where he didn’t have to work was all very well, but he realised that, when he approached the FBI, he was going to have nothing to tell them.  In a department where he had done nothing of note, he had no standout moments.  He had no achievements, no distinctions of excellence.  Nothing LEGAL, anyway; he couldn’t exactly TELL anybody he made his way through the security of major banking institutions and took a dollar from bank accounts at random, disguising it as a service charge.  He cast about for something practical he could do and settled on solving the evidence problem.  

The evidence problem referred to the predilection of key items or papers disappearing from the evidence room right before cases were to go to trial.  Edward knew it was the result of some high-ranking underworld criminals and corrupt police officers and a LOT of dirty money, but as was so very evident, talk was cheap.  If this problem was to abate, the GCPD was going to need MUCH better security and he just might be the person to provide it.  After a few weeks of working on this project – which he could not say was not a welcome distraction from the rest of his life – he developed a sort of electronic lockbox that would only open if the person who wanted to get inside of it had the solution to a difficult puzzle.  It seemed like it would be an extremely organised and efficient system to Edward, who presented his idea to the police commissioner the day after he had deemed it perfected… but the commissioner merely laughed him out of his office and told him to keep his nose in his computer where it belonged. Edward did indeed sit down in front of it, but he did very little on it that day and he even almost lost the chess game against the policeman’s daughter, he was so distracted.  It wasn’t until he got home until he figured it out.

The commissioner was in on it too.

He wasn’t surprised. Not exactly.  He wasn’t even disappointed.  He mostly just felt resigned, that was, until he realised that the PROPER reaction was actually ANGER.  The commissioner was single-handedly standing in the way of Edward’s plans!  How was he to get his commendations if there were no commendations to get?  If his superiors were just as rotten as the city they were supposed to be saving?  Well, two could play at THAT game.  He was now quite glad he had not shown the commissioner any of what he had built; if he had, his plans could easily have been traced back to the very man whose life he was about to disrupt.

Edward became obsessed with entrenching himself into the inner workings of the city.  Who associated with who, what the more powerful of the crime rings were, who to stay clear of and, most importantly, who he could prove was colluding with criminals.  His new plan was to set up for himself a network of informants, which he would pay well enough to preclude the risk, and they would gather evidence for him of just how deep the corruption in this city ran.  Because it seemed to run in a straight line from the top to the bottom.  Money had become inconsequential to him.  He came by it so easily that he did not think twice before offering what could be considered exorbitant salaries for those who took the risk to work for him.  And oh the information he found.  It became something of a drug to him, to know everything about everyone even if it was somewhat meaningless, and the best part about all of it was that it just MIGHT mean something in the future!  Everything he heard, everything he was sent, it all joined together into one massive puzzle that only he could put together.  

He collected for himself the keys to the defunct radio towers peppered around the city with the intention of using them to broadcast the audio recordings he had collected of various powerful civil servants where they spoke their corruption with their own lips. His entire operation took place in the basement of one of these towers, to the point where he spent a lot more time there than he did at his apartment.  His smoking habit escalated to the highest point it would ever reach, mostly because he wasn’t actually paying attention to how much he was doing it and smoked quite a lot more out of distraction than because he actually felt the need to.  It did, however, help suppress the compulsions, which was not unwelcome especially because he had resolved to stop drinking.

Back at the GCPD he had mostly abandoned anything he was supposed to be doing so that he could spend his time searching for connections previous people in his position had made into places they shouldn’t have.  There were actually quite a lot of them.  To his surprise he located one very clever backdoor built into the security network by a programmer who had not left his name and whose style Edward did not recognise. Intrigued, he spent quite a lot of time trying to deduce where this was supposed to lead and had almost pinned it down to somewhere on the outskirts of the city when the trail suddenly went dry. As if they had been watching him, somehow, and they knew he had been getting close.  He was mostly irritated by the whole thing, since it had taken him so long to navigate through the maze this person had left him to puzzle his way through.  He put his attentions back to revealing the corruption within the city, which he planned to do by having his informants sequester his datapacks throughout the city.  Once he had done that he would use his communications relays to thoroughly scramble their signals so they could not be easily dispensed with and he would broadcast the files locked inside of the packets using the radio towers.  He had gone to great pains to make those secure as well, with his own base of operations the most stringently protected.  He was almost prepared to make his move when he suddenly understood just who it was with secret access to the GCPD: someone known only as the Batman.

He had dismissed most of the news brought about this person to him by his informants, thinking it some sort of urban legend; after all, no one had ever really SEEN him.  But he always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, which meant he was watching the city as closely as Edward was. And this, unfortunately, might well serve to be a hitch in Edward’s plans.  He was uncertain how long he could wait to make his information public before it became irrelevant, but things finally seemed to be going his way when he received word of a contract being put out for the death of this… Detective. There!  On Christmas Eve he would be far too busy dodging assaults on his person to give a second thought to anything Edward might be doing.  Not to mention that bringing light to the dark underbelly of the city on Christmas Day was somewhat… poetic.  Yes.  He would do this, and then he would disappear to someplace else.  Gotham had been fun, that was for sure, but he had goals to meet and none of this had gotten him any closer to them.  While he was waiting he spent many hours attempting to gain some insight as to just whom it was behind the dark cape and cowl, but all he had were some vague newspaper articles and blurry photographs that could have been anything from the man himself to a pile of garbage bags sitting at the mouth of an alley.  On the off chance that the Bat ever, somehow, located Edward’s little hub – which he planned to abandon as soon as his plans were set into motion – he built a little trophy for him to find.  A glowing green question mark, it was something of a joke and something of a message. If this Bat were as clever as he was claimed to be, he would get it, but if he didn’t… well, it was no skin off Edward’s nose.

When Christmas Eve arrived it found Edward in his surveillance room, watching the city that had been quieted beneath the heavy pressure of a holiday snowfall, he was quite alarmed to discover that this Bat could accomplish in a single night what the police force could not begin to finish over the course of several years. When it seemed that he might, just might, mind you, find his way to Edward’s location Edward got up from his chair so quickly he almost knocked it over.  His mind raced, trying to find any hole that might lead him to Edward’s true identity.  He doubted the thought of his true nationality would cross anybody’s mind, even though his name was very clearly made up, but even so he packed up his things back at his apartment with not a little bit of anxiety.  He did not want to return to Canada already, though that was probably overthinking it.  The United States was a big place.  He could disappear without even trying.  

And he meant to leave. He really did.  He put his suitcase into his car and sat there staring at the steering wheel for what must have been twenty minutes at least.  But the key never made it into the ignition. Because he needed to KNOW, and he would never KNOW if he left.  Over the last several months he had come to know everything about everyone about everywhere in this city, but there had turned out to be one thing he did NOT know and it was… Batman.

When he returned to work on the twenty-seventh the entirety of the GCPD was in an uproar.  He had not quite managed to broadcast all of his information, but not all of it had been supressed, either.  He sat at his desk and watched his colleagues comb over the things that had been taken from his surveillance room, over his datapacks and his puzzles and his broken relays and the trophy he had left for the Bat, and he listened as they insulted and ridiculed him for what he had tried to do.  He, of all people, had been the only one willing to do anything about the state of this broken city – even if his motivations had been entirely selfish – and this was where it got him.  That evening the policeman’s daughter asked him why he was playing so poorly and he distractedly said something about his life being turned upside down by a man in a black rubber onesie, and before he knew it she had gone and fetched her father and he was being strongarmed into the interview room. He could admit it, he had gotten… upset, spending quite a lot of time expounding on the question of why it was alright that BATMAN broke the law to achieve his own ends but when EDWARD did it, it was illegal, and he was eventually sent to Arkham Asylum for holding merely because the GCPD lockup was not secure enough to keep several people in the underworld that he had screwed over from killing him.  He escaped from there in short order and immediately set to work making the evidence disappear, which was surprisingly simple even after he had exposed how easily exploited the GCPD’s shoddy security was.  Once he returned, however, he was picked up by the Bat – who had seemingly been WAITING for him – and returned to the Asylum.  He elected to stay there for the time being, given that having free roam of the facility was not that difficult if you knew whose pockets to line, and he was shuffled from cell to cell because apparently his roommates found him so insufferable that they were willing to inflict bodily harm.  That all changed the day they put him in a room with a man named Jonathan Crane.  

[mexican-texican]

In the Strangest of Places

Roxanne/Megamind K+ rating Writers block sucks. Especially when the story came out of nowhere and the deadline is in less than a week. But what better thing for Roxanne to do than go out for a breather, maybe get some ideas. Or meet someone along the way that could help with the push. (Slightly OOC, two quiet strangers out for a walk) updated, with FF.net and AO3 links now available! please let me in

She has a problem all of its own. Staring at the little line on her word document blink in mockery of her brain's refusal to cooperate for the segment she has been tacked with in a last minute decision to have something up for Thanksgiving day.

She doesn't know how it will come about, only that it has to (if you want to make ratings you have to give them what they want she can hear him say in her ear, the feeling of his breath like a snail being dragged across the curve of the cartilage)

(she shivers at the reliving of that feeling)

And yet the line keeps blinking, her mind dragging in that slow way the snail moves, this time across the windowsill where she keeps the outdoor plants near the fire escape. She realizes she's been staring at that damn thing move for thirty-two minutes now, her mind jumping from wondering how it managed to climb fifteen flights of stairs to I should probably put a can of beer out there and she chides herself for not being able to focus on the problem at hand.

