#not concrete not shaking you awake and forcing you to move and spoon her

[ennabear]

little spoon sevika on the brain tonight. i think that she’ll be the little spoon no matter what like she could come home to see you sleeping one inch away from the wall and she’ll squeeze herself in between you and the wall there’s nothing that’ll stop her from little spooningv

[tinycrow]

Mama Fortuna

C-05: Trouble in Paradise

Note: This chapter just didn’t want to be written for some reason.

~*~

Though things hadn’t gone exactly to plan, they now had allies, resources, and a base of operations. The soldiers had honoured them with their bravery during the Mission City fiasco, and after the Decepticons were forced to retreat, Optimus Prime discussed with the appropriate human officials the importance of defence against the new threat.

Mission City remained a reminder to both humans and Autobots as to how important it was to unite against the Decepticon threat. NEST was born, and a new base was chosen.

Megatron’s body was buried in the ocean. The remaining shard was put under human protections after intense debate. It wasn’t ideal, but in the end, there wasn’t a better suggestion.

Guardians were chosen for the select humans that they had grown close to. Ironhide had gone with Major Lennox, and Bumblebee requested to stay with Sam Witwicky.

While Cybertronian life was a secret from most humans, there was hope that Earth could become a second home.

~*~

Oh my god.

I kneel next to the woman and put my index and ring finger to her throat to check for her pulse. Finding it, I then put my ear near her mouth to listen for breathing. She’s not breathing. I need to call for help.

What’s stopping me? I glance at the huge and lifeless metal body of an alien nearby. Being in a less populated part of town, there are no other witnesses, as far as I know. However, this woman needs help, and I cannot call for an ambulance or the police. It would call all sorts of attention, and none of it good.

There’s gotta be something I can do. I hover my shaking hands over the woman’s body. She’s organic. There is no way this is going to work. But I’m going to try anyway.

A quick flash lights the walls of the nearby buildings. In that brief moment, I can feel this woman’s spirit, such a kind and generous spirit, as my power moves through her body to fix the damage to her lungs. She’s changing. There was no other way about it. I feel regret for what I have done, but I remind myself that I have limited options.

The woman takes a gasping breath but doesn’t open her eyes. In relief, I then turn to my next problem. The alien.

What in the world am I going to do with this?

Hands still shaking, a grim expression forms on my face as I consider my options. If I heal him, he will just come after me and my family. If I don’t, someone will eventually notice the body and a different kind of attention will come here. I could bury him, maybe. It might be hard, considering how big he is.

I stare at the conjured metal spike that is piercing their metal heart. The alien had somehow noticed the presence of my children, even though they were in their alternative forms. As the alien posing as a car transformed into a large mech, I could only stare in panic.

I hadn’t noticed the woman close by until an unholy shriek pierced my eardrums. She was grabbed, and I could only imagine that her ribs were broken when she suddenly passed out. I made my move out of desperation in that moment, and the nearby concrete gave way to a metal spike that luckily took the mech out. The alien would’ve never expected a human to be able to do that. I was lucky they underestimated me.

Swaying in exhaustion, I wonder if I have the strength to bury my aggressor. Emboldening myself with grim determination, I stomp the ground once. Then twice.

It takes a few tries, but the mech is completely buried. Sort of. A piece of them is showing, but I don’t have the strength to do anymore. As long as no one looks closely, I’m sure it’ll be okay.

~*~

“Novatron is offline. Their last location was a small town in North America.”

A low growl and a curse in a foreign language fills the otherwise silent space.

“And?”

“Their course was altered to avoid an asteroid in their path, and they landed far from where we are. Their last transmission reported a strange energy signature and the appearance of small Cybertronians of unknown affiliation.”

“So, there were Mini-bots. Why is this of concern to us?”

“Novatron was convinced they were not Mini-bots. They sent us a voice sample they overheard.” A 5-second sample was played.

“Sunshine, I know you’re excited, but you need to be quiet.”

Chitter. Beep. Chirr. Young, barely restrained excitement.

Many voices started talking as soon as the sample finished. They knew what those sounds meant, and if it was true, they hadn’t been heard in millennia.

“You, go investigate. If possible, bring back the sparklings. Do not let the Autobots find out what we are doing.”

~*~

“Hey, wake up. Wake up. Please open your eyes.” I gently shake the woman. I can’t carry a full-grown woman by myself, and dragging might hurt her. So, I am insistent on waking her from her place on the concrete.

A groan escapes her lips and her eyelids flutter open. She jerks awake and away from me.

Seeing her about to scream, I hold up a finger to my mouth. “Please don’t scream!”

She freezes, looking around frantically and then locking her eyes on mine. “What- Who are you? Where is that—that thing? “

“I’ll answer those questions in a bit, but first you need to know that you are safe. I killed the one that attacked you.”

It takes a second for my words to register. Her eyes narrow in suspicion and disbelief. I certainly don’t look like much, and I am seemingly unarmed.

I interrupt her thought before she can start, “Yeah, I know how I look. Kinda hard to believe. It wasn’t easy... look, I know you have questions, but if you really want answers, you’re going to have to trust me enough to go someplace safe to talk. Or, you can go back home and pretend this never happened. The choice is yours.”

“I don’t even know you, and you want me to come with you. Who are you?”

I sigh. “You can call me Ray. Do you want answers, or do you want to walk away?”

She considers my question, before hesitantly nodding and replying, “I need to know what just happened, and what that thing was. Please.”

Her look is so desperate that I feel a surge of compassion for this poor woman. Her world is about to be rocked to its foundation. I smile genuinely sympathetic at her and stand up. I offer my hand, and she takes it after only a second of pause.

“I found this great restaurant in town. How about we get to know each other on our way there?”

~*~

A couple weeks later...

“Linda! Linda!”

Said woman sets down her shopping bags in time to be jumped by metal children. Seeing this happen from my station near the stove, I call out with a stern voice, “Sunshine! Ellie! What have I said about jumping on humans?”

“-not to,” the two say simultaneously.

“Get down.”

Without much of a fuss, they obey. It hasn’t been the first time I’ve had to remind them.

Linda spares a lopsided smile for them as she turns to me to say, “Aw, it’s not so bad. It’s kind of cute... No need to be so serious, Ray.” She turns to her bags, waving the children away and rustling through them.

“It won’t be so cute when they get bigger.”

The woman looking through her shopping bags freezes for a second, and I side-eye her. She has been taking all of this remarkably well, but I know that she still has moments of terror when she remembers or dreams about the alien that she saw on the day we met.

“They have a couple ‘frames’ to go through before they reach their full size. Sunshine will be pretty small still, though Ellie may be the size of a human one day.”

No response from her. I continue speaking as if nothing is wrong, “They love you, you know.” They would never hurt you, I try to say between the lines. “I think knowing a human other than me is helping socialize them. I’ve seen them copying our mannerisms sometimes. It’s really cute.”

Some colour comes back into Linda’s cheeks. I smile encouragingly at her, and she gives a small smile back.

I joke, “So, what dost thou bring from yonder town?”

“I picked up that milk you texted me about. I bought some cereal—don’t look at me like that, you need to eat something in the morning. It’s the most important meal of the day!”

I restrain myself from whining and simply pout. My soup seems to be done heating and I lift it off the stove to pour into a bowl on the kitchen table. I look up to see Linda taking some metal scraps out of her bag.

“Woah, what’s that you got there?”

“Some junk we were going to throw away. I thought you’d appreciate it. Don’t let anyone know I gave it to you, though.”

“Is that all of it?”

“There’s more in my truck. I didn’t want to take too much or it would be suspicious.”

I whistle lowly. Just by this alone, I can tell that trusting this kind woman was a good call. I remember how scared she was when we talked in the restaurant, and how much I wanted to hide my babies from her. Fear has always been a motivator for terrible acts in human history... not that I remember where I’ve learnt that, considering my circumstance. It makes an interesting read now, however.

“How far along is the construction?” I ask her, taking a spoonful of soup and noisily slurping hot liquid.

We talk for a few minutes about her work in construction before we hit a lull in the conversation.

“Ray...” She says, catching my attention. I look at her inquiringly, but she doesn’t continue.

So, I prompt her, “Yes?”

“... I’ve been thinking.”

Now I’m wary. For the short time that I’ve known her, I’ve known she was kind and generous, but sometimes... there’s a flash of stubbornness, of determination to succeed in whatever she sets her mind to. I start having a feeling that whatever it is, I won’t be able to talk her out of it.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to start my own company. I just didn’t have the money or means to.”

My stomach churns with anxiety, and I get an inkling as to where this is going. The problem is, should I let it get there? We haven’t known each other for very long, despite how it feels like we’ve known each other for forever. After a tense moment, I make a decision. I would stand my ground, but I wouldn’t shoot her idea down until I hear her out.

“I see, and now?” I ask.

~*~

I’ve been getting random surges of anxiety when I’m out in town. I really can’t say where the feeling is stemming from, but considering the attack a couple weeks ago, I’m guessing it’s not good.

Both Linda and I decide it’s time to move, and boy is it an expensive one. I pay my renter for the current and next month I promised I’d be living in the farmhouse for, which would have brought my savings down if I didn’t sell the minerals I was creating in my spare time. With Linda’s guidance and help, we set up what would be the foundations of our ‘family company’, “Davis and Weber Co.”. Beside Linda and I, her brother and father are the only ones brought in on our secret. The humble farmhouse becomes a truck stop as, beside the Ford pickup Linda owns, both males bring a couple moving trucks to help me move my limited furniture, the ‘coffee machine’, and the materials I’ve been collecting with Linda’s help. The pickup trucks were one of the first purchases by the company.

I’m not sure what Linda told her boss, but she is free from her former job. She has been handling permits, selling, and purchases for our new company since then, though I know she had help from her father with that.

As for me, I’ve been getting better at creating small gadgets with aid from my powers and increasingly conscious knowledge, though nothing alive yet. A simple but secure communication device was one of the most recent, and we decided to test them on the road to the new warehouse we bought a few days’ journey from our current location. It looks like a standard earpiece with a mic, but has a barely noticeable black square—a fingerprint reader that works as a locking mechanism and an on-off button. The devices send data on an encrypted channel that is not usual for its kind. The hardest part was getting the fingerprint reader to work.

“Testing, one, two...”

“I hear you, James. Linda?”

“I hear you and dad. Oli?”

“Mama, Ellie is being mean,” we all hear on the com, and I resist the urge to face-palm.

“I’m here. I hear dad, sis, and Ray.”

“Mama! Sunshine hit me!”

“No, I didn’t!”

When I hear scuffling in one of the trucks, I walk up to it and move the mic away from my mouth as I bang the side of the truck. “Hey! Break it up! Don’t make me go in there!” The fighting stops, and I walk back to Linda’s pickup truck, moving the mic back to my mouth. “It’s a long ride, and I don’t want any unwanted attention on us, okay? There’s a lot of dangerous people out there.”

Everyone shifts uncomfortably at my statement. Linda’s brother and father both were told how Linda and I met, and it was accepted that aside from greedy humans wanting me and my babies for crazy new tech, hostile aliens might also.

“Sunshine, Ellie, do you understand?”

My voice isn’t loud, but they can tell I’m serious. I get a couple of quiet assents. I nod to myself and hop into the passenger side as Linda gets into the driver’s seat.

“Alright, let’s roll.”

~*~

We’re about a day into the journey when we see some suspicious activity around our small fleet of trucks. I turn around to look at the car tailing us, it’s an expensive car... and the only car for miles.

