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musecharm-writes · 4 years ago

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Bad Influence, Pt 1 (Steve Harrington X Reader)

Summary: You wish you hadn’t stolen the cigarettes. You hadn’t gone into Melvald’s with the intention of stealing them -- you were going to buy them, you swear you were going to buy them. But you had realised after picking up the carton and reaching into your pocket to get your cash ready that you hadn’t brought any money with you. And, of course, you knew you should put them back and leave… But you’d run out two weeks ago, and you couldn’t deal with the cravings any longer, and there were only so many times you could sneak from your mom before she started to catch on.

(Note: There’s not much Steve/Reader interaction yet; this part is just to establish the plot. We get to the fun stuff in the next one.)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

One would think that, on the most important day in a person’s entire life, something special would happen -- there’d be a rainbow complete with gold and a leprechaun, or stars would fall from the sky, or farm animals would spontaneously sprout wings and learn to fly. Steve Harrington wouldn’t know; the only special things that have ever happened to him were armageddon, the end of the world, and doomsday, in that order.

The day that Steve’s life was changed forever (without anyone having to face certain doom this time), nothing unusual happened at all.

Well, almost nothing. Then again, Steve supposes there’s something a little less than usual about you.

You’re being dragged out of Melvald’s by Hawkins’ finest when Steve first lays eyes on you.

Your hair is disheveled, your face is flushed, and there’s a wild look in your eyes. You’re writhing in the hold of the cops gripping your arms, probably to keep you from running.

Though he isn’t sure why, Steve can’t help but stare.

Robin comes up next to him, taking a sip from a thermos of coffee. “Ho-lee shit, what’s goin’ on over there?”

Steve shrugs, his eyes still fixed on you even as you’re being read your rights and fitted with handcuffs.

Coincidentally, as Callahan has you bend over the hood of his patrol car so he can frisk you while Powell slaps the cuffs on, your head is pressed to the hood so that you’re staring right in Steve’s direction. The two of you lock eyes for what feels like forever before you’re being jerked upright by your arm and manhandled into the backseat of the car.

Steve feels a sharp, elbow-shaped pain in his side.

“OW! What the-- Why did you do that?”

Robin smiles, clearly pleased with herself. “Because you were being weird. Plus, I said your name, like, a bajillion times and you either didn’t hear me or you were pretending.” She squints critically at him. “What’s your deal, Harrington?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing. Nothing’s my deal, I don’t have a deal. You’re the one with the deal, elbowing me in the ribcage like that, you could have done some serious damage to my… ribs.”

Robin doesn’t seem convinced -- not at all, actually -- but she apparently isn’t that invested in finding out what Steve’s “deal” is, because she just shrugs and says, “Whatever. Let’s go get breakfast or something, I could eat a horse.”

A few minutes later, they walk into Benny’s Burgers only to find Jonathan and Nancy sitting in the booth nearest to the door. Nancy spots Steve and waves.

Steve nudges Robin and cocks his head in their direction. “You in?”

She shrugs. “Sure. Jonathan’s cool.”

Steve snorts. “Behave yourself, Buckley.”

“We’ll see,” she replies cheerily.

As they sit down, Nancy says, “Hey, did you guys hear about the commotion at Melvald’s earlier today?”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but before he can even finish inhaling, Robin answers with, “We didn’t, but why don’t you ask Stevie here what he ‘heard’ about the ‘commotion at Melvald’s?’”

Both Nancy and Jonathan turn their full attention to Steve, and he mentally curses Robin so hard he’s sure she can hear it, based on the shiteating grin on her face.

“...Steve?” Jonathan says gently.

Steve sighs in exasperation, the force of it puffing out his cheeks. He shrugs and lifts a hand, splaying his fingers. “I… Sort of. Saw…” He hesitates, looking between Jonathan and Nancy, seeing their expectant expressions. He sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. Out with it, man. “I saw somebody getting pulled out by Callahan and Powell, all right?”

Nancy’s brow furrows. “Who? Why? What happened?”

Steve shrugs. “Dunno. Whoever it was, they definitely had a couple screws loose.”

Nancy says nothing for a moment. Then, she says, “Jonathan, do you think your mom would know anything about it?”

“Maybe. We can ask her when we go back to the house.”

Robin cocks her head. “Why are you guys so interested in finding out about this, anyway?”

Nancy and Jonathan share a look and then after a moment they turn back to Robin and shrug in unison.

Soon enough, the waitress is coming to take their orders, and the conversation turns toward other things.

While Robin and Steve are chowing down on brunch, you’re sitting in the Hawkins Police Department, waiting to find out how hard they’re going to punish you.

You wish you hadn’t stolen the fucking cigarettes.

You hadn’t gone into Melvald’s with the intention of stealing them -- you were going to buy them, you swear you were going to buy them. But you had realised after picking up the carton and reaching into your pocket to get your cash ready that you hadn’t brought any money with you.

And, of course, you knew you should put them back and leave… But you’d run out two weeks ago, and you couldn’t deal with the cravings any longer, and there were only so many times you could sneak from your mom before she started to catch on. So you’d slipped the carton of cigarettes into your pocket and headed for the door.

And then the woman behind the counter shouted, “Hey!”

You’d just panicked and started running, and… well, here you are.

The Chief of Police stepped out of his office and called one of the cops who brought you in over. They talked in hushed tones for a moment, looking like they were having a disagreement, and then the other cop -- Callahan, you’re pretty sure, the one with the glasses -- comes back over and takes your cuffs off.

“Chief Hopper wants you in his office,” Callahan says blandly, gesturing toward the door the chief is standing in front of.

You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to quell your fear, and then you stand up and go to face your doom.

Chief Hopper doesn’t say anything to you as you pass him on the way into the office. His face is a careful mask of neutrality, which makes you even more nervous than if he’d been staring you down -- at least if he was doing that, you would know what to expect.

As you go in, the chief follows you in and closes the door behind you, which just cements the knowledge that whatever’s about to happen isn’t going to be fun for you.

“Have a seat,” he says, pointing at the chair on the other side of his desk as he walks around to the other side to sit in his own chair. You do as he says, watching as he pulls out a carton of cigarettes and clamps one between his teeth. He looks up at you and offers the carton out to you. “Want a smoke?”

You swallow. You wonder if this is some kind of weird test. “No thank you, sir.”

“You sure?” He asks, the carton still extended across the desk. “From what I hear you’re pretty fond of ‘em.”

You feel your face flushing with embarrassment. You stare down at your hands for a moment and then, sheepishly, take a single cigarette from the proffered carton.

He lights both of your cigarettes with a Zippo he pulls from his shirt pocket and watches you from under the brim of his hat as you take a drag and exhale smoke on a relieved sigh.

“So,” Chief Hopper begins, smoke escaping from his mouth, “my sources tell me you were stealing from Melvald’s General Store. A carton of cigarettes and nothing else. First time you’ve ever gotten into trouble. Know what that tells me?”

You swallow and then shake your head, bringing your cigarette to your lips again for another long, slow drag. If you’re about to be locked up and have your parents told on you, you wanna savour this cigarette, because it could well be your last for a while.

Chief Hopper continues to look at you for a moment, and then he leans back in his chair. “That tells me that you’re not what we in the business call a bad apple. I don’t wanna put that idea in your head, or anybody else’s, and you spend one night in jail, that’s what’s gonna happen. You get me?”

“I…” You knit your brows. “I’m… not sure I do, sir.”

Chief Hopper sighs through his nose, making smoke stream out through his nostrils. “I’m saying that I don’t want to put you through the ringer just ‘cause you’re a kid who made a dumb mistake.”

You blink. “Are you-- You’re saying you’re letting me off the hook?”

“Not quite,” he says. “You still committed a crime. Wouldn’t look good for me if you just got to walk away without any consequences. No, you’re not off the hook, but I talked to the owner of the store and got permission to come up with an alternative method of punishment. As long as you accept it, that is. We can always just let you do time anyway, if that’s what you want.”

You shake your head immediately. “I’d prefer not to, sir.”

He nods, satisfied. “Right. You’re gonna be working at Melvald’s for the next two weeks. You’ll be working alongside Joyce Byers, and she’s gonna keep an eye on you, so make sure you stay out of trouble, okay?”

You arch your brows. “I’ll be working at Melvald’s?” You wonder how the hell he managed to work that out with the owner.

“That’s what I said. Think of it as community service; can you handle it?”

“Yessir,” you say, nodding.

“All right then. At the end of each week, I’ll be coming in -- off the books -- to check in. As long as you do as you’re told and keep your head down, this’ll all blow over before you know it.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, and you try to blink them back before the chief notices and thinks you’re a huge crybaby. “Thank you, Chief Hopper.”

He stands up and leans over the desk, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “It’s no problem, kid. Just don’t make me regret it, all right?”

As you stand up, you nod again, suddenly determined. “I won’t, sir, I promise.”

His lips quirk up at one side. “Call me Hopper or Hop, kid. Nobody I like calls me sir.”

You smile hesitantly. “Yessir… Hopper.”

As Chief Hopper is walking you to the door, you can’t help but ask what you’ve been wondering for a while now. “Ch-- Er, Hopper?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you doing this for me?” You pick at the hem of your shirt nervously. “I mean, not that I’m not thankful, I’m incredibly thankful, I just... don’t understand why I’m not being punished?”

He’s silent for a moment, perhaps turning your question over in his head, and then after what feels like an eternity, he finally answers with, “When I was your age, I made some pretty dumb mistakes, too. I never had anybody willing to back me up, and I ended up doing a lot of shit I’m not proud of because there was nobody there to bail me out when I got into trouble. When I come across kids who need that, now that I’m an adult myself, I tend to wanna help ‘em out.”

You can’t help but feel awestruck. Chief Hopper is nothing like the stories you’ve heard; he’s so fair-minded, and kind, and selfless, it kind of makes you feel like crying again. You feel visible in a way that’s almost uncomfortable.

You kind of wish you could feel this way all the time.

“Thank you,” you say again.

“No problem, kid,” Hopper says, opening the door to his office. “Now scram; you’ve got about eighteen hours until you show up for your first shift at Melvald’s, and if you’re more than fifteen minutes late I’ll have someone escort you there every morning for the rest of the week.”

As you leave the Hawkins Police Department, you feel lighter than you can remember feeling in a long time.

#stranger things x reader #stranger things reader insert #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #x reader #reader insert #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #robin buckley #jim hopper #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #writing #writing blog #reader insert blog #x reader blog #theft #smoking #cigarettes

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langdxn · 5 years ago

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i have always been a storm | jim mason x reader

SUMMARY: Jim Mason’s idyllic PV life is falling apart. Can anybody save him before it’s too late?

WARNINGS: Drug use, death and all the angst you can expect from a troubled Jim.

WORDS: 2.2k -- sorry!

A/N: I know, right? It’s been a month and the first thing that brings me back is the most depressing Jim content I could muster... I was stuck in a Fleetwood Mac binge and Storms just fit Jim so well, I couldn’t resist.

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The PV waves gently lapped at Jim’s toes, but their sensation had long since numbed.

His hard, impenetrable stare into the grey horizon could not notice the flocks of birds fleeing the coast, the waves beneath them gathering momentum as a storm brewed. His clenched jaw fiercely gritting his teeth together, a dull ache roaring in his gums which he simply could not process.

“I don’t want you seeing her anymore,” Sandy wailed at the top of her voice, emphatic arms flailing about her as she stormed around the house, expertly swooping between cardboard boxes and dismantled furniture littering the corridors. “We’re leaving next week, there’s no point keeping a girlfriend here.”

“But mom—“ he defended himself weakly, halting her reckless motion as she turned to face him.

“No buts, Jim Mason,” she spat, reaching to run her fingers through his golden locks and gazing into his eyes, raw with pain, brimming with tears, igniting with fury. “We’ll have to change that name too, have a think and we’ll decide on something else.”

His mother disappeared around the next corner in a blur of fuzzy cotton and brunette locks, leaving Jim to the terrifying kaleidoscope of his own emotions.

The crashing shore fell on deaf ears. So too did the approach of a dull roar of music, carrying on the gathering gusts that swirled across the beach. So too did the swoosh of sifting sand underfoot as someone neared his side.

“Thought I’d find you here,” you called out cheerfully as you arrived at his spot, slumping to the sand and taking a seat beside your boyfriend. “What’s up, babe?”

Your cacophony of syllables and musical notes nuzzled gently into his stupor, but not enough to encourage a response. His steely glance refused to falter.

Every night that goes between

Resting your speaker in your jacket pocket, your music penetrated his bubble and averted his vision down to the sand.

“Jim? What’s happened?”

I feel a little less

He sniffled softly, wiping long since dried tears with the sleeve of his wetsuit.

“I have to leave,” he muttered under his breath, a flimsy conviction behind his words suggesting he wished they weren’t rolling from his tongue in the first place. You slapped your thighs crossed beneath you to prepare to stand.

As you slowly go away from me

“Sure, I’ll walk you home—“

“You don’t understand,” Jim snapped, a curt hand waving in the tense air between you. “Mom’s moving us away.”

This is only another test

“Really?” Your calm tone unnerved Jim almost as much as his own predicament. “Well I’m sure however far you go, I can always come and see you—“

“Montana,” he scoffed through rage-curled lips. “She’s moving us to Montana.”

Every day you do not come

“Oh.”

No shaky delivery, no sinking shoulders as you realised the gravity of the situation, you remained peaceful as you meandered around your thought process.

“How long?”

Your softness fades away

“Next week,” Jim huffed before another wave of tears burst its banks, searing down his weary cheeks.

Your gaze joined his on the horizon ahead of you, the greying ocean reaching out to touch the darkening sky as they mimicked each other, cloaking themselves in the raging storm that beckoned beyond.

Did I ever really care that much?

“Do you want to go?”

Jim’s tumbling curls shook frantically in reply.

Is there anything left to say?

“Then let’s run away together instead,” you suggested without a glance in your boyfriend’s direction, fearing the moment you broke your stare with the sea, your own tears would swell too.

“Wh... where?”

Every hour of fear I spend

“We could go to DC,” you chuckled, shrugging softly at your knowingly absurd suggestion. “We could become politicians.”

My body tries to cry

Jim’s hand idly rinsed through the sand beneath his knees — his grip on every last grain symbolic of his control of his own destiny, his own path, his own future. Slipping through his fingers with every tumbling grain.

Living through each empty night

“I hear Minnesota’s nice this time of year?”

A soft, dismissive snort responded.

A deadly call inside

“Then let’s move up to the desert, live underground in a nuclear bunker and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. How about that?”

Jim blinked hard, as if your proposition registered a familiar sensation in his mind. Hiding out seemed a preferable alternative.

I haven't felt this way I feel

You reached out an arm to link with his, scooting across the sand to lean into Jim as you continued your shared gaze beyond.

Since many a year ago

“I’ll always be happy wherever we go as long as I’m with you, Jim Mason—“

“Don’t call me that,” Jim snapped, a shiver pulsing through his body as his mother’s words resonated with him. “My name’s not Mason, not anymore.”

But in those years and the lifetimes past

“Good start,” you smiled warmly, politely assuming his sparky reaction was a stage of his distancing from his current life and into a new one together. “What should I call you now? Just Jim? Jungle Jim? The artist formerly known as Jim Mason?”

For the first time since you spotted him on the beach, Jim smiled. The curl of his lips cinched his bronzed cheeks so beautifully that even out of the corner of your eye, his smirk lit up the stormy sky.

I did not deal with the road

“I’ll... I’ll think of something,” Jim sighed, finally wrapping his fingers over yours draped over his elbow. His rough fingertips were cold, abandoned by the rush of blood to his face through his trauma.

Dipping your head to plant a soft kiss to his knuckles, you inhaled deeply against his skin. Jim always smelled like the ocean, a swathe of sharp seaweed scent bloomed in your senses as the curt tang of seasalt stung at your lips, the sensation you treasured so highly as a surfer’s girlfriend.

And I did not deal with you I know

“Wanna hit?”

You looked up to find Jim now gazing at you, his blue eyes enrobed with strained red veins. In his free hand, he held a small baggy, white powder collecting in the corners like a barnacle, a fungus, a cancer.

Though the love has always been

“Jim... what the fuck—“

“Don’t, please... please don’t lecture me like my mom,” he quickly interrupted your building objection. “I just really need this.”

The despair in his eyes as he looked to you for support spoke the truth in his words. Jim needed a fix, a release from his anguish, and he knew no better alternative.

So I search to find an answer there

“I’m not... I’m not trying to lecture you,” you retorted sharply, yanking your arm from his clutch. “If you touch that stuff again, you’ll die.”

“That’s what you all think,” he pouted, tearing the baggy open in one fell swoop, gazing longingly at its contents as if they held all the answers to happiness and life itself. “I just need this release right now.”

So I can truly win

Craning back in disbelief, you scowled at your boyfriend; the same fear lacing your pupils as the day you visited him in hospital after his last ‘release.’ You jolted to your feet, stepping away from his side.

Every hour of fear I spend

“Did you fucking hear me? You touch that shit again and you could die right here on this beach, Jim Mason—“

“I told you not to call me that,” Jim spat, fury curling his lips as he stumbled weakly to his feet.

My body tries to cry

“Is that all you can think about right now, your goddamn name? I’m not having my boyfriend wash up on this shore like a plastic bag and end up inside a body bag, you hear me?”

“You don’t know what’s going on in my mind, up here,” Jim tapped demonstrably at his forehead, vicious raised veins coursing across his temples as the white baggy slapped his furrowed brows. “It’s a storm in here. It’s always a fucking storm.”

Living through each empty night

“Then let me help you,” you half-shouted, stepping forward tentatively with arms outstretched toward him. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m always alone,” Jim wailed, cradling his head in both hands and his eyes clenched shut in a vain attempt to hold back tears. “Even Medina’s got that dick now — Adam or whatever the fuck his name is.”

A deadly call inside

“I’ve lost everything that ever mattered to me,” Jim continued. “My family, my home, even my girlfriend hates me.”

“What?!” You almost shrieked, frowning so hard a muscle tinged in your forehead. “When did I say I hate you?”

So I try to say goodbye my friend

“You won’t even let me touch a tiny bit of coke, just to help me get through all this,” Jim barked. His seething tone reminded you of his mother, every word a loaded sentiment to test your reaction.

“I’m trying to help you get through this, Jim. Please.”

I’d like to leave you with something more

Jim’s volume crept louder and louder with every expletive, causing you to glance around you in case someone was watching you. The outline of someone sunbathing in the distance behind you was all you found.

As your gaze returned, Jim had already emptied the contents of the baggy onto the back of his hand, running trembling fingers through the soft powder to create haphazard lines on the tracks between his muscles.