She's stuck.

And it's not the same kind of stuck she usually gets when she's on a roll and comes to a wall on how to move forward with her work.

It's the stuck were the gears refuse to move, oil and grease dumping over the metal relentlessly and no amount of torque and lubrication can make them budge from the iron grip. Regardless of how often she leaves the laptop, or reads on other segments and stories (fact or fictional), or even decides to distract herself with a mindless task (at least that half knitted scarf she started in middle school has been done. Half assed and sad but done).

She grunts at the laptop as the clock on the top right joins in the mockery. 9:38. Thirty-eight minutes now and not a letter closer to having the file done in time for the deadline.

Shifting in her seat on the couch, the dog yawns as it translates the mood of the room through body language, having climbed up alongside her lap after she finally ignored his licking noises and hasn't bothered to tell him to get down.

why did she take in the dog on a holiday? why did Karen have to leave for a whole week for thanksgiving? She's never met anyone to enjoy the company of their own family THAT much. Regardless, she took in the angry little fur-ball and hasn't really taken the time to know him. Closing the laptop on the blank file, she proceeds to rummage her closet for immense layers of clothing for the weather (barely twenty-seven outside but you can never be too warm), grabs a hold of the miniature parka Karen brought for the dog (that's what FUR is for Roxanne had told her, to which Karen held up the hairless chihuahua) and started the routine act of getting them both bundled up for a walk.

Halfway down the elevator and she's already regretting the idea of walking the dog. He keeps growling and lunging towards every person coming in and out throughout the ride.

"Why does she love you?" she groans, completely absentminded of the fact there was still a person behind her on the ride down. This one the dog fails to intimidate, for they have interesting smells surrounding their feet.

Once they have reached the lobby she has another pang of regret, the cold unforgivingly cutting through the warm shield of her clothing. Even the dog seems to hesitate with his walking towards the front door as he breaks into a violent shiver.

She stops as the person behind her clears their way to the lobby doors, a brief moment of recalculation as she slowly waves out a finger towards the buttons and commands the elevator to drop down into the parking garage.

She knows she's just prolonging the inevitable cold but that's okay in her mind, so long as she rides without the heater on.

They drive aimlessly down the city, bright lights giving way to darkened neighborhoods, until she reaches a somewhat familiar part of town she's not sure she's ever been in before. Pulling over to a curb, she eyes the vacant streets and is relieved for the lack of other restless walkers, considering the fact that Karen specifically mentioned Gorton not liking the company of other dogs.

(you named him after Ramsay? She asked. No, I named him after the fish-sticks Karen clarified)

Turning the car off and getting the leash back on, she walks with no direction in mind. Since the buildings in the area aren't as densely packed as they would be within the downtown area, there aren't any sudden wind tunnels or drastic changing in temperature from walking by heating ducts, and the best part is no other random strangers in the dark.

With Gorton strolling ahead of her, she pays no mind to where they're heading, and even gains confidence in letting him lead with his leash unhooked. Hey, she feels like bending a few rules tonight, it's not like there's anyone around to see.

Her eyes slowly adjust to the growing darkness, a few stray floodlights lighting the way blinding her of their current path. He takes a couple of trotting steps, stops at a spot of interest to take in a few lingering smells, and continues with his nose leading the way.

It isn't until she hears the soft voiced murmuring of a person nearby and the familiar ringing of another dog's collar that she panics and tries to call out for Gorton to come back, but it's useless, the dog has as much attachment to her as a fish to a hook.

"It's okay," the voice calls out. "She's friendly."

"Yeah, but he's not."

Her ribcage suddenly hurts with worry that the dog would get injured around the other, much bigger one, its looming white figure making it look very much like a-

"Ghost, will you cut that? He's not a plaything," the man's voice calls out to the silent dog, the bouncing creature giddy with excitement, knocking over Gorton with one silent swoop of her body.

Gorton stares at the sky after having been flipped on his back, not sure what the hell just happened.

"I do apologize, she doesn't get to interact very much with other dogs, not since she lost use of her voice-box."

"Oh you poor thing," she sympathizes, wanting to kneel to give the white dog a good rubbing, but she seems to be preoccupied with, Gorton remaining on his back- is, he submitting?

"Quitter," she calls out playfully, straightening herself out and securing her hands back in the shield of her coat pockets.

"If I may ask, what, brings you around this area, at this time of night? We hardly get any visitors in our neighborhood," the man calls out. She's still having trouble making out his figure, and it's hard to tell with all the layered clothing and multiple headwear he seems to be sporting.

"Actually, I'm, stuck on a current story of mine," she replies shyly, diverting her eyes to the iced rainwater drain they stood alongside to avoid eye contact.

(Not like they could see each other's faces in the dark anyway, the way both of them remain in the shadows)

"Writer," he states more than asks, she nods in confirmation.

"Fictional, or?-"

"Journalism."

"Ah," he words out with an upwards nod of his head. "So you walking around at this time of night, and getting stuck on your story relates-?"

She runs her free hand over the arm holding the leash. "It helps clear my mind. When I get stuck in a rut."

He goes quiet, in agreement or contemplation she's not sure of, but she keeps the silence and watches the dogs do their playful dance.

"It's frustrating, you know, getting stuck on something you can clearly see in your head," she says through the quiet.

"Sometimes I'll be working on something for so long, then another story comes through, disrupting my plans. I actually had a story set aside that I had been working on for a few months now and planned on releasing it earlier this month. And I pushed the release a week. Then another. Until I got stuck, and it didn't help that my boss tossed me a non-descriptive story with a Thanksgiving deadline this Sunday. Told me to just "wing it". Could be over anything as long as it was holiday themed."

She huffs and gives a kick towards a stray pebble, never looking up towards the stranger.

"I know how that feels like."

She looks up from her downturned gaze with curious surprise, letting him go on his own.

"Sometimes I get an idea, a plo-plan. And I end up trailing another one before the first is finished. By the end of it I end up leaving a trail of notes strung together, and some-how they still make sense. Barely."

"You know sometimes taking a break does help, I've gotten my fair share of "block's" broken through a nap, eating a snack," he continues as he lifts his fingers to his mouth and letting out a whistle, calling out his dog to stand by his side with barely held in excitement.

"Sometimes it takes you doing something unexpected, taking a different route people expect from you. If anything, I'm willing to bet you could get back on that thing this very moment and tear that wall down, because sometimes you find inspiration in the strangest of places. From my experience at least."

She buries herself in the comforting warmth of her coat, a delicate smile teasing over her fingers grasping the plaid scarf around her neck.

"Hey, you know what, thanks. I'll-, I'm gonna hit the keyboard, I think, I got myself straightened out."

"No problem," the desolate voice calls out towards her shadowed figure, already turned away and heading back into the darkness that leads to her car, the small dog panting and jumping excitedly around her feet.

She doesn't see that he stands there a moment too long, watching her walk away. Doesn't notice the weak shifting of his feet, the white dog waging in place with her silent smile and floating through the air to hover by her master's elbow as he turns to head back home.

"Come on Ghost, I think I finally figured out how to fix that voice box of yours."

[elfnerdherder]

Ill Intentions: Chapter 3

You can read Chapter 3 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 3: Editor’s Choice

Tattler Special: Will of ‘Will Intentions’ Saves Life of Reader Through Use of Clues Sent From ‘Avid Fan’

Tattler Reporter Withholds Evidence That Almost Cost Innocent Woman Her Life

FBI Investigates Withholding of Evidence in Avid Fan Case

New Column in Tattler News Breeding Ground for Psychopaths?

           Will thought that maybe their lapse in judgement could have cost ratings, but Charlie was right: serial killers sold. Serial killers, when coupled with scandal, sex, conspiracy, death, or intrigue, sold even more. The more other newspapers tried to report on him, the more popular Tattler News became –more importantly, the more popular Will Intentions became. Job security at its finest, he supposed.

           Jack Crawford certainly didn’t feel the same. He intercepted Will before he could go into work, sunglasses, trench coat and all.

           “I already spoke with your boss. You’re not in trouble,” he said.

           “I know.”

           “Walk with me, Mr. Graham.”

           Will walked with him because it was better than walking into work and trying to explain why an FBI Agent was keeping him from firing up his computer to get to work on his column. Although readily able to gain the impressions of feelings from everyone in the room, Will Graham wasn’t exactly versed in smoothing over said emotions.

           They found a place to sit at a small, haphazard attempt at a park. It boasted a questionable swing-set and a water fountain. A few trees, river birches he supposed, hung over their aged, sad bench and provided shade. He scuffed a foot on the ground and watched one of the swings sway in the breeze, rust at the hinges. He mirrored its movements with a lazily swinging leg.

           “Did it occur to you to call me after you saw that letter?”

           “I wasn’t sure if it was serious,” Will said. “I took it to my boss, and he said we should look into it first.”

           “You didn’t call me after, though,” Jack pointed out.

           “Nope,” Will agreed.

           Jack let the silence hang suspended over them, and Will was content with it. His watch beeped to inform him that if he wasn’t sitting down at his desk, he was late. He tapped the notification absentmindedly.

           “Do you have the note with you?”

           “I have a picture.”

           The picture of the first note on his phone was produced, and he zoomed in so that Jack could see it. While Jack read the note, Will continued to swing one of his feet in time with the swing, lazy sways that creaked with his joints. He needed to stretch more.