“It’s stalking us. It knows.”

“Just... keep cool,” I say lamely, even as I feel my body tense, “It could be coincidence that they’re on the road with us.”

“Guys, I see more super cars,” Oliver warns.

The car immediately tailing us changes into the oncoming lane and speeds up to just in front of us. It’s done so quickly that we don’t have much time to react. I barely have time to notice the car has no driver when it turns back into our lane, effectively blocking us in with the other car quickly coming up behind us.

“Linda, that’s—“ I start, but she cuts me off.

“—I know!”

The car in front of us stands up, and if it wasn’t for the fact that we were surrounded by empty farmland, we would’ve crashed trying to avoid it. Swears fill the com. I fear for my life as Linda’s truck swerves over a ditch and barbed fence, coasting into an empty field. The other two trucks stop hurriedly, Oliver’s truck barely slamming into the back of James’.

I jump out of Linda’s truck and sprint toward the truck with my babies.

“Everyone quiet on the com and if you can, run! Babies, stay there. Remember, it’s just like we practiced.”

Silence. I’m glad for it as I see the metal giant get a grip on the truck in front of them. I see the form of Linda’s dad (James) curling forward and down to avoid the shattering windshield glass. My legs and lungs burn as I try to get there as fast as I can. I can hear Linda’s voice behind me telling me to wait, but I simply cannot do that.

There are no pipes underground or metal around me to use, so I’m not sure what I can do to stop this one. If only I was stronger, more experienced... My eyes water as I reach desperately inward to that power that has been slowly growing. I reach my hand out to James’ truck. Please, save them.

A spark lights my fingers briefly, before an unseen wave of something knocks the air out of everyone. It even makes the giant stop. Then, they look at me.

Oh, shit. I dig my heels in and change direction. Linda shouts in alarm behind me and I grab her as I run back to her truck.

“Change of plan, Lin, we’re going to run.” I cup my hand around the mic and whisper harshly, “We’ll see if we can lead them away. Head to the warehouse.”

“What?” Linda asks fearfully, but I pat her shoulders and look her straight in the eye.

“No time for debate, Lin. Let’s go!”

[applsauss]

Mors Ab Alto [8/8] - Act 3

Description: The shuttle dips below a large asteroid, a shadow rolling over the control panel, and when it pulls up, Krung Thep rises over the field like the sun, like you’re stepping out of cool water and into the sun - The city of angels.

Fandom: 
Gundam 00

Pairing: 
Tieria Erde/Reader

Word Count: 3.8k+


Warning(s): 
None.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- 

One year before the armed interventions. Union Zone, Rural Washington State.

       The moon is a violent red; It simmers high in the chalky, night air; a sliver of a crescent. Everything else is dark, cast in a blue-black shadow. 

The drive down the winding driveway is long, and the car bobs along with all the dips in the road. You don’t breathe easily until the house is out of sight, still shaking with emotion. Tieria is silent all the while - he never speaks unless he has something to say and you’re stuck between wanting to sink into the security you feel with him, and the fear that maybe, all this time you misjudged him and secretly, he’s misjudged you. When the air grows smokey the more the altitude drops, you say, “the west coast is always burning this time of year.”

Tieria hums, watching the road with attentive eyes, and drives through the smoke. You stare at him for a couple seconds more until your chest grows too warm, and then you direct your eyes to the dark cliff on your side of the car.

It’s a long three hours to the airport. The roads are winding, but empty and so the drive is smooth and it’s rhythmic; the way trees turn to houses, then stores, then a town, then houses and trees again, all the way until you hit the four-lane highway and Vancouver. Then you cross the water to Portland. 

You feel the press of the G-forces as Tieria peels off the highway onto the diamond interchange, and then you watch as the number of big, blue signs directing you towards the airport steadily increase. When you reach the airport, Tieria pulls off into the rental car parking lot.

He parks the car, then you both step out. You sling a backpack over your shoulder, Tieria pulls a small carry-on suitcase out of the trunk, and then he locks the car. 

You stand for a moment, stretch and yawn into your palm before you hear the wheels of his suitcase start across the concrete parking lot. His suitcase is sleek and white, and it reflects the light from the streetlamps as you trail behind him. You watch the way it bounces when it hits a crack and he jerks it loose, or how it mows over little weeds growing from between the concrete slabs. 

He passes a fluffy, white dandelion. 

You kick it as you pass and watch the seeds float away. When Tieria looks back to check that you’re with him, he doesn’t look like he wants to scold you. He’s matter-of-fact. It’s why you’ve always liked him.

The airport grows less abandoned as you approach the first terminal drop-off. What little stars are left melt away under the floodlights, but the dirty orange moon remains a crescent in the sky. You quicken your step to match Tieria’s as you pass the terminal. He keeps glancing at you, out of the corner of his eye, and when you catch him, he looks away so quickly all you see is the slight downturn of the corner of his mouth. 

You look down at your feet to watch the ground move past, and then he sighs and you jerk your head up again, only he says nothing. You roll your eyes and decide to take your focus off him for good when he opens his mouth again.

“I thought…” he starts suddenly. There’s a break in his speech before he continues, “that it was supposed to always be raining here.” He’s staring up at the sky, past the floodlights that tie you to the airport. Briefly, you wonder if he knows exactly where Lagrange Three is, and if he can see it from here.

“Not where we are. There’s too much wind in the gorge for weather to stick,” you say, “storms are in and out within minutes. but it does snow. A lot.” you smile a bit at memories of days spent up the mountain. “I never understood why Washington always had that reputation.”

“Do you miss it here?” 

“Yes,” you say without missing a beat. You don’t mention that sometimes, it’s all you can think about, just returning to the way things were, like a redo, only this time, he and Ian would be there and life would last longer and be better than it was.

Tieria thinks for a moment, then says, “I prefer space.”

“I know you do,” You laugh, and he looks taken aback, so you amend with, “It’s okay, though. It grows on you. Well, everything but the exercise routine. Sometimes I just miss walking.” 

The conversation lapses, and you take a couple more steps before he speaks again.

“I was raised… In Warsaw,” he tells you quietly. 

You look at him, wide-eyed at his sudden admission. “Poland?” 

“I was in the foster care system.” 

You’re momentarily blinded by a car pulling up to your left. Tieria scrutinizes it’s passengers and driver, even though they only seem interested in the exuberant conversation they’re tied up in. He always seems so intent, so suspicious. It’s necessary as a member of Celestial Being, but he’s always been on another level of taking-things-seriously.

“... Do you miss it?” 

He makes a face, then looks away from the people surrounding the car. “No. I’m here now. That’s all that matters.” 

***

Present Day. Lagrange Three, CB Shuttle craft. 

      You sigh heavily through your nose when you finally spoon the rehydrated spinach into your mouth. It’s lightly salted, positively limp, and it’s the best goddamn thing you’ve tasted in your entire life. Your eyes slide shut as you chew, and test the consistency with your tongue. When you’re done chewing, your tongue sneaks out to wet your cracked lips, and you taste copper, and then you take another bite. It adds to the flavour, you suppose.

“Ptolemy is down for the count. We just stripped all its terminals bare,” Ian explains, both hands on the controls, both eyes forward and true. He’s in the pilot’s chair, Selar is to his left, watching the radar, and you’re hanging back in the doorway leading to the cockpit, tired beyond repair, too gone to help.

Your eyes and limbs feel unnaturally heavy, and the more Ian talks, the more your high fades into a background hum. Loosely, halfheartedly, as you shovel the ration pack of freeze-dried spinach into your mouth, you keep yourself tethered to the conversation by looping your arm through the railing framing the entrance to the cockpit.

“We’ve been holed up in Krung Thep,” Ian continues, “Dynames and Nadlee were the only Gundams recovered, and we’re working with just four GN drives, but other than that, well, and…” He pauses, exhales quickly and shakes his head, “We’re in not too bad a shape.”

The wrapper you’re cradling crinkles, and Selar wrinkles her nose as you take another bite. You’re warm in the space suit you’d yanked on after the hospital gown wore out its charm, and you’re eating and it feels so good you could cry, but your chest is too heavy, and it’s so warm except for the chill on your face, creeping down your neck. Your grip on the spoon is clumsy through the gloves, and it’s so, so warm, like you’re standing in front of a fire with the only person you can seem to need close to you anymore, under the dark trees. 

The railing begins to slip free from the crook of your elbow, your eyes slide shut, and then you jolt awake, tightening your hold, sucking in a breath through your nose and resuming chewing, eyes wide.

“How’s…” You pause to swallow, “How is everyone?” Something is telling you not to let the silence settle, and so you find yourself pushing to keep Ian talking even though he’s done nothing but talk for you since he’d popped you out of that fucking coffin.

Ian pauses, and from the angle you’re at, you see his jaw clench, before he continues carefully. “As well as you’d expect. Sumeragi hasn’t left her room in days, Lasse is shacked up in medbay, and Tieria and Feldt -“

“How’s Mileina?” you ask, turning away, and then after a moment of thought, you look around for the water bottle you’d pulled out of the pantry after the spinach. You kick off the floor and snatch your water bottle out of the air, before sinking back down to your original position.

“Brilliant.” Ian smiles. “Perfect.” You lick your teeth, then take a quick drink.

“And Linda?”

“We’re all busy working on the plans for the next Gundams.”

You pull the bottle away from your face, barely managing to not squeeze the liquid out, while you stare, shocked, at the back of Ian’s head. Your gut twists, your teeth clench, and then you look away. Of course they’d already be working on the next Gundams, Aeolia Schenberg’s plan isn’t done just yet. You swallow thickly and suck your cheek between your teeth. The news catches you off guard anyways, and the wary thought that you might not want to return nudges its way into your head. “The Double O?” You ask when you find your voice again, trying to keep it level and uninterested, but it comes out quieter than you’d like.

You think of Washington, and of your childhood home, and of your mother and you think of returning to all of that with Tieria. Then you shake your head.

Neither Ian nor Selar pick up on your struggle. “Mhmm,” he hums, and you find yourself staring blankly out of the windshield as the shuttle weaves through Lagrange Three rather than focusing on him anymore. 

Around the shuttle, the void of space is black and the stars are bright and you recognize but don’t recognize the scenery because an asteroid field is an asteroid field, there’s not really anything unique about them. You’ve been in this exact spot millions of times before, though, either approaching or leaving Krung Thep for one of the orbital elevators, on leave, on Celestial Being’s dime.

The shuttle dips below a large asteroid, a shadow rolling over the control panel, and when it pulls up, Krung Thep rises over the field like the sun, like you’re stepping out of cool water and into the sun - The city of angels. The solar panels, its golden wings, are blinding. The asteroid it’s seated in is beaten and where the metal cuts through, unnaturally smooth. 

You squint as Ian radios in. You don’t catch the conversation, but distantly, you recognize Linda’s voice. Krung Thep is huge up close, towering, and the hangar doors are terrifying, like gates to the underworld. Selar quips something, her voice lilting, and Linda’s laugh is static when it comes through the speakers, and you can’t think, can only feel the apprehension rising in you because - because they’re already working on the next generation of Gundams. 

“Yea, and we got a little more than we expected, too,” Ian looks back at you, and you catch his gaze and try to smile. You suddenly regret eating - and you don’t want to step foot off this shuttle, even though hours before, the thought of Krung Thep was all that kept you going.