“Jim, no!” You screamed, grabbing his hand and vigorously shaking it in yours, ignoring his wailing protests and flailing arms as he watched the powder float on the breeze. “I can’t let you, I can’t let you do—“

Your thoughts halted mid-sentence as realisation hit you.

But never ever been a blue calm sea

“Someone’s sunbathing?” You questioned aloud, eyes darting up to the charcoal clouds above you, blinking harshly through the light droplets of rain splattering on your face. “There’s no sun…”

Gripping Jim’s shaking hand, you spun on your heels and looked back at the outline you saw across the shore. A person laid out on the beach, too far away to tell which way they were facing.

“What the fuck are you—“

“Jim, we have to go.”

You tugged on his hand and pulled him alongside you as you ran toward the shape, breaths laboured with every panicking stride.

I have always been a storm

The closer you came to the outline, you realised the mound of brown hair signalled the person was facing down into the sand. Breaking into a sprint, you let go of Jim’s hand as he ran beside you.

Always been a storm

“Help, please, somebody help!” Your screams echoed across the bay, calling out to the surfer vans and lifeguard hut on the cliffs.

Oh, always been a storm

Tumbling to your knees at their side, you pressed your palms to the man’s back to shake him.

“Sir—sir, are you okay?” Your trembling tone pierced across the bay as Jim arrived at your side. “He’s not breathing, we need to turn him over.”

I have always been a storm

Kneeling next to you, Jim fixed on the man’s hair. Tousled mousy brown curls just like his own, sun bleached just like his own, battered by relentless salt water just like this own.

We were frail

He fell back in despair, crawling away on his hands as tears poured down his cheeks.

“Jim, please help me—“

She said "every night he will break your heart"

Tugging frantically at his wet shirt, you grunted as you heaved the man onto his back and brushed the hair from his face. Speckled with sand, his jaw drooped and his eyes lay fixed open, pupils blown wide. Spotting his sallow, wrinkled cheeks and a congealed white powder at his nostrils, your breath hitched in your throat.

I should've known from the first

“Is... is he dead?” Jim stammered as he stepped forward to look over your shoulder.

Your eyes dropped to the sand beneath you, straining to your feet to step back as an official-looking woman raced across the beach to attend to the scene.

I’d be the broken-hearted

“He’s dead?!” Jim wailed, rinsing his face in his hands. You turned to cradle him into the crook of your neck, his heartfelt sobs soaking into your shoulder as the woman plucked a radio from her pocket and called out for assistance.

“That could have…. he could have been me.”

“It’s okay, Jim, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he cried helplessly, hooking trembling arms around your waist. “I’ll never touch it again, I promise, never again.”

But I loved you from the start

“I know,” you soothed, running your hands over the rain-dripped neoprene expanse of his wetsuit. “Let’s get you home.”

“Wh...” he trailed off as he calmed his hysterics, tumbling onto you for support. “Where’s home?”

Not all the prayers in the world could save us

You smoothed his now-drooping curls with a reassuring hand, blinking aside your own streaming tears.

“Home is wherever you are, Jim.”

#jim mason x reader #jim mason x reader angst #jim mason #jim mason fanfiction #jim mason angst #jim mason x you #cody fern #cody fern fanfiction

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starcountesseevee · 4 years ago

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A Rocket Coincidence (Part 18)

Part 17 / Part 19

It seemed the weeks were flying by in a blur as Kali settled into a routine. Her and Mara alternated days working at Simply Yoga and on her off days Kali found herself bored again as the days grew chillier. Celadon City was far enough south that it didn’t experience a full winter, part of the reason Kali loved it there, she couldn’t imagine how people lived places like Freezington in the Crown Tundra where it was cold year round. Celadon did, however, get enough of autumn-like weather to make the holidays feel like well, the holidays. So to fill her time on her days off Kali threw herself into decorating their apartment and studio for her favorite holiday, Halloween.

"Are you sure this isn't too much?" Kali asked Mara for the hundredth time as she hung another string of cobwebs across Simply Yoga's front display window.

"It's fine." Mara laughed as she handed Kali another Spinarak cut out to hang. "Are you sure you don't want to come tonight? Jules really is okay with it."

"If I go then who will hand out all the candy?"

"I'm sure plenty of other places are handing out so it's not like you have to."

"I know but I enjoy it." Kali smiled. "So really I'm fine! You don't have to worry about me. You two have fun."

“Alright, alright.” Mara grabbed her keys and headed to the front door. “Save me a few pieces then will ya? Oh, and don’t wait up!”

“No promises!” Kali finished hanging the last bit of cobweb before getting down from the stool and locking the front door while she headed upstairs to change. As she entered the apartment she nearly tripped over Nero and Rowan as the two came bounding over to her only to spin around just as fast, chasing each other back into the living room. Both their sleek black bodies were decorated with white bones chalked onto them courtesy of another bored morning Kali had. She set her keys on the hall tree next to Aslan’s pokeball. This year Halloween fell on a Saturday and while there would probably be an abundance of kids out that didn’t have school the next day Simply Yoga was also in close proximity to places like Echo so Kali was going to have the large Arcanine downstairs with her. Just in case.

She would have preferred to have Cliff there for security, among other reasons, but he had another mysterious work assignment elsewhere that he couldn't talk about. Which was fine, she thought as she pushed open her bedroom door. She knew getting into this he wouldn’t be able to be around all the time but that didn’t make her miss him any less.

Her costume, a purple Mismagius hat and dress she had found at the Halloween store, was already laid out on the bed waiting for her. As she changed she took a moment to adjust her bra and snap a quick picture, sending it to Cliff with the caption *What you’re missing.* just to emphasize that maybe he should have been there. She didn’t even get a chance to pick up the dress before she got a response.

*That’d better not be your whole costume.* Kali bit back a laugh as she toyed with how to answer before deciding on teasing him a little more.

*And if it is?* She set her Pokegear down to pull on her costume where it remained suspiciously quiet as she finished dressing. As she reached for the hat she heard the ringtone go off and was only a little surprised to see an incoming video call. She grinned, he was too easy.

"Relax I'm just teasing you." She answered, laughing at the relieved look that crossed his face as he noticed how much more covered she was.

"Well maybe I just wanted to see more of the other costume." He backpedaled, trying to sound suggestive but Kali had a feeling he was trying to cover a bit of jealous worry.

"Oh this?" Kali extended her arm holding the Pokegear as far as she could and with her other hand teasingly pulled the bottom of her skirt up to flash him a bit of bare thigh.

"You're killing me dollface." Cliff groaned, glancing behind him to make sure no one else was nearby. "If I wasn't at work I'd be having you take that whole thing off."

"Oh what's that? I think I hear trick-or-treaters?" Kali cupped a hand to her ear like she was listening carefully.

"Maybe you can call back after the kids go home and we can continue this, hmm?"

"I dunno, it might be late." She teased.

"I would stay up till sunrise to get to see you take that off, doll."

"I'll think about it." Kali blushed, dropping the hem of her costume.

"I'll be thinking hard about it too. But right now I gotta go."

"Alright, mountain man. I'll talk to you later." She blew him a kiss before ending the call.

Kali put on the final touches of her costume and headed back downstairs, deciding at the last second to grab Ember's pokeball as well so Aslan would have some company. The two got settled on the floor in front of the receptionist desk, the large Arcanine taking up most of the room while Ember curled up on his back.

Flicking on the storefront light Kali stepped outside to survey her work. She had replaced the lights in the large display window with purple ones and hung cobwebs in front of them to create shadows. Fake Spinaraks were nestled into the webbing and a few fake Zubats hung down in the middle as if flying; it was spooky enough without being over the top scary. Kali wasn't a big fan of bloody and gory Halloween displays meant to scare and preferred to keep things kid friendly, after all Halloween was her favorite holiday partly because of the fond memories she had of going trick-or-treating with her mom when she was a kid.

Hearing the unmistakable laughter of a group of kids Kali ducked back inside to grab the basket of candy, turning back to the door just in time to see three young children approach. One of her regular patrons waved at her from behind the trio who were oohing at the window display but when they spotted the large basket of candy Kali was holding their attention quickly shifted. They ran up to her with a shout of 'trick-or-treat' before diving into the basket to pick out their favorites.

For the first hour or so there was a steady stream of kids but after the two hour mark it slowed down. Kali was leaning against the doorframe considering calling it a night when she spotted a young man about her age escorting a small girl dressed as an Eevee, his face familiar but she couldn't quite place him. He apparently had the same feeling because he was scrutinizing her as they approached, the girl clinging shyly to his leg.

“Go ahead, Dee.” The girl released her grip on his pant leg and took a few cautious steps forward. He looked back up at Kali, recognition dawning on his face. “Oh! It’s you! From the Silver Conference, we tied in the semi-finals!”

“Yes!” Kali smiled, racking her brain for his name. “I thought you looked familiar, too. Cole, was it?”

"Yes!” Cole laughed nervously. “I'm sorry, I don't remember yours. But I do remember you used all Eeveelutions!" At this Dee’s eyes lit up and she stopped digging through the candy.

"Really! All Eevees?"

“Yupp!” Kali smiled warmly down at the girl who was staring up at her in wide-eyed awe. “Do you like Eevees? Is that why you’re dressed as one? What’s your name?”

"I love Eevees!" The girl exclaimed, her shyness gone. "My name is Delilah and I want to be a trainer too! With all Eevees!"

“Nice to meet you, Delilah. My name is Kali.” She said mostly for Cole’s benefit. “Have you ever met a Flareon?”

“No…” Kali didn’t think Dee’s eyes could get any wider. She glanced back at the street but no one else was coming.

“Would you like to?”

“You really don’t have to-” Cole began but Kali shushed him before calling for Ember who trotted happily to the door.

"It's so cute!” Delilah gasped excitedly as Ember approached. She reached a hand out but stopped herself and looked back at Cole. “Can I pet it?”

"That's up to the nice lady."

"Can I pet it, please?"

"Of course. But hold your hand out for her to sniff first." Dee cautiously obeyed, crouching down closer to Ember who sniffed the offered hand before trilling and rubbing her head into it. Kali smiled, watching the two before turning back to Cole. “Your…”

“Niece! Delilah is my niece, my sister’s kid.”

"She's cute. I didn’t know you lived in the city.”

"I don't, actually. My sister travels a lot so I help out from time to time while she's away so Dee doesn't have to move around."

"That's sweet."

"So, uh, do you...work here?" He glanced up at the sign.

"Yeah, my friend owns the place. I work here in between training."

"That's cool. Do you train somewhere in the city? I’m always looking for a new place to practice. Maybe we can train together sometime? I’m, uh, sure Delilah would love to see your Eeveelutions in action.” He glanced down at the young girl but she was paying them no mind.

“Oh, yeah, sure! There’s a park a few minutes from here I go to a lot.” They both glanced back as they heard another group approaching. “Well, hey, I don’t work on Tuesday. Why don’t you two meet me here around 10? And we can go?”

“That sounds great.” Cole smiled before crouching down. “Alright Dee, we’ve got to go.”

“Aw, okay.” Delilah was obviously disappointed as Cole took her hand.

“See you Tuesday.” Cole and Delilah waved goodbye and Kali gave a small wave back before greeting the group that had just come up.

After they left Kali leaned back against the doorframe, looking up at the night sky as Ember sat down at her feet and began cleaning her paw. Ten more minutes, Kali decided, then she’d call it a night. After all, she had a call to make.

Part 17 / Part 19

#cliff pokemon go #pokemon go cliff #pokemon go fanfiction #pokemon go #Team rocket cliff #team go rocket #team rocket leaders #team go rocket cliff #leader cliff

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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988

survey by ashleybayle

Has anyone ever told you that you looked like a celebrity? Yeah. The most popular opinion I get is Anna Akana and a local singer named Kakie, and then more occasionally I’ve also gotten Lucy Hale. Of course, all of these people are absolutely gorgeous though so it’s hard to accept comments like these lol

When was the last time you got something done to your hair? Professionally, late February. But I trimmed my bangs last Saturday.

Do you have any change on you right now? Barely. I only have a few 1-peso coins and a couple of 25-cent coins left.

What color is the pillowcase(s) on your bed? They’re pink with white lines.

Do you have a favorite day of the week? I like Monday mornings because we have weekly video calls for work and it’s really the only time I get to talk to other people anymore. Even if I can’t really count any of my colleagues as my friends, I’m able to get the human connection I’ve been hungry for and it always leaves me feeling good for the rest of the day.

Cutting your hair extremely short, would you do it? Yeah. That’s what I did last February; I’d do it again once my hair gets too long. I’ll probably go even shorter the next time because depression.

Have you ever been in an art show? I’ve been to art exhibits, if you’re referring to the same thing.

Would you considered yourself to be well-exposed to life or sheltered? I was sheltered for most of my life but I’ve been trying to get exposed to more scary life things so that I slowly start to detach from people I used to normally depend on, like my parents.

How high is your pain tolerance? Not high at all. I bruise like a peach and have near-meltdowns over sharp objects especially if I get pricked by one.

Have you ever played the game Halo? I don’t think so. I could have watched others play it in the past, but I’ve never played the game myself.

Are you wearing any jewelry at the moment? No I’m not.

Is there a sport that you love to play? Table tennis! Futsal was also fun the one or two times I played it, and it was in playing that sport that I learned I apparently make a good goalkeeper. In an alternate universe I probably play football, ha.

Has anything made you sad in the past 48 hours? Yes. That’s a constant state of mind now.

Have you ever had to learn lines for a play/skit/movie? Yes. We were required to do so many skits in high school so making scripts and memorizing lines was part of a normal day.

Do you like your nose? I’ve never complained about it. I don’t normally think about my nose either.

Is there a hair color you prefer on the opposite sex? No.

Kissing someone with facial hair, do you mind? I’ve never tried it, so I don’t have a solid opinion.

Would you ever like to be a stunt person? Sounds fun but I’m barely physically fit for such a role and I’d break a bone almost immediately. Even professional stunt people get injured, so...

Are you a pyromaniac? The furthest thing from it. I’m terrified of fire.

How soon is your birthday? Six months and a day.

Are you one of those people who listen to songs on repeat? Isn’t everyone prone to doing that once in a while? But yeah, I guess I’m ‘one of those’ people.

Can any of your friends sing very well? Lots of em. Hannah, Tina, Ed, Andi, Michelle, Nacho, etc.

Would you ever enter any kind of pageant? That does not sound interesting to me.

Do you have piano fingers? No :(

What is your preferred curse word? Fuck.

When someone's drunk, the truth comes spilling out, correct? I guess, for some people. Other people express their drunkenness in other ways. But I for sure lose my filter once I’m drunk; it’s a lot easier to ask me questions once I’ve had a few glasses, ha.

Have you ever shouted something random at someone out a car window? I’m sure I’ve rolled down my windows to cuss out a stupid driver once or twice.

Have you ever slept on a beach? No. I know my mom does, but I personally find it risky/dangerous. When it comes to open spaces like the beach, I find it hard to trust people to not be thieves.

Would you like to be taller? It’s not an active wish of mine. It’d always be cool to be taller, but I’m also okay with my current height.

Are you a fan of piercings on the opposite sex? Not necessarily. I wouldn’t say I’m attracted to them.

Have you ever listened to Celtic music? Nope.

Do you enjoy making up words? I’ve never done that, no.

Have you ever been attacked by an animal? Aside from the time a giant bird kind of charged at me at a safari and getting playbites from Cooper, no. Cats hiss at me all the time, but I get out of their vicinity before they can attack me or whatever.

Who did you dance with last? Rita, Blanch, Mik, Laurice, Jum, a bunch of strangers.

When holding hands, do you intertwine fingers? Yeah. That’s my favorite.

Is there a movie that makes you cry every single time you watch it? This is gonna get some eyerolls but...Titanic. Forever one of my faves no matter how overrated people find it, hahaha. The “Rose Dawson” scene gets me all the time.

Do you ever talk to the TV? I mean if I have comments about the show I’m watching, yeah I guess I’m technically talking to the TV. But I don’t talk to the TV like a camera, if that’s what you mean.

What's your opinion on Johnny Depp? I feel for him and all the shit he’s gone through with Amber Heard. I’ll always feel bad for having sided with Amber in the past. Movie-wise, not really a fan of his repertoire but I respect his craft and abilities nonetheless.

Have you ever watched the Tudors? Nah but I hear of it a lot, so I’ve always been interested.

Can you speak in different accents? No. My dad’s super good at accents though since he travels a lot for his job. He can do American, Indian, Singaporean, Chinese, Australian, etc.

Who was the last person you mocked/mimicked? The annoying person at the BIR who wasted my time.

If you write, isn't writer's block the most horrible thing? I’d say it’s inconvenient, but it’s not the worst of my worries whenever it strikes.

Can you sew or knit? No but I’ve made up my mind about learning how to :) I put some cross-stitch kits on my online shopping cart recently and I can’t wait to get my hands busy.

Do you have a favorite pair of jeans? Yesssss. They’re the only pair of jeans I wear these days, on the rare times I have a reason to go out.

What size shirt do you normally wear? XS.

Are you good with money? I’m good with saving if I absolutely have to, but I’m equally good at spending all my money in one go lol

Has anyone ever aimed a gun at you? No. Don’t know how well I’d fare in that; I tend to freeze up and forget words when I’m terrified.

What is the first letter of the person's name you last kissed? G.

Do you use myspace for following celebrities, and facebook for friends? I never regularly used Myspace, and Facebook is for sharing memes, staying updated on the news, and connecting with family and friends. At least up until I deactivated last month.

Have you ever written a song? Maybe in grade school when it was an assignment for class, but never on my own time.

Do you believe there is life on other planets? Other planets in other galaxies perhaps in other universes, sure.

If you think about the universe long enough, it's baffling isn't it? Doesn’t take long for me, but yes it is.

When was the last time you fell? I haven’t in a while.

Are you a fan of Christian Bale? I wouldn’t say so. I don’t think I’ve seen any of his movies. I’ve been meaning to watch American Psycho for years but just never got around to it.

Do you have any sort of debt? No.

Is there an accent you prefer? I don’t know if prefer is the right word since I don’t have any favorite accents, but hmmm I can listen to Florence Pugh’s accent all day.

Have you spoken to the person you love today? Yep.

Would you ever travel to Los Angeles? If given the chance sure, but I honestly prefer other cities.

Have you ever been through a natural disaster? A lot of them.

Is there a specific time period that interests you? I don’t think I’ve ever been hooked to just one specific era...I’m interested in all of them and read about them an equal amount.

Do any of your friends own an expensive car? JM used to drive a Lexus to school on Fridays.