           “Obviously we’re investigating this,” Jack said slowly. He sounded on the verge of saying something nasty. “You didn’t put in the papers that it’s the Chesapeake Ripper.”

           “My boss wanted to sit on that news for a little bit.”

           “Oh, he wanted to sit on it, did he?”

           “Well, it’s not the Chesapeake Ripper’s M.O., is it?” Will asked off-handedly. “He mutilates his victims, and he takes trophies.”

           “So you’ve read about him,” said Jack. He had the sort of aura that made Will nervous. He wondered if there was an app that could help relieve something like that. He saw Jack as the readily aggressive type when he was on the trail to something, jaw set and eyes narrowed.

           “After he signed the first note, I read about him.” Will’s leg continued to scuff and swing, making small, mindless designs in the dirt. “Nine victims, eight bodies, organs as surgical trophies after mutilation, artistic depictions of seemingly random scenes of art. You guys don’t have a lot.”

           “I’ve never liked reporters,” Jack said curtly. Bluntly. Will blinked, adjusting his glasses so that they rested straight on his nose.

           “Okay.”

           “You constantly get in the way of ongoing investigations, you’re nosy, you’re troublesome, and half of the time I’ve found enough DNA from reporters alone to contaminate twelve crime scenes from here to Quantico,” he continued on, unheeding of Will’s unoffended posture. Will continued to swing his leg.

           “I think it’s just someone using his name to get attention,” said Will when Jack didn’t continue his tirade. “That’s why I didn’t post the name. Unnecessary panic and giving credit where credit wasn’t due.”

           Jack had to give him that. He growled something low in his throat, rubbed his face in his hands. “Right.”

           “I saw some pictures, and this isn’t that. Even if it is the Chesapeake Ripper, it’s something else.”

           “Some pictures told you that?”

           “Some pictures told me Hobbs had a daughter.”

           Jack had to give him that, too. He mulled his words around, considering Will with a dubious expression borderlining on mild aggression.

           “You’ve gotten a lot of shit from Freddie Lounds,” Will tacked on. “I didn’t recognize your name until I saw it typed on your business card, but I remember it from a lot of her articles on crimes and the involvement of the FBI. She doesn’t give you a glowing reference.”

           “Freddie Lounds,” Jack cursed.

           “She’s a pain in my ass, too.” If he was trying to find some common ground, he’d succeeded. Will saw Jack’s shoulders lessen somewhat in tension. He was listening. “I know you think I was just going for ratings, but really I was just trying to help whoever he’d potentially grabbed.”

           It was a funny thing, lying. Will was about as well-versed in it as he was in writing, which was to say that given the right incentive, he was very, very good.

           “You entertaining this person –Chesapeake Ripper or not –is going to make him want to continue,” Jack said slowly.

           “He was going to whether or not I replied. His tone alone shows the uncomfortable arrogance of a person that does what he wants no matter the audience.”

           “Oh, you analyzed that too, did you?” Jack asked snidely.

           “Yes.”

           He stopped swinging his leg when a kid hopped onto the swing and started pumping their legs, throwing themselves into the motions with wild abandon. It threw him out of the loop, and he blinked at the swing, dejected. He tapped the tip of his shoe on the ground, agitated.

           “This becomes my jurisdiction rather than the police, since it’s the Chesapeake Ripper,” Jack said. “I’d really appreciate your full cooperation, Mr. Graham.”

           “It won’t stop me from writing articles about it,” Will replied.

           “If it’s-”

           “It’s not impeding investigation if I cooperate with you. The people deserve to know, and I have an amendment that says I can keep them informed while still helping you out.” Among other things, like keeping ratings up and shoving it to Freddie Lounds. He wasn’t sure if it was healthy that a mutual distaste for Freddie made him feel a small sense of comradery to Jack Crawford.

           Friendships had bloomed on stonier ground, he figured.

           “He sends a letter again, I’m the first to know,” Jack said. “You still have my card?”

           “Pinned to my corkboard,” Will promised. Right next to the two letters, the two columns, and the gold star.

           “I hate reporters,” Jack said, like he was still ruminating on Will’s ability to have his cake and eat it, too.

           Jack left him on the park bench, and Will idled for a small while, watching the kid. Their mother sat on an equally dismal park bench just across from his, and he noted her Nike kicks and classy joggers. He wondered, if he had his notebook, if he could have written the sort of description that gave her the sense of wealth and refinement, of one that wore active-wear but didn’t bother with activity. Why work out when one could merely live off of wheat-grass and protein smoothies to stay thin? Maybe he’d just flounder with the words, scratching most of them out before he ultimately gave up. Words that stumbled and ultimately stuck together, clammy and far too much of a mouthful for a reader to digest. Writer’s block and all.

           Are serial killers your muse?

           He was distracted from his suppositions of just how he’d describe the heather-grey of the woman’s joggers by a phone call, and he answered without looking at the number, managing a distant, vague “Hello?”

           “Am I distracting you from your thoughts, Mr. Graham?”

           It was a cultured, accented voice, peppered with amusement and a hint of clever edges. Will sat up from his slumped posture and cracked his back, pulling the phone away to look at the number. Restricted.

           “Who is this?”

           “I thought your response in your column aptly fitting; you have a way with editing my words while still maintaining my tone and identity. I thought to write again, but after the girl was found I assumed correctly that the FBI would hunt you down, much the way they did after your words led them to Garrett Jacob Hobbs.”

           “Fuck,” Will breathed. His grip tightened on his phone, and he looked about, standing up with toes rapidly growing cold. “You’re joking.”

           “My humor doesn’t fall to such designs as prank calls.”

           “Alright, what does the inside of my apartment look like?” No one loitered in the small, desolate park save the child and her distant mother. On the sidewalk, swarms of people moved about their day-to-day business, early morning hours keeping their steps quick and harried so that they were on time. A distant beep informed him it was time for a cup of water –coffee if he’d not gotten enough at home. He was out of sync with his watch. The thought didn’t sit well.

           “As dour as the outside, with faded taupe walls, no decorations save a corkboard that sat blank until your debut –a formal congratulations, by the way –and a couch abused by the claws of an animal that you don’t own. Your laptop sat closed until I opened it. Most laptop users don’t bother with powering down their electronics, but you do. I thought it an interesting but subtle insight to your character.”

           “You’re not the Chesapeake Ripper,” Will said slowly. He strained his ears for any sound on the other end, but it was silent, like the caller sat in a room of nothing but him and the air around him.

           “Oh, but I am. My first confession.”

           “What did I use to save Hannah Oberly?” he challenged.

           “You used the insulin at the base of the pupa I placed her in in order to save her life, although it didn’t revive her in her entirety. I used a reef knot for her hands to her feet, not because she was in any position to escape, but because I wanted to regale you now with the fact.”

           “…What can I do for you, then?” Will wet his lips, wandered towards the sidewalk, neck craning. Too many people on their cellphones. Too much noise for any of them to be him. He supposed that he should be scared, being on the phone with an alleged serial killer, but truth be told his heart’s rapid skipping was excitement, not fear.

           “It’s not what you can do for me, but what I’ve already been able to do for you.”

           “Oh?”

           “You were stagnant, prone to living within fantasies constructed in your mind rather than living in your present moment. You resent your dull, obtuse career, the rut you’ve already fallen into at only twenty-six years of age. Stuck on back page news, writing about marriages between people you neither care for nor love. Was this what you’d gone to school for, Mr. Graham? Was this what made you love writing? Or did writing alleviate the way you could look at a person and see their innermost thoughts, their secrets hidden so well you’d either need to be a psychic or remarkably clever and imaginative? Did writing dull the frantic hisses building in the darker recesses of your mind?

           “You were two years away from suicide, I’d wager. Six months away from alcoholism.”

           “I wasn’t aware you were the charitable type to help with cases like that.”

           “I’m offering you a game, as I said before. Something to excite you, something to make you stretch the muscle behind your eyes that you’ve let sit fat and useless for too long. I’m also offering job security, since you’re so prolific at thinking about killers.”

           He’d sounded half a breath away from saying ‘killing’ rather than ‘killers’.

           “Why me?” he asked. “There are handfuls of others that’d probably bear your attention with far more grace than I can. Ask anyone.”

           “Yes, I saw your unfortunate conversation with Agent Crawford. You don’t bear the attention of many people very well, same as you don’t bear the attention of time the way others can. Tell me, do you program your watch to tell you when it’s appropriate to laugh? To cry? Does it take you very long to find the right emotion to attach to the right situation?”

           Fuck, he could see right through him, couldn’t he? Will looked up at the damned buildings surrounding them, the many windows –he didn’t want many, though, there was just one, one where the Chesapeake Ripper lurked and taunted him.

           “Then you could see why I wouldn’t be the most entertaining victim,” Will said. Too many windows. Too many fucking windows.

           “I don’t want you to be a victim, Will Graham,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. “I want to be your friend.”

           There. The sound of a door closing, the babble of voices. Will spun, buffeted by the crowds of people around him, and when an ice cream truck’s music trickled in through the ear piece, he spun around again, tracking its movements through the street. The image burned into his eyes, left tires spinning, spinning, spinning.

           “My friend,” he prompted, shoving his way through the people. At the crosswalk, he started without waiting for the walk sign, and he narrowly avoided a motorcycle that whizzed by, the driver flipping him the bird. It didn’t matter, though. The ice cream truck was driving away, the sound fading, voices crackling through the earpiece to him.