For a stretched minute, the shuttle is stalled near the entrance as the airlock is cleared, then depressurized. Your mind is buzzing with anticipation, fear, at being tossed head first back into Celestial Being, the knowledge of who and what was lost still heavy on your shoulders, the idea of being thrust back into another Gundam project making you hesitate, but Tieria is here. Tieria survived, and he’s here, and the thought makes you clench your fists and will yourself forward.

Krung Thep looms, like a tall house in front of you, and you’re standing in its shadow, but the porch light is on and this is all you’ve got. This is all you are, and maybe… Taking a stand for beliefs held is preferable to having all the decisions made for you. If you didn’t fight, then you’d be no better than every stale person left on Earth, taking a side through inaction, letting people who don’t deserve to die, die.

The hum of the engine surges quietly as the shuttle begins to putter forward, and you can’t do anything but watch as you’re swallowed into the familiar hangar, where just a year ago, The Ptolemaios had been docked, and Tieria’d forced you away from the broadcast of a protest that did nothing but stir up doubt, old hatred. 

Celestial Being is all you are, you burned the rest, and your hand is being forced.

“Alright, kiddo,” Ian pushes himself out of the seat and pushes past you. He turns to address you as he floats past, “you ready?”

“Yea,” you say quietly, quickly shoving your food items in the waste disposal unit behind you before trailing after Ian and Selar. They’re holding the ceiling as the door to the shuttle slides open, revealing the cavernous belly of Krung Thep, and you follow your rescuers out into the familiar territory, wary and weary.

Your whole world expands as you leave the confines of the shuttle, the ceiling and floor drop off, the walls are pushed back, and the only mass taking up space are the handful of shuttle craft Celestial Being operates out of. The whole place smells like space, sharp, burnt and metallic, and somewhere far above, a gaggle of haros are working on what looks like the remains of the GN arms, which are blasted beyond repair, the metal burnt and curled and your thoughts return to Lasse and Setsuna, wounded in battle, missing in action.

Linda is waiting across the gap on the catwalk, and she gasps, both hands covering her mouth when you approach. You can’t help the smile that lights up your face when you see her, and the syllables of her name are pulled kindly from you. “Linda,” you say, the smile working its way up to your eyes, and as soon as you reach the railing, she pulls you in for a hug. You can’t feel the warmth of her body through the suit, but her hair smells like strawberries and you feel yourself begin to tear up again when she sniffs loudly.

“Is this the surprise?” she chokes out, even though the answer is obvious. Quickly, she pulls herself back and puts both hands on your cheeks, swiping her thumb across the apple of your cheek and wiping a tear with it.

If you say anything out loud, you’ll break, so you hold your breath and nod your head, smile watery, and then she starts crying, her glasses fogging slightly as she tugs you back into another hug.

“Welcome home,” she murmurs and you nod and hug her back, pulling at her shirt while you try to calm your breathing. 

Your heart rate slows. You shudder, then after a few moments, you pull away. Ian grips your shoulder and gives it a wiggle, a bright smile overtaking his features, and you return it lightly, with tired eyes. The relief is clear on their faces, because you’re one less person to mourn for.

Ian and Linda leave you on the catwalk, then, loitering next to Selar, who also wanders off after a few beats, offering to take you the mess, and then excusing herself when you decline. She promises to get you some real food next time, return a favor long forgotten, and you both laugh - and then you’re left, sitting loosely on the railing, with your feet hooked between the slats and your arms crossed in front of you as you let the familiar setting talk over your murmur. 

You think briefly of searching out your old quarters, but the idea makes your stomach flip. You’d rather be frozen here, with Ian and Linda in sight, and in the quiet. There are too many thoughts in your head and you need time to sift through them all - and there’s always Tieria. You’re always thinking about Tieria. 

You hold a muted admiration for him in your heart, and when you were sure you were going to die on The Ptolemaios, he was the last thing you thought about, your last hope, your last dream, all you had was the memory of him, in the briefing room - of him, on the steps of your childhood home, of him outside an airport, telling you secrets not meant to be uttered aloud.

Ian and Linda are both by the shuttle, exchanging various technical terms you drown out with the rattle of your own breathing, and you let the popping of soldering irons and the chatter of haros lull you as you wait for them to finish up. You don’t have much to do but wait, and so you don’t do anything but wait, and think. 

The doors at the end of the catwalk open, and you turn your head, expecting to find Selar returning, maybe with some food, but your heart stops when you watch as Tieria drifts in, catching himself on the railing opposite to the door, clumsy with one arm, the other resting near his sternum in a loose sling. The air is punched out of your stomach. 

He’s got his sweater on, his favourite one, with the loose sleeves and the cinched waist, the soft, pink fabric pulling taught and folding as he twists his body, eyes wandering the hangar until they land on Ian and Linda, and then he pushes off towards them and you can’t move, jaw set, eyes dropped open and breathing shallow. You’re helpless, trapped behind glass as you watch him push off the railing towards you, his eyes following Ian and Linda as they head into the shuttle. 

He grows closer, and the details grow more numerous. His movements are stiff and controlled in a shaky sort of way. The left side of his face is red with shallow scratches. He’s wearing a crown of bandages and there are dark pockets under his eyes, and when he stretches his neck, you see more bandages peeking out from under his collar. 

The harsh lights sink through the open air in the hanger, bouncing off glass and giving metal a sheen, but when it reaches Tieria, he looks unaffected, surrounded by this soft glow, like he’s untouchable. 

Does he look at you in the same light? And does it even matter if he does?

His head is turning before you can react, and when you make eye contact, whatever words you could have come up with die on your tongue. 

He looks at you, momentum still kept, and his eyes widen, mouth dropping open, and he looks afraid. You realize you’ve never seen him look afraid. Your teeth clink with the force of you shutting your mouth. He stops himself roughly with a hand on the rail, but it’s awkward because he has to reach across his body because one of his arms is indisposed and though his expression doesn’t change, you see the way his shoulders flinch at the strain. 

He doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips into a thin line and glances fearfully to the shuttle Ian and Linda had disappeared into, then back at you, swallows, and squeezes his eyes shut, the shadow of his brow melting into the dark circles under his eyes until you can barely see his face anymore. His grip on the railing tightens until he’s shaking and you’ve never seen him so distraught except for when he punched Setsuna, and you hope he doesn’t punch you, too, because you’re beat up enough. 

You open your mouth to say something, but can’t breath and then, “Tieria,” you hear your voice, but don’t remember being able to speak. 

He jumps, then says, lowly, “Don’t.”

You can’t think of anything to say, and begin to panic, clamming up before he speaks again, more quietly this time. “You’re not real.”

Linda laughing loudly in the distance is the only warning you get before you remember why you’re waiting where you are. “Hey, (Y/N)!” Ian shouts your name poking his head out of the open shuttle door, and both you and Tieria jump and turn to him like you’ve been caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Ian immediately shuts up, looking between you and Tieria and - You turn back to look at Tieria, but before you can say anything a rough hand bounces off your shoulder, shoving you back into the railing and a body collides with yours. 

The air’s knocked out of you on impact, and you’re suddenly sandwiched between the railing and Tieria as he squeezes you closer to him, one of his arms trapped between you, the other wrapped firmly around your shoulders, his head bowed, shoulders bowed, legs between yours. You let out a shuddering breath, shock coursing through you, before you hug him back, arms looping under his, a leg squeezing his waist and another wrapped around his. 

“Tieria-”

“Don’t,” he begs, his chin pressing the metal collar of your suit into your collar bone, his breath warm down your neck. You shut up, staring wide eyed over his shoulder, and then a full bodied shudder wracks through him and it could just be the heat of his breath, but it feels like your neck is wet. You cling to him loosely, still unsure how to handle this sort of reception, mildly uncomfortable with the emotional response you would normally be spared from with him - confused at the sudden display of emotion, unsure how to take it.

He inhales audibly, his voice catching and turns his head, pressing his nose under your ear, a hand inching up into your hair and he’s crying - you realize distantly. The thought then hits you and you glide your hands up his back and grip his sweater above his shoulder blades, pulling him closer. “Are you okay?” you whisper just loud enough for him to hear. 

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t do anything to let you know he heard you except to minimally increase the strength of his hold, and you don’t say anything else. It’s not a desperate clash of emotions, it’s not all consuming, it just is. And so you just let it be, accept what is given and give what is accepted. 

You don’t have a dog or a house in the woods and Krung Thep’s hangar is nothing like speckled sunlight pushing through a bedroom window, but Tieria’s here, in whatever way he wants to be, can be, at the moment, and you suppose that even though nothing has changed that much, truly, between the two of you, this is a step in the direction you want to be headed in. It’s something you can accept, with open arms, and so you do.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- 

Masterlist in desc.

[dreamworksworddump]

hi i just bought you more ko-fi! can i request a fanfic for post s6 where shiro now has some powers including premonitions for their possible futures and in one he sees himself getting married to pidge? and tries hard to make that one come true? thank you!

I posted it on Ao3 as well, for easy access.Hope you like it!

A bond between souls is ancient- older than the stars themselves.//- Unknown Altean scholar

Shiro attempts to mix the two of them some lunch as Pidge moves crates around Green’s cabin. The pre-made food goo powder sloshes around the bowl like a liquid as he attempts to pour water inside, while keeping it steady between his knees (which is much harder than he’d expected it to be, if he’s to be honest). He keeps reaching forward to steady it with the hand he doesn’t have, and forgets his mistake all over again within a few moments. He’s never been used to his lack of an arm; he’d only been without it for a couple of hours before he’d received his prosthetic, which is miniscule compared to the weeks of travel he will have to endure during their journey to Earth.

He should ask her for help.

Shiro stops messing with the food and watches Pidge. She wears her civilian clothes today, which have grown ragged and worn in the time that he’s been gone. He can spot a patch, just a shade off, on the back of her knee, and her sweater is threadbare enough for him to see her purple tank top underneath. She’s so focused on the collection of crates that she doesn’t notice his lingering stare.

Pidge moves a crate to the right, stands back, evaluates. The stack of supplies beside it sway dangerously. She yelps, and hurries to replace it. She stands back again, and crosses her arms. “I’d thought this would be kinda like building a fort, but it’s really not.” She sighs, and glances back at Shiro. He stares guiltily at the half-finished lunch. She snorts, and holds out her hand. “Wanna switch?”

Shiro climbs to his feet, careful not to knock over the bowl, and shakes her outstretched hand. “Deal.”

Pidge takes his spot in front of the bowl and sets to stirring the half-congealed goop as Shiro reorganizes the crates to create an open space in the center of the cabin. It is simple, easy work that he can accomplish with one hand, and so he doesn’t mind it. After a while, he starts to view it as a real life game of tetris. Long weapons crate here. Food supplies there, where they’re easy to reach. Water near the front.

He’s so deep into his task that he doesn’t hear Pidge call for him the first time.

“Shiro?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” He straps the crates to the walls, and then turns to her, ears slightly red. “What were you saying?”

She holds up a bowl of food goo. It’s blue and smells slightly clinical. He wrinkles his nose, and sits down on the floor across from her.

“Why’s it blue?”

Pidge shrugs, and shovels a spoonful into her mouth. “S’not too bad though. Better than Coran’s cooking.”

Shiro pictures one of Coran’s ‘special paladin lunches’ and suddenly it doesn’t seem so bad. He takes a tentative bite.

Outside of Green’s windshield, the stars surround them. He remembers when he was younger, and his only dream had been to see them with his own eyes. It feels so naive in hindsight. He knows them too intimately now; through Black’s eyes, he has seen more of them than any human ever has, or will. He feels changed because of it, as if he will always be a step out of sync from the others, no matter his companion.