Have you ever been on a train? Just once. I had to go to Manila for a journalism class but I wasn’t willing to drive all the way there, so I took a train and had Jum keep me company because I didn’t know how commuting worked.

Is there a memory that embarasses you to think about? I mean yeah, there are a lot.

Have you ever used different colored paper clips? Possibly.

Where exactly are you right now? In a corner in my room.

Don't you admire those people who know exactly what they want to do? I admire anyone who’s able to make the best of what they’ve got, no matter what their progress is in life. Life shouldn’t be a contest of who gets their shit figured out the earliest or the best way possible.

Is there a guy you can talk to about anything? No.

Have you ever been in a parade? I know I said in a previous survey that I haven’t been to a parade, but now that I think about it I’ve been to several Pride Marches, which kinda count as parades...so yeah, I have been.

Would you ever consider being a news reporter? My entire family wanted me to end up being one, but it was never an interest of mine. I was just too shy to tell them that that’s not really my goal. I like staying behind the camera for the most part.

Are you, or anyone you know, an atheist? Yes and yes, I know several people who are.

Has anyone ever told you to "get a grip"? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten those exact words before.

Do people say you look your age? Or younger or older? Younger.

Have you ever sent a celebrity fan mail? Kind of. Five years ago my friend Heather and I were at YouTube Fanfest where Joe Sugg, Caspar Lee, and Oli White were part of the line-up, and we didn’t anticipate that so many fans would come with gifts even though there was no guarantee of meeting them. We came up with a little gift of our own, which was really nothing more than a tiny post-it saying that we love them lmao (we went to the venue straight after school, hence Heather having school supplies HAHA). It was such a poor-looking gift. We went to their assistant who was SUPER nice about it and didn’t make us feel like shit for our gift which was pretty much worthless and could easily get lost – it was literally a piece of post-it. I doubt it ever got to them, but we gave it a shot anyway.

Are you ashamed of how you acted when you were younger? Some parts of it, definitely. I grew up in a violent household, so I was violent towards my brother when he was a baby, not knowing how serious my actions were. I was also a pain in the ass while I was going through puberty.

Do you ever have those days where you feel you're the ugliest person ever? Yes.

Beauty is both external and internal, correct? Sure.

Have you ever been in a musical? Yeah, in grade school through high school. Never had a solo role, though.

When was the last time you swam in a pool? July 2019.

Is there a friend's family that makes you feel like you're family too? Angela’s. At one point, Katreen’s too, before we grew apart.

How do you know someone is your best friend? When I don’t feel like filtering my words around them, and when I allow myself to be fully vulnerable with them.

When was the last time you used a highlighter? Sometime in February I’m guessing. Before the lockdown and when I still went to school and had readings.

Has a flashlight ever ran out batteries on you in the dark? I don’t think so.

#survey #surveys

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nadiarizavi · 6 years ago

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a different definition of stars- chapter 1: blue, a color, a feeling

@planceminibang SUMMARY:

Lance McClain was born for the spotlight. But after a surprise scandal, his mom gets worried that the fame’s starting to get to his head-- and Lance gets shipped off to live with his brother Luis and his family in the countryside town of Garrison, in the middle of Altea County, population barely breaching a thousand. In a new place where no one knows his name, Lance should be grateful to have a break from the lights and cameras-- but being a farmhand isn’t the life of glitz and glamour he was used to. And it’s definitely no picnic when the girl next door has blackmail on you.

RATED: T, TAGS: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Minor Injuries, Cows, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Car Accidents, minor kallura

CHAPTER ONE ON AO3!

A/N: huge thank u to the mods !!! huge love to @zoedozy for making SUPER LOVELY ART that’ll be shared soon !! the fic is below the cut or you can read it on ao3! <3

Slap.

Lance withdrew his legs with a hiss, turning to the driver--his sister in law, Lisa-- who by now had turned her eyes back to the road, a satisfied smile on her face.

“The hell was that for?!”

“I told you four times to get your feet off the dash, Lance.”

Lance gestured to the dash, then at her. “It’s--look! I didn’t leave a mark!”

“And you’re adorable if you think that attitude’s gonna fly here.”

“Attitude--?”

“Lance.”

He slumped back into his seat, the dirt road causing the truck to bump and jostle along as it did. His eyes wandered back out the window-- miles and miles of grass and trees, cattle, hazy purple mountains in the far off distance. Not another car for miles. No music played on the radio--white noise. An unrelated buzz--Lisa told him that it was cicadas in the late summer--hummed in the air, and the sun was high in the afternoon sky. Cloudless. An infinite blanket of blue.

“How’s Veronica?”

Lisa was asking him questions again. Lance looked down at his shirt, tugging at a loose string, brows furrowed. How’s Veronica?

Mad at him.

Well, he couldn’t blame V for being mad at him. He was still trying to ice the burn from his parents being mad at him too.

He heard the shutter of a secret camera click in his ear, and Lance planted his forehead against the window.

“She’s fine.”

“Mami told me she didn’t come to send you off.”

“Busy at work. She has a life too, yanno. Outside of being my babysitter,” he grumbled. They drove past one, two cows. He should add on to that. “Sorry you got stuck with babysitting, by the way.”

“You’re family.” A pause. She was thinking of something to add on, too. “We want to take care of you too, Lance.”

The cicadas buzzed on.

Nadia and Sylvio were his next assailants-- running down the porch steps of a wooden, white ranch house at full speed, down the dirt driveway, and into his arms. He only ever saw the kids when the family came to Hollywood for the holidays, for summer vacation. They wore wide smiles, their teeth bright white, Nadia’s dark hair braided down her back, Sylvio’s hands were dried with mud. Lance couldn’t help but laugh.

Despite the circumstances, he could never resent seeing his favorite niece and nephew.

“You guys keep getting bigger. Stop eating your vegetables.” Lance said, bending his knees for Sylvio to wrap his thin arms around his neck, lifting him into a piggyback ride while Nadia skipped alongside them.

“Do actors need to eat their vegetables?” Nadia asked, a curious twinkle in her eye. She wanted to be just like her uncle Lance, she had said at Christmas the last year. Just like him.

For the moment, the reminder made his stomach twist in knots.

“Well, kinda.”

“Then I won’t stop.”

Sylvio wriggled against his spine, chirping directly into Lance’s ear. “Me too! I won’t stop, too!”

That made him laugh, the knot undoing itself for the thirtieth time that day, and he let the boy down as soon as the porch steps came to view. It was a big porch. It was a big house. Stark white, freshly painted. An oasis in the middle of a lifeless world. Lisa whistled for him, back down the driveway.

“Lance, you don’t seriously expect your pregnant aunt to get your bags, do you?”

Lance bolted back down, ignoring the sting in his chest when he reached the truck and looked down to his shoes; once pristine, white, now dusted. Lisa gave him a curious glance as she handed him his duffle.

“What’s wrong?”

“My shoes.”

And then she rolled her eyes, dropping the duffle into his arms. “You’ve got money. Buy new ones. Probably something better suited for the farm.”

He followed her dejectly--her and his rolling suitcase--back up the driveway, feeling perspiration on his forehead, in his hair. The late afternoon was hot, the sun oppressive against his neck. Sunscreen. That was definitely first priority once he’s settled in.

The air inside the house was cool and inviting, a welcome reprieve from the hot summer sun. The kids followed their mother and Lance like ducklings up the stairs, into the spare bedroom, inspecting Lance as if he were a new toy.

In a way he kind of was. All city and no country on him. He was dressed for first class travel, not for the dirt roads and cattle and buzzing cicadas.

The bedsheets were a shade of wet soil and smelled faintly the same. The lacy curtains were open, and he could get another view of miles of grass and purple mountains and an infinite sky. The wallpaper-- blue, white, floral--right out of a homestead decor magazine. There was a desk and a closet, empty save for boxes labeled ‘WINTER COATS’ and ‘XMAS DECOR.’ Lance dropped his duffle on the bed, watching the dust float up and catch in the light. Sylvio and Nadia set to inspecting the room itself, and Lisa let out a content sigh as she looked around. She threw him a smile.

“Nothing like Beverly Hills?”

“Don’t see an infinity pool out there,” Lance said, hoping he sounded funny. Please think I’m being funny, Lis.

She outstretched a hand to him, adjusting the sleeve of his shirt, following his gaze out the window to the sky and the mountains and the grass. “You don’t need a pool to see infinity out here, mijo.”

She started out the door again. “Let’s get the rest of your bags and get you settled in, right? Sylvio, Nadia, can you two go check on the chicken coop?”

The two were glad to oblige, racing down the stairs in fits of laughter, and Lance could only follow Lisa, dumbstruck, hand out to help her if she needed a hand down the steps. “You guys got chickens here too?”

She laughed, throaty and warm. “You’ll get to meet them tomorrow, I hope. I don’t know what Luis wants you to do yet.”

“Probably wrangle a cow.”

“We don’t wrangle anything here. You’re a farmer now, not a bull rider,” Lisa let out a breath, looping her arm through his as they left the cool air of the farmhouse and started back down the driveway, kicking up dirt as they walked. She was quiet, until they were back to the car, back to the luggage Lance toted from sunny California. “Your mama didn’t tell us everything, you know.”

Lance bit his lip, hoisting his luggage out of the truck bed and onto the road. “You can probably just google it.”

“I’d rather hear it from you, Lance. Not the tabloids.”

That was reassuring, considering his parents and Veronica preferred to read the tabloids.

He looked Lisa in the eye, and the knot in his chest twisted itself right back up. Lance wondered if there was a chance he could get an Eagle Scout badge for his impressive knotting skills in the last month, because this was one hell of a situation to be tied up in. And, hell, no sense beating around the bush with her.

“Uh, it was a DUI.”

Her expression fell.

“Lance…”

He remembered his luggage, one hand reaching for it, the other gesturing at Lisa. “No, no. I, uh, I don’t want you to say anything. It was my fault.”

She was still looking at him with a furrowed brow. Pity. Worry. Other emotions he wished he couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. “No one was hurt. Just me,” was tacked on quickly, almost too quickly.

She picked up the other luggage, and she squeezed his arm again, but pulled away quicker. “No, yeah, of course. You got lucky.”

There was ice in her words, and Lance could taste bile. His free hand went subconsciously into his hair, eyes back up at the sky, tracing the bumps and grooves of a healing, stitched wound, the sweat on his hands sliding against the sweat in his hair, and the infinity of blue began to break up and crack like a shattered windshield.

Lance closed his eyes.

He got lucky.

His first task was dishes, drying as Lisa washed, and the sound of a car honk outside and the ecstatic shouts of his niece and nephew almost made him screw it up. He sat the plate down on the counter, giving Lisa a wild look. She snorted.

“Luis is home.”

“Where’s he even been all day?”

“Hey, farm work is more than just staying on the farm.” She dried her hands, following the kids outside, and Lance could hear them chatter, hear his name be shouted in excitement by Sylvio. He shuffled along, tail between his legs; the nerves, the anxiety building back up again as he peered through the screen door. There was Luis, and a dog, and the door swung open. Lance stumbled back. The stranger just raised her brows.

“Oh. My bad.”

Lance peered down at her. She wore her hair pulled back under a baseball cap, eyes behind large, round glasses. She was dressed for work, dusty denim jeans and a loose tee covered in suspicious red stains, and in her arms was a crate full of mason jars labeled by fruit (and Lance’s suspicion of the stains dissipated). She looked around his age, maybe younger. Her amber-toned eyes eyed him curiously, and Lance wondered for a moment if she recognized him. They had television here in the middle of nowhere, didn’t they? She had to know who he was. Maybe she’s starstruck.

Her curiosity quickly turned to annoyance.

“Can you… please move?”

Right. He was blocking her path. Lance obliged.

“Sorry. Uh. Hey, I’m Lance.”

He followed her into the kitchen as she set the crate down, setting to unboxing the jars, reading the labels, organizing them by fruit on the counter. Lance watched her for a minute, listening to the sound of glass tinkle. He had about a thousand questions. Many revolving around the stranger in his uncle’s kitchen unboxing fruit preserves like her life depended on it.

“I’m Lance.” He said again, louder, hoping her silence was just because she didn’t hear him. “I’m, uh, Luis’s little brother.”

“Uh-huh.”

Silence. She picked up the now-emptied crate, turning around to face him. Nothing. No reaction, not even a little one. Lance blinked at her.

“Lance McClain.”

“Yeah. You’ve told me your name three times already.”

“I… I did.” He did. “And you are…?”

“Not staying.” She brushed past him, and Lance stared after her. No way. There was no way. He knew his brother was disconnected, but even Luis watched TV.

“Wait, you don’t… do you watch TV? Ever?”

She stopped, turning around, holding the crate against her hip as she gave him a bewildered stare. “You’re kind of a weirdo, Lance McClain.”

“You don’t know who I am.”

She shifted her footing.

“I do now. Why’s that matter? You’re special or something?”

“Yes. Wait, no.”

She raised a brow again, and maybe he was imagining the amused twinkle in her eyes. “O-kay. See ya around, Lance.”

Good brother manners told him to follow the girl back out, greet his uncle. But at the moment, Lance was having a reality check.

Out in the middle of farmer country and the first person he thought would recognize him… didn’t. Was this what a blessing was? Or maybe it was just a blow to his ego. Either way, it was devastating. He peered back out through the screen door, watching the stranger laugh and smile with his brother and Lisa, giving Sylvio and Nadia hugs. And he watched her whistle for the dog, and watched them disappear down the dirt road. He turned toe back towards the kitchen, grabbing the next plate they used for lunch and began to scrub it down, listening for the door to open, for anyone’s voice. It was a relief when the laughter finally carried itself through the foyer, through the kitchen, and Lance felt a calloused hand clap down on his neck.

“What, didn’t want to come say hi?” Luis pulled him into a half-hug, and Lance splashed dish water, a laugh escaping him.

“I wanted to finish these, man.”

“Dishes! I thought Mami was making up urban legends when she said you still knew how to do these.”

“Dickhead.”

Luis laughed, setting to drying Lance’s dishes, his eyes wandering to the jars stacked up neatly on the counter. “You met Katie, at least?”

“Was that the girl?”

“Isn’t she great? Smartest girl we know.” He gestured around the house. “Set up the wifi and TV and even fixed the truck last spring with her mechanic buddy. Complete wonder girl.”

“What the hell? She set up your cable and she apparently has no idea who I am.”

Luis slowed his motion with the dish towel, rolling his eyes. “You can’t be serious. You’ve barely been here a day and you have expectations.”

“It’d be like if you didn’t know who Leonardo DiCaprio was.”

“Leo is an international icon and you’re on a daytime drama. Perspective.”

Lance took a step back, eyes on the preserve jars. “It was just… weird.”

Luis glanced at him, smiling. “A good or bad weird?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, get used to it. Mami sent you over here because she knew you’d be out of the spotlight while this whole thing simmers down.”

He winced, involuntary, leaning back against the counter. Simmer down. That’s all this was, right? The press will stop seeking him out and some other celebrity will do something equally or more insane, and Lance and his car wrapped around a pole would be old news. Simmered down. Cooked and salted and chowed down and passed right through and the next meal comes along and the cycle repeats itself in a vicious self-sabotage.

It didn’t sit well with him, suddenly. A headache spiked where his skull had split opened and flowered, however many salted and simmered days ago. The bile came back.

“Yeah, when this all simmers down.” Lance said, a little too loud, and he faked a yawn. “Anyways, I’m beat. Jet lag and shit. When should I set my alarm?”

“I’ll cut you some slack. Seven A.M. sound good?”

“Good god, no.”

Luis threw him a well meaning smile. “Let me or Lisa know if you need anything, okay?”

“How about building a luxury pool and spa in the backyard?”

“Anything but that.”

They laughed together, shoving and shoulder-checking, and Luis followed Lance as far as the stairs, a grin on his face, a crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

“Make sure you stay knocked the hell out, because you’re going to need all the sleep you can get. You’re on farm time, now.”

Lance shuddered hard, overdramatic. “That’s scary shit, Lu. Love you. Goodnight.”

He bounded up the stairs a little too fast, sinking down into his four-post bed, onto a blanket of soil and stared up at a dark ceiling. The buzzing of cicadas was replaced by the chirps of crickets, and Lance squeezed his eyes shut, rolling onto his stomach. His fingers itched to check his phone, google himself, see if his co-stars were texting him; but he knew better. Now was not the time.

Simmer, simmer down, Lance.

The jet lag caught up to him, eventually, and he breathed in the scent of earth and sky.

#plance #plance mini bang #planceminibang #amaje fics #a different definition of stars

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kumkaniudaku · 7 years ago

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In The Act

Chadwick Boseman x CoCo (Black!Reader)

Warnings: Smut, Language

Micah Noelle Boseman was the light of Chadwick and Tasha’s life and the most beautiful thing to emerge from their marriage. Tasha’s earliest memories start at the day she found out that her baby girl existed. She and Chadwick were visiting his parents in South Carolina when the first bout of morning nausea attacked. Standing in his parents’ kitchen, Tasha was helping his mother prepare mac & cheese for the weekly Sunday dinner when she felt her body rise to a temperature that surpassed the sweltering Southern heat. Without notice, her breakfast flew upwards, only stopping when her hands flew to cover her mouth. Tasha had been nauseous before but never without cause. She hadn’t been drinking and there was no way she had food poisoning when everyone had the same breakfast and seemed to be just fine.

Chadwick’s mom was the first to suspect pregnancy.

“Have you had your cycle?” She questioned knowingly from the other side of the bathroom door. Though Tasha immediately pushed the thought from her mind, a quiet check of her period tracker revealed that she wasn’t just a few days late. No, it had been six weeks with no evidence of nature taking its course.

An immediate trip to her doctor once Tasha returned to Los Angeles confirmed her suspicion: she was nearly two months pregnant and scared out of her mind. She couldn’t be someone’s mom. She had just figured out how to be a wife and, sometimes, she didn’t even know if you was succeeding in that department.

Chadwick felt differently.

“Is this true, CoCo?” He asked, staring wide-eyed at the results in his hand.

Tasha could only offer a small nod in response. She expected him to be wary of the possibility of having children. The tears in his eyes added to her anxiety. They had recently finished couples therapy and were actively trying to repair the 20 years of damage that preceded the current relationship.

“Chadwick if this isn’t what you want we can find another solution.” Tasha’s words were hurried as if she was trying to make her point before he made an angry exit. “I’m sorry. We should’ve discussed contraception or something.”

“You’re sorry? Baby, this amazing. I’m gonna be a daddy!”