           “Is that a novel concept for you? Are connections so foreign a thing?”

           “Sending me riddles where people could die isn’t really a solid basis of friendship,” he pointed out. Someone pushed him out of their way when he paused, ears straining.

           “Of course it is. For people like us, it takes far more than a simple hello.”

           A horn honked through the earpiece, and he tracked the car that made the noise with his eyes. He followed it, feet picking up, eyes pinned to the building that opened up to an alley where noise echoed, bounced. He had him. He fucking had him.

           “People like us?”

           “You can claim a moral high ground all you like, but this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in years. Good bye, Mr. Graham. We’ll talk soon.”

           Will rounded the corner into the alley, just as he saw someone at the other end disappear. He hung up and ran, jumping over a broken crate of what he suspected to be rotting tomatoes, dodged a homeless man that tried to stick his leg out to trip him, his blood singing in his ears as he reached the end and whipped around the corner.

           To no one there.

           Rather, too many people were there. It was another sidewalk on the other side of the building that led towards a small pond where ducks harassed bench squatters for food, and food trucks sidled up to prepare for an early morning breakfast rush. No one ran, apart from joggers. No one looked particularly suspicious or gleeful. Someone brushed past his shoulder, a middle-aged woman with an executive haircut, and the look she cast him could have melted butter at daring to get in her way.

           Will let out a shaky sigh, tucking his phone into his pocket. His watch buzzed with a notification from Beverly asking where he was, and he angrily slid the envelope icon off of the screen. The Chesapeake Ripper had gotten away.

           On his way back through the alley, he looked down at the homeless man and scowled. “Did he pay you to trip me?”

           “He didn’t pay me to let you get him, that’s for damn sure,” the man said with a grin.

           “What’d he look like?”

           “Fuck you,” the man retorted. He stood, adjusted worn, fraying pants, then sidled around Will and shambled down out of the alley, muttering to himself.

           Will headed to work, trying to ignore the way his pulse pounded just under his eye, pushing the Chesapeake Ripper’s words further and further into his skull to rot.

           This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in years.

-

           He didn’t tell Agent Crawford, however; when the next note turned up a week later, amidst concerned writers and angry moms, he sat down once more in Charlie’s office and stewed over it, breaking down to light his own cigarette and bask in the stench of clove and smoke.

Dear Will,

            Your readers will surely relish your insight to my psyche, as much as they enjoyed seeing you delve into the Minnesota Shrike’s. Truly, the masses revel in a good witch hunt, much the same way they enjoy reading about death and torture until they’re part of it. Be careful, though; don’t have too much faith in your readers. They will only love you so long as you prove to be a safe form of enjoyment, something that entertains with ease in the comfort of their homes.

           This one is only mildly harder, but I think we need to take things slowly, really work your muscles at a gradual incline. Too much, and I fear you’ll quit from the effort. We don’t want that, not now that we’re getting started.

The man who invented it doesn’t want it.

The man who buys it doesn’t need it.

The man who needs it doesn’t know it.

You have three days.

                                                                                                           -Avid Fan

           “A coffin,” Will said, watching Charlie. His boss stamped out the butt of his cigarette and eyed Will, rubbing the stubble from a spot he’d missed on his chin.

           “That Agent Crawford wants me to call him on these things,” Charlie said. “He threatened some kind of bull shit about obstruction of justice. Threatened to put my ass up in miles of paperwork”

           “I don’t know if he just wants me to see this place, or if there’s someone there,” Will pointed out. He considered telling Charlie about the phone call, considered against it. If he did, he’d have to tell Agent Crawford, then he’d find himself in protective custody faster than he could say “Chesapeake Ripper”.

           He couldn’t get locked up; not now that they were getting started.

           “So we go find this place, you give the call if something’s wrong?” Charlie asked. “What kind of other things you looking to post on this column? Ratings still look good, and there’s not enough backlash to even consider pulling. It’s as popular as Chats With Bev.”

           “They want to know why I investigated rather than going to the police. I’ll answer that, first.”

           “Yeah, yeah,” Charlie agreed.

           “Someone asked if I’d continue posting the notes if the Avid Fan sent again, and I thought to mention utmost cooperation with the police.”

           “Good, yeah.”

           “Someone asked if I thought more kidnappings or killings would occur because of this.”

           Charlie frowned and mulled over the question. He tapped another cigarette out of the box and let Will light it for him.

           “No. Something else. We’re not doing no god damn self-fulfilling prophecies; they want to blame us for some psycho, they can go read US Weekly or something.” An idle threat, since US Weekly tended to be far more popular than Tattler News.

           Will nodded, stubbed out his own cigarette. When his watch beeped, he stood up and got more water from the sun-abused water cooler, sipping down the stagnant taste.

           “Should I look into it?” Will asked when he didn’t say anything. Despite the low, nonchalant level of his tone, he was uncertain in the face of his own excitement. It made his palms tingle.

           “You got three days, kid. I say, look into it.”

-

           There were a lot of coffin makers and funeral homes in the DC area. So many that by the third day, the excitement to find and the eagerness of the hunt was sore leaving him, watch beeping periodically to commend him on his steps. He’d walked so many god damn steps. He adjusted the notifications on his phone to increase reminders for water to better combat all of the moving around that he was doing.

           He thought a lot about the phone call, how the Chesapeake Ripper was simply trying to give him something to do because he wanted to be friends.

           Had they met before? A brief moment, an interaction? He’d tried to find ways to lurk about the break room, listen to the cadences of his co-workers, but there was no way to eavesdrop on all of Tattler News. The voice was posh, cultured, far too sophisticated for their brand of tawdry work. Besides, he wouldn’t risk it if he thought Will would be able to find him so soon.

           Not when they were just getting started.

           He walked into a funeral home, dejected, looking more for a place to sit than anything else. Funeral homes were odd to him, a clash of faux sophistication in the face of grief, a delicate veneer of poise coupled with the sobbing sounds of the mourning. The walls of them ran with emotions too high to handle, leaving him often short of breath.

           “Hello?” he called out when no one greeted him. Music played in the adjoining room, the wake room he realized as he stepped in to look around. Satin wraps were tied around chairs with thick cushions and metal backs, and the smell of Iris and Calla Lilies clogged his breath. On display, a coffin of spectacular make rested, polished burgundy with gold etchings of filigree along the sides and down the top. A small, quaint stereo reminiscent of the 90’s played soothing piano, and when he reached the front where it rested, he turned it off and looked around, disquieted by the lack of bodies and sudden lack of noise.

           “Hello?”

           No one. He moved to leave, but it was then that there was a faint, feeble thump from the coffin beside him. He gave a start, turning towards it with a quiet yelp. His skin crawled, and when the thump came again he reached out and grabbed the latch, shaking, stupid fingers fumbling with it before he was able to throw it open, covering his nose at the smell that hit him.

           “Help…please…” the man wheezed, and Will gagged, the hot stench of manure dank as it blended with the flowers already permeating the air. His fingers stuttered over his phone, but he managed the call to 911 and sank back into one of the chairs, stammering out the address to the place to a confused but calm dispatcher.

           From that angle, the hand lifting from the coffin was bleak, threatening, like he’d ripped himself from the earth within to claw his way out.

           “Please,” he called out again, and Will dropped the phone, cursing himself. Of course, yes, the person, the person, Will.

           “Hang on, hang on,” he said, and he brushed the earth, warm in its coffin confines, away from the man’s face, weak from lack of air, food, or water. His eyes roved, listless, and Will helped him up, hissing out a breath of shock as worms fell with the earth, ugly and wriggling as they tried to dive back in.

           “He cursed and hauled the man up and out of the coffin, falling back with him onto the ground and wheezing out a breath. His skin, unlike Hannah Oberly’s, was warm and an odd sort of damp from the earth. From a short distance, he heard the voice of the dispatcher crackling through his phone, telling him to hang on; everything was going to be alright.

[bromfieldhall]

What Makes You Beautiful - A Mentalist Fanfiction

TIMELINE: Set some in the future after series four finale. Minor spoilers.

SYNOPSIS: “Yesterday I made a New Year’s resolution. I’m going to give myself one whole year to woo and win the love of California Bureau of Investigation’s Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon.”

PAIRING: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

CHAPTER 12

"Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe, You don't know you're beautiful"

~ What Makes You Beautiful ~ 1D

December 24th – 9.03pm

Another Christmas. Another CBI Christmas party.

This one's a bit different though, for two reasons. The first is that Abigail Grant, the wealthy philanthropist we helped in July has sponsored this year's event. The second is that I'm actually attending for a change.

Christmas is such a joyous occasion but ever since I lost Angela and Charlotte I've avoided this time of year like the plague. Too many painful memories of the lives I'd been so careless with. I wasn't interested in celebrating. Didn't want to be around people. Couldn't have anyone guessing how I really felt. How much I hurt. It was a weakness I had to keep hidden, so outwardly I used to pretend it didn't bother me…but it did. A lot.

This year is different though. I want to be with people. One person in particular.

This year I'm looking forward to Christmas with the over bright decorations and all the good cheer.

This year for the first time in over a decade…I'm happy.

It's a good feeling.

Early this morning I laid wreath's on my wife's and daughter's graves. It was hard but it no longer left me feeling so desolate and empty and alone as it had done in the past. Maybe it was because Lisbon came with me this time.