He wishes he had’ve stayed home.

Pidge sets her bowl down and hands him a packet of juice. “You look old.”

Shiro starts, and then laughs. He tugs at one of his newly white locks, and asks, “Is it the hair? I don’t think I wear it as well as Allura does.”

She grins, but shakes her head. “No, it’s not the hair. It’s your eyes. It’s just, it’s kind of like,” Pidge trails off, scowls at her lap. “Well, you have seen a lot.”

“You think my eyes are old?”

Pidge looks up, startled. She shrugs. “I guess. Sorry if that was rude. I just thought of it, ‘cause you were looking so sad.”

Shiro takes a long sip of his juice. It squeezes and then flattens with a a gurgle. Pidge collects their bowls- hers empty, his still half-full- and puts them away. He feels guilty for not finishing his food; he always has, because he knows just how scarce food can become, but lately he can barely stomach any. It’s like his body isn’t used to it, even though he knows that it is.

When she breaks the silence, her voice is soft, as if she knows that she will regret what she has to say next.

“Do you remember any of his memories?”

Shiro’s been awaiting this question ever since he’d decided to travel with Pidge for this leg of the journey, but that doesn’t make it any easier to answer. Her eyes, although hidden behind the lenses of her glasses, settle on him like searchlights.

Shiro shrugs. “I have his muscle memory. It seems like he used his left arm more than I did.”

It’s a non-answer to a vague question, and he knows that this will not satisfy her, but he isn’t sure what he should say. His memory of the time when the body he wears was not his own is foggy and limited, comprised mostly of snapshots and misplaced conversations; to say that he knows nothing is a lie, but to claim that he knows anything is an over exaggeration.

Pidge shifts from foot to foot, then sits down again, feet pressed together. Her expression is thoughtful, though she doesn’t speak. Shiro leans forward and scoops one of her puffball pets from where it floats around the head of her Lance-trash-statue, one of the few things she had managed to save from the castle before it’s demise. Lance and Keith are propped up beside each other, Keith’s scowl aimed directly at him, while Shiro and Hunk’s statues sit on the other side of the cabin, strapped securely to the wall of cargo. Shiro knows that there’s an Allura and Coran around here somewhere, but he has yet to find them. So much was misplaced during their quick escape.

Shiro pets the puffball, and it purrs like a kitten under his touch. Pidge draws her knees to her chest and sighs.

“Anything else?”

Another puffball emerges from the depths, and hovers around his head, watching.

“Maybe,” He admits. “But nothing concrete.”

“But you do remember things?”

“Yes.”

“So I guess Hunk was right. Most of the other memories must’ve been stored in his arm, so that whoever was in control of him could view them.” She mutters, chewing on her nail. “There’s little overlap of your experiences past a certain point, which we have to assume happened somewhere during that fight with Zarkon.”

“Well, that is when I died.” Shiro muses.

Pidge starts, and looks at him, wide-eyed. “You shouldn’t be so casual about that, y’know.”

“Sorry.” He mutters. “I don’t mean to be.”

“S’fine.” She says, but it’s obvious that it isn’t.

An alarm blares, and Green veers upward, knocking them both to the ground. As they both scramble to their feet, the comm links turn on, and the cabin fills with noise.

“Pidge!” She jumps up and hurries back to her seat at the sound of Keith’s voice. “What’s going on over there? You’re falling out of formation.”

“I know! We’re getting drawn into the planet’s gravitational field,” She messes with some controls, and shakes her head in frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense. We’re too far out for a planet that size to affect us.”

“Fall back!” Keith orders, and in the windshield, Shiro can see Yellow and Red drift out of sight. “Pidge, do you think you can break free?”

She shakes her head. “If She were freshly rested, maybe, but not now.”

“Could we try to tow you out?” Lance suggests.

Pidge shakes her head again, but Hunk answers before she can. “If we get close enough to do that, we’re close enough to get pulled in too.”

“Well,” Green falls a little deeper into the planet’s range. Pidge tries to course correct, but the best she can do is keep her flying steady. “Should I try and land?”

“No!” Allura says, a little too loudly. “This planet is being occupied by Sendak’s forces. I highly doubt that your presence would go unnoticed.”

“I really don’t think we have a choice.” Pidge grunts as they fall again. Alarms begin to blare as they lean into a nosedive. She jerks on the steering console. “My lion can’t overpower the g-forces! I think the best I can hope for is a controlled crash.”

“Then do it.” Keith orders, his voice strange and tinned. Shiro hears what might be a sigh, and then his voice comes through the speakers once more, staticky and distorted. “Try to stay off the comms unless absolutely necessary. We don’t want to gain any more attention that we already have. And be safe.”

The radio cuts out as they pass through the cloud barrier.

“Roger that.” Pidge says to herself. Her voice is a calm tenor despite their increasing speed and sharp trajectory. “Hold onto something!” She calls out as Green falls closer towards land.

Shiro fumbles with a loose cargo strap, and tries to strap it across his chest. He fumbles, once, twice, and then hooks himself down, his back pressed against a box of food rations. From where he sits on the floor, he can’t see much. He sees what might be a stone tower fly past; the edges of mountains- no, those are sand dunes- that collapse as Green barrels past them; sand pushing against the windshield,covering the green sky with yellow particles; he can see each grain as they whip past; Pidge screams as they head right for a dune; and they are falling- falling- burrowing deep into the earth like a child returning to the womb.

###

Shiro remembers visiting the aquarium once, when he was a child. His mother had led him from tank to tank, and he had gazed with wonder at the worlds within. At one tank, a little girl stood on the opposite side of it, and through the glass, she had seemed ephemeral,and strange, as if she were just slightly out of place.

As Shiro wakes, the world around him has that same quality. The interior of the Green lion is dim, but even so, he can tell that much time has passed since he was last awake. Crates of foodstuffs, and water lay empty and deserted on their sides, covered with a heady layer of dust. The windshield is cracked, and the pilot’s seat is half submerged in a sea of sand.

He stands, and stumbles to the seat, and starts to shovel sand out of the chair. His hand moves clumsily, shaking and seizing around nothing as he tries to feel for the back of her sweater, her hair- anything at all.

“What are you doing?”

He turns, and the world seems to swirl around him. Shiro reaches out with his right hand to steady himself, and falls into the small dune collected on the floor.

Pidge offers him a hand, and pulls him to his feet. “I was looking for you.”

She pushes her glasses further up her nose, and raises a brow. “Okay, but why?”

“Because,” Shiro starts as he looks around the cabin. He shouldn’t have been unconscious for more than a few hours, or a day at most, but it looks like Pidge has been in here for weeks. All that food gone, and the power off and- He shakes his head. “I don’t know actually. I thought we just crashed or something, but-”

“Dehydration.” Pidge nods grimly. She starts to rummage through the collection of crates, but keeps an eye on him, as if afraid that he might fall down any second. “I know that the plan was to wait for rescue and all, but I don’t think we’ll last much longer here. Something is wrong with Green, and our rations are getting really low.”

“I thought we had weeks worth of the stuff.”

Pidge pauses, arm deep in a container. “We’ve been here for over a month.” She shakes her head and continues searching. “I guess you’re more delirious than I thought.”

Shiro sits down beside trash-Lance. He doesn’t think that he’s delirious. He feels fine, if a little confused. He closes his eyes and tries to call to Black. Despite no longer being her pilot, the bond that they’d shared during his time in her mind is still there. Maybe she can give him some answers.

Black?

Images flash in his head in quick succession. Clock. An window. Stars. Sand. White. A road.

What?

Black tries again, slower. A clock, spinning clockwise so fast that the hands were nothing more than a blur. The stars, all of them connected by lines of white light. A line from a poem, ‘Two roads diverged in a wood’. A window, through which Shiro sees himself and Pidge on an unfamiliar shore, holding hands which are spotted and gnarled with age.

Shiro tries to connect them into a coherent picture. A clock, that would mean time, right? And the increased speed could mean change?

Black rumbles her dissent.

No, not change. But the arrow-

“Here.” Pidge hands him a pack of juice, and he takes it. As he looks up to say thanks, he notices that her skin is tanned, and that her hair has grown long enough to curl around the sides of her face once more. Suddenly, it is all too obvious.

This is a vision of the future, of what might come to pass.

“So what do you think?” Pidge asks, pulling him from his thoughts. He knows that mentioning his revelation will only make her think him more ill, and decides to just roll with it. After all, what else could he possibly do? “Should we stay here and wait a little while longer, or should try to make a run for that city we saw on the way down?” Pidge sits across from him, legs criss-crossed, and leans on trash-Hunk’s shoulder. “I’da thought Hunk would’ve figured this out by now, to be honest.” She admits.

Shiro considers the dismal state of their food stores. If he remembers correctly, they should have three days worth of food left, and little less of water. He remembers what it feels like to grow weaker and weaker by the day; to watch your body wither and grow weak and useless; He doesn’t want anyone to have to go through that, especially not her. It’s the type of thing that leaves you changed; you can never go back to who you were before it.

“We’ll try for the city.” He decides, setting the juice down. “And see if we can find help there.”

###

They start out at sunset, when the sky is stained in hues of lavender and gold, and the two suns rest on opposite sides of the horizon like two glowering eyes. Shiro feels uncomfortably open without his armor, but knows that they have a greater chance of staying hidden if they wear their civilian clothes rather than their armor. Still, Shiro thinks, as he shifts their bag of provisions from one shoulder to the other, he would feel much better if he were wearing them.

Pidge steps out of Green and pats her hind flank. “We’ll be back soon, girl.” She joins Shiro, and points towards the smaller of the two suns. “The town should be that way. It’s maybe a day or two away.”

She doesn’t seem daunted by the long walk, or harsh desert weather. Shiro wonders if all of them have grown so much in his absence, or if it’s just her. Her skin is just a shade or two darker than her usual pale ablaster, but it suits her well. It’s as if she’s been painted in shades of sepia, to complement the desert around them. The sun catches on the curve of her neck, and the sharpness of her face, and in that moment, Shiro is consumed by her femininity, and the strength that lies therein.

“What?” She asks, and he realizes that he’s been staring.

“Nothing,” Shiro says, shaking his head. He can feel the warmth on his cheeks and knows that he’s blushing, but he figures that if he ignores it, and ignores whatever it was that just happened, that it’ll go away. He gestures for her to walk ahead of him. “After you.”

Shiro’s vision swirls and sways as they start to walk, and then suddenly, is suffocated by black.

###

Shiro returns to the void.

It is as intrinsically familiar as the feeling of the Earth beneath his feet. He returns to it easily, like a drop of water returning to the ocean. The stars flow within him, and the vastness of the Black Lion’s mind consumes him.

There is a sudden sense of a current diverted, and then he is spat out once more, stuffed into the flesh of a body that is his, but isn’t.

###

Shiro opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is the ceiling of an unfamiliar room.

Or, wait, no.It is familiar. He just hasn’t seen anything like it in a while. The ceiling is made of the same purple metal of every Galra ship he has ever been on. He blinks, and tries to make sense of where he is.

He turns his head, and notices a wall made of the same material. The lighting is dim, and the scent of old blood, a universal scent of rust and rot, surrounds him. His nose twitches at it, and for a moment, he fears that he will have another flashback to his gladiator days, but it passes when he realizes that his head is laying on something soft. Shiro knows where he is. He is in a Galra holding cell.

Shiro sits up so fast that his head spins.

“You’re okay!” Pidge says, her voice strained with tearfulness. Her sweater is torn at the sleeve, and again underneath her breast, where blood plasters it to her skin. “You’ve been knocked out ever since they threw you back in here.”