Seven months and 11 hours of labor later, Tasha lay in a hospital bed holding a baby girl to her chest trying not let tears fall all over Micah’s delicate skin. And, though she had expressed her hatred toward Chadwick for putting her in a situation to bear the pain of childbirth hours prior to delivery, she couldn’t help but to love the man that had shared half of him to make such a beautiful manifestation of the love that lived within their home.

Tasha felt her heart swell as she listened to their daughter squeal and giggle in the other room with her father, despite it being her bedtime and the first scheduled mommy-daddy time all week. Individual work schedules, household duties made scheduling alone time difficult for the young couple. Chad’s need to have her sleep in your shared bed almost every night slowly dried up any opportunity for physical contact. Tasha tried to explain that she would never get used to sleeping alone if he didn’t stop, but he’d excuse the behavior, passing the intrusion off as a good bonding experience. He hated seeing Micah in tears at the end of the night when it was time to put the toys away and crawl into bed.

Finally, the laughter stopped and the soft click of Micah’s bedroom door was heard before heavy footsteps started up the hallway.

“Do I get to see my husband or are you going back to your other wife in a moment?” Tasha joked from behind the kitchen counter while she carefully emptied fresh popcorn into a bowl.

Chadwick chuckled at his wife’s attempt to hide her need for attention. He found it endearing, knowing that she still wanted to be the center of his attention, if only for a night while watching television.

“Ooh, someone’s jealous.” He teased before Tasha could protest his arms wrapping around her torso for a hug. He made a point to press himself against her back and squeeze her tight, demonstrating his desires for having her close. “Don’t be, Mama. Daddy’s all yours now.”

A slow kiss to her bare collar bone was nearly enough to make Tasha pull her husband to the cold tile floor and neglect the Game of Thrones marathon cued in the living room.

Shaking the urge, she shook her head. “Then Daddy needs to grab the popcorn and get to the couch. Battle of the Bastards is next and you know that’s my favorite episode.”

Tasha slowly and reluctantly pried Chadwick’s arms away from her body in an attempt to calm down the heartbeat between her legs. Tonight was solely about husband and wife spending time together. They could always squeeze in a quickie during nap time or in the shower before Tasha was due to work, but true, uninterrupted quality time was rare.

Rolling his eyes at Tasha’s attitude, Chad grabbed the large plastic bowl from the counter to fulfill her request. They crowded onto the corner of the living room sectional, contorting their bodies until they reached a compromise. Tasha lay propped against a pillow with outstretched arm to welcomed Chadwick into her personal space. He accepted the invitation without pause and carefully lowered himself, stomach first, onto her body.

While Tasha devoted her attention to the medieval drama on screen, Chadwick focused on trailing his fingers up, down and around the various valleys and peaks in his view. On the way up her sides, he noticed the thin camisole that covered CoCo’s breast, and felt his body heat at the vision of her nipples straining against the fabric.

Just as the opening theme could give way to the beginning of the show, Chadwick began absentmindedly running his hand along the swell of Tasha’s breasts.

“We’re supposed to be relaxing.” She warned as she halfheartedly pushed his hand away.

“I am relaxing. You relax your way and I’ll relax mine.”

Deciding that his fondling was harmless, she continued to focus on the episode. As the action intensified, so did Chadwick’s antics. The hands that were once on the outside of CoCo’s tank top had made their way underneath, cupping and squeezing while alternating sides. He wasn’t searching for her attention, but he’d captured it nonetheless.

“It’s good to know that murder and devastation excite you,” she quipped, a slight smirk on her lips as she cast her gaze down to get a better look at Chadwick’s face.

“That’s a weird name for your titties, baby. But, yes, they do excite me.”

His joke made her howl with laughter that was quickly quieted by the knowledge that Micah was sleeping within earshot.

As the show ramped up intensity before the main battle commenced, Chadwick transitioned to using both hands to push Tasha’s breast together and place sloppy french kisses in the valley they made. He was slowly, but surely, chipping away at her resolve with each lingering glance in his direction she tried to hide.

Soon, CoCo gave him her full attention, running her fingers through his coils while his kisses turned into gentle suckling. An unexpected tug at the top of the cami exposed both of her breast to the cool indoor air. Tasha’s back arched at the sensation.

“Murder and devastation must excite you, too.” Chadwick commented with a sly smile. He knew what he was doing and wanted Tasha to admit that he’d won the battle. Understanding the game, Tasha chose to play by her own rules.

“Shut up and put one in your mouth.”

Humming his approval, Chadwick granted her wish, using his mouth to bring his wife pleasure. The routine continued on the other side because Chadwick was a fair man. Each one of Tasha’s breast would eagerly receive equal attention.

“Can we continue or are you still trying to watch this? Let me know.” His hands continued to grope and massage while waiting for any sign that he had approval to continue. A breathy moan escaped her lips, earning a satisfied smile from Chadwick. “Was that a yes, baby?”

“I don’t know. Do that again.” If he was going to play games then so would she.

“Hmm,” He hummed. His hands began a slow descent into her shorts, gingerly brushing against her lower bits repeatedly. “Now?”

Chadwick was secretly competitive. Any mention of a challenge that he thought could produce a winner and a loser was a challenge he took seriously. Sex was no different. He aimed to satisfy each time.

Tasha’s body squirmed restlessly underneath the weight of his body as her husband expertly worked magic with his fingers. Taking her melodic moans as confirmation to continue, he slid his body to the end of the couch before removing the clothing below her waist.

Lowering his head, he skipped her center altogether, preferring to lick and suck on her inner thighs.

She whined as an appeal for more intensity. “Stop playing!”

“There’s that pretty voice. Ask me again. Nicely this time and I’ll consider.”

“Please, babe. Please?”

Tasha’s hands frantically pushed at the back of his head to convince him to perform his favorite task. Chadwick laughed as he repositioned himself to hover over her body.

“Not yet. I’m gonna put a baby in you real quick. You wanna try for a son?”

She didn’t but, the thought of him inside of her never mixed with rational decisions. Instead, Tasha lazily mumbled a response and prepared for the consequences. Pulling his member from its confinement, he used the slickness of her juices to coat the tip and drive her crazy. When he decided that she had been teased enough, he pulled one of Tasha’s legs to rest on his shoulder and the other to bend so that her foot was flat on the couch.

“You can’t be too loud, CoCo. If she wakes up, you’re on Bedtime Duty this time.” Chadwick warned.

Tasha whimpered impatiently, resigning to saying anything to speed up the process. She didn’t understand why he even made the statement until he was putting his weight on her leg as he pushed into her in one smooth motion.

“Ooooh FUCK!” Tasha shouted, unable to contain herself. Despite her outburst, Chadwick was proud of himself. That was exactly the reaction he wanted.

His motions started off slow, rolling his hips in deliberate motions to get his wife used to the stretch. Once he was sure she could handle the next level, he started a steady rhythm. Relying on his weight to keep her leg in the proper position, he took the opportunity to lean down and roughly press his lips against Tasha’s.

“Talk to me, beautiful. You know I like that.”

Words were hard to come by when all she could see were stars and two passenger baby strollers in her daze. “Shit, baby. I can’t take it.” You admitted.

“Nah, you gone take it.”

In a fleeting moment of bravery, she emerged from her haze on a mission to make Chadwick eat his words. Using your muscles, you clenched around him to get a reaction.

“Shit!” He whisper yelled through gritted teeth. “You really want another baby in this house, huh?”

“Maybe.” Again, Tasha didn’t but, being dangled on the edge of euphoria made her say things she didn’t mean.

The sound of obscene phrases and skin slapping drowned out all other noises around them, including the sound of a door opening down the hallway and little feet rushing toward the open space.

“Daddy?” A timid voice called from the living room’s entryway.

Chadwick stilled and clamped his eyes shut, attempting to disappear into thin air. Micah stood with her stuffed cat in tow, innocently rocking back and forth on her heels while she waited to be acknowledged.

“Yes, Princess?” Chadwick had managed to remove Tasha’s leg from his shoulder to spare his innocent baby the trauma that can come with catching her parents in the act.

“Where’s mommy?”

“She’s uh, um..right here. What’s wrong, baby?”

Tasha silently thanked God for the placement of the couch which allowed for her body to be completely blocked from Micah’s view.

“My scarf came off and I need Mommy to fix it, please.”

“I’m coming, Mikey,” Tasha blurted, throwing her hand in the hair to prove that she was in the room. “Just-just go back in your room. I’ll be right there!”

Micah replied with gentle ‘okay’ as Tasha scrambled to wiggle free from the weight of Chadwick’s body. While she retrieved her discarded clothing, Chadwick acted as a lookout to make sure their daughter was gone before turning to her with a toothy grin.

“I told you not to get too loud.”

“Fuck you, Aaron,” she spat as she slid on her shorts. “The leg? I thought we agreed that stays in the bedroom.”

“I got excited, CoCo. You must’ve put something in the popcorn so, really, this is your fault.”

“Shut up!” She grumbled, pushing the back of his head as she hurried toward Micah’s bedroom.

“Baby?” He called, causing Tasha to look back and acknowledge him. “Can we finish when you get back?”

“SHUT UP!”

Chadwick accepted the answer with his hand raised in surrender and turned to commandeer the remote. He would take what he was able to receive and make plans for the next secret hookup.

Tasha was almost to Micha’s beroom before she turned back to hurry down the stairs and answer Chadwick’s question with a more realistic verdict.

“Meet me upstairs in ten.”

#chadwick boseman #chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick boseman fan fiction #chadwick x reader #chadwick boseman x you #black panther fics #black panther fan fiction

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bugsybeans · 7 years ago

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Haters Just Need a Hug

Summary: Phil’s soulmate tattoo ends up being a homophobic slur. Can he convince his supposed “other half” to love him back, regardless of his gender?

Genre: Angst/fluff

Warnings: Homophobic slurs, swearing.

A.N: Hey there. This is NOT finished yet, but I do want to post what I have so far because I feel bad how much I have been procrastinating. So, here it is! Also, there are some pretty intense slurs and stereotypes that I have will be using in this fic so if that is triggering, please be warned. I do not condone to any form homophobia, nor do I believe all religious people share those beliefs. But I do know that there are hateful people out there and I feel like the only way to stop them is through kindness and compassion. Oh yeah, and I don’t know if I’m following all the Soulmate!Au rules, but the whole tattoo thing was more of a metaphor than an actual alternate universe theme. Anyway, I will shut up now. Enjoy!

Phil

Ever since his first day of secondary school, Phil’s mother knew he was gay. On his first day of Year 8, he came home with a crimson blush adorning his cheeks and a smile up to his ears.

“How was the first day?” She asked tentatively. “Pretty good.”

“That’s good... Did you make any friends?”

“Umm..Yeah actually. His name is Anthony. He’s nice I guess.” Phil had that look he sported every time he was hiding something. Lying was not one of his strong points.

“You’re looking quite smitten, dear. You sure you only want to be friends?”

“MOM! Gosh, you’re so embarrassing.” He stomped all the way up to his room, which is where he spent the majority of his teenage years.

She had her answer. Anyway, she had absolutely nothing wrong with having a gay son. She would love him no matter what. What did worry her though was not everyone would share that same mindset. Even though society firmly believes in being romantically involved with your soulmate, for some reason, if that soulmate happens to be of the same gender, you have to live your entire life without them. Your other half. The one and only person who is perfectly right for you. She finds the logic absurd.

The older her son gets, the more pressure there is to conform. She can’t wrap him up in bubblewrap forever, one day he would have to face the hate and anger he is destined to deal with his whole life. But what truly shocked her was that his first time experiencing it first hand was when he got his soulmate tattoo.

It was a regular Saturday evening like any other, Martin sprawled on the couch, likely talking on the phone with Cornelia, Mrs. Lester cooking dinner in the kitchen and Phil hiding up in his room, doing only God-knows-what. This time, homework was on the agenda but, he was too tired and sweaty to function. The autumn air was cool and brisk, but nevertheless, Phil was down to a t-shirt and boxers facing his fan on the highest setting. He laid on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, trying to make up for lost sleep from the night before. He knew these were some of the most common signs of the imprinting of his soulmate tattoo, but he really didn’t feel like being let down again. Far too many times he has gotten his hopes up only to discover that he just had a common cold. Because at the age of fourteen, Phillip Micheal Lester will be the last kid in his class, or school maybe, to get their tattoo. It was humiliating. Also, the suspense was killing him. “What will be the first words said to me from the love of my life?” He thought. “Or will I even have a soulmate at all? Even if I do, will he ever find me?”

But, as if his prayers had finally been answered, Phil started to feel an unfamiliar itch on his right arm. He scratched. The patch of skin turned a fiery red, the sensation burning just as much. He could see the shape of letters start to rise to the surface.

“Mom!” He cried. “I think I’m getting it!”

He sprinted down stairs at lightning speed. By the time he reached the kitchen, the words were printed bold and clear, the black ink permanently etched into his pale skin. As he read the words, he choked out a sob. What was imprinted in the bold font read;

Fags like you deserve to burn in hell.

——————————————————————————————————————

Five years had passed since that fateful night. Phil had come to terms with the fact that whoever was meant for him is a homophobic asshole. That still didn’t help the pain subside, though. While everyone else was waiting for a sweet greeting or compliment, he was waiting for a cruel insult. He searched everywhere for hatred; riots, unaccepting churches, once he even walked up to a group of religious protesters and said, “Hi! My name is Phil. I’m gay.”

He sure did get a few variations of the slur on his arm, but none that were exact. Besides, everyone there looked too old to be in love with him. But the thing about a soulmate is, you really don’t know for sure.

Anyhow, he had too much on his mind being a University student, to think about finding his soulmate. Tonight, him and his roommate are going to pride. Phil deems himself lucky to have the person he shares a bathroom with so much like himself. They share a lot of common interests, including their gender preferences. Hell, if he didn’t have that goddamn tattoo he would think they are soulmates. But there is someone else out there for him, that man just happens to be a hateful bastard.

“Charlie! You ready?” He called from outside the bathroom door. “Almost! Just two more minutes.” Charlie puts a lot of effort into his attire. Phil finds it unnecessary, but he knows it makes him really happy when someone compliments his outfit.

“Fine. But when those two minutes are up I’m leaving without you.” Just as the words left his mouth, Charlie stepped out in a pastel blue top with the words “fairies do it better” written in bright pink across the front, light green cargo shorts and of course, a rainbow cape that went down to his knees. “Well, what do you think?”

Phil just gaped at him for a few seconds. “You look… well, flaming. But incredible.” He shot Charlie one of his famous grins. The kind that make his eyes crinkle, and the Charlie’s heart soar. “R-really?” He blushed bashfully. For someone who wore bright and provocative colours, Charlie sure was shy.

“Yeah Char. You look awesome. Now let’s go!”

——————————————————————————————————————

As soon as they got off the bus, they were practically trampled by the massive crowd of people all heading in the direction of the parade. Charlie’s outfit actually looked pretty tame compared to some of the other attendees. They were swimming in a sea of rainbows and sparkles. You could feel the excitement in the air, the excitement of those who are normally forced to hide, or conform, to what society deems “normal.” And here in the midst of it all, you could love who you want and be who you are, without fear of judgement. It gave Phil a little spark of hope, that one day, the world will change. But he knew, it would take an awfully long time to get there.

Out of the corner of his eye, like a dark smudge marking a beautiful piece of art, some extreme religious group was holding up signs and chanting something along the lines of “no more homos!” Phil rolled his eyes. “Not now, of all times.” He thought to himself. But just before he was about to turn in the other direction, the group in front of him stopped walking. And so did the people in front of them. Soon enough, practically the whole parade had stopped to face the crazies trying to spread hate. They say strength is in numbers, and that proved to be true. Except this time, the oppressed outnumbers the oppressors.

Then, the parade started their own chant, “love is love! Love is love! Love is love!” You could no longer hear the hateful messages, but instead, just the sound of people coming together to spread a message of equality. Phil remembered distinctly something his mother told to him as a child when he was afraid of the dark,

“No need to be afraid Philly. Most monsters are just misunderstood. Sometimes, the only thing they need is a hug.”

Charlie looked up at Phil, and intertwined their fingers. “Kiss me, it will piss them off to no end.” He whispered in Phil’s ear. He really likes Charlie, don’t get him wrong, he just never developed any feelings for him. But, in the heat of the moment, kissing his best friend seemed like the only option. So, reluctantly, he leaned in, and their lips met.

If there is a God, he must really have something against poor Phil. The crowd was so loud he barely heard it, the words he had been waiting practically his whole life to hear. But, in a young, timid voice he heard the nine syllables that would change his life forever.

“Fags like you deserve to burn in hell.” Phil disconnected the kiss with a gasp, leaving Charlie hurt and confused. “Phil! Where are you going?”

He didn’t care if people were shouting, or that he had to push his way through the tightly-knit crowd, all he could think about is that his other half was waiting for him, in the group of religious zealots. As soon as he reached the edge, he saw him. The kid was pretty scrawny, and about Phil’s height, with a light brown fringe on the opposite side. He didn’t look a day over 18. But, what really captured the older boy’s heart were those chocolate brown eyes. They looked frightened, like they’ve seen too much. But nevertheless, Phil could see something in them. It looked trapped. Maybe this kid didn’t know, but it existed. A little spark of hope.

Soon enough, Phil was face to face with him. “It’s you.”

The kid gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “No! No, this can’t be happening. Dad, D-Dad, this isn’t right.” But before he could finish rambling, Phil engulfed the broken boy in his arms.

#love is love #amazingphil #phan #phanfic #daniel howell #no homo howell #angst #phanfiction

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why-mr-spook · 7 years ago

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This was posted on AO3 yesterday, but here it is too! A Spirk nightmare, comfort fic.

Air. There is no air.

But there is Spock and Bones, and eventually peace.

Jim woke slowly, disoriented for a moment. It felt as if he was stationary, and the world was the thing coming into view, settling itself around him. His bedroom was a tip, and his feet were cold; his window was hanging open and the old house had never retained any heat anyway. He sat up, feet dangling over the side of his bed but not quite touching the floor. Not yet. He used to not mind being short. When his mom got back from the stars, she always cradled him to her and told him that he’d always be her little baby. If he could stay small for her, she might just hold him forever- stop him from growing up.

Growing up was terrible. He’d realised that a long time ago. Sam had grown up, taller and smarter and stronger. Sam had grown up and he’d left. Left Jim to the empty cans and bitter rages and the cold, cold house. Jim finally slid off his mattress, shivering down to the core of him. It was winter now, without a doubt; another month had come and gone without a word from his mom, and the old wooden floorboards beneath his feet were so cold they hurt. He’d be on Tarsus IV soon, and it would be warmer there. The sky would be brighter, the blankets would be thicker, the food would be better. He’d be free of Frank, if nothing else.