She hadn't said anything; she'd just been there for me as always…quiet and steady. Letting me deal with it my own way and when I'd stood, she'd clasped my hand and raised it to her lips for a gentle kiss.

Honestly, every day, every little thing she does just makes me love her even more. I didn't think it was possible for me to feel like this again…but for once, I'm more than happy to be proved wrong.

The thought of her has me avidly searching the ballroom. The normally modest party CBI throws has been far overshadowed this year and not only are employees here but also local councillors and legal hotshots. Abigail Grant doesn't like to do things by half judging by the amount of decadent food laid out on platters around the hall and the huge, impeccably decorated trees that adorn the sides. They're nice but there's something to be said for the haphazard way a child, or even an out of practice adult, dresses a tree. Festive music is being played by a band and their singer is really, rather good.

Unfortunately, this is the one year I wish it had been the usual, somewhat boring, event that I often heard the rest of the team describe after the holidays.

It would make it a whole lot easier to leave this thing early. As it is, Ms. Grant has purloined Lisbon and is in the process of introducing her to pretty much everyone in the room.

I'm pleased for her; she deserves to get some recognition for everything she does. I just wish it didn't have to be tonight when I have other, more personal, things I'd like to introduce her to myself.

What I need is a distraction.

I finally catch sight of Lisbon a few feet away, standing awkwardly next to a willowy bottle blonde who is with a short, rather rotund gentleman. Obviously a love match. Ms. Grant is called away and I watch Lisbon fidget with her dress as she self-consciously darts a glance at the taller woman. I can't help but shake my head.

Despite her outward confidence, especially at work, Lisbon can still be so insecure at functions such as these. I don't know why. To me, she's far more beautiful than that gold digging leech draped over her wealthy lover. Expensive jewellery and expertly applied make-up doesn't hide the fact that that woman is just plain ugly on the inside whereas Lisbon just positively glows with the compassion and goodness I know resides within.

I'm a lucky man.

I catch her eye and raise my glass to her in acknowledgement. I'm pleased to note that my shoulder no longer protests to such a motion. It's taken a while to heal but even my ribs are feeling a lot better now too. I still have some twinges if I over exert myself but it's not going to be enough to stop me taking Lisbon back to my new apartment tonight…unless she doesn't want to go of course.

The thought pulls me up short but when I see the way she smiles back at me, I quickly dismiss my errant musings. There's a sultry gleam in her eyes that fairly makes my body hum with anticipation. I stare back at her and, after blatantly running my gaze down her svelte, powerful body, I wink and give her a wicked grin. I can see her cheeks flame, even from here.

God, I'm good.

I take a sip of my wine and glance around the rest of the ballroom. Cho is talking to some guys from the office while Rigsby is dancing with Van Pelt. They're swaying languidly together wrapped in each other's arms even though the music isn't slow. I guess they're not keeping their affair a secret anymore. I'm a little sad that there are going to be changes within the team but happy for them nonetheless. It wouldn't surprise me if we were hearing the sound of wedding bells in the very near future.

I can't stop my gaze seeking out Lisbon when I think of marriage. I wonder what she'd say if she knew where my thoughts strayed to from time to time? It'd probably scare the hell out of her. Knowing Lisbon, I doubt that she would have allowed herself too much daydreaming in regards to me. I was hardly a safe bet, was I? But I am now and I'm going to do my best to ensure she knows that.

I just need to get her out of here first.

I notice she's finished talking to the couple and is about to head in my direction when a man suddenly appears at her side. I recognise him instantly. It's Senator Carlton. I wonder what rock he crawled out from under? Despicable oaf.

I can see the change in Lisbon's relaxed demeanour immediately when she tenses and gives me an almost pleading glance as the odious man takes one of her hands in both of his and leans in closer. As she draws back and tries to politely extricate herself from the snake's grasp, I can feel my grip tighten inexorably around the slim stemmed flute I hold and put it down on a nearby table in case I snap the delicate glass.

I never did like Carlton and each time I see him I'm reminded exactly why. I saunter over and paste an innocent smile on my face that I know Lisbon can see clean through. Now I notice her a tense for different reason. She's obviously concerned at what I'm about to say…or do. I must say she's probably right to be worried because I've just found my perfect distraction.

"Senator Carlton, it's good to see you again," I say insincerely.

"Jane," he replies curtly, his clear dislike for me written all over his face.

I'm unfazed by his look and reach out to shake his hand. Anything to get his paws off of Lisbon.

"Abigail asked me to come and get you," I lie then lean in conspiratorially and add in a hushed voice, "She mentioned something about a little donation to your campaign."

As I expect, the senator's eyes fairly bug out of his head in anticipation and he smiles so widely I think his head might split in two. He's so predictable it's not even remotely funny.

"Really? Where is she?" he queries as he turns away and avidly scans the ballroom.

Contrary though it may be, as much as I want him to leave Lisbon alone, it still makes my blood boil that he dismisses her so easily without even the common courtesy of an, 'excuse me'.

I'm going to enjoy this even more now.

"Come with me," I invite and lead him away.

"Jane," Lisbon calls out with a hint of warning from behind. I turn and she gives me a stern look but I merely grin back then carry on walking.

I'm grateful she doesn't follow. I thought for a second she might. We wend our way through the revellers and pass by a Christmas tree where I take hold of his arm and guide him around to the back.

What are you doing?" he asks irritably.

"I just wanted to show you these decorations," I say, moving my hand to his shoulder and giving it a subtle squeeze. "Apparently, they're priceless. The icicle drops are real diamonds…take a look."

I nudge one of the dangling, crystal droplets and it begins to gently sway, to and fro. I coax Carlton into watching and after only a few seconds I plant my suggestion and tell him to forget our meeting. It's just too easy.

I bring him out of the light trance then, as he blinks and looks at the tree with a dazed, puzzled expression, I make my escape.

"What did you do?" Lisbon asks as soon as I make my way back to her via a quick stop at the band to make a request.

"I took Carlton to see Abigail," I reply with a casual shrug.

Her eyes narrow and I know she doesn't believe me but I'm saved from having to lie again when the aforementioned philanthropist taps Lisbon on the shoulder.

"There you are, Teresa! Come with me, my dear, there's a someone else I'd like you to meet."

The music changes and the melodic strains of 'White Christmas' waft out across the ballroom.

"I'm very sorry, Ms. Grant, but I've already asked Agent Lisbon for a dance," I cut in apologetically. I take hold of Teresa's hand and give the other woman one of my most charming grins before adding with just enough despondency in my tone to be believable, "You wouldn't deny me the pleasure, would you? This song is my favourite."

"Of course not. Please, go ahead," she says graciously, waving us towards the dance floor. "I'll see you afterwards, Teresa."

With a resigned expression, Lisbon nods then I lead her onto the dance floor where I finally get to take her in my arms. I've wanted to do this all evening. I let out a soft sigh and pull her closer to me relishing the feel of her petite body. She wraps her arms around my neck but instead of the warm smile I'm hoping for, she looks at me with a slight frown.

"I don't know whether I should thank you for saving me from Abigail or be angry because you lied to me about Carlton," she finally says in a wry tone.

"How about neither?" I suggest softly. "Let's just enjoy the dance, shall we?"

Her frown stays put for another few seconds then, to my relief, she visibly relaxes.

"Oh, what the hell," she mutters a touch begrudgingly.

"That's the festive spirit, Lisbon," I quip dryly.

She looks up at me, bringing our lips mere inches apart and I have to stop myself from dipping my head to sample the delights I know are so near yet very far away. I wouldn't want to aggravate her further by subjecting her to a very public display of my affection.

A perfect eyebrow lifts up as I think she guesses my thoughts. I'm half expecting another frown or a shake of her head but instead her fingers begin to gently toy with the hair at the nape of my neck. Each tender caress sends a tiny shiver of awareness right down the centre of my spine causing me to draw in an inadvertent sharp breath.

From the knowing gleam in her eyes, the little devil knows exactly what she's doing to me and quite honestly I don't think I could want her any more than I do right at this moment.

Luckily, or not, depending on how you look at it, the song comes to an end and as I reluctantly release her, the first few notes of 'Santa Baby' start to fill the air. Out the corner of my eye, I see Carlton stride onto the dance floor and come to a stop right in the middle.

"What the…?" murmurs Lisbon in bafflement from my side and then she lets out a gasp of surprise when, all of a sudden, Carlton starts to dance.

He's not the most graceful of movers and it's not long before a few people stop to watch and snigger. He's oblivious to their laughter though, because I've planted it in his head that he's really good…along with another, even more amusing suggestion.

Lisbon gasps again, this time in horror, as the abhorrent man takes his jacket off and swings it around in the air above his head before throwing it towards a woman in the ever-growing audience of people that are now starting to gather.

I note that Abigail joins the throng with a disgusted expression on her face so I take my chance while she's otherwise occupied and slip my arm around Lisbon's waist.

"I think it's time we were leaving," I tell her firmly.

"Oh my God," she groans as the senator starts on his tie. "I'm going to get in so much trouble for this."

"Nonsense," I refute as I turn her around and lead her away. "It's not your fault he's had too much to drink."

"Jane…"

"Oh, hush. Let's just go. Everything will be fine, Lisbon, I promise."

She mutters something about me being a jerk but doesn't pull away.