Shiro realizes that his head is throbbing. He reaches up to touch it, and his fingers come away stained in gooey red. A head injury. That would explain him being unconscious until now.

Shiro smears the blood on his pants, and leans against the wall beside her. “What’d I miss?”

Pidge shrugs, and then winces, and presses her hand against her shoulder. “Not much. Just more violent interrogation. I was brought back before you were.”

Shiro stares at her injury. Red grows and eats into the white of her sweater like a growing fungus. That could be serious, if it goes untreated for long. If they still had the castle and it’s healing pods available for use, then it might’ve been okay, but she’ll have to heal the old fashioned way, the way that leaves scars across your skin that never really go away, no matter how faded they become.

“When they separate us for interrogation again, I’m going to create a diversion. If this ship is anything like the rest of them, there’ll be a console two halls over, and-”

“Shiro,” Pidge says his name impossibly soft, but it stops him mid-sentence nonetheless. “I can hardly stand. I don’t think I’ll be able to run fast enough, even if you can distract all of the guards.”

“Why?”

She looks at him oddly, and then points to her leg. Her calf is burned midway down with what appears to be quintessence. Spidery lines of faintly glowing purple climb up into the shadows of her shorts.

“I- sorry. My head’s still kind of fuzzy.” He lies. Shiro’s left hand curls into a fist by his side, and he has to force himself to stay calm. Anger does not overwhelm him easily, but it seems all too easy now to succumb to it’s tumultuous grasp. He wants to hurt whoever did that to her, wants to go after Sendak himself for what he’s done, but he’s powerless without his right arm. That makes it hurt even more. “I’m sorry.”

Pidge brushes her hair behind her ear and tilts her head. “What for?”

“For getting us into this mess. For not being able to protect you. For everything that happened while I was gone.”

“Shiro,” She says again, voice quiet. “It’s not your fault. You can’t be there for us all of the time. You can’t always be the hero.”

“I don’t have to be the hero. I don’t have to be there for everyone. I just want to be there for you.” He admits.

Pidge leans her head on his shoulder, and grabs his hand.

“It’s okay.” She says, her tone defeated. “It’s okay.”

###

Shiro returns to the Black lion’s mind. His headache lingers despite no longer possessing a body.

“Why are you showing me this?”

The Black Lion does not respond, though Shiro knows she is listening. The sound of rushing wind fills the void. It grazes his skin gently, like a caressing hand, and runs through his hair.

“What’s the point?” He asks again, louder this time, but his voice is swallowed by the ever increasing wind. He feels it push him forward, dragging him like a child drags a toy behind him. He stumbles forward, almost tripping on feet he doesn’t have.

A sudden, hard gust pushes him forward, and he falls like a stone into a bucket of water, back into his body.

###

Shiro tugs at his collar. He hasn’t worn a bow-tie in years, not since Lance and Allura got married, and he isn’t sure that he tied it right.

“Stop it,” Lance hisses. He wears blue tie, and smile, despite his tone of voice. “She’s about to come out, and I won’t have time to fix it if you mess it up.”

Shiro puts his hand down. Wagner’s Bridal Chorus begins to play, and the doors at the back of the room open. Allura steps out first, heavily pregnant, and yet still radiant in a soft green dress made in the style of a modified A-line. Behind her is one of Lance’s nieces, barely three, who tosses green-dyed rose petals wildly around her. And behind her is Pidge, slightly taller, eyes wide and bright. She wears a cross between a suit a dress; a voluminous ballgown skirt, over a pair of white pants. Her bayard hangs on her waist, half hidden by the skirt. Her father, more grey and more wrinkled than the last time they had met, escorts her to the altar.

She smiles at him, even as she limps towards him on her injured leg. She looks so happy that he can’t help but feel happy too. Shiro’s heart swells with something indescribable, and he smiles. He’s getting married to Pidge.

The Black Lion rumbles with something like approval, and the image fades away, like a photograph slowly being leeched of its color.

###

Shiro feels himself drawn back, pulled backwards like soap down the drain, spiralling, falling inward until his sense of self is so indistinct, that he isn’t even sure of who he is. Suddenly, it stops, and he is pulled back into his earlier self, a body familiar in it’s lack of familiarity.

###

Shiro wakes to find the world hazy and strange. He notes that he is once again inside of the Black Lion, which is dim and covered in a heavy layer of dust. He notes the empty crates of foodstuffs, and water, and the cracked windshield, and realizes that he is once again back at that earlier future.

Pidge stands and hands him a pack of juice, then slumps down beside him. “I don’t think we can last here much longer.” When she looks up at him, her eyes are dull. “Should we stay here and wait a little while longer, or should try to make a run for that city we saw on the way down?”

Shiro remembers the wounds she’d received from his previous choice, and the limp that she had carried with her even at their wedding, far in the future. If he can save her from that pain, then he will. “Let’s wait it out.”

###

“So this is my other choice then.” Shiro muses.

The Black Lion rumbles her assent.

“Let me see where it leads.”

This time the transition is smoother, softer. He hardly even notices until he is dropped back in his body.

###

The crates lay empty and discarded in neat stacks around them. A few have been filled with sand, but a thin layer still rests on the ground, and in small heaps by the corners. His stomach rumbles, and Pidge winces.

“Water?” She offers, but he has already drunk his own rations. He cannot take from hers when there is so little left.

Shiro shakes his head, and she sets it aside.

“No one else wants to tell you, so I’m going to.” Pidge stares at her lap resolutely, as if her next words are written there. Shiro resists the urge to tilt her chin up. Whatever familiarity that they used to share might’ve been broken during his absence; it is better to play it safe, to be aloof, than to be too familiar. “Because this is important, and I don’t think coddling you is going to make things better.”

“Coddling me?” He repeats, a faint smile sneaking into his words despite himself. Shiro has never put a name to it, but it’s true that the others have treated him different as of late. “And you don’t want to.”

She falls silent.

The sands shift a little. He waits. Shiro is good at waiting. When he died, when he was nothing but a passing thought kept alive in the consciousness of the Black lion, all he could do was wait. He is accustomed to long periods of stillness and quiet, due to his experiences there, but Pidge is not.

The silence builds until she suddenly looks up, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. “Keith told you about your fight with him, and about the other clones, and I told you about the virus and the castle. But I didn’t tell you the details, or at least, not all of them.” Her mouth is crooked angrily, chin jutted out like the sharp of a knife. She takes a deep breath, and the words are calm and unapologetic. “I was ready for something like that to happen. I’ve been prepared for it for years now.”

“Prepared for what?”

“A betrayal.”

“You thought I’d betray you,” It hurts more than he can bare to admit. “From the very beginning?”

“Your arm has always been a security risk. It wasn’t you that I was worried about.” She says, trying to soothe him. “It was your arm.”

“Still.” He mutters.

Pidge huffs and crosses her arms. “If I hadn’t, we all would have died.”

“You’re saying that I would’ve killed all of you.” He says, swallowing hard. “That’s what you’re saying.”

“No, I-” She breaks off suddenly, draws her knees to her chest. “Forget it. Maybe the others were right. I shouldn’t have told you.”

Shiro isn’t sure what to say, and so lets them fall back into silence.

###

Shiro feels a sudden gust push him aside, and then it’s over.

He rejoins his flesh and reenters seamlessly.

###

They pass each other in the halls of the Galaxy Garrison and do not speak.

There is no dislike for each other, or hatred or anything of the sort, but whatever closeness they had once had is gone, left in that hot cabin so long ago. Shiro wants for it, but isn’t sure how to close that gap. Whatever they could have been, is long gone.

“Shiro,” Iverson places his hand on his shoulder, and he stops, schools a pleasant expression on his face, and turns around. “I know that this is not how we usually do things, and that this is rather last minute, with your teammates returning to space in less than a week, but the Garrison, in conjunction with the Planetary Space Alliance, would like to offer you a position as our Defense coordinator.”

Pidge has stopped a little farther down the hallway, her head cocked to the side as she doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that she’s listening in.

“What does that actually mean?”

Shiro can see it in the way that his face grows just a little too slack that he dislikes that Shiro is being offered the job. “You would be in charge of all contact with and preparation for any attacks. If any attacks do occur, you would be in charge of protecting the Earth. And of course, you would be our liaison to any peaceful visitors.”

Pidge’s shoulders tense up. Her face is half turned towards him now, her mouth a strict line of disapproval.

If you want me to stay, then tell me, he thinks. Say anything, and I’ll tell him no.

But she does nothing, and stays silent.

“I would be honored.” Shiro says, and shakes Iverson’s hand.

Pidge shakes her head, and continues down the hall, hands balled into fists, and shoulders shaking with what might be tears. Shiro tells himself not to watch, that it doesn’t matter, but his eyes don’t leave her until she is long gone, and the only thing left of her is the echo of her footsteps going down the hall.

###

The Black Lion’s voice, a rare sound, echoes in his head as he wakes to his own body, the one of present day. Make your choice.

Sand is in his mouth, and down his vest and in his hair, but he has never been so glad to be uncomfortable. He opens his eyes and lifts his head up, realizing that he’s still strapped securely to the crates. With a shaky hand, he unstraps himself, and stands up.

Pidge is in the pilot’s seat still, covered almost entirely by sand, except for her head, tilted towards the sky. He digs her out, and pulls her out, sets her on top of it all to wait for her to wake up.

He sits down on the console beside her and tries to think of what he should do. In one future, they fall in love, and have their happy ending, but in the other, the fall apart and away from each other, their feelings never realized. In one, she is injured, and forever wears a scar from it. In another, she is fine.

How is he supposed to make a choice like that? Shiro thinks, though he already knows which one he will pick. Why would the Black Lion give him the ability to choose, when he would have been fine in his ignorance?

Pidge stirs on her bed of sand, and turns onto her side. “I missed you.” She murmurs, still half asleep. “Shiro.”

His heart aches at the sound of her voice. She loves him too, or at least, will grow to, and Shiro thinks that she will understand.

He reaches over and slips his fingers into her hand, which tighten around them. “I’ll choose us,” He whispers, quiet enough that she wouldn’t hear, even if she were awake. “Because I think that you would choose us too.”

[anxietysraptor]

Adam Driver x Reader

Ok... This is the first thing I’ve written... in forever.... This is based off a stupid dream I had. I couldn’t sleep and started writing it in my head so... I just decided to get up and actually write it?? Sets up for more... 

Also this is based off my use of my PSD for my CPTSD so... Yeah.

Rating for this chapter: E for everyone... its... just like... fluff? Drabble? Fuck if I know... But Warning, does describe panic attacks.

 Reader has a panic disorder. Works on a film set. Adams nice. Thats... about it? Sets up for more? This is literally just me word vomiting. I’m so sorry.

Chapter: 1/???????????

You woke with a start, breath coming in frantic gasps, heart hammering painfully against your ribs, and covered in a cold layer of sweat. Fear, all encompassing terror covered your thoughts, filled your body, and on the edge of your thoughts, something cold, yet warm pushing at your hand. Instinctively your hand yanked away from the touch, brain screaming danger, and your eye lids flew open to face the waiting monster.

But there was no monster. Big dark eyes stared out from a golden face, etched with subtleties of concern. Whimpering he stepped closer, weight sagging the mattress. Not a monster, a friend. Brisingr, your loyal companion, your helper, your dog, your service animal. He'd roused you from your nightmare, and slowly pulled you into reality.