He padded towards the open window, hanging out over the rooftop and letting the cool winds bring tears to his eyes. It was okay. It was all okay. The cold was good- the pain was good. It reminded him he was alive, and that’s what his mom had always said. Bad was good, because bad meant there was good to come. He doubted her sincerity, because his dad dying had been bad and he’d been waiting all his life for the good to follow up. At one point, he would have said that his mom’s brief stints at home had been the good. Maybe he was as selfish as Frank said, but it wasn’t good enough, not anymore. Not for him. Half of him wanted to just follow Sam’s example- right then- bound out of the window and flee into the night. Only he didn’t have that much longer to wait before he was gone, so he’d withstand the bad a little longer. Tarsus would be the good.

Jim leaned out of the window, into the cold, and he inhaled deeply. There - those brisk, unrelenting winds - they brought hope.

Jim sat bolt upright, his head spinning as he tried to take in his quarters and how very far it was from the dusty old farmhouse of his youth. His quarters were warm- warmer than average, in fact, thanks to his Vulcan boyfriend. They’d eventually found a happy compromise- Jim had to sleep mostly nude, which he mostly did anyway, but he could generally enjoy the whole night through without overheating. Well, nightmares aside he could. Reality dawned on him quickly, nausea and dizziness dissipating with the well-practiced circular rubs to his back. He’d woken Spock, it seemed. Of course he did. He always woke Spock- Spock was the lightest sleeper on the Enterprise, lighter even than Jim.

“Ashayam.” A hand rested against his shoulder, asking him to lean back into the touch and let Spock take his weight. Jim resisted. A part of him was still searching for that brilliant, cold wind in the middle of the night. It was about the only part of the dream he could remember. Dream, or memory? He couldn’t remember. There were so many nights between Sam leaving and his departure for Tarsus that he’d spent at that window, daring himself to leave. To run. Hell, on the bad nights, even to just jump and end it all.

“No wind. There’s no air.” He mused, slumping as all the tension in his muscles drained out. “Sorry. What’s the time?”

“It is half past three, Jim.” Spock sounded concerned and tired, and Jim felt terrible for waking him. “You should attempt to return to sleep.” He didn’t bother pointing out that Spock hadn’t included himself in that little suggestion, because it only made him feel worse.

“Yeah.” It had been past midnight before he’d fallen asleep anyway, too wrapped up in Spock and the distractions he presented away from what the rest of the day would bring. “Yeah, I’ll try.” Though he didn’t fancy the chances he’d actually drift off again. If he closed his eyes, he was back in the farmhouse, and maybe Frank was just downstairs drinking and shouting at the TV. Maybe, maybe Jim would hear those awful floorboards – that splintered him any chance they got, so he’d not gone barefoot in that house for a long time – they’d creak, and Frank would be coming upstairs to drag him out of bed, just to have someone to shout at. To be called lazy for sleeping.

Jim lay back down, staring up at the ceiling, until Spock settled beside him, reaching for his hand in the space between them.

“Spock?” Jim rolled onto his side, his gaze tracing his boyfriend’s silhouette in the dark. He couldn’t really make out too much without any light whatsoever, but he could see Spock’s eyes were open still. “Was there ever a time in your life that you felt…” He tried to search for the right word, but the closest had to be, “free?”

“There is a great deal of philosophy and semantics around your statement, Jim-”

“No, I know. I just mean… exhilarated and independent. Like the next choice you make is entirely your own, and you’re yourself and nothing more.” Like the feeling of October winds in your face, and your feet on a crumbling old window ledge, and in that very second being able to just jump. Only, Jim couldn’t tell him that. Not Spock.

Spock was silent for a long moment. “I do not know, Jim.”

Jim turned back to lay flat, averting his gaze back to the ceiling and ignoring the pit of disappointment in his chest. “Okay. Never mind.” He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted Spock to say, anyway. The Enterprise with Jim was probably the furthest thing from free in his whole life. “G’night, Spock.”

“Good night, Jim.”

Jim didn’t fall back to sleep. After a while of trying, he’d let his hand slip from Spock’s, turned onto his side with his back to his boyfriend. He should have just admitted he couldn’t sleep and spent the morning productively, with Spock. But he couldn’t face morning yet, and he didn’t want Spock to worry about him, so he turned over and just pretended. His mind wouldn’t shut down, however hard he tried, but the time was long and slow and it felt like more than three hours before the artificial sunrise commenced and he turned back over, agonised at not having moved for so long. Who was he kidding, Spock probably knew he’d not slept.

“Jim, regarding today. If it would be preferable to you, I can assume your responsibilities. Doctor McCoy has expressed his desire for you to complete your quarterly physical. This may exhaust you enough to sleep the remainder of the day away.”

Jim didn’t doubt that ‘may’ actually translated to a precise percentage that Spock had calculated to Jim’s all too human need for regular sleep, but he’d taken to vague language for some reason recently. Spock meant well, always did. If only it was that simple. If he did go to Bones, there was no guaranteeing that he would sleep peacefully. No, it was safer in the Captain’s chair; quiet and surrounded by people who wouldn’t let him screw up. Not that Bones was a bad influence, but he had a habit of letting Jim get away with things that Uhura would probably slap him for. Hell, Bones was a unique combination of a total hard ass and just the weakest when it came to Jim.

“Thanks, Spock, but no.” He sounded as far from himself as possible to, robotic and gravelly and his throat sort of ached from the night before, but he didn’t regret it for a second. “I’ll be fine. Just… just don’t let me be alone. Okay? I need you with me today.”

“Of course, Jim.”

Jim didn’t think it was all that simple either- Spock would probably have to rearrange lab work and a meeting and, hell all sorts, but he would and he wouldn’t complain. No, that was Jim’s job. To complain and take and never give anything back. He wasn’t entirely sure, great sex aside, why Spock was with him. But then a hand curled around his neck, pulling his head closer to his boyfriend, and Spock pressed a kiss against his head the way Jim did for him if he was ever in sickbay. Jim appreciated it, leaned into the touch, let his hand reach into Spock’s top- not permitting himself to feel an ounce of guilt for it. He wasn’t sick, but the sentiment was more comforting than he’d anticipated it could be.

“I love you, Spock.” He whispered, curling his fingers deeper into the fabric and revelling in the way Spock’s arms enveloped him, wrapping around him easily and holding them close together. Hugs from Spock were… indescribable. Rare unless they were, well, horizontal in bed, and always appreciated. Bones said the only reason he tolerated Jim and Spock’s relationship was that it meant Jim didn’t find his way to his bed anymore, now that he had a Vulcan to cuddle instead. But Jim had barely done that since their Academy days, and he wasn’t exactly touch starved anyway. Despite his childhood, there’d always been someone. He’d never gone too long without companionship, in some sense.

“Taluhk nash-veh k'dular, Jim.” Spock’s fingers drifted past his collar, touching at the skin of his neck so subtly Jim might have forgotten he was a touch telepath. Not that he minded. Spock didn’t have to ask at this point, or it’d make for a pretty difficult relationship. “I am concerned for you, Jim. Your mental turbulence has not been such for 5.34 months.”

“I know. Well, no I didn’t, but I knew it had been a while.” He was actually quite impressed with himself. Although, perhaps that was giving himself too much credit.

“I understand my attempts to dissuade you from active duty will go unheeded, so I must ask that you trust me, Jim. If you begin to feel overwhelmed, at any point, alert me and I will offer my assistance.”

“Yes.” He agreed, before he’d really considered what it meant. “But only if you trust me too. You don’t need to make up excuses to talk to me or check up on me. Just… be there, and I’ll say if I need you.” There was that selfishness again. He didn’t want to know the trouble he was putting Spock to.

“Your health is paramount to my satisfaction, Jim. To delegate some of my duties to remain at your side is not trouble, and nor is your existence.” Another kiss against his hair. “You may use the bathroom first. I will prepare your coffee.”

Spock had learned not to both forcing food on him, not on days like this. Jim wasn’t sure if he’d worked it out from more than one failed attempt, or if Bones had just outright told him not to, but he appreciated it nonetheless. That, and the obvious attempt at consolation. Spock was, really, too sweet to him.

His knees protested when he dropped to them, already too battered and bruised and tight with old cuts and scars. But that didn’t matter- pain was irrelevant – because there was water, right in front of him. He scooped some into his canteen first, before he could allow himself to get distracted, because there were sick kids who needed this more than even he did, and if something went wrong and they couldn’t get back, their deaths would be on him. Only when he was sure all his possessions were strapped securely to him, did he fling himself forward into the flow. God, it was icy cold and he’d probably regret this soon, sopping wet on his trek back to their hiding spot.

But the pounding of his heart, and the rapidly numbing effect on his aching body once the initial shock was over, that was unbeatable. He grinned, despite it all. Despite everything. It had been a relatively good day in terms of food, and now water too. He sank down to his chin, the force of the water daring him to just let go of the rocks around him, let the flow take him away, submerge him, let the water consume him. That’s all it would take- to just uncurl his fingers from around one of the rocks he’d collapsed onto. To let the water wash all the air from his lungs. He wondered if that’s what it would feel like to die in space. To choke and scream, for every cell in his body to cry out for air but to not get any. It sounded horrific, objectively. It had to be quicker than starving though, right? And less painful than watching another kid just give up in the night and fall into their final sleep.

Jim wondered if he’d ever properly sleep again. Even if they made it off Tarsus, could he ever close his eyes and not expect pain to greet him? He ducked his head under the water, his hair whipping around his head. But those kids… the four that remained, waiting for him, obeying his commands, curling against him at night when they were too scared to sleep too. He couldn’t let them down. However much he wanted to just let go and submerge himself, he couldn’t. He broke surface again, gasping in air that tasted stale. But air nonetheless.

“Spock!” He gasped suddenly, sitting up straight. Not in the water, not holding on to rocks and avoiding touching the moss that made him itch for days, but in his chair. The Captain’s chair, no less. He knew that, of course. He was on the Enterprise, and Spock was in front of him, his eyes searching Jim’s rapidly.

“Air- there’s no air.”

There was, and he inhaled it sharply… not Tarsus air, no, but the recycled air was still not fresh enough, not earth. Not cold, unforgiving winds beating at his lungs. The rushing water past his ears was gone as though it had never been there at all. The bridge was unaffected by his waking nightmare, working and talking quietly under the thrum of engines and the ship being so very alive. Only Chekov and Sulu were glancing over their shoulders at him, though trying hard not to be obvious about it. Jim stopped looking, focusing on his Science Officer and the concern in his dark eyes.

“Sorry. Sorry, I’m fine. What time is it?”

“It is 11.55, Captain.” Spock replied dutifully, but he looked the furthest thing from reassured. Jim felt the same, and he swore he could still taste the waters of Tarsus in the back of his throat.

“That’s late enough for lunch, right?” He stood up, shaky for only a moment before he forced himself to get a grip. He’d walked for miles on Tarsus- ran and limped and made himself keep on going through all sorts of injuries and weathers and terrains. He could make it to their quarters. “C’mon Spock. Sulu? You can take the conn for a while right?”

“Yes sir.” Sulu turned briefly, offering him a lazy salute.

Jim tried to smile in return, but he couldn’t quite manage it. There was nothing to worry about, anyway, they were only on course for Starbase nine, and Jim trusted Sulu with the ship more than anyone but Spock and Scotty. At least he could fly the damn thing out of danger, should any occur. Not that any would. He was just a worrier. No, he wasn’t. He was fine, just fine. He hurried into the turbolift, Spock at his heel, and let himself take a deep breath as the doors slid closed.

“Captain, this is the second time today you have complain of an absence of air. I strongly believe you should amend our course for medbay and explain your symptoms to Doctor McCoy.”

“No, I’m fine. Honestly, Spock. I just… I just let my thoughts wander a bit, and that’s not something Bones can fix.” Nor could he just walk into Bones’ office and declare his mouth tasted like the icy waters of a planet he’d not seen since he was a kid, and the taste was sickening. He wanted to wash it away, drink so much bourbon that it was all he could taste for weeks. “Please, can we just… I just need a break.”

He knew the moment that Spock’s resolve broke, and he gave in to Jim’s plea. “Very well.” He acquiesced quietly. “If this occurs again, I will escort you to medbay myself.”

Jim didn’t doubt it. He nodded mutely, stepping out onto the corridor and making his way back to their quarters. It wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it. He was going to keep his mind so busy it wouldn’t have chance to wander, and then he couldn’t have another weird flashback and he wouldn’t think about the air in his lungs.

Their quarters were just as they’d been earlier that morning. Spock had tidied while he’d been getting ready for the day, so there was nothing to stop them sitting right down at the table and getting some lunch for them both. Only, Jim still wasn’t hungry. Not for food. He wanted to wash that awful taste away- and he knew exactly how.

Spock’s back hit the wall before he had time to utilise that infamous Vulcan strength, and Jim’s mouth was on his neck before he’d uttered his first complaint.

“Jim- it is lunchtime-”

“Exactly! A whole twelve hours since we last fucked.” His hand found its way south, his lips returning to Spock’s pulse point and nibbling, licking, that delectable Vulcan scent. “Twelve hours too long, don’t you think?”

“Jim. I believe you are emotionally compromised and thus to allow you to-“ Spock’s words by no means matched his body's reaction, and despite his Vulcan strength his hands did little more than just rest on Jim’s shoulders, as if telling him he could push back at any moment. “To continue this would be-“

“Much appreciated, thanks sweetheart.” To get that taste out of his mouth; to replace any memory of Tarsus with the sight and sounds of Spock. The way his fingers gripped Jim’s skin, the way he tasted better than anyone Jim had ever fucked before, how he fought back groans and failed desperately under Jim’s ministrations. Maybe it was selfish of Jim, but he knew Spock would do this for him, and he refused to let himself think too hard about it or he’d lose all motivation and stop.

“Great. Don’t think. Just lie back and think of Starfleet.”

The thing about dying was, it sucked. Not just for being alone, separated from the love of his life by glass he couldn’t break if he tried- if he wanted. It was the way breathing got harder, and his cells were on fire and his head went light and his vision blurred, and his lungs begged him to do something and save himself. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t suck in that necessary oxygen. His laboured breaths didn’t seem to be doing anything to alleviate the burning in his veins, and his hand against the glass was so weak it took everything he had to just hold it in place. He couldn’t let it fall – he deserved that much, at least. If his hand slipped down, if he wasn’t strong enough to hold it in place, he truly would be alone as he died. He was scared, too scared to face that. He needed to know Spock was just there, behind the glass, and in another life their hands would be entwined as Jim slipped into his last sleep.

Jim woke, and before he could even breathe in, he threw up. There was nothing he could do to fight the urge- no time to lean over the bed or stagger to the bathroom. He simply sat up and lost the contents of his stomach in a violent, seemingly unending wave of nausea. At some point, Spock appeared at his side, resting a hand against his back and rubbing in small circles until Jim managed to stop, tears streaming down his face as he tried to catch his breath. His stomach and throat were both agonising, and his mouth tasted vile, even despite the water Spock helped him sip slowly.

“A-again. Happened again.” He fumbled around the words, burying his head into his hands as Spock collected the disgusting blankets from his lap and deposited them into the washing. He returned with a replicated tub that Jim honestly didn’t think he’d need now, but accepted anyway. Then a damp towel nudged between his hands, pushing them aside, trailing softly across his mouth and neck.

“Jim, allow me to call for Doctor McCoy.”

Jim nodded morosely, hiding his face again. He couldn’t stop thinking about the things he’d seen. No air. The rushing wind at his childhood bedroom window. The stale, unsatisfying air of Tarsus. The burning failure of his lungs in Engineering. He was going insane, without a doubt this time.

“McCoy here. This better be good.”

“Please report to the Captain’s quarters, Doctor, with a med-kit.”

“Spock? What’s happened?”

“I do not believe the Captain is in immediate danger, Doctor. He has taken ill.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Spock. On my way.” Bones replied bitterly, and Jim hated himself for causing a fuss. For waking up his friend. Jim was just a little shit who couldn’t cope with his own nightmares. Pretty extraordinary nightmares though they were, it was still positively shameful. He was a grown man. It was cruel that, even now, when they weren’t crammed together in the same room at the Academy, he was still dragged a reluctant Bones from his sleep.

“Jim, you must breathe.” Spock’s hand lay at his back, still, warm and guiding despite being stationary. Jim followed the sensation, the warmth against what otherwise felt unnaturally cold to him. There was an odd, hollow sensation within him. Like all those nightmares – Iowa and Tarsus and death – had drained the very life out of him. It was only Spock’s quiet companionship, his solemn instructions, his skin pressed against Jim’s- no doubt skirting his thoughts or pushing forward calm, or both. Whatever he was attempting, he didn't have enough time for it to work before Bones was there, sweeping into the room as if he owned it.

There was a moment, a brief second, when their eyes met. Bones kneeled before Jim, scanning and barking out responses to Spock’s articulate summary of Jim’s issues thus far, and he looked up and caught Jim’s blank gaze. Bones looked scared for him, and that terrified Jim more than anything else. He squeezed Spock’s wrist a little tighter.

“You need to come into medbay for a scan, Jim. Something is trying to trigger your survival instincts, and I don’t know how or why. This isn’t a panic attack, it’s just an attack. C’mon, Kid, keep breathing –”

Jim couldn’t. His lungs were starving and his cells were burning, but every motion he made to breathe was helpless. His throat had constricted, and Bones was jabbing him with hypos that should have been opening his airways and allowing him to breathe.

“- needs to breathe -.” Bones said, and Jim stopped panicking and started feeling the hazy welcoming sensation of passing out approaching him. “- emergency, I know Spock! Pass me -!” Bones sounded worried, angry, desperate and Jim had a distant urge to take his hand. He wanted Bones to know that he didn’t mind. That he’d welcome the peace, this time. It was completely different. Before, he’d been alone and scared, unable to touch. This time, he was joined by his boyfriend and his best friend, and they held him tightly, and nothing else could touch him through that warmth. He couldn’t feel the ice grip of the end, as he slipped into darkness.