I can't resist looking back over my shoulder just before we leave the ballroom and I have to choke back laughter at the sight of Carlton waving his trousers above his head and shaking his ass. The Rudolph printed silken boxers really are an unexpected bonus.

I close the doors behind us, effectively shutting out the sounds of the catcalls and whistles and she immediately turns to me with a frown.

"That was childish and irresponsible," she chides me seriously.

"It was," I agree trying to adopt a similar sober expression and failing miserably. "And no one deserved it more than him."

She smiles suddenly and shrugs her shoulders as she nods her head.

"That's true," she says then looks at me expectantly. "So, now you've got me out of there, what do you plan to do with me?"

"Why don't you come back to my place and find out?" I offer with more bravado than I feel. Inside I'm nervous as hell.

Her eyes widen slightly along with her grin and I see a faint blush colour her cheeks. She steps forward then reaches out and lays a hand on my jacket lapel, smoothing out a non-existent crease.

"Are you propositioning me, Patrick?" she asks softly, looking up at me from under her lashes.

"God, yes!" I reply earnestly as I grab her wandering hand and jerk her towards me. I'm done with playing games and innuendo now. I just need to know all of her…intimately.

"Well, it's about time," she murmurs dryly just before she leans in for heated kiss.

A sudden deafening cheer erupts from the room beyond and we break apart to stare at the door we've just exited through.

"I guess Carlton finished his routine," I speculate aloud as I try and slow down my rapid breathing.

"Oh, God," Lisbon groans with a pained expression. "Thanks for the visual."

We share a quick grin then I take her hand and stop to get her coat from the cloakroom before heading outside to my car. We get in and she doesn't even pass comment on my speed as we head for my apartment. Once there I unlock my door, switch on the lights and stand back to allow her entrance.

I only moved in a few days ago. It's a nice place with one bedroom and a spacious living area. I managed to strike a deal with the previous owner to purchase some of their furniture, as I have none of my own that I wanted here. It's ideal, plus it's only a ten-minute drive to Lisbon's apartment. She came and viewed it with me a while ago but she hasn't been back since I moved in.

I watch her move around the room and stop in front of the small Christmas tree to reach out and touch the star on top.

"It's crooked," she announces with a little smile as she tilts her head to accommodate the angle.

"I know. I like it like that," I reply as I walk up behind her and place my hands upon her shoulders.

She immediately tenses and I realise that despite her outwardly calm demeanour, she's probably feeling just as nervous as I am about taking this next step. It's a comfort in a way and I find it actually helps me quell some of my own apprehension.

I take off her coat and toss it on the couch to my side before turning back and leaning in to nuzzle her neck. Slowly, I trail barely there kisses all the way up to her earlobe. I hear her breath catch but instead of going further, I pull back and start on my task of letting her hair down. I tug the clips out one by one and let them drop to the floor as I enjoy seeing her long tresses slowly uncurl.

She sighs and the more I tend to her hair, the more I can see her tension ease. At last it's all free and I run my fingers through glossy strands a couple of times until she suddenly turns in my arms. Her lips seek out mine as she places a hand either side of my face and pulls me in for a deep, drugging kiss.

Fire leaps through my veins as I clutch at her back trying to pull her closer, ever closer but it's not enough. I need more. My fingers fumble for the zip but I only manage to drag it part way down before she pulls away and quickly slides my jacket from my shoulders, leaving it to fall in a heap on the ground.

"Bedroom," she commands huskily.

I nod and we stumble to my room leaving a haphazard trail of clothes behind us. I wanted to take it slow tonight but once she kissed me like that, I stopped thinking with my brain.

Down to our underwear, we're standing by my bed when she suddenly pulls away and steps back.

"Wait, are you sure you can you do this?" she asks with some concern. "I don't want to hurt you."

Her words manage to penetrate my lust-fuelled haze and I feel my stomach lurch unpleasantly. Why would she hurt me? Unless…is this just going to be for tonight?

"What do you mean?" I force out hoarsely.

"Your ribs; your shoulder," she explains. "I don't want to hurt you."

Considering the way my mind was going, I can't help the relieved chuckle that escapes as I close the distance between us and take her back into my arms.

"As long as you don't get too rough with me, I think I'll be fine," I say before going in for my favourite spot on her neck. I hear that wonderful little whimper and feel my ardour surge through me anew.

"You're not going to let me forget that, are you?" she asks, her voice breathy.

"Probably not," I concede on a murmur.

I lean in again but before I reach my goal, she moves and I suddenly find myself flat on my back on the bed with Teresa straddling me. I don't even really know how it happened.

"Got you right where I want you," she says with a triumphantly smug expression on her face.

She's taken the words right out of my mouth.

We remove the last of our clothing and revel in our nakedness, touching and caressing. We take turns to explore each others body thoroughly; seeking out the most sensitive spots so that we may draw out the most pleasure, the most passion. I mumble something about protection and in between kisses she assures me she's got it covered. Soon, the air surrounding us is punctuated with groans and sighs and whispered endearments until the moment we can wait no more and our sweat-slicked bodies finally unite.

There's a sudden hush as we stare deep into each others eyes. She smiles and I lean down to kiss her gently on the lips. It's an acknowledgement of our love without words then I draw back slightly and begin to move. I can no longer think anymore, I can only feel as our bodies instinctively fall into the age-old rhythm. It's urgent and intense and raw and when I hear her cry out my name, my own voice follows scant seconds later.

My heart is pounding so hard I think it might explode from my chest as I all but collapse panting on top of her. I place a tender kiss on her still damp forehead then, mindful of her tiny form beneath me, I immediately try to move but strong arms wrap themselves around me, keeping me still.

It's actually not a bad thing as I can feel the odd painful twinge coming from my ribs. I bury my face in her neck and just enjoy the feeling of being this close to her as we allow our bodies to calm down.

It was even better between us than I'd ever imagined in my wildest of dreams…and some of those have been pretty graphic. I have a feeling of complete and utter contentment seeping into every single pore of my body. I just hope it was as good for her.

I lift my head and gaze down at her flushed face. Her hair is splayed wildly across the pillow and her eyes are closed but there's a small smile playing about her slightly swollen lips.

"I love you, Teresa," I whisper as I smooth some wayward strands of hair from her face.

She languidly opens her eyes and stares back at me as her smile widens.

"I love you too," she replies in the same hushed tone.

I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing her tell me that.

This time when I move, she lets me go then excuses herself to pay a visit to the bathroom. I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling, just taking a moment to reflect on what's happened to me…to us over the past few months.

Little did I know when I made that resolution to myself nearly a year ago that it would make me confront the demons and pain in my own life. It wasn't meant to happen but I'm glad that it did because I realise now that I needed to resolve those issues before I could truly move on.

It's been hard at times but it was worth it so that I can now be with Teresa if not completely, then at least relatively, unencumbered. My emotional baggage certainly feels lighter and even though there are things that I won't forget, I find I can look back at them with a more discerning eye than I did before. I can't ask for more than that.

The bedroom door opens and she walks back in looking a little self-conscious in her nakedness but I merely grin and lift the covers in invitation. She crawls in next to me and I pull her close, warming her chilled body with mine as I encourage her to snuggle up against me.

"Any regrets?" I ask quietly as I absently begin to play with her hair. I guess there's a part of me that still needs reassurance.

She lifts her head from where it was resting on my chest and looks down at me with a small but definitely mischievous smile.

"Just one," she replies.

Even though I don't think she's serious I can't help the way my body tenses and my hand stills in it's ministrations.

"Oh?" I query, attempting nonchalance.

"Yeah, I regret you're not already making love to me again," she reveals with a grin as she moves to lie on top of me. "Or is twice too much for an old man like you?"

I laugh out loud at that then wrap my arms around her and roll us over until she's pinned beneath me.

"Oh, I think I can manage it with the right amount of encouragement," I counter as I slide my hand under my pillow then pull out and hold up an item I secreted there earlier.

"My cuffs?" she gasps in amused disbelief as the shiny metal glints in the soft light from the living room. "How the hell did you...? Never mind."

She reaches out to take them but I jerk my hand away and grin.

"The stuff dreams are made of, eh, Teresa?" I query with a raised brow and knowing smile.

Her answering blush is all the confirmation I need and then I lean in for a kiss as I proceed to make hers a reality.

One of my last thoughts before I succumb to sleep as we lay spent afterwards is that maybe, for my next resolution, I'll try and make another one of my dreams come true.

It took me a year to woo and win the love of Teresa Lisbon…so I wonder just how long it'd take to convince her to marry me?

Hopefully, next year, I'll find out.