Shaking fingers reached out to run through his golden coat, feeling his warmth, his realness. Solid, there, safe, no monsters, no danger. Gingerly laying down beside you the large golden retriever pressed his weight into your side and draped his head across your hip. Easy as breathing your arms wrapped around him, spooning your one life line, clutching tight to his fur as you rode out the rest of your trembling panic.

Its unclear how long you laid there, letting the buzzing beneath your skin quiet, heart to calm, and breathing to even. It was still, well as dark as it can be in the city. The light peaking into your trailer was man made, that of street lamps, not dawn. How early is it, you think curiously, skimming your fingers along the sheets, trying not to disturb your snoring companion. Finding your phone you brought it closer and turned it on. Peering at the painful light you manage to read, 4:54 AM.

Too early... Another 2 hours before you needed to do anything, to even start preparing for the day, but... Sleep wasn't an option... By the time you'd manage to drift away it would be time to get up. An entirely unsatisfying option. Today's going to be... Rough.

“All right,” you sighed patting the dog at your side. His tail thumped let you knew he was awake, “lets get up.”

At that Brisingr catapulted himself off the bed, you could hear him run to the trailer door. With a series of groans you managed to wrestle yourself out of the warm embrace of your bed and into a vertical position. Grabbing a jacket and stepping into some soft slippers you found your companion waiting not to patiently at the door, tongue lolling and tail wagging. You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“Back,” with the command and a sweep of your hand the retriever pranced back, letting you get to the door, open it to the cool morning air and step out.

“Here,” whispering the words once you had stepped out the dog happily jumped from the trailer, skipping the steps and landing on the black top before circling back to your side, nearly jumping with anticipation. “Sshh,” you whisper to keep him from barking, glancing to the other trailers around you, dark and filled with sleeping actors.

Quickly grabbing a leash and ball from a side cuby by your door and shoving them in your pockets you then gingerly eased the door shut, quietly and softly as possibly, desperately hoping you didn't disturb any of your co-works.

Giving your hip a pat, Brisingr fell into an easy heel as you both made your way through the enclosed lot to a strip of grass, nearly all the way on the other side of the studio. By the time you both made it you were fully awake, breathing in the crisp air, and listening to the faint humm of far off traffic.

“Go potty,” whispering the release your service dog bounded off into the grass, sniffing and looking for a place to do his business.

Fingers running over the phone in your pocket you thought to check social media while waiting, when a sound chilled your blood. The smack of shoes on concrete, someone running. Running... where? Why? At her? Coming to get her? Away? Away from what? Danger? Your body began to shake, all feeling but terror draining from it.

Barely managing to think you take measured breaths, forcing them to be slow, even if they are shaky. A weak snap and Brisingr is at your side, nosing your thigh demanding. Kneeling down, nearly falling to your knees your friend moves between you and the sound, the figure you can slowly see coming into view around the studio. Fingers dig into fur, shaking, hiding behind your living barrier, wide eyes glued to the stranger.

Though... The longer you watch, the closer they get, the more you see, the more you recognize. Wavy longish hair, tall, broad frame, nose, lips, Adam. The breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding flew from your lips as your knees hit the concrete. Leaning your forehead against your friends side the panic slowly subsided.  Not danger, not a stranger, Adam, a friend, a co-worker. You're safe, its ok. You tell yourself letting your heart rate slow. You knew this day would be hard.

“Oh, hey [y/n].”

Voice suddenly so close you instinctively flinched back, pulling Brisingr with you causing the canine to stumble a bit before righting himself. Cold nose at your ear the dog gave a soft lick, sniffing at you. “Sorry, I- I didn't mean to startle you,” Adams deep voice came quickly, soft and measured.

Fuck.

“No, no, its ok, really, its alright, I'm ok,” you breathed, looking up at the man and forcing a smile. Easy, rehearsed words you've said a thousand times meant to comfort. Seeing the tall man, hands up, posture small, ready to take a step back hurt, it cut deep. You knew he was trying to help, trying to offer space, and be non threatening, but... it made you only feel like something dangerous, a bomb ready to explode.

Getting to your feet without appearing to struggle was very difficult, but you managed it, shoving one shaking hand into your pocket, and laying the other on your companions warm head. Looking from you to the man Brisingr whispered a whine. He'd always loved Adam.

“Hey buddy,” the man responded giving your service dog a smile before glancing at you with questioning eyes.

“Go say hi,” you murmured with a smile, a release for both the dog and the human.

Kneeling down Adam was bombarded by kisses from a squirming wagging, one hundred pound ball of fur. “Good mornin to you too!” Adam chuckled, voice hushed in the morning air.

You couldn't help but chuckle and smile at the sight of the two of them. So sweet, so happy.

“...On a uh.. Morning run?” You ask, shifting your weight, trying not to feel awkward in the silence as your co worker gave your dog the love he was demanding.

“Heh, yeah... every morning. Its uh... an old military habit. Wakes me up.”

Giving an understanding nod you glance away from him, not sure what else to say... Why did you always have to be so awkward?

“I've never seen you two up this early?”

“Oh... yeah, Brisingr had to go potty.”

An easy lie. He didn't need to be bothered with the truth of your morning... No one did.

Chuckling Adam gave the dog a good rub before straightening up, but the canine was having none of that, jumping up and down and prancing around the man as excited as any puppy.  Adam chuckled, smiling wide at the animals antics.

“Wanna take him on your run? I'll start coffee?” The offer fell off your tongue without thought. Asking someone else to exercise your dog? Stupid! … But they both seemed to enjoy one another... and it wasn't like he wasn't already running...

“Sure! Do you have a leash?” Adam asked brown eyes bright as he looked at you smiling, still trying to ward off the jumping dog.

“Oh, yeah, here,” reaching into your pocket you pulled out the leash and hand it over which Adam easily clicked onto the retrievers collar.

“See you in your trailer?” Adam asked.

You give a smile and nod.

With that the man and canine took off on their jog, Brisingrs tail wagging ad Adam easily holding the leash while you meandered toward your trailer, hoping Adam liked his coffee strong...

[sunflowerseedsandscience]

X-Files Fic: Reminiscence, Chapter Four

Previous chapters: one | two | three

"I could definitely get used to this."

Her voice is playful and sweet in a way he's never heard before- but, then, he's never seen her like this before, as many times as he's imagined it.  She's spooned up against him, cradled against his chest, his face buried in her neck.

She's also naked, and while he has seen her this way before, it's certainly never been immediately following a bout of sudden, vigorous, and completely unplanned lovemaking.

"Is that your way of saying you're ready to go again?" he asks, kissing a line down the side of her neck.  She smiles and turns her head just enough to cover her lips with his.  As they kiss, she rolls him over, straddling him, sliding her body along his until her breasts are pressed against him.  She stretches both their arms up above their heads, holding them against the mattress, and kisses him long and deep.

"So is that a yes?" he asks, when they come up for air, and she laughs.

"That's an impressively short refraction period you've got there, Mulder," she comments, pressing her bottom against his rapidly-growing erection.  He pretends to be offended.

"Pretty impressive for a guy who's pushing forty, you mean?"

"Pretty impressive for any guy who's no longer in high school," she says, grinning.  "Even more impressive when said guy has just gotten off a plane from London and should, by rights, be deep in the throes of jetlag."

"I'm deep in the throes of something, for sure," Mulder says, clasping her to him and pushing himself up against her.  She sits up slightly and laughs indulgently... until he lifts his head just enough to take one pert nipple between his lips, and suddenly, the time for laughter is over.

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

At first, when Langly shakes him awake, Mulder keeps his eyes tightly closed, trying desperately to hold onto the image of Scully as she'd looked above him, that very first night together, her head thrown back and her eyes closed in bliss.  And it's easier somehow, this time: he can still see her when he finally opens his eyes.  He sits up on the beat-up orange-and-brown sofa, looking sleepily up at the mismatched trio in front of him.  

After all that's happened in the past three days, he's not entirely convinced they're real.

For the most part, they look the same as ever. ��Frohike's got a little less hair, and what's left is mostly grey, Byers has a touch of silver at his temples that serves only to make him look more dignified, and Langly... Langly has clearly tried to dye his hair at some point, whether from vanity or an effort to disguise himself Mulder doesn't know, but he clearly hasn't kept up with it, because the bottom six inches of his hair is brown, and the top is a mix of blond and silver.

"You were dreaming about her, weren't you?" guesses Frohike, as Mulder rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

"Yeah," says Mulder.  "Every night since she disappeared.  This is the first time I've really been able to remember it, though."  Frohike nods in approval.

"Means the drug's working its way out of your system and you haven't been slipped a second dose while we weren't looking," he says.  Mulder frowns.

"The drug?'' The previous evening, when he'd arrived at the Gunmen's new lair, there had only been time for them to update him on the hows and whys of their continued existence before forty-eight hours without sleep had caught up to Mulder, and he'd needed to pass out on their couch before they could really get into any of what's been going on.  

Crashing on the Gunmen's couch because of lack of sleep while trying to unravel a dark and malicious conspiracy, and dreaming of Scully all night.  Some things never change.

"The process that's interfering with your memory seems to be a two-pronged attack," says Byers.  "Half of it is being cause by a drug that, we believe, was administered to you around the time Scully disappeared, probably while you were sleeping."

"Did you have any freaky dreams that night that you can remember?" asks Langly, and Mulder thinks back.

"There was a thunderstorm," he says, after awhile.  "The lightning woke me up.  High winds, too.  And I thought...."  He frowns.  "I thought someone was calling my name."  The Gunmen exchange looks.  "What?"

"There hasn't been any rain for over a week," says Frohike.  "Not anywhere around here.  Definitely not out at your house."  Mulder mulls this over.

"So could that have been a side effect of this drug?" he asks, and the Gunmen shrug.

"Could be," says Langly.  "We don't really know enough about it to be sure.  One way or another, we think they injected you with it while you were sleeping."

"You think that's why I didn't hear them taking Scully?" Mulder asks.  The Gunmen exchange glances again.  "What?"

"They wouldn't necessarily have to have forced her," says Byers carefully.  Mulder feels his overtired body flood with anger at the insinuation

"You think...."  Mulder struggles to keep his voice level, incensed at the idea.  "You think she would have gone with these people willingly?"

"Think about it, Mulder," says Langly.  "Those aren't the only two options.  Don't you remember any other time that Scully went somewhere she might not have if she could've made the decision herself?"

And then Mulder realizes what they're getting at... and he can't believe the idea hasn't occurred to him before.

"The chip," he says.  "You think they used the chip to control her."

"At least to get her out of the house," says Frohike.  "And maybe into her car?"  Mulder nods.  

"It was gone in the morning when I woke up," he confirms.  "I figured she'd just driven home early to get ready for work."  He leans against the back of the couch.  "So you think that they summoned her somewhere, like at Ruskin Dam?"

"It makes sense," says Frohike.  "For all we know, they may even have had her give you the injection, just so there wouldn't be any chance of you waking up and seeing them at all."  Mulder digests this.  He supposes it's perfectly likely that someone could have planted a syringe in Scully's bag, or even somewhere in the house while neither of them had been home.  Frohike's right; it does make sense.

"So what's the other half of what's being done to me?" he asks.  "You said it was a two-pronged attack."  In answer, Frohike pulls a small, strange-looking electronic device, a bit like a bug, from his pocket.  "What is that?"

"This," says Frohike, "is what we retrieved from the inside of your television yesterday.  We took another from your FBI-issued laptop, another from your normal cell phone, and another from your home computer."