Medbay was better than hospital, Jim secretly thought- even if he’d never dared share that with Bones, lest his ego start to rival Jim’s own. Maybe it was just tribute to how traumatic he’d found his time at hospitals over the years, but there was something about Bones’ sickbay that was less panic-inducing and more calming. It could be put down to just his best friend’s presence, and the familiar gentility of Nurse Chapel and, occasionally, Doctor M’Benga speaking quietly down the ward. There were other factors too, that most people probably wouldn’t pay much attention to. For one, hospitals were often harsh and bright. But sickbay was dim when it could afford to be, restful and mostly quiet. It didn’t smell harsh and clinical either – more like the rest of the ship did, which was a comfort in itself. Jim was most appeased by the company he kept in sickbay. Unlike his previous stints in hospitals, lonely and miserable, he was never alone in sickbay. If not Bones sat beside his bed, gruffly insulting him until he drifted off to sleep like they were back at the academy, it was Spock- of course. Spock, who could occasionally be convinced to at least sit on the bed beside Jim and stroke his hair until he slept. When duty called Spock away, Jim was joined by someone else. His yeoman, occasionally, to play checkers. Other crew members and friends – Nyota, Hikaru, Scotty.

Jim woke slowly, he thought, and then blinked himself into consciousness. He could breathe, he first noticed. There were no wires or oxygen masks or anything horrific like that. It occurred to his, secondly, that he hadn’t dreamed either. There had been no awful nightmare snapping him awake, constricting his throat with panic and bile.

“Welcome back sunshine.” Bones said gruffly, and Jim blinked up at him in confusion. Bones ignored his gaze, focusing instead on the tricorder he was running over him. It was Spock who stepped up to the bed, taking Jim’s hand.

“Ashayam, you look much improved.”

“I feel it.” Jim agreed and, to his surprise, speaking didn’t hurt. He felt rejuvenated inside and out, and put it down to the expertise of his Doctor. “What the hell happened?”

The Doctor and Spock shared an uneasy look, the sort of look that made Jim’s muscles clench in preparation to stand and fight. Bones and Spock didn’t get along and they didn’t work together well – not unless Jim was in real danger. He had been, technically, as far as he could recall – but they should have gone back to normal by now. He was fine, clearly.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Jimmy?” Bones asked, finally meeting Jim’s gaze as he continued to scan him.

“I was – I’d had that nightmare, and Spock called for you, and I couldn’t breathe- I blacked out.”

“Before that, Jim. Recall the events of the last few days, if you can.”

Jim frowned, chewed his lip but nodded steadily. “Okay.” Purely because he was confused, and because he’d never seen Bones and Spock look quite so united in a hopeless sort of worry. “Before that, I’d had another flashback on the bridge. We left the bridge and I- we-” He smirked. “Well, you know. I needed a distraction.” And the faint blush tinging Spock’s high cheekbones now were a delightful reminder of how he’d looked from Jim’s position on the floor. “And I’d had a dream the night before, too, about my childhood bedroom. Why?”

“Before then, Kid?”

Jim stared in confusion, unsure what exactly Bones wanted from him. Spock squeezed his hand, lightly, as if urging him to really think. So Jim did just that, furrowing his brow as he tried to move through the fog of memory to recall fact.

“We’d been planet side on Mylasa, for the geologists.” Finally, an emotion other than concern graced his companion’s faces. Their recognition was no, unfortunately, positive. “Spock was heading the mission- I went down to take a look. We went for a stroll, then went back to the ship.” The haziness around his memories was, frankly, disturbing. He glared defensively. “Are you going to bother explaining what’s going on, yet, or do I have to carry on playing recall?”

“Mylasa was not, as previously believed, uninhabited.” Spock explained quietly. “The lifeforms we encountered on the planet were of superior intelligence to our own, and saw us as an underdeveloped species thriving only from our desire to survive. You were considered a prime example of survival instinct. Your dreams over the last few days have merely been the telepathic influence of the new species, testing your memories of survival.”

“You should have heard these suckers, Kid. They sent a message through to the ship after they’d let you go, said they just wanted to know at what point you’d be happy to stop breathing.” Bones looked livid, and Jim wasn’t quite sure if it was because of the aliens or him. He’d been okay, he remember idly, with dying beside Spock and Bones. It wasn’t his choice, of course. He’d take living with them any day. But if he had to die again, which had seemed the most likely conclusion to whatever he’d gone through the previous night, he wanted to be with the people he loved.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense. They showed me times in my life when I wanted to breathe.” He argued. “My bedroom window- I used to stand at it, even when it was freezing and I could feel the cold in my lungs. And on Tarsus- I came up for air, I didn’t drown myself.” He sounded insane, and his protests were met with the horrified looks of his friends, but he continued. “In the decontamination chamber I wanted to breathe- my cells were burning and I wanted to get to the other side of the glass. And last night- I wanted to breathe- right up until I had both of you with me, when I could stop being scared. Then I didn’t need to anymore.” He gasped in a breath, grateful for the expansion of his own lungs. “It wasn’t survival instinct they were looking for, it was pack instinct.”

“The needs of the many.” Spock murmured, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of Jim’s hand. The movement was repetitive, reassuring, but mostly encouraging. Yes, Spock understood. He and Spock were always on the same wavelength.

“They wanted to see my desire for self-preservation compared to my desire to protect the rest of you.” Jim elaborated. “I didn’t run away from home because I thought Tarsus was going to be better- that was self-preservation, because Sam had already left me. I didn’t drown because I knew I had to get back to the other kids- so that’s both of them. I died in the chamber to save the crew, and that was purely protective.”

“Well I hope they found whatever they were looking for dammit.”

“It’s… it’s over now, right?” Jim asked, and it wasn’t fear in his tone. Trepidation, maybe described it better. But Bones and Spock were there.

“It is over, Ashayam.” Spock confirmed, with the slightest of smiles. Behind him, Bones tampered with his screens. Jim returned the smile and exhaled.

#spirk #ff #mywriting #fic #ao3 link #just because i've linked everything else to my old usename i think #so why not redo this one

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thegladelf · 8 years ago

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An Open Heart is An Open Wound 12/?

It has been forever and an age since I posted on this story...sorry, real life and other projects got in the way. (Keep your eyes open, btw, because i start posting my CSBB project next Sunday. HP fans are gonna like it.) But I haven’t forgotten this story and I’m back to working on it (finally). Can’t say whether I”ll get back to regular updates, but I’m gonna try not to go six months without another chapter. Hope y’all like it! (Feedback is always encouraged, in whatever form you like to give it.) Special thanks as always to @sammmtacular for beta-ing these monster chapters.

Tagging @timeless-love-story @lenfaz@trueromantic1 @pirateherokillian @justanotherwannabeclassicand @somethingalltogether

Last Chapter | From Beginning | ff.net | AO3

Summary: Killian was sent to our world to find a cursed town called Storybrooke, but his quest was derailed when he met Emma Swan. Drawn together by a past that is more similar than either of them realize. For a time, they were family. Then things changed and Killian left to complete his mission. Now, ten years later, Emma has come to Storybrooke and it’s Killian must decide whether he should pick up the pieces. (Alternate universe retelling of Season One.)

Word count: 10.3k

Regina grabbed hold of Emma’s arm, her perfectly manicured fingernails digging into the red leather.

“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” she accused, face screwed up in outrage.

The sneer nearly convinced Emma to leave Regina sitting in the smoke and heat while she headed out the back way and got help. Regina would be fine up on the landing for a few minutes—she’d probably pass out from smoke inhalation, but Emma preferred her that way. Still, that idea sat like lead in Emma’s gut, no matter how much Regina deserved to sweat a little.

Emma wrenched away from Regina’s grasp. Taking a deep breath and throwing her arms up against the heat, she plunged through the battered doorway. Smoke swirled around her, stinging her eyes as she scanned the room.

A flash of red.

Emma slammed her elbow through the glass, remembering her jacket after the fact, but by then the glass was shattered and she had her fingers around the fire extinguisher.

She heard Regina struggling as she prepped the extinguisher and pointed it at the flames. White vapor clouded both rooms as Emma stepped through and thrust her hand out. Almost immediately, heat flushed fingers wrapped around her hand and Emma hauled Regina to her feet, ducking under her arm. The mayor leaned on her heavily as they hobbled toward the main door.

Sweet, clean air filled Emma’s lungs as they burst through. Covered in ash, she gasped and coughed as light and sound assaulted her. She dimly recognized the click of a camera, followed by more flashing lights.

Immediately, Regina started shouting. “My ankle! Set me down gently!” She struggled against Emma, nearly landing both of them on the ground.

Emma resisted the urge to shove the mayor as she let go. “Seriously? You’re complaining about how I saved your life?” She sucked in another stinging breath, ready to continue yelling, but a coughing fit cut her off and it was all she could do to stay upright. Hands braced against her knees, she took slow breaths.

Behind them, the sirens dimmed as an antiquated fire truck drove up.

Regina waved vaguely. “The firemen are here. It’s not like we were really in danger.”

Emma almost laughed, but her anger won. “Fine. Next time I’ll just… I’ll just…”

She dismissed Regina with a flick of her wrist, determined to walk away without finishing that thought. This woman was not worth her time or effort.

“Ah, you know what?” Emma said, turning back. “Next time, I’ll do the same thing. And the time after that because that is what decent human beings do.” She coughed. “That’s what good people do.” With that she sought out the paramedics and their oxygen tanks, hoping that would stop the world from spinning.

Regina continued yelling, at the firemen, at the photographer, eventually she grabbed a phone from someone and made a call, yelling into the phone too. And then she seemed yelled out, nodding and saying a few more words quietly before hanging up. She coughed, staggering as one of the paramedics tried to corral her over to a spot near Emma. Regina handed the cellphone to the paramedic as she followed meekly, finally exhausted.

Emma hopped off the gurney—she had no desire to be anywhere near Regina right now—handing the oxygen mask to the young man standing nearby.

Regina grabbed her arm. “That was Dr. Hopper,” she said, pausing to cough again. “Whoever did this didn’t go after Henry. It looks like it was just an accident.”

Emma nodded. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “Thank you.”

Regina didn’t respond, her fingers gripped around another plastic mask as she breathed deep.

A crowd gathered, clustering around the firemen pulling debris from the wreckage of the hallway. They piled great chunks of wood and plaster on the concrete.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called. Mary Margaret stood behind Emma, Ruby next to her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Emma said, her voice coming out rough and spotty. Clearing her throat hurt like hell, but she did it anyway. “Yeah, just smoke.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Let me see if I can find you some water.”

She scampered off, leaving Emma in Ruby’s care.

“You look like hell,” the taller woman declared.

Several more minutes passed before Archie arrived with Henry, who waved at Emma, but obeyed his mother’s beckoning. Mary Margaret came back with a bottle of water, handing it to Emma as Archie and Granny joined them. Her roommate waited patiently, shoving her hands into her coat as Emma chugged down half the bottle.

Granny took the bottle when Emma was done. “On the house.”

“Did you really rescue Regina?” Mary Margaret asked, an incredulous smile on her face. Beside her, Ruby and Archie leaned a little closer, equally curious expressions on their faces.

“She did!” Henry said, running up beside her. “The fireman said it. They saw it.”

“You are a hero.” Ruby made it sound like some irrefutable truth and Emma felt a little swell of pride.

She had done that. She had stayed and helped Regina, despite having every reason not to, and that felt good. It made her feel like she deserved a place right alongside Henry’s storybook princes and princesses.

Mary Margaret nodded, the little flower on her hat bobbing. “We should see if they have a picture of the rescue.”

“We could make campaign posters,” Granny said.

“Oh, people would love that!” Archie said as Mary Margaret spun around, his voice trailing off as the group chased after her without so much as a goodbye to Emma.

She laughed at their enthusiasm, touched that they were so invested in helping her beat Sydney. She knelt before Henry, gravel biting through her jeans, and took his hands in hers. His fingers were cold because, of course, he had forgotten his gloves.

“This is how good wins,” she told him. “You do something good and people see it, and then they want to help you.”

Henry tilted his head, considering her for a moment. “Maybe you’re right.”

“You see, Henry?” She smiled, gripping his shoulder. Under her hand and all the winter layers, he still felt small and frail despite being taller now that Emma was kneeling. “We don’t have to fight dirty.”

The sentence fell flat as her eyes landed on the debris. Sitting on top of the splintered door was an odd piece of twisted fabric. The still air stirred a little, a biting breeze sweeping past Emma and on that breeze wafted a familiar smell.

Livestock.

“Hey, you should stay close to your mom, kid,” Emma said, squeezing his shoulder. “She was really shaken today.”

Henry glanced over to where Regina whispered fiercely at Sydney. “She looks fine.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Henry,” she said. “And people like your mom don’t like showing weakness, especially with everyone watching.”

He didn’t roll his eyes and say she was the same, just nodded and ran over to his mom. Regina jumped when Henry took her hand, blinking down with wide, confused eyes. Emma shook her head. How screwed up was their relationship if simple physical affection surprised her?

Then again, who was Emma to talk?

Crouching, she snatched up the coiled fabric. She grimaced at the sheep stench, but it wasn’t the smell twisting up her insides as much as the piece of fabric. After assuring herself that everyone else was looking elsewhere, Emma pulled out her phone for a quick Google search.

# # #

Main Street was deserted. Even Granny’s sign was off.

Of course it was. Granny was at town hall, trying to find pictures for the campaign. Emma laughed. She should have known better than to think someone actually believed she was capable of something important. She was just a pawn.

“Swan!”

Emma jerked her head up to find Killian jogging toward her, his look of relief half-masked with a joking smile.

She stopped dead in her tracks. “I thought you were going sailing.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t far out when I heard the sirens.” His trademark smirk spread across his face. “Though, I could have her back out in a jiffy if you need a quick escape.” He threw an aimless gesture toward town hall. “That have anything to do with you?”

“Yes,” Emma bit out.

Killian’s eyebrows shot sky high, but he stepped aside.

“Things with Regina went that well?” His nose wrinkled up as Emma breezed by him. “Swan, why do you smell like a wet sheep?”

“I don’t,” she spat. “This does.” She waved the lanolin soaked cloth in his face. “Lanolin. It’s flammable, apparently, and I’m betting Gold knew that.”

He jumped from concern to rage in one breath. His hand snapped out in the next, fingers circling her wrist.

“What happened?” he growled. “Are you alright?”

Emma shrugged away from him. “Yeah, fine. Regina got the worst of it.”

“Henry?”

“Wasn’t even there.” Her anger faded at the flash of relief on Killian’s face. Though she couldn’t explain why, she found herself running through her encounter with Regina and the subsequent explosion. By the time she got to the end of it, he looked gray, but his eyes practically gave off sparks.

“You think he might be coming after you as well, then?” he said, voice strained.

“No, I think he was trying to help me.” Her grip on the greasy wool tightened. “He owns half the town already, makes sense he’d grab for more power when the opportunity arose.”

And she swallowed his lines like a fool. A small voice whispered that she hadn’t detected any lies last night, but that didn’t soothe the sting. After all that talk about doing things the right way, she fell in with exactly the kind of people she wanted to avoid becoming.

Killian sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re planning to confront him.”

“Of course I am,” Emma said. “When he I accepted his help this is not what I meant.”

“Accepted his help?” Killian tilted his head back, eyes closed. “Swan, tell me you didn’t make another deal with him.”

“Not a deal,” she said. “He offered to help. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even know I could challenge Regina.”

“And how were you planning to deal with him?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted. “But this is not how I’m winning this election. It can’t be.”

Quiet settled over them, broken only by Killian’s measured breathing. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, he looked like his last good night of sleep was a hundred years ago.

He sighed, chest caving. “You can’t break a deal with the…pawnbroker.”

“It’s not a deal.” She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her wrist again.

“I’m not going to let you just…”

She snatched her hand away. “You don’t get to ‘let’ me do anything, Hook.”

He clenched his jaw. “You’re set on confronting him?”

“Well, I can’t let him go around blowing up buildings to make me look like a hero.”

Killian sighed. “Allow me to go with you, then.”

“I don’t need…”

“You don’t know him like I do,” he snapped, his voice echoing down the empty street. He caught himself and took a step back from her, his cheeks burning—though Emma couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. The latter, judging by the look in his eyes, but not directed at her. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she countered. “He wants me to be sheriff.”

“Emma, please.” He cleared his throat. “Please.”

Something about the fear in his voice connected deep down in her gut.

“Okay.” And without another word, she walked away.

The crunch of his boots joined hers as the only sounds on the street. The sign on Gold’s shop was still flipped to OPEN. Emma reached for the doorknob, thought better of it, and whirled on Killian.

“I am…” she paused, searching for the word he had used earlier, “allowing you to come with me. But I am the deputy sheriff. I do the talking. You’re just here for back-up if I need it. Which I won’t.”

Killian nodded, his jaw clenched so tight, she was surprised she didn’t hear bone splinter. For one fleeting moment, she questioned the wisdom of bringing him with her, but she still saw the fear in his eyes, heard the way his voice had cracked. None of that had been for show.

“Okay.” She inhaled through her nose. “Here goes, then.”

The bell chimed as Emma entered. Gold’s casual glance up at her sent her blood boiling again. He had been expecting her.

“Miss Swan, what a surprise,” he said, in a tone that implied he was anything but. “And Mr… Jones, wasn’t it?”

Emma listened for any hint of animosity from Gold, searched his face as he nodded to Killian. For the first time, she wondered if Killian’s story might be all one sided. An imagined slight Gold had no knowledge of.

“Aye,” Killian said, shutting the door. The bell jangled loudly.

“Loads of visitors today.” Gold eyed them distastefully, wiping his hands on the cloth he held. It was the only clean, bright thing in the entire shop. “Do hope you’re not going to break my little bell.”

“You set the fire,” Emma said, holding the fabric in front of her as she advanced on him. There was a slight tug on the back of her jacket. A warning: Keep your distance.

Gold scoffed, returning to buffing his fingernails. “I’ve been right here, Miss Swan.”

Emma shook the stinking mess in her hand. “Take a whiff. It smells like your sheep crap oil.” She crossed the rest of the distance, ignoring Killian’s presence at her shoulder. “Turns out it’s flammable.”

“Oh. Are you sure?” Gold leaned back, shifting his weight off of his bad leg. He tilted his head, speaking in a tone normally used on small children. “There’s some construction working on at City Hall at the moment. There’s loads of flammable solvents used in construction.”

“Why did you do it?” Emma demanded.

Gold’s eyes flicked over to Killian.

“If I did it,” he corrected. Draping his cloth over his arm, he curled his long fingers around the head of his cane. “If I did it, that would be because you cannot win without something big.” The floorboards creaked under his uneven tread. “Something like, uh…” He paused before raising his hand with a flourish. “Oh, I don’t know. Being the hero in a fire?”

“How could you even know I’d be there at the right time?”

“How would I indeed?” Gold asked, leaning against the counter.

“Perhaps,” Killian said, stepping up beside Emma, “the mayor isn’t the only one with eyes and ears in this town.”

“Or perhaps,” Gold drew out with a smirk, though his eyes never left Emma. “I’m just intuitive.” His nose wrinkled, his smile turning cold. “Were I involved.”