THE END

[tellytantra]

Prologue. The night was dark. It was drizzling and I got ready to go out for a walk as per my routine. It had been my routine to distract myself from the thoughts of her but didn't usually work. She had been on my mind and heart since the day I saw her and she'll always be there, in my heart, where she belongs. Though she doesn't know about it and I might never get the opportunity to tell her that because I don't have time. You must be wondering who she is? She's the girl with a heart of gold and is the most beautiful in the entire universe. She's full of life and very optimistic. Her father had always treated her like a princess. She's the purest soul on the earth. She finds positivity in any negative thing that happens in her life and that's what attracts me the most about her. She's kind. She's bubbly. She's Zoya Siddiqui. Oh sorry,now Zoya Yash Arora. I'm next door neighbor but I wonder that is she even aware of my existence. I could have told her about my love for her but an awful truth stopped me to do so. I could never hurt her. I can't even think of that.2 I was walking down the lane when my eyes got stuck on a girl in the center of the road. A car was coming from the other side in full speed. My heart raced. I thought I knew who she is and the tattoo on her back made me sure. Not caring about my life, I jumped on the road and pulled her. We rolled to other side. She became unconscious. Her body was lying lifelessly and dried tear marks were visible on her cheeks. My heart clenched at the sight. XXX. I put her on the bed and covered her from the blanket. The thought of Zoya attempting suicide shocked me to the core. I looked around the room and found everything scattered. I looked at her and my heart sank. Her face looked pale and it looked like that she'd been crying for days. A tear rolled down my eye. I quickly rubbed it off. Zoya slowly opened her eyes and tried to comprehend where she was. She looked around and then finally her eyes settled on me. She tried to get up and I made her sit. Confusion was clearly visible on her face. 'I didn't die?' She asked with ever so soft tone. 'No, you didn't.' I replied. Her eyes glistened with tears and it hurt me. The spark was missing from her eyes and was replaced with tears and hurt. 'Zoya, what were you trying to do?' I asked sitting beside her. 'Who're you?' Her question stabbed my heart like a knife. I knew she doesn't know me. 'I'm Aditya Hooda, your next door neighbor. The boy you never noticed. You can call me Adi.' I replied hiding the hurt. I was too expert in it. 'Ohh, I'm sorry. I didn't know.' 'It's fine. There's no need to say sorry.' 'Why did you save me?' She asked, her voice trembling. 'I didn't save you. I saved myself, Zoya.' I replied and she looked at me with utter confusion. 'What do you mean by that?' 'Nothing. Now, tell me why were you attempting suicide? What's wrong with you?' I asked and this question broke her. She broke down into tears, her voice trembling. My heart clenched seeing her crying. I neared her trying to comfort her when she hugged me. Her arms snaked around my neck and her face hid in my chest. She'd never been so close to me. Her closeness did strange things to me. I placed my hands on her small back. My vision blurred because of the tears. I was able to feel her pain. Something was surely wrong or else Zoya wasn't the crying one whatever maybe the problem. 'Zoya, what happened?' I asked. She suddenly pulled herself away from me, confusing me. She started at me blankly. Her face devoid of any emotions. 'Adi.' She spoke and I swear my name never sounded so pleasant. 'I'm listening, Zoya.' 'He, he cheated on me. He cheated on me, Adi.' She told and again broke down. I was too shocked to react. How could he hurt her. How could he cheat on her? If he was in front of me, I would have killed him for hurting Zoya. I took her face in my palms and rubbed her tears. 'Don't waste your tears for him. He's not worth it.' 'I loved him so much that I even left my family for him and what did he do. He broke me. Why did you save me? You should've let me die. There's nothing and no one I would live for.' She said painfully. I held her hands in mine and looked at her. 'Life doesn't end by someone's betrayal. It's your life and you don't have the right die for someone who never loved you. Life is like an ice cream so enjoy before it melts.' I tried to make her understand because I knew the importance of life. 'Enjoy. Seriously? Are you kidding me? I have no one, Adi.' 'You have me, Zo.' 'What did you just call me?' She asked and I didn't know what she was talking about. 'What?' 'The last sentence.' I realized she was talking about me calling her Zo. 'I'll never call you again by this name. I'm sorry.' I apologized thinking that I hurt her. 'No, I did like it. No one has called me Zo before.' 'So, I'll call you Zo from now. Is that fine?' I asked. 'Adi, why are you doing this? Just don't.' She pleaded. 'I'm doing nothing. I'm just trying to make you understand. Someday someone is going to look at you with a light in their eyes you've never seen. They'll look at you like you're everything they've been looking for their entire lives. Wait for that.' I said and she sighed. 'Adi, you don't know what I'm going through.' She said. 'Zo, you don't know what I'm going through. But that doesn't mean I'll desolate myself from the world.' I told her, my eyes on the floor. 'So, what do you want me to do?' She asked. 'I want you to look at life with a different perspective. Get over him. He was not worth your love nor is he worth of your tears. Your life is very important. It might not be for you but there are people around you who loves you, who cares for you. No one knows the importance of life except the person who's dying.' I was somewhat successful. She was quiet, trying to fathom my words.1 'Fine, I give you 7 days Adi and in those 7 days you'll give me 7 reasons to live. More precisely, you've 7 days to change my decision of attempting suicide.' 'Wow, that's nice. I like the idea.' I was on cloud nine. Zoya was going to be with me for 7 days. What could be better than this? 'But you've to make a promise.' I said. 'Promise?' 'Promise me, you'll not fall in love with me.' I smiled albeit painfully. How much I wanted her to be in love with me. How badly I wanted her to be called mine but that wasn't possible in this lifetime. 'Huh? Are you even serious? Where did love come in between?' 'It was always in between.' I laughed trying to hide the pain I was going through. 'I promise, I'll never fall in love with you.' She said and I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Her lips straightened and she stared at me as if asking the reason for it. I can never tell her the reason. _FilleSilencieuse_ Reason# 1: Family. XXX. Aditya had slept while Zoya lied in bed thinking about the recent happenings in her life. She thought her life has ended. She knew that he won't be able to save her or prove her that life is worth living in just 7 days but deep down in heart she wanted him to. She wanted him to save her. She didn't know why. Her mind wandered to the promise Aditya had taken from her. Her brows furrowed thinking about it. She didn't know why did he want to save her. She wanted to know. XXX. The sun rays peeped in through the curtains breaking the not-so-peaceful slumber of Zoya. She tried to open her eyes but they were so heavy because of all the cryings in the past days. Her head hurt. She finally succeeded in opening her eyes and looked around the room. She found the room empty. Aditya was nowhere to be seen. She feared that he also left her. Being alone was somethung she dreaded the most. Her eyes got stuck on the table beside the bed where the breakfast was kept with a sticky note placed on the table. She took out the sticky note and it read,"Had to go out for some important work. Don't panick. Will be back soon. I've made breakfast for you. You have to have it.Aditya."The note instantly brought smile to her face. The fact that she was cared was enought to make her happy. Her smile soon vanished as the flashes of Yash crossed her mind. Her eyes flooded with tears. For an instance, she had forgotten that Yash ever existed. She was living, living in the moment with Aditya. But his thought was enough to make Zoya do the unthinkable. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes. She felt her head would explode. She held her head with both of her hands. Zoya got up and started throwing the things here and there. She threw the pillows and the bedsheet away from the bed. She took the vase and broke it into pieces. Tears cascaded down her eyes and she fell on her knees with a glass piece in her hand. She looked at it intently and then looked at her wrist.1 As she was about to cut her wrist, Aditya's face flashed through her mind. His eagerness to save her and prove her that life was worth living gave her second thoughts. She threw the glass piece away and went to the washroom. She couldn't betray Aditya. She herself had given 7 days to him to give her 7 reasons to live. She wouldn't back off now. Zoya came out of the washroom after freshening up. She started to clear the mess she had created when Aditya entered the room. He dropped the shopping bags from his hamds to the floor and ran to her."Zoya, you okay? What's all this? Are you alright? Did something happen? It's my fault. I won't ever leave you alone, again. I promise." Only he knew how fake that promise was. He was going to leave her, no matter what. He had to. Zoya was taken aback with his concern. He hugged her tightly as if someone would snatch her away. "I'm fine, Aditya. You don't need to worry." She tried to calm him down. He broke the hug and looked embarassed. "It's okay." She uttered. He made her sit on the bed and sat down holding her hands.1 "Zoya, tell me what happened?" He asked looking ardently at her. She bowed down her head. "I remembered him and I lost my control. I threw all the things around and even held the glass piece to cut my wrist..." She stopped and his heart beat stopped. "Then?" He asked being courageous. He didn't have the courage to look at her wrist if she had really cut it. "Then I remembered you and the thought of doing suicide was soon vanished." She said and his heart started beating again, now more rapidly. He smiled that at least he mattered to her that's why she stopped herself.2 "Where were you?" She asked. "I had gone for an important work and to buy some clothes for you." He said while handing over the bags to her. He saw the breakfast and took the tray to her. He fed her breakfast while she kept on staring at him with glassy eyes.   "Today is the first day, so tell me the first reason?" She asked while he smiled. "You'll get to know it in the evening." He told her and she frowned. "Why evening, tell me now!" She said being ziddi. "Ziddi Zoya, you'll get to know it today only." He patting her cheek. She smiled sadly. XXX. "Aditya, tell me where are you taking me? You've put a cloth on my eyes. I can't even see." She said being irritated. He smiled and said, "Zo, be patient. Your eyes are close na, so listen to me carefully." "Yeah, I'm listening." She said and he continued, "Think of all the memories that have built up over the years and the people who you call family. The people who have made an impact in your life, have been impacted by you as well." "You don't know anything about my relationship with my family so please..." She was cut by him, "I know. I know everything, Zo. Your father didn't want you to marry Yash, right? But still you did and he didn't accept you." "How do you know?" She asked. "That doesn't matter." He said. "You know what, Abbu was right about Yash." She said as her voice trailed off. Tears flowed down even from her closed eyes remembering the day she had left her home for a person like Yash, who destroyed her life.1 "Family is the most important thing in the world. No matter what they say, they love you endlessly. By attempting suicide, your suffering would not end. It would be passed on to your family." He tried to persuade her and she looked somewhat convinced. He looked at her to see her reaction and saw the tears flowing on her cheeks. He let her cry because he knew the pain of losing a family. "Family is the anchor that holds us through life's storms. The love of a family is life's greatest blessing. It's not an important thing, it's everything." He continued while she kept on crying. "But they have disowned me Aditya!" Her voice trailed off. "Zo, no family is perfect. We argue, we fight. We even stop talking to each other at times, but in the end, family is family. The love will always be there." His voice shook as he said. "Aditya, are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine." He lied as a tear rolled down his eye. "Zoya, I know what the loss of a family feels like. I lost them in an accident, my mother, father and my brother. Since that day, I crave for a family's love. I don't want you to suffer the same. Don't lose them. Talk to them. They will understand." He said and she held her hand and squeezed it gently. "Where are we going?" She asked again. "You won't stop asking, right? So listen, we're going to give you the first reason to live and the most important one." He said and she sat quietly.1 XXX. Aditya's car halted in front of a big mansion. The name plate read 'Siddiqui House'. The guards opened the main gate for him and he entered in the mansion and parked the car. "We're here." He said cheerfully. "Can I take off this piece from my eyes?" She asked being irritated. "No, not now." He held her hand and took her inside the mansion. Waseem, Roshana and Noor stood in the hall looking at her. They had unshed tears in their eyes which threatened to spill. "Where are we? It looks like a big mansion!" She asked and he didn't say a word. He made her stand in front of the three of them and took off the blindfold. She slowly opened her eyes and looked at the surroundings. She was taken aback. Her mouth flunged open. Her eyes were a pool of tears. Soon the tears started to spill of her eyes. She was shocked, stunned and everything which described being aghast. Her eyes went wide. She opened her mouth to say something but was speechless. She was meeting her family after 3 long years. Only she knew how had she spent those years missing them crazily and crying at night. Roshana couldn't see her daughter crying and hugged her. Zoya stood like a statue. It seemed a dream to her. She looked unbelieveably at Aditya and he just smiled.1 "Zoya beta, how are you? We all have missed you so much." She said and Zoya stared blankly at her. It took her some time to comprehend what actually was happenig. Roshana broke the hug.  Zoya instantly felt a hole in her chest as she came out of her mother's embrace and hugged her. Her ters flowed endlessly. "Ami..!" Her tongue didn't support her. Roshana broke the hug and Noor hugged Zoya tightly. "Appi..!" She said as they both cried vigorously.  "Kohinoor..!"1 Waseem stood at a corner with wet eyes. Zoya looked at him and walked in his direction. She stood in front of him with her tears flowing and folded her hand in front of him. "Abbu, humein maaf ker dein. You were right. I was wrong. Please, forgive me. Allah has punished me for hurting you and Ami." She strted blabbering while crying when Waseem hugged her. His tears started flowing while Zoya felt peace being in his embrace. "Zoya beta, humne aapko maaf kiya." He said and Zoya closed her eyes heaving a sigh of relief while tears rolled down her cheeks. Aditya stood at a corner watching the family's union. He couldn't be more happy than this. He had given her family back to her. Roshana came forward and held his hand. "Shukriya beta. Hu,ein humari beti se milane ke liye." "Nahi aunty, is mein shukriya ki koi baat nhi. Me ne wo hi kiya jo thek tha." He said when Waseem came to him. He hugged him and patted his back. "Shukriya ki baat hai. Humein ye samjhane ke liye ke humari beti humare liye kitni ahem hai. Ye batane ke liye ke usy humari zaroorat hai." Waseem said while breaking the hug. Aditya just smiled and said, "Nahi sir, Zoya means a lot to me and I've done whatI felt was right. I didn't want her to live a life like mine." Zoya looked at the person standing in front of him who probably had the most beautiful soul with so much adoration in her eyes. He surely had given her a very important reason to live. She smiled at him and he smiled back.1 The happiness and relief on her face was something that Aditya would never forget. The feeling and adoration she felt at that time for him was something she had never felt before. Reason# 2: The struggles you're going through are going to make you stronger. Zoya walked towards his room hesitantly in the morning. Waseem had asked Aditya to stay with them as he wanted to thank him for bringing back Zoya. Her mind was full of his thoughts. He clearly had given her a reason yesterday. She stood in front of his room and raised her hand to knock the door but then stopped. She didn't know what she would say when he'll be in front of her. She finally gave in and knocked the door.  Aditya opened the door and was surprised seeing her. "Hi.!" She greeted him and he smiled. "Hi..! Good Morning! Itni subah tum yahan.!" He greeted her back. "Good Morning. Actually, I wanted to.." She wasn't able to say anything. He looked at her ardently. "I'm listening, Zoya. Speak up!"  "Aditya, actually wo.. kal.." She again stopped. Her tongue didn't support her. "Kya hua, Zoya." He knew what she was going to say but he wanted to hear it from her. Zoya stood silent. "Leave it, tum nhi bol paaogi.!" He said in disappointment and turned to go when she held his hand. "Thank You.!" She said instantly. His lips curved into a smile. He turned around to have a look at her and found her looking at the floor. "Konsa design hai?" He asked. She looked at him confused. "Marble ka. Itna keenly observe ker rahi thi na tum floor ko." He said while she smiled. "Aditya, thank you so much. I don't know how to thank you but trust me, yesterday was the best day of my life." She said while he kept on looking at her hand holding his wrist. She looked at it and left his hand immediately.2 "Zoya, you don't need to thank me. I gave you a reason which you had asked for." "I know. But still, you made me meet my family and I can't thank you enough for that." Her eyes held sincerity. He looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man.  XXX. Zoya was sitting on the swing in the terrace while sipping the coffee made by her Ami. Her eyes were glassy. A tear cascaded down her eye which was wiped by Aditya. She looked at him and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. He sat beside her and sighed. She got up to go when he held her hand. "Did you not like me sitting beside you?" He asked. "No, it's not like that.." She said when he pulled her back on the swing. "Then sit here." She sat quietly.  "I need coffee." "I'll go and make it for you." She said but he didn't let her and took her mug. "I'll have this one." Her breath hitched but she didn't say anything. She let him have her coffee. She didn't know why did she do that. She wasn't the one to share her coffee with anyone. If it was Yash taking her coffee and sharing it, she would never have given him and would have clearly said a no but it was Aditya, the man who made her heart race in thousand ways and made her feel what she was unaware of.  He took sips from her coffee and spoke, "So, time for the second reason. Are you ready?" She looked at him while he was sipping on the coffee looking at the sky, "Be careful. When trying to fix a broken person, you may cut yourself on their shattered pieces." "I don't care. The thing I really care about is you!" He said looking her in the eye.2 Not able to meet his intense gaze, she looked down. She didn't know why he was doing all this. He knew her barely but she didn't know he was the only one who knew her the most. "Are you really in this game?" She asked. "Game? Are you serious? This is not a game for me. It's my life." He said and Zoya looked at him. "Why are you doing this, Aditya? You won't be able to change my decision." She firmly said. He smiled, "You yourself gave me 7 days, now you can't back off. Let these 7 days pass, then we'll see." She sat silently. He continued, "When life throws you curveballs you need to know how to dodge them without getting hit and the only way of doing this is by fighting through them and not becoming weak in the process." She was listening to him intently. "Once the struggle is over you'll be able to take over the next one with more experience, knowledge, and strength." He looked at her while she kept on looking at the floor. "The struggles you're going through are only going to make you strong. You must've heard the saying, 'what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger'. Have you?" He asked. "Yes. I never understood the meaning." She said. "It's not difficult. If this pain doesn't kill you, it is making you strong. The struggle you're in today is developing the strength you need for tomorrow." He said and held her hand. Fresh, hot tears cascaded down her cheeks. He wiped them off from his thumb but they just didn't stop. "Pain makes you stronger, tears make you braver, and heartbreaks make you wiser. I'm not telling you it's going to be easy, I'm telling you it's going to be worth it. All the struggles you're going through will make you a whole lot stronger." He stopped and sighed. Zoya wiped her tears and looked at him. "I don't know what magic do you cast on me. I don't know why did I trust you when I was not even in the state of talking to someone. I trusted you, Aditya." She spoke, her voice a whisper. "Why should I tell you the trick?" He said smiling and she too smiled.1 "And you know what, happiness has its own way of taking its sweet time. Life isn't always beautiful but it's a beautiful ride." He said while she smiled in between her tears. He got up and started walking away. "By the way, tumhari coffee peene ke liye sorry but bht achi thi." He said and walked away.1 She kept on looking at his retreating figure until he disappeared. She looked at the mug of coffee kept beside her. She picked it up and looked at it. She didn't know why did she share her coffee with him. She didn't know why did she trust him. She didn't know why did she give him 7 days to save her. She just didn't know anything.3 XXX. Aditya came out of the terrace when he saw Waseem standing on the door. "Uncle, how are you?" He asked. "What's going on between you two?" Waseem asked startling Aditya. He fumbled with his words when Waseem asked the unexpected question, "Do you love her?" It was enough for Aditya to lose his self. But he maintained the composure. He so wanted to scream loudly and tell the world he loved Zoya Siddiqui. He always have been. Not from today, not from tomorrow but from years, he had always loved Zoya. But God was cruel to him. When he could have her, he clearly couldn't.2

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