"We're willing to bet there are more in the Hoover building," says Byers, "though we suspect they don't look like this one."

"What do they do?" asks Mulder.

"You probably already know," says Langly.  "You've seen them before, but they weren't this sophisticated."  Mulder frowns, thinking back, his memories still stubbornly fuzzy.

And then he remembers.

Scully, trashing her hotel room and fleeing.  Scully, terrified out of her mind, hiding out at her mother's house.  Scully, aiming her gun at him.

Scully, believing he'd betrayed her, because that had been her deepest fear.

"Braddock Heights, Maryland," says Mulder, sinking back against the couch.  "The mind-control devices we found in the cable towers."

"Bingo," says Langly.  "Only these suckers are way more advanced.  Technology's moved ahead in twenty years."

"The drugs confused your memories, laying the groundwork," says Byers.  "And every time you used your laptop, every time you picked up your cell phone, every time you even looked at your computer at work, your memories were being reprogrammed."

"You'd probably be in much worse shape if you'd watched any TV over the past couple of days," says Frohike.  "Or if we hadn't told you to ditch your phone and laptop at your house and let us take care of them."

"Yeah, thanks for the loaner phone," says Mulder.  "And thanks for...."  Something suddenly occurs to him.  "How did you know where William was?" he asks.

"We've known for some time," says Byers.  "We've been keeping an eye on him, making sure he's safe."

"But we also knew that Scully didn't want to know where he was," says Frohike, catching sight of Mulder's expression and jumping in.  "For his own safety.  She didn't want to be tempted."  Mulder knows it's true, but that doesn't make it sting any less.

"But now I know," he points out.

"Yeah, you do," says Frohike.  "We couldn't think of anything else we could show you that would prove to you that the things you thought you were remembering weren't the truth.  William was the only concrete proof we knew of that Scully didn't die in 1994.  What you do with that information, when this is all over, is up to you."  

Mulder turns this over in his mind.  Scully didn't want to know in 2002 when they'd taken off together, that much had been certain.  And she hadn't wanted to know in 2005 when they'd bought the house... which had been the last time they'd broached the subject for a long, long time.

It's a choice he can't make right now, and so he puts it out of his mind with a sharp shake of his head.

"Is this what's reprogrammed everyone else?" he asks, holding up the tiny device.  "Skinner, Diana, Scully's brother?  His wife?"

"Looks like it," says Frohike.  "We're pretty sure they've all gotten doses of the memory-altering drugs, too.  If we can get at their phones and computers somehow, we'll know for sure."

"One way or another," says Byers, "it looks as though all did not go quite according to plan for them."

"How's that?" asks Mulder.  In answer, all three of the Gunmen grin.

"You," says Langly.  "If everything had worked exactly the way they wanted it to, you would've gotten out of bed and driven to work without a second thought about Scully or where she was."

"Why didn't I, then?" Mulder asks.  "Why didn't it completely work on me?"

"Our best guess is that she's just too big a part of you to just erase with a shot and some electronic gizmos," says Frohike, grinning.  If it had worked, you would've accepted Diana, no questions asked, and gone about your business," says Frohike.  "But instead, according to the bugs we stuck in your office years ago, you freaked out."

"Wouldn't you?" grumbles Mulder.  "What's her role in all this, anyway?"  The smiles fade from their faces immediately.

"We don't know," Byers admits.  "It's obvious that her death in 1999 was faked, and she seems to be toeing the line, but we don't know if she's had her memories altered like the rest of you... or if she's just reading from a script someone's given her ahead of time."

"She had a flashback of some kind," Mulder says, remembering suddenly.  "In the cemetery yesterday.  There was a funeral... and she suddenly remembered seeing Scully and me at her funeral.  She remembered sitting in a car with CGB Spender and watching us through binoculars."  The Gunmen exchanged glances.

"Interesting," says Frohike.  "So either she's being used by them and she doesn't even know it... or she knows exactly what's going on, and they're trying a different angle, now that they know their first attempts didn't work on you the way they expected."

"Either way, we can't trust her," says Langly.  "Not yet.  We need to know more first."  Mulder agrees.

"What we really need," says Frohike, "is to find out what made them decide to do this now."

"No, what we really need is to find Scully and get her back from whoever's got her," Mulder insists.

"I know, Mulder, and we will," Frohike promises.  "But if you can remember what was going on right before all this happened, maybe finding out the 'why' will lead to the 'where.'"  

"I can't deny the logic, guys," says Mulder, "but I can't force the memories to come, either.  So unless you guys have got some kind of an antidote for these drugs...."  The Gunmen grin at him.  "You do, don't you?"  They nod.  "Do I even want to know how you've managed that?"

"No, and we wouldn't tell you even if you did," says Frohike.  "The few sources we have left are way too valuable to risk.  The important part is, we've got the antidote, and we've got enough of it for you and two other people."

"So everyone else they've drugged is just gonna go right on thinking Scully's been dead for years?" Mulder asks.  He has no idea how many people whoever took her has gotten to, but they've managed to hit Bill and his family, not to mention the entire staff of the FBI, so clearly, their reach is relatively broad.

"Nah, eventually the drugs will wear off on their own," says Langly.  "And the effects of the bugs wear off even quicker, 'cause they're stuck in devices that most people can't go more than ten minutes away from.  When's the last time you went longer than an hour without looking at a computer, a phone, or a TV?"

"The longer you go without using a screen that's been tampered with, the less hold they have on you," says Byers.  "You've made great progress after just twenty-four hours, haven't you?"

"So we save the antidote for people whose help we need right now," says Mulder.  The others nod in agreement.  "Skinner, then.  We need to take care of Skinner.  He's got access I don't, and that could be useful."

"Definitely," agrees Frohike.  "What about the other dose?"

"Not Bill," says Mulder.  "If we can deal with his electronics, we can wait for the drugs to wear off on their own.  He won't be much help.  Besides," he sighs, "I'm kinda enjoying him not hating me, for once."

"Should we save the last dose?" suggests Byers.  "In case we get Scully back and she's been exposed to the same drugs as you?"

"I think that sounds like the best idea," says Mulder.  He stands up.  "So... should we get right to it?"

"You want the antidote?" asks Frohike.

"Yes.  We need to get started right away.  Dose me up, and then we'll go grab Skinner somehow and take care of him."

"We've been told," says Byers, "that the antidote will knock you out when you take it, at least for a short period of time."

"Oh."  Mulder frowns.  "And you couldn't have... I dunno, injected me with it while I was asleep last night?"

"We kinda figured you'd had your fill of being drugged without your consent, man," Langly protests.  "We figured we'd give you the choice this time."

"Fine," says Mulder, and rolls up his sleeve.  "I've already got your supremely uncomfortable couch right here waiting for me.  Let's get this over with."

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

"I still don't get why you won't let me take you to dinner tonight," Mulder sighs, leaning against the kitchen counter.  "We should be celebrating tonight."

"We still have no way to test it."  Scully's staring down at the kitchen table with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.  "It's not like we've got a plethora of willing subjects available, and I am not doing this to someone without their consent."

"I know, Scully," says Mulder, coming up behind her and massaging her shoulders.  "But tell me, honestly: is there any reason you know of, any reason you can think of, that's going to keep this from working?"  She shakes her head.  "So why can't we celebrate?"

"Because it's precisely what we don't know, what we can't think of, that keeps things like this from working the way we anticipate," says Scully stubbornly.  "Until we have a real, live test subject, and until we have results that can be reproduced, celebrating would be premature."  Mulder bends over, wrapping his arms around her from behind and squeezing her against his chest.

"So we'll figure it out," he promises.  "But one way or another, Scully... this is the closest we've ever gotten.  Can we celebrate that, at least?"  She relents, going soft against him.

"Sure, Mulder," she says.  "We'll celebrate by getting to bed before one in the morning, for once.  How's that sound?"

"I can't help but notice that you said 'get to bed,' not 'get to sleep,'" Mulder purrs into her neck.  "I think that sounds perfect."  Scully turns her head and kisses him fiercely.

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

A loud pounding on the door jolts Mulder out of his slumber, and he sits bolt upright, looking around in total confusion.  The pieces are just starting to fall back into place- he's at the Gunmen's new lair, they're alive, he's been given an antidote- when the pounding booms through the room again.

Frohike materializes from a back room, followed by Langly.  Byers stands from where he's been sitting on the floor, and as he does, Mulder notices something else: Walter Skinner, stretched out on a sleeping bag on the cement floor, dead to the world.

"What the hell?"  The others turn to look at him, startled.  "What's Skinner doing here?"

"We went and got him," says Langly.  "Took your truck to the Hoover building, lured him down to the parking garage, gave him the antidote, and brought him back here.  Didn't you say to go grab him?"

"I meant metaphorically, Langly!  I didn't mean you should kidnap him!"

"Sorry, Mulder, but we wanted to get him as quickly as possible," says Byers sheepishly.  You were right when you said we need to get started right away."  Whoever is outside pounds on the door for a third time, and Frohike runs to a video monitor on the wall.

"Holy shit," he says.  "Mulder, you're gonna want to see this."  Moving slowly, feeling like he has a hangover, Mulder gets to his feet and crosses to the monitor.

Diana Fowley is standing outside... and she's covered in blood.

"How the hell did she even get here?" Frohike asks.

"I don't know, but we have to let her in," says Mulder.  The others look at him like he's lost his mind.  "Guys, she clearly knows that we're in here... and the longer she stands out there looking like that, the more likely it is that some cop on patrol is gonna notice her.  I'm not saying we let her leave once she's in here, but if we don't open the door, your new lair is going to end up raided before the day is out."

"He's right," sighs Frohike reluctantly.  "We gotta let her in."  He crosses to the door, throws the many bolts and chains that secure it, and hauls it open.  Diana rushes in, looking around at them in near-total panic.  When she sees Mulder, she rushes at him, throwing her arms around him."

"Fox!" she exclaims.  "I couldn't find you anywhere!  I went to your house and you were gone... I couldn't go into the office, not like this... so I waited, I waited in the garage and I saw your truck, and-"

"You amateurs let someone follow you?" bellows Frohike, rounding on Byers and Langly, who look horrified.  "Is it open invitation in here to the whole damn FBI now?"

"I was careful," says Diana.  "I stayed back.  They couldn't have known."

"What happened?" Mulder demands.  "Whose blood is this?"  Diana dissolves into tears at the question.  "When you left the cemetery last night, what happened?  Where did you go?"

"I went home," sobs Diana.  "I wanted to see Stephen... what I remembered at the cemetery, it scared me, and I needed reassurance I wasn't losing my mind, and...."  She crumples onto the couch.  "I told him," she says.  "I told him what I'd seen, what I'd remembered... how you've been insisting for days that Agent Scully is still alive... and he got this look on his face, and...."  She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut.  "He grabbed me, Fox, he grabbed me by the arms and started dragging me to the door.  Stephen's never touched me like that, not the whole time we've been married!"

"What did he say, Diana?" asks Mulder, his blood going cold.  If whoever has Scully knows that Diana is remembering things, knows Mulder is onto them...."

"He said the plan was shot to hell, he said he had to take me somewhere.  I refused to go with him until he explained, and he... and he....."  She's becoming nearly incoherent.  "He hit me... and I shot him.  I shot him, Fox!"  She curls into a ball, rocking back and forth, sobbing loudly.

Mulder is aghast.  He doesn't know what to think, what to believe.  On one hand, it sounds as though Diana has managed to stop her husband- who is obviously a plant- from informing the people he answers to that their plan is in danger.  On the other hand... it's looking like maybe, just maybe, Diana is just as much a victim of all this as he is.  He crouches down in front of her and takes her hand.