“I could’ve run and left her there,” Emma said.

Killian snorted. “Not the type, love.”

She ignored him. “I can’t go along with this.”

“You just did.” The truth in Gold’s words sent a chill down Emma’s spine. “This is just the price of election, Miss Swan.”

“A price I’m not willing to pay,” she said, tossing the foul-smelling rag onto Gold’s counter. It hit with an unsatisfying plop. “Find another sucker.”

“Okay, go ahead, expose me.” Gold’s relaxed tone pulled at Emma just as surely as Killian’s hand, tugging her lightly toward the door. “But if you do, just think about what you’ll be exposing and what you’ll be walking away from.”

Emma swallowed, staring at Gold long and hard before she acquiesced to Killian’s gentle urging.

“Oh, yes,” Gold called to her back. “And, um… Who you might be disappointing.”

Killian’s steps faltered, his head snapped around. Something dark and dangerous and frightening flashed in his eyes. Without thinking Emma grabbed his jacket, wrenching the door open and shoving him outside. Cool air—air that didn’t smell like barnyard—hit her cheeks, calming her. She didn’t bother shutting the door all the way, choosing instead to hustle Killian further down the street.

Killian whirled on her, dragging her into the alley by Gold’s shop. Shadows fell over him, only the glint of his bright, blue eyes showing where his face was.

“Why is that…monster threatening my son?” he growled.

“It wasn’t a threat, Hook.” Emma stepped back, the slats of the wall pressing into her spine as she leaned against it. Bowing her head, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, throwing wild colors across the back of her eyelids. “It was a reminder of why I’m doing this.”

“For Henry?”

“Yeah.” She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket, the cold metal moving smoothly under her fingers. “I wanted to show him that the good guys don’t always lose. That they can win without resorting to the tactics villains use.” She threw her hands up in the air. “And now I’m in cahoots with Gold, so that’s working out real well.”

Killian nodded, kicking at a piece of trash. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said for the second time that night. The words bit. “This is exactly how I didn’t want to win, but, I’m going up against Regina. How am I supposed to win against her without some serious back up?”

“You don’t need Gold to win against Regina, love,” Killian said softly.

“Have you seen this town? No one wins against Regina.”

“You will.”

Emma wanted to believe him, really she did, but he was hopelessly optimistic if he thought that someone like her could go up against someone like Regina and win. No one would take Emma Swan—the girl with no roots and nothing to her name—seriously. Everyone was too afraid of Regina. Though they were just as afraid of Gold, if the little she’d seen of him was anything to go by.

She shied away from the hand reaching for her. “I’m not sure I can take that chance. This is too important. I—I need to win. Henry needs me to win.”

In the cramped alley, Killian was so close she heard him his swallow.

“In this book of the lad’s is Gold a hero or a villain?”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He pressed his lips together and exhaled slowly. Tension stretched him so taut it was she expected him to shatter as he moved away. With slow, careful steps he backed out of the alley, his eyes on Emma the entire time.

As the street lights fell on him, he looked calm. Too calm. A sudden panic overtook Emma, the flash of rage in his eyes back in the shop harsh and bright in her memory. No matter how much she told herself that this was Killian, something deeper told her the violence she saw in his eyes could have physical consequences.

With deliberation he turned and Emma thought she only half imagined the rip of his gaze leaving hers. She was free. She stumbled to the alley’s mouth, ready to call out, to stop him, to tell him not to go back inside that shop, but he passed by the door. He made it the few feet to the corner before he stopped, pausing to uncurl his fist and examine it. The tips of Killian’s fingers caught the sparse light, glistening red tinged the nails. Without a backward glance, he smeared his hand down the front of his jeans, and kept walking.

Something inside Emma snapped and she could breathe again. She reached behind her. The rough siding of the shop next to Gold’s scratched at her hand as she leaned against it. Her hands shook and she wondered why. Hadn’t their fight earlier this afternoon been just as intense? But all that rage hadn’t even ruffled her feathers as she glared up at him in Mary Margaret’s apartment. If she hadn’t been scared earlier, why was she scared now?

The answer didn’t take long to piece together. As volatile as their fight had been, Emma knew deep down that Killian would never strike out at her in anger, never seek to harm her.

# # #

To say Killian woke on the wrong side of the bed the next day would imply that he slept at all.

He hadn’t.

He lay awake all night trying to find a way to free Emma from Rumplestiltskin’s ever tightening leash. No matter how he turned the situation, the only true solution was the Crocodile’s death. Regardless of how Emma worded it, she had made a deal. And Killian had witnessed firsthand the price of defying Rumplestiltskin.

His conclusion should have brought him relief, some satisfaction and yet…there was Henry.

True, the lad would be far safer in a world without the Crocodile, but if the man turned up with a dagger in his heart, how long would it be before the authorities tracked Killian down? Two days ago, he could have cared less if he was caught. Now? Whether or not she had evidence, Killian had no doubt that Emma could and would identify the murderer and then she would make sure that Henry never came near him.

He groaned as he rolled out of his bunk. Normally, the gentle rock of the ocean calmed his thoughts. It had no such effect now. He dressed quickly. This election thing apparently involved a gathering of some sort where the two candidates would speak to the masses. He wasn’t particularly interested in whatever that Sydney fellow had to say, but he would go if meant supporting Emma.

And he that he might see Henry.

Killian skulked outside the building, watching as men came to hang a sign announcing “Debate here!” across the pale, yellow siding. The sign clashed horribly, too dark and serious for such a cheerful color. Others came as the day started to warm, the sun finally free of the cloud cover. A line started forming, the chatter filling up the still air and making Killian feel odd. They barely noticed him, all of them buzzing with the story of last night’s rescue.

Killian’s stomach twisted in knots. The Crocodile truly had rigged the game in her favor. Was this part of a plan to break the curse? If he was against the queen, surely it had to be. But how could he be working to break a curse he, by all signs, didn’t remember.

“Hey, you’re Killian, right?” The spritely brunette appeared at Killian’s elbow, heedless of the hook he nearly sent into her heart in shock.

“Aye,” he said.

“I’m Mary Margaret, Emma and I are roommates.” And then, before Killian could remind her that he knew this fact as he was the one who had called her the night Graham met his unfortunate end, she plunged on, “Did you hear about last night? Well, you must have heard about last night. That was so brave of Emma, I’m honestly not sure if I would have done the same. I think I would have just run…Oh, speaking of which…” She shifted items bundled in her arms, flashing some wicked looking metal object at him. “I want to plaster these all over the town board. Care to help me?”

Killian eyed the implement, unsure as to its purpose, and took the easy way out. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much use,” he said, waving the hook at her.

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Oh…” she murmured without the telltale trace of fear. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think…Well, you could keep me company if you like.” She flashed him a brilliant grin, so like Henry in that moment that Killian couldn’t refuse.

“I suppose I could find some way to assist,” he said, taking the stack of glossy paper from her as an idea occurred to him.

As it turned out, the contraption was some sort of…nailing device, though the thin slivers of metal left in its wake were considerably smaller than nails, and it required the use of only one hand. Mary Margaret whisked posters from his arms, wielding the thing with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

“You teach at the school if I’m not mistaken?” Killian started.

Mary Margaret nodded. “Yep. I actually teach Henry’s class.” She pulled the handle, several shocks sending the bits of metal into the corkboard with resounding pops. “He’s one of my best students.”

Killian grinned at that. An odd sort of pride stirring inside him. “Really? Well, that’s to be expected…”

Killian cut the sentence off, regaling the woman with tales of his days at the naval academy would only confuse her and he wasn’t sure if Emma had shared Henry’s true parentage with the schoolmarm yet.

He blustered on, “Considering how clever his mother is.”

Mary Margaret nodded without asking Killian to elaborate on Emma’s cleverness, which—as it involved her speed in learning one-handed lock picking—was probably for the best.

“Oh, yes,” she said, slapping another poster against the board. “And Regina pushes him hard too.” She bit her lip, glancing behind her. “A little too hard if you ask me. No nine-year-old needs perfect grades.” Her shoulders bounced up and down in a quick shrug. “Still, I know it comes from a good place. She’s been harsh in the past, but up until now it’s only been because she wants the best for him.”

Killian stepped closer. “What do you mean, up until now?”

If she noticed the tightness in his voice, she didn’t show it as she pinned the next flyer, her tongue peeking from between her lips in concentration. It reminded him of Emma.

“You know…This whole feud with Emma, she’s so scared about what might happen…I don’t think she’s thinking of Henry much in all this.” She finished, brushing a gloved hand over her handiwork as though her words weren’t seeping into Killian’s bones. “And she’s not handling this stage in Henry’s development too well, he’s learning that he doesn’t need her for everything and with Emma here…” She trailed off, her face thoughtful. “I suppose she’s scared and going after Emma makes her feel like she can do something about, I just wish she could see how much this hurts Henry.”

“How is he handling it?” Killian asked, following her as he headed for the other side of the board.

Mary Margaret laughed. “Besides the fact that he thinks Regina is some Evil Queen? As well as…oh!” The last was a soft gasp, her hands muffling most of it as she backpedaled quickly. She whirled on Killian, her hands flying to her hat. “Does the hat look, okay?” she hissed. “Or should I take it off? Is it doing weird things to my hair?”

Killian blinked. “It’s fine as is.”

Mary Margaret nodded, clearing her throat. She spun on her heel, straightening her coat, before marching around to the other side.

Her exclamation of, “David! Hi!” satisfied his curiosity long before he rounded the board.

“Mary Margaret,” came the soft reply. “Hi.”

David stood just feet from Mary Margaret, several posters clutched in one hand and another of the strange metal guns in his other. He also wore the most ridiculous hat Killian had ever seen, certainly something that would be blackmail worthy when the prince regained his right mind…and his fashion sense. His gentle smile widened when he saw Killian. “And Killian, I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“We, uh…” Mary Margaret stumbled, her eyes shooting to Killian.

Suddenly, he felt very uncomfortable.

“Mutual acquaintance,” he said before the silence could stretch too long. “I know her roommate, Emma.”

“Oh.” David nodded, smiling. “We have a few mutual acquaintances it seems.”

Turning to Killian, Mary Margaret grabbed another poster, taking far less care than she had previously. “So. Sydney,” she said as she attacked her poster liberally with the metal gun.

David shrugged. “My wife is friends with Regina.”

“Right.” Mary Margaret snatched up the last poster. “How is she?”

“Good. She’s meeting me here later.” David turned that same, gentle smile on the schoolteacher, but she ignored him.

“We’re out of posters,” she declared. “I’m going to go get some more.” She handed Killian the metal gun and rushed off, her shoes crunching briskly over the dry grass.

David sighed, his eyes following her.

“Looks like you’ve got a mess on your hands, mate,” Killian said.

David shrugged. “I’m—well, we’re—Kathryn and I are good. I just wish I hadn’t…” He ducked his head, the brim of his hat nearly brushing the various notices fluttering on the cork board. “Thank you, by the way,” he said, glancing up at Killian. “I was little disoriented that night, so thanks for the advice. It was the right thing to do. There should be more people out there like you.”

Killian snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“No, I mean it,” David said. “Not many people would have had it in them to look out for a complete stranger.”

Killian’s cheeks flamed, the praise making him want to squirm as he hadn’t since he was a small lad. It was only due to him that David was in this situation in the first place, if he had truly been looking out for the man, he would never have touched that windmill and perhaps Emma would already be reunited with her family.

And you would have your revenge, whispered a small, bitter voice in the back on his mind. Or have you forgotten about that?

He looked away, unable to withstand the earnest admiration in the prince’s eyes. All these years, he had never questioned his path. The death and destruction left in the Crocodile’s wake had been all the proof he needed that he was on the right path. But now, with Emma’s father watching, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. Could it be the right path if it cost him Emma? Cost him his son?

“Looks like I’m out of posters too,” David said, still grinning. “I’ll see you inside, Killian.”

Killian almost followed him. Almost, but he looked up to find Emma striding toward him, looking very official in a tight brown dress and jacket. He tried not to let his eyes linger too long as she approached, but had such a gesture been well-received he certainly would have made a show of it.

“Hey,” a small voice whispered, startling him much as the boy’s grandmother had mere minutes before. “Can I borrow your staple gun?”

Killian blinked, trying to make sense of Henry’s words. The lad pointed emphatically at the metal contraption Mary Margaret had wielded.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said, handing over the staple gun.

“Thanks,” his son said.

His son.

He had known... For nearly twenty-four hours he had known who Henry was, but the knowledge suddenly seemed new with the boy standing before him. His throat tightened as he took in the boy’s features as though for the first time. His eyes, yes, he had his mother’s eyes. But he had Killian’s dark hair and mirrors might have been rare when he was a lad, but Killian thought he saw hints of something that reminded him very much of Liam in the boy’s round face.

Suddenly, he wished very much that he could show his brother this wonderful, perfect person that was equal parts Emma and himself.

“Oh, wow, I’m not sure which one is more embarrassing,” Emma muttered from just off his right.

Killian started, looking quickly away from her so she couldn’t see the tears he blinked away. It had been a very long time since he last thought about his brother.

“I made it,” Henry was saying when he turned back.

Killian’s eyebrows shot up as he beheld the poster Henry had stapled to the board. He had been so taken in with the sight of his son, he had missed the rather comical artwork in the lad’s arms. Emma scanned the poster, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“I found the picture online,” Henry explained. “I put your face over the fireman’s. It looked more…heroic.”

Emma swallowed. “Well, I certainly look…brawny.”

“Quite the talent,” Killian said, tilting his head to admire the lad’s work. He recognized the word ‘online’ from his many trips with Emma to use computers at the library. “I’m impressed.”

Henry beamed at him and Killian thought his heart might stop beating.

“Thanks, I was up all night working with Photoshop.”

“Henry,” Emma scolded.

“Okay, not all night….”

“Henry.” Regina’s voice cut through the air. “What did I tell you about running off?”

Henry turned back to the board, ripping down the poster he had fastened there and hiding it behind his back with the rest.

“Ms. Swan,” Regina said with a tight-lipped smile. “And Mr. Jones. You two are certainly becoming quite the pair.”

Emma stiffened, the posters in her hand crinkling in her grasp.

Henry fidgeted, trying to rescue the sheets of paper from her, but only succeeding in knocking them to the ground. Emma sighed, crouching awkwardly to retrieve them without kneeling and dirtying her stockings.

“What’s this?” Regina asked, grabbing one of the posters. Her dark eyes flashed as she examined the page, the corners of her mouth turning down. “What a shame,” she said, balling the poster in her fist. “A waste of trees and a waste of your time.”

Henry glared defiantly up at his mother.

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” Killian said. He plucked one of the posters up from the ground, shaking off the dirt. “When I was in…school they used to say that it took ten thousand hours of practice to truly master a subject.” He smiled at the mayor as he might a particularly pompous superior officer. Polite. It was certainly better than giving her the lashing he wanted to. No one should speak to his son in such a manner, but Emma had asked he not show his hand and he would hold to that, especially after seeing the cool exchange between Emma and the mayor. “Certainly, practice can never be a waste of time or else we’d have no masters of any craft.”

Regina’s heated gaze turned on him, her eyes raking him up and down in a cold, calculating fashion.

“I think I know where my son’s talents are best spent,” she said, her hand shot between him and Henry, taking the boy by the wrist. “Come along, Henry, the debate will be starting soon.” She stalked away, calling back one last time, “I’d hurry with those posters, Ms. Swan, it won’t do to be late for your own debate.”

Emma let out a shaky breath. “Do you see now why I have to win?”

“I imagine so,” Killian said, anger still thrumming through his veins. “Whoever decided that she should have a child?”

“The state,” Emma said, folding the posters up. “Don’t tell Henry. That other picture is bad enough.” She unfolded the posters. “He did do a good job though.” And then she gently slid the posters into the nearest trash can.

The crowd had thinned, most of the people filing inside to find their seats.

“Why bother winning, Emma?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why not cut our ties to this place, take our son, and go? Isn’t that what would be best for Henry?”

“Because that would be kidnapping and it’s illegal.” She crossed her arms, digging at the ground with her boot as she said, “Not that I haven’t thought about it, but…”

Emma sighed.

“It’s a good home. Better than any I ever had. He gets three good meals and his own room and more toys than I think any kid would know what to do with. It’s just this…fairytale thing that’s the problem. I think I’d be frustrated with him too if he thought I was some evil sorceress.” Raking her fingers through her hair she looked at him. “You’ve been here since he came, tell me, before now, before I came, did you ever question it?” She flung her arm toward city hall, her meaning clear.

Killian shook his head. “He’s never been lacking, but material comforts don’t make up for an absent parent.”

Emma scoffed. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be a good judge of that, considering I never had either.” She glanced at the hall again, squaring her shoulders. “I’d better get inside.”

“Right.”

He followed her, studiously keeping his eyes on her bouncing, blonde curls and not on the curve of her ass in that pencil skirt. He didn’t fancy a black eye this early in the morning. For a heart-stopping moment he thought she might have read his thoughts, because she turned on him and odd look on her face.

She clenched her jaw. “That was good, what you said. Regina might not have appreciated it, but I know Henry did.”

Killian shrugged. “It was the right thing to do. Words carry quite the weight when you’re young, I’d hate for him to doubt himself simply because Regina behaved like some wounded animal.”

A fleeting smile crossed Emma’s face and she nodded before darting off.

Killian watched her go with a grin on his own face. He certainly hadn’t meant to impress Emma when he contradicted Regina, but for the first time since renewing his relationship with her, he felt the flutterings of hope.

When he entered the main room, it had filled quite decently, a good number of the chairs already taken. He crept up the side, ducking away from people’s gazes as he searched for a seat. As his gaze passed over the citizens of Storybrooke, he wondered how many of them had stories in Henry’s book. Surely not all these people could fit, even in a book as large as his son’s. If any of them were even in their true form. The Crocodile had certainly changed between their world and this one.

He spotted an empty chair in the front row, right next to a familiar head of dark hair.

Regina glared at him as he approached, doing his best to look humble and apologetic.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, careful to look at Regina.

“Nope,” Henry answered before Regina could say otherwise.

With what he hoped was an uncertain nod, Killian took the seat, crossing his arms so his hook was hidden. No need to remind the queen of his real identity.

The stage creaked, but Kilian could see nothing past the heavy, olive curtains.

Henry leaned over, his green eyes peering up at Killian. “Did you really think I did a good job?”

Killian swallowed, his eyes skating over to Regina. “Well, I’m no judge of such things, but I thought it showed quite the imagination.”

The mayor snorted. “He certainly has that in droves.”

Killian shrugged. “An imagination is no crime.”

Regina turned on him. “Except when you indulge it instead of doing your homework.”

Henry ducked his head, his grey and red striped scarf riding up under his ears. “It’s the weekend.”

“And you’d have enjoyed it all that much more if you didn’t have to do your schoolwork tonight.” Regina sat back in her chair, hands resting in her lap. She glanced down, her jaw clenching as she sat back up, her back ramrod straight, and refolded her hands in her lap. “Henry, please sit up, I don’t pay for your chiropractic care so you can grow up to have a hunch.”

Henry huffed, but did as his mother asked.

Out of nothing more than spite, Killian slouched in his chair, wishing the one next to him had been empty, so he could drape his arm insouciantly over the back. The unforgiving plastic bit into the base of his spine, but he refused to change position out of principle.

He threw another look at the curtains, hoping this wouldn’t take long. A slight gap had opened at the center and one brilliant, green eye stared out at him. No, not at him, at Henry. Emma pulled back as quickly as she appeared, though Killian didn’t have to worry long if it was because she caught him looking. The curtain parted hardly a minute after her retreat, revealing Emma and Sydney seated on opposite sides of the stage, Henry’s psychiatrist standing at the podium in the middle.

Sydney sat directly in front of Killian, not seeming to share Regina’s preference for proper posture, his legs splayed, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair. Relaxed and saved from sloppiness only by his crisp, gray suit. He glanced once or twice at Regina, but for the most part, stared over the heads of the crowd, detached. There to serve a purpose, not because he believed it.

The podium partially blocked Emma from Killian’s view and he had to shift toward Henry to see her. Everything about her was closed off and nervous. Her legs in perfect parallel from knee to ankle. Her shoulders hunched inward. Her laced fingers twisted in her lap as she stared into the crowd, her eyes fixed on one point.

A chill crawled down Killian’s spine. Still slouched, he tilted his head, scanning each row until he found Rumplestiltskin.

The speaking device on the podium gave a burst of static, jerking Killian’s attention back to the front.

“Yes,” Hopper said. “Hello, citizens of Storybrooke.” The psychiatrist droned on for several minutes, reminding everyone of the former sheriff’s beloved position in the town. Someone in the back scoffed. It sounded like Leroy. The speech was rambling, littered with anecdotes that would have been better put to use at the funeral than at an official town meeting.

Killian almost leaned down to ask Henry who Hopper was in the book, but thought better of it. If Emma was hesitant about the book, he was sure Regina would bristle at the mention. Especially considering that it told the truth about her.

At last, the bespectacled man took a breath, standing a little straighter.

“Tragedy has brought us here, but we are faced with this decision.” He paused, his eyes raking the audience. Did his gaze rest on Regina for a moment longer than the rest? “And now, we ask only that you listen with an open mind and to please vote your conscience. So, without further ado, I’d like to introduce you to the candidates—Sidney Glass and Emma Swan. Glass. Swan. Sounds like something that a decorator would make you buy.” The joke fell on deaf ears. “Wow, crickets.” He gestured behind him, his brief bit of spine deflating. “Okay, uh… Uh, Mr. Glass—your opening statement.”

He ceded the podium to the spare man.

Sydney approached, a puppy eager to do his mistress’ bidding as he straightened his tie and fiddled with his jacket.

“I just want to say,” Sydney said, his fingers curling around the wooden structure as his gaze swept over the crowd, “that if elected, I want to serve as a reflection of the best qualities of Storybrooke.” His gaze rested on Regina and Killian looked over to find the woman mouthing the words along with Glass. “Honesty, neighbourliness, and strength.” Glass’ eyes swept the room one last time as he nodded, a smile plastered across his face. “Thank you.”

The room applauded, even Henry making a half-hearted attempt in order to appease his mother, as Hopper approached the podium once again.

He leaned in to announce, “And Emma Swan.”

Surprise flickered over Emma’s face, but she stood, fidgeting with her dress as she took the podium. Just as Glass had, she gripped either side of the structure. Her knuckles stood out white, her eyes on the wooden surface before her. Killian sat a little straighter, willing her to look in his direction, wishing he could give her some small encouragement. Anything to wipe that uncertain look from her face and show off the determined, capable woman he knew she was.

Unnatural silence filled the room. Every eye trained forward.

“You guys all know I have what they call a, uh…” Emma paused, taking a deep breath. Bright green eyes flashed in his direction for the briefest moment before focusing on the floor. “Troubled past. But, you’ve been able to overlook it because of the, um…” Her hand waved in a dismissive gesture. “Hero thing.”

She took a breath, her lashes fluttering closed for a brief moment. Her grip on the podium tightened, her chest rising in a slow inhale. Killian counted time in heartbeats, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

When she looked up, her gaze landed on Henry.

“But here’s the thing, the fire was a setup.” Emma’s voice rang through the room, crystal clear over the sound of gasps and the creak of chairs. Shoulders thrown back, she addressed the entire room. “Mr. Gold agreed to support me in this race, but I didn’t know that that meant he was going to set a fire. I don’t have definitive evidence, but I’m sure.” Again, she held eye contact with their son. “And the worst part of all this was…” Emma ducked her head, but only for a second. She stood straight, apology written across her features, the rest of the room forgotten. “The worst part of all this is I let you all think it was real. And I can’t win that way. I’m sorry.”

Killian didn’t know how long they sat there, the room hushed. Everyone’s attention fixed on Emma, their collective breath seeming to be held in reverence of this moment between mother and son.

A chair creaked so softly Killian might have missed it had there been a single breath of noise. His gut clenched at the first tap of the cane against tile. Killian waited, hand curled into a fist on his thigh, waiting until the rest of the room turned to watch the Crocodile make his slow progress out of the room before he turned that way as well.

The man didn’t even look back as he left and that meant one of two things: either he didn’t care that Emma had exposed him or he had already determined what to do. The thought made Killian’s blood run cold. When he turned back to the podium, he found only Hopper and an uncertain Sydney Glass. The only sign left of Emma was a fluttering curtain.

Killian shot to his feet. Ignoring Regina’s questioning stare, he sped down the side, just short of a run. The air was cold and biting as he burst from the hall, harsh on his skin after the warm room packed with people.

The drive outside stood empty save for the lone figure of Rumplestiltskin. The demon threw a careless glance over his shoulder, unconcerned by Killian’s abrupt exit from the hall.

Killian knew that this was his opportunity. He could take the Crocodile out once and for all, and if that cost him his relationship with Emma and Henry, wouldn’t it be worth the sacrifice? To never have them fall under Rumplestiltskin’s threat again?

“Oh, hey.”

For the second time that day, Henry took Killian unawares. The lad blinked up at him with wide, green eyes.

“Are you looking for Emma too?” the boy asked, smiling.

“Aye,” Killian replied automatically. His mind ground to a halt, his previous thoughts at odds with the memories that Henry’s presence dredged up.

“She’s probably headed to Granny’s,” the boy said. “That’s where she usually goes when she needs to unwind while it’s still daylight.” He gestured to the sky, barely starting to pink on the western horizon.

Killian nodded. “Well, then, shall we?” he asked, grasping onto the tenuous control Henry’s presence brought.

Henry’s shaggy hair fluttered as he shook his head. “I’ll meet you there. There’s something I’ve gotta do.” He took off, but did an about face almost immediately. “I’m glad you and Emma are friends, I don’t think she has many.” With a quick grin, he trotted off, his rucksack bouncing against his shoulders.

Killian swallowed, his eyes drawn back to Rumplestiltskin’s retreating back.

I wanted to show him that the good guys don’t always lose, Emma’s voice whispered in his ear. That they can win without resorting to the tactics villains use.

Killian was a villain. He made no excuses. Blood clung to his hand, thick and unforgiving. He had cared little about the taint on his soul, barely giving it any heed in his single-minded quest. After all, to kill a monster meant becoming a monster, did it not? What did all those ruined lives matter against the weight of the Crocodile’s crimes?

He was a villain, had been a villain for nearly three centuries, and yet, here he was contemplating changing his spots like the proverbial leopard. The thought sat ill in his mind. Not because he saw no value in doing the right thing, as Emma had done, but because changing his ways would mean admitting what he had always known: he had hurt people that did not deserve it. Turning from the Crocodile, trying to use a hero’s tactics would mean he could no longer push away the cost of his sins nor their weight on his soul.

But Emma didn’t need a villain. They surrounded her. They were set against her. And if being a villain meant being set against Emma Swan… He held his hand before him, his memories reflected in the silver surface of the rings he wore. His trophies. His sins. How often had he stained them red?

He could never be a hero, but perhaps he could learn to use a hero’s tactics. Perhaps he could learn to be…better. For Emma. For Henry.

Taking a deep breath, he turned from Rumplstiltskin. The man could live. For now. After all, if Killian allied himself with Emma and Rumplestiltskin was set against Emma, it could only be a matter of time before the Crocodile’s reckoning came. And then, Killian would show no mercy. His lips curled into a half smile at the thought.

# # #

“Care for some company?”

Emma groaned, her head sinking to her crossed forearms as Killian slid onto the stool on the other side of her. She did not need to deal with him right now, especially since five minutes she caught herself wishing he would walk in the door.

“Or I could go,” he said, standing quickly.

“No,” Emma said. “No. You can stay. Just…I don’t want to talk about it.”

He swiveled on his barstool, facing her for several long moments.

“I can abide by that if you will answer one question for me,” he said when she finally acknowledged him.

Emma pressed her lips together, weighing her options. “Fine. One question.”

“What changed your mind?”

She fiddled with her glass, swirling the remaining whiskey at the bottom for several long moments before she answered.

“I know I can’t beat Regina doing things the right way, but…” She stopped, unsure of whether she wanted to share her backstage revelation. She threw back the rest of her drink, setting it down with a heavy clunk. “Maybe I’m not a hero if I lose, but if I won based on a lie then I’m definitely not a hero and if I’m not a hero, what place do I have in Henry’s life?”

Killian didn’t reply right away. When curiosity finally forced her to look at him, she found him staring at the floor, the muscles in his jaw tense. She turned away before he could look at her. She shouldn’t have said that, not after she had hidden the truth from him for so long.

“Emma.” His voice was soft, a plea. He smiled, not his usual smirk, something kinder, something that made her feel like maybe they could do this…thing. That maybe for Henry’s sake they could be friends. “You are his mother and you love him. You’ll always have a place in his life.”

She chuckled darkly. “We’ll see how he feels about that when he’s sixteen and moody.”

Killian snorted. “Let’s hope he takes after you in that respect.”

“Do you think I did the right thing?”

“Does it matter what I think?” he asked, smiling at Ruby as she wandered over.

Emma shrugged. “Not really.”

“Good,” Killian said. “It shouldn’t.”

Emma nodded, but she still felt an air of unease about him. Not quite disapproval, but there was nothing about this situation that he liked. Of course, there wasn’t much about this situation that she liked either.

But, she thought as she circled the rim of the glass with her finger, I did the right thing.

“Another?” Ruby asked, her long fingers snatching up Emma’s glass at the first squeak. At Emma’s nod, she turned to Killian, her red streaks catching the light. “Are you joining her? Or did you bring your own?”

He patted his jacket pocket with a rueful smile. “Don’t have it on me tonight, I’m afraid.”

“So that’s a yes,” Ruby stated.

“That’s a yes.” He smiled, his dimples flashing as Ruby rolled her eyes.

For a long moment, the only sound was the clack of her heels against the linoleum, the clink of glasses, and Killian’s steady breathing next to her. Before she could ask herself what she was doing here, wonder how he had slipped back into her life, the bells above the door chimed. They all turned to find Henry, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The shades clacked against the glass as he closed the door.

“Henry,” she said, a little surprised. And a little nervous. This was the first time the three of them had really been together since Killian found out. Well, besides that morning, and that didn’t really count because there had been people all around them… and Regina. “Hey.”

Henry apparently didn’t pick up on the guilt curling inside of her as he pulled one of Graham’s walkie talkies out of his backpack and handed it to her.

“What’s this for?” The little black radio felt solid in her hand, significant. Her nerves buzzed even louder, anticipation and dread a strange mixer for the alcohol already in her blood.

“You stood up to Mr. Gold,” he said, hopping up onto the stool next to her, looking like a mini business man in his jacket and little grey vest. He smiled. “It’s pretty amazing.”

Killian chuckled again. “That it certainly is.”

Emma silenced him with a look, she did not need both of them ganging up in some sort of “Let’s make Emma feel better” pity party.

“He did something illegal,” she reminded them both.

Henry grinned all the wider and Emma had the sneaking suspicion that Killian bore the same grin, even if she couldn’t see him at the moment. She almost turned around and jabbed him playfully with her elbow, like she might have done in the old days. But she caught herself. That would be too much. That would give him hope and she wasn’t going to do that, there were lines and they needed to stay where they were. For Henry’s sake.

“That’s what heroes do,” Henry said, his face thoughtful. His chin dimpled and suddenly, she realized that he must have gotten his serious side from Killian. Or the chin dimple at least. “Expose stuff like that.” He started when Ruby came over, sliding glass of lemonade in front of him before she delivered Emma and Killian’s drinks. With a wary glance over Emma’s shoulder, Henry leaned forward, his voice a low hiss. “I shouldn’t have given up on Operation Cobra.”

Emma’s heart squeezed, Henry’s wide eyes overwhelming and heavy. She picked at her fingernails, unsure of whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Henry believed in her again and she hadn’t even needed to win the election.

The bell above the door broke the moment as Regina strode in, Sydney hot on her heels, like the good lapdog he was. Though at least he wasn’t gloating outright. He regarded her with serious, darks eyes as the pair of them approached.

“I thought I might find you here,” Regina said. Her eyebrows shot up when she say Emma’s glass and her company. “With a drink. And my son.”

The look she gave Henry was tentative and uncertain, and despite everything, Emma felt a little thrill of pride that even when Regina had the upper hand, she still had this. After all, wasn’t that what this whole debacle had been about in the first place?

“Come to collect then, I suppose,” Killian said with a nod at Henry, his voice low and tight. “Would be poor form if you came to gloat.”

“Oh, not at all.” Sydney wore a strained smile. “In fact, I think I’ll join you.”

Emma shot Killian a look, surprised to find him standing, his hook on prominent display on the counter. She stared for a beat, hoping he got the message. I fight my own battles. He sat back on his stool, but his hook stayed where it was, close enough for her to see if she looked down.

She turned back to Sydney and Regina, her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out their game. Their faces gave very little away, though Sydney still had that pained, but almost pleasant smile on his face. For an odd moment, she thought maybe they were here to offer her the deputy job again. Perhaps Regina got some sick pleasure from the idea of being able to boss Emma around.

Emma leaned against the counter, feigning nonchalance. “Aren’t they setting up a back room for the victory party?”

Sidney’s smile tightened. “Oh, well, you’ll have to tell me what that’s like.”

Emma stopped breathing, the words feeling stuck in her words.

Regina held out her hand, struggling to rein in her displeasure. “Congratulations…” Carefully, avoiding Emma, she reached forward and set something on the counter. “Sheriff Swan.”

Henry gasped. “Wait. What?”

He turned to Emma, like she had answers, but all she could do was shake her head and stare at the six-pointed star.

“Well, look at that,” Killian murmured from behind her.

“It was a very close vote,” Regina explained, her voice nearly too low to be heard over the chiming of the bell once again and the sudden murmur of voices as people entered the diner. “But people really seem to like the idea of a Sheriff brave enough to stand up to Mr. Gold.”

“Are you joking?”

“She doesn’t joke,” Killian said grimly. He looked nearly as displeased as Regina, the muscle in his jaw practically doing jumping jacks as he turned his best Superman impression on the badge. Thankfully, he was no Kryptonian and the badge remained unmelted.

“You didn’t pick a great friend in Mr. Gold, Miss Swan,” Regina said.

Emma jumped a little and found the woman leaning uncomfortably close. Regina smiled, almost cruelly, the glint in her eyes vaguely familiar, though Emma couldn’t quite place the look.

“But he does make a superlative enemy.” The smile widened. “Enjoy that.”

The crowd descended on her as soon as Regina walked away, Mary Margaret was the first to rush up and congratulate her. After smothering her in a hug, of course. Ruby came around the bar, darting through the crowd to replace Mary Margaret. And then Granny. Archie. The guy from the pharmacy. Everyone wanting to shake her hand and congratulate her.

Never in her whole life, had she received so much praise from so many people. It felt good. Especially knowing that all of this came from following her gut. No, she amended, catching sight of Archie again. From following her conscience.

“Don’t want to lose this,” came Killian’s voice. He stood behind her again, the badge clasped in his hand. His fingers felt warm and rough against the cold metal as she took the badge from him. He smiled, despite the deepening shadows in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

She only noticed that she had been smiling too as her smile fell. “But you don’t like it.”

“You are clearly the woman for the job,” he said shaking his head. “Not many people have the gumption to stand up to that…” Again he paused, probably censoring himself considering Henry’s nearby presence. “That man,” he finished lamely. Ducking a little so their eyes were level, he asked, “You’ll let me know if he causes any trouble.”

Emma scoffed. “I think I can handle Gold just fine on my own.”

Killian pressed his lips tight, nodding stiffly. “Well, I’d best be off, then. I’ll just say good night to Henry.”

“Sure, I—” Emma stopped, glancing over to where Henry sat at the counter, his book out once again. Strangely, she didn’t feel any resentment toward the storybook this time, she was glad he was reading it. Unsure of what she would say, Emma cut through the crowd, squeezing in behind Henry. Killian followed wordlessly.

Her kid looked up, a grin lighting his face. “I think I’ve figured out…” He stopped suddenly aware of Killian hovering behind his other shoulder. He slammed the book shut. “Uh. I think I’ve figured out that I don’t really like Rumplestiltskin’s story at all.”

The look of pride in Killian’s eyes struck Emma as strange, but she forged on with her original plan.

“Hey, I was thinking…maybe Operation Cobra doesn’t have to be just you and me.” Though her eyes were on Henry, she heard Killian suck in a sharp breath.

“It’s not,” Henry said, lowering his voice. “Ms. Blanchard and Archie know too.”

With an apologetic look at Killian, who actually looked kind of amused, Emma leaned in. “I know, but I’ve been talking with Hook and…he’s good, okay? I think you should bring him up to speed on all this when you get a chance.”

Henry’s brow furrowed, his nose scrunching lopsidedly. “Are you sure?”

Emma met Killian’s eyes, hoping he understood how big this was. It wasn’t what he wanted, but she wasn’t sure she trusted him that much yet. If she could ever trust him that much—although, Henry would have to find out sooner or later—but maybe this could be their compromise.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

#captain swan #cs crew #cs fanfic #killian jones #emma swan #cs au

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