"Diana," he says, his voice gentle, "I think something has been done to you to make you remember things that aren't true, and forget what really has happened."  She looks up at him, her red face tear-stained and swollen from crying.  "But we have a drug here that might help you remember what the truth is."  Frohike, Langly, and Byers look at him in shock.

"Mulder," says Frohike, "if you give the antidote to her, we won't have any left for Scully."

"I know," says Mulder, gritting his teeth.  "But think about it, Frohike.  Diana might know where Scully is.  She might know who's taken her... and I've already remembered the why."  The Gunmen's eyes open in collective shock.  "Scully and I... for the past five years, we've been working on a vaccine.  A combination vaccine that fights both aspects of the black oil virus: the mind control and the gestation.  And three days ago, we thought we might have finally gotten the formula right."

"And that's why they took her," says Byers slowly.  "Why they had to make you forget everything."  Mulder nods.

"Whether they want the vaccine to keep us from fighting colonization or to use it against the colonizing force themselves, someone has decided we've gotten too close."  He looks back at Diana.  "The drugs will work their way out of Scully's system without the antidote.  We need Diana to remember what she's forgotten right now."

"I think he's right," says Byers quietly.

"Diana," says Mulder, "we have a shot that we need to give you.  It'll knock you out, but when you wake up, we think you'll remember who's done this to you- and why."  Diana looks at him with wide, trusting eyes, and nods.

"Okay," she whispers.  "Give me the shot."

[atlaswriting]

“We can share,” says Abram. I want to argue, tell him I’ll find another room. I passed at least four more during an extra long bathroom break a few hours ago. Instead I just nod and follow him into the room. It’s one of the smallest I’ve seen and I know it was gifted to Abram for that reason. A sharp hate digs itself deeper into my stomach for Malachi Rose.

My eyes drink in everything they can—toned back marked up only by tattoos and angry bruises splattered over his ribs like some kind of f’ucked up galaxy. He turns back around and I cast my gaze away, the cheeks burning hot. “I’m sorry I don’t have my bags in here, can I borrow a shirt?”

Abram doesn’t hesitate. He lifts a shirt from his suitcase, smells it and tosses it toward me. I turn it over in my hands, about to tease him for the hockey shirt when I glance at the back: O’HAIR – 23

“Can I have another one please?”

“You don’t like the Kings? Or do you have a problem with the greatest hockey player to grace the ice?”

My hands work the shirt into a ball and toss it back at him, “Can I please have another one?” I snap, an edge to my voice I don’t mean to have. Abram’s brows knit together and he reaches into his bag.

“Is this one good enough for her highness?” His smirk makes me glare and he throws me the plain black t-shirt.

“Much better actually. Turn around please.” He listens, walking backwards toward the bed and sitting with his back toward me. When I’m confidant he isn’t looking I slip off my shoes and my dress, pulling his shirt over. “Hey!” I shout as the shirt falls against my frame, “you were looking, I told you not to.” I sit on the bed and pull the safety of the blankets over me.

Abram lies beside me on top of the blankets, “Who knew there was a girl beneath all that meanness.”

“I’m not mean.”

He squints holding his index and thumb nearly together, “A little mean.”

I have to give him that, so I shrug.

We start talking. About nothing, about everything and soon Abram knows everything from my first broken bone to having not spoken to my father since I was eight. I tell him how my body is the casualty of the war I wage on myself. And he tells me how his mother used to read to him every night, sometimes her own work but most of the time it was other poets. She would pull him into her lap, rest him against her chest and her soft voice would slowly lull him to sleep. He tells me how the nightmares come like a pack of wolves, ready to ravage everything in sight.

“What he did to you isn’t right.” We’re lying on our sides facing each other when I decide to fill the silence again. His eyes were half closed and open at the sound of my voice. My fingers move to the tender bruises that stain his skin the color of plum wine. The edges are yellowing which I knew to mean healing, still I touch him softly. “We can go,” I say, “We can leave them—Mom, Malachi. If you want to I can make it happen.” Abram offers a throaty sound, the desperation in my words going unnoticed as he drifts to sleep. I lean my forward against his for just a moment before turning around and letting sleep take me.

♡ ♡ ♡

My eyes open slowly, the sun peaking over the horizon glares at me and I try to turn around but find it difficult with Abram’s body wrapped around mine. At some point he snuck below the covers and now I didn’t know where I began and he ends.

Guilt settles into my bones like concrete and I do my best to pull back the body parts the belong to me. Slowly I stand up and leave the room, running toward what was supposed to be mine. The shower I take his hot and I try hard to scrub Abram off of my skin—both for my sake and Jason’s.

When I walk out toward the kitchen everyone with the exception of Malachi and Abram is awake. Gigi sings a song I know belongs to Billie Holiday as she sways by the stove, “Coffee’s on the counter and breakfast will be ready soon.”

I opt to keep my coffee black, hoping it’ll settle the fault lines that my stomach’s become.

“Where did you go last night?” Jason asks, sitting beside me on the table, he leans over and kisses my cheek, “I checked your room and you weren’t there.”

“Did you check Abrams?” My mother asks, her voice drowning in malice.

Jason stares back at me, “You were sleeping with Abram?”

“Sleeping,” I stress, reaching over and grabbing his hand. I give it a gentle squeeze. The reason why I care what Jason thinks escapes me, but I do. I know the horror he’s lived through and I don’t want to be another hurdle he survives, “I forgot where my room was so Abram let me sleep in his, he was on top of the blankets the entire time.” It’s a half-true which is better than a whole lie, “Besides,” I start just as Abram walks sleepily into the kitchen, “Abram’s like a brother to me.” I force the words out, tar black and heavy.

Gigi looks from her grandson toward me, kisses his cheek and makes me ‘hmph’ sound. I look away; unaware to face the lies I’ve been weaving for myself.

We eat in relative silence. Me, mostly drinking coffee and occasionally taking a few bites of my toast. When I move to stand up, Gigi’s fingers curl around my wrist, “Don’t you think you should eat more? A piece of toast for breakfast isn’t enough.”

“I think it’s plenty,” Cerise chimes from the opposite ends of the table, pressing around her eggs with her fork, “Elise doesn’t eat a lot. Small stomach.”

Gigi doesn’t bother look at my mother and I find myself jealous of her spine, how it must be made of steel, instead she gives me a look, the stern look of someone who cares. “No, you’ll sit and eat a little more.”

She uses a spoon to put some eggs on my plate, not much but enough and adds a few bacon slices to that.

Cerise pulls her sharp body up, “Elise,” she says, “le maillot de bain ne rentre pas,” she says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a good thing—” Gigi starts, “Je me fiche de ce que tu penses.”

I stare at my mother as her face goes from tan to red to purple. She lifts her half eaten plate from the table and slams it on the counter before storming out of the kitchen.

“Now eat, sweetheart. You’ll blow away with the wind.”

I do as she says.

♡ ♡ ♡

Good morning x. I hope you slept well

Kai: I actually slept better than I have in months.

Kai: Is there anything worse than family holidays with the wannabe Brady Bunch?

Maybe being eaten by a shark?

Kai: It kind of feels like the same.

Kai: Can I call you? I have a free moment.

I can’t… I’m about to head to the gym

Back at it again with the half truths. I pull on my sneakers and leave my phone on my bed as I go out for a run. I run until the pain in my chest is subdued by the pain in my knees. I run until my lungs burn hot and I feel like I’m going to pass out. I run until the love that sits heavy starts to lighten and finally I make it back toward the Rose house drenched in sweat.

I stop at the door way to my room, watching in horror as Abram lifts my phone and stares at the lock screen. His thumb tries a few different numbers before entering the right ones and I jump toward him, in the process of trying to grab my phone both he and I fall onto the bed.

“It isn’t polite to go through someone’s phone!” I shout, tugging it away from him.

“I lost mine while I was playing with the girls; I was just trying to call it.”

Someone clears her throat and both Abram and I stop to look at it, Gigi gives a small laugh and turns away.

“Do you have some kind of gross porn on there?” I scramble to my feet, still breathing heavy from my run, “Do you have porn of you and Jason on here?” He visibly cringes.

I gauge his reaction, “As a matter of fact yes.” I pull my phone away and safely bring it with me across the room, “There are videos of Jason and I on there and I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to see. Let me call your phone.” I dial his number and we both walk toward the hail to the king ringtone.

“Seriously?”

“It’s better than what you have on yours.” He replies with a hint of bitterness.

♡ ♡ ♡

I find myself in the furthest room of the house, an office that doubles as a library. I take in the books around me, overwhelming at all the lives that sit neatly on the shelf. My finger trails over the spine of the books, stopping at one I recognize all too well.

“Do you like that?”

“It’s one of my favorites,” I look up at Gigi. When she walks into the room she lights it up instantly.

“You know that’s Abram’s mom.”

I nod, “He told me. I couldn’t believe it—I’ve been in love with her poetry for years, my mother hunted down a first edition for my thirteenth birthday. She was then given a restraining order by some agent.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Gigi looks pensive, her eyes burning into me.

“Why does Malachi have this? Wouldn’t he want it gone?”

She shakes her head, “Love is funny think like that. Despite all his flaws my son did love Emilia, but love isn’t enough and Emilia needed to get out in order to give her son the best life possible. I wish I knew she was pregnant, I would have—I would—,” Gigi stutters over her words, for the first time I see something other than perfection. Her human peaks through the cracks of her mask and I smile softly. “You and Abram?” she’s quick to change the subject, pick herself back up, “Is there…”

“No.” But I can’t hide the longing in my voice, “I—me and Jason. And Abram has someone too.”

“Sylvia?”

“You know?”

“Darling,” Gigi says, “I know everything. Abram’s very quick to talk about her, that boy can’t contain his love, it’s burning a hole in him.”

I nod slowly, “She’s a pretty young girl,” Gigi says knowingly. She takes Emilia’s book out of my hands and places it back on the shelf. She’s careful in her movements, index finger rested on her chin. “Here,” she says, pulling a leather bound book from the shelf, she places it in my hands. Sylvia Plath: Vol II. “This is perfect for you.”

“I don’t—,”

“It’s your favorite, is it not?”

♡ ♡ ♡

That night while Malachi and my mother are out meeting some of his publishing colleagues, we open a bottle of champagne after the girls are in bed. Gigi retired hours ago so it’s just Jason, Abram and myself sitting on the floor of the living room.

Like true teenagers, we decide against cups and occasionally just take drinks out of the bottle. My body is warm, growing warmer from the fire as I watch Jason and Abram swap stories of their childhood. Jason speaks of his mother much like Abram does, despite there being an underlying sense of contempt for her for getting out; he lets the memories come out with ease.

I look at him, for the first time, and I see a boy whose skin is the only protection he has. I turn and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight.

“I should go to bed. If I don’t I’m going to end up crying and nobody wants to see that.” He tries to laugh but it’s strained.

“It’s against my religion to let a good bottle of champagne go to waste,” I tell Abram who scoots closer to me. I lift the bottle to my lips and drink until I feel numb then I set it down. My head feels heavy and I lean it against Abram’s shoulder.

He takes the bottle and drinks some, “Do you like Jason—like. Do you like him, Elise?” He asks.

I stare into the fire letting his question settle between us, I want to say yes, tell him what he wants to hear but my fingers curl between his and I offer up what little shrug I can manage, “I don’t know.” I admit.