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ejzah · 5 months ago

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In Miss Blye’s Class, Part 33

***

Deeks wasn’t sure what to expect from Monica after he made his ultimatum. After the last few years, he knew he couldn’t put anything past her. He relaxed a little when she didn’t make any attempt to contact him that night or the next day. He didn’t know if that meant she’d taken his warning seriously or not, but he decided to reach out to a friend with experience in family law just in case.

He felt a hint of disquiet and guilt at turning to legal avenues. It felt vindictive, which was the reason he’d originally decided not to push for a contract of any kind. At the time, he wanted Caleb to have a relationship with Monica, if possible, while avoiding the pitfalls that typically accompanied the end of a relationship. Now he realized it had only created more problems and gave Monica power she couldn’t be trusted with.

It went against all his instincts, but Deeks forced himself to stop worrying about what she might do. So far she hadn’t attempted to visit again, and if she did, he intended to reiterate his conditions for said visits.

As confused as he might be, Caleb already seemed more himself, and that more than anything was proof that Deeks had made the right decision.

The next Monday, Kensi stopped by a little before dinner. He greeted her at the door with a surprised, but nonetheless delighted smile.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, leaning in to kiss her as he welcomed her inside.

“Hey. I can’t stay long, but I wanted to drop something off. I brought over Caleb’s end-of-year assessment results,” she explained, handing him an envelope with the school logo and address on the front. He lead her over to the couch and they both took a seat as he tapped the envelope against his hand.

“Ooh, I’m getting flashbacks to middle school,” he joked. “‘Martin is an energetic and outspoken child. At times he shares his opinions a little too freely.’”

“So what you’re telling me is little Marty Deeks was destined to be a lawyer?” Kensi guessed with a teasing smirk.

“Or a criminal. As Mrs. Latham told me so frequently.” He slipped his index finger under the seal, and pulled out two sheets of paper. The first showed his math score and the second, his reading. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t spread it around, but Caleb had the highest reading score for the whole grade,” Kensi shared, the excitement obvious in her voice. “He also showed a lot of growth in math as well. He’s excelling in both subjects.”

“Wow,” Deeks murmured, slightly shocked. “I know grades and test scores aren’t everything, but…”

“It’s ok to be proud of him. I know I am. He’s worked really hard and made so much progress in the short time he’s been in my class, and not just academically.” Kensi squeezed his shoulder. “And I know it hasn’t been the easiest year for either of you.”

“You’re right about that,” Deeks agreed softly. “There have been some definite lows, but it’s also had some of the best moments too. I wouldn’t change anything if it meant I wouldn’t meet you. Thank you for taking such good care of him.” Kensi tilted her head, and he sensed she was going to object, so he added, “I know that’s literally a part of your job, but not every teacher would have taken the time to make sure he felt comfortable and fit into a new environment. We both owe you a lot.”

Kensi dipped her chin, pressing her lips together. “Ok, you need to stop saying things like that, because I’m going to start crying.” He slid his arm around her back, drawing her into his chest.

“That’s the kind of thing a guy likes to hear,” he joked. Kensi’s fingers curled in his shirt, tugging him closer instead of pushing him away.

“You’ve been pretty life changing too, Marty Deeks.”

He shook his head, marveling at the ridiculous spectrum of emotions he’d felt this last week: shock, despair, anger, and now absolute happiness.

They stayed snuggled in one another’s arms for a few more minutes until Kensi sighed and stretched. “Mm, I better go. I have a bunch of data to enter and end of year letters to start.”

“Ugh. Give me a good old contract any day.”

“I don’t know, I think you’d make a pretty good teacher,” Kensi disagreed. “Data entry notwithstanding.”

“Oh so if the lawyer thing doesn’t work out, you’ll put in a good word for me at St. Bridget’s?” he asked. He smiled at the ridiculous notion. It felt good to be silly for a moment after the stress of the last week.

“I’m not sure Sam’s quite ready for that just yet.” She leaned in and kissed him, her tongue swiping over his bottom lip before she eased back. “I really do have to go. See you tomorrow?”

“It’s a date. I’ll make you lasagna,” he promised as he walked her to the door. They kissed one more time before she slipped out.

“Did I hear Kensi?” Caleb asked, making his usual running entrance into the room. He looked around expectantly.

“Yeah.” Deeks tucked the test results back into the envelope, figuring Caleb didn’t need to worry about scores right now. “She just left. Sorry, kiddo.”

“Aw.” Caleb stuck out his lower lip in disappointed. “I wanted to see her.”

“She had to get home and grade all your papers. You’ll see her tomorrow,” Deeks reminded him.

“Yeah, but that’s not the same. At school there’s all the other kids and I have to call her Miss Blye. Plus, I can’t talk about all the cool stuff she does with us,” Caleb explained seriously.

Deeks sighed; he couldn’t exactly argue with that.

“I know, buddy. But you know why it’s gotta be that way. I miss her too.”

“It’s not fair.” Crossing his arms, Caleb doubled down on the pouting.

“Ok, somebody needs some cheering up,” Deeks decided. He grabbed him under the arms, and spun him in a circle.

“Daddy, stop!” Caleb protested, even as he giggled. Within a few more spins, he was laughing in earnest and begging Deeks to go faster.

After a couple minutes, Deeks set him down with a groan. Caleb launched himself off the arm of the chair, any trace of his annoyance gone. Deeks knew it would always be so easy to solve his problems, and that the topic would likely come up again, but for now it had done the trick.

“Hey, you wanna help me make lasagna for Kensi tomorrow?” Deeks asked as Caleb wriggled on his back. He felt a lot heavier than he just a few months ago, his arms and legs longer too.

He jumped off, coming around to face Deeks, his eyes wide with excitement. “For real?”

“I do not tell stories about lasagna.”

“Daaaad.” Caleb made an exasperated sound, somehow looking simultaneously five and twelve.

Laughing, Deeks took pity on him. “Yes, Kensi is coming for dinner tomorrow. But only if you don’t mope around all day.” He reached out, tickling Caleb’s ribs before he danced away. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Awesome. Now come help me make biscuits, or else we’ll never eat tonight,” Deeks said, nudging Caleb towards the kitchen.

“Or, we could just order pizza!”

Deeks shook his head, listening to Caleb’s argument in favor of ordering dinner. He sure was lucky to have this funny, smart, stubborn, amazing little boy.

***

A/N: Yes, the fluff continues, but Monica lurks in the background.

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi #teacher kensi #lawyer Deeks #self indulgent writer #fluff #in miss Blye’s class #part 33 #au #ejzah fanfiction

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writtenwyrm · 2 years ago

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The Ascension

A Slay the Spire Story, Part 33

All Parts

cw: abuse

Anger

“Great One, the Watcher envoy is here!”

I shifted on my perch, already bored. On my righthand side, my Chosen stood stock-still, as they always did. The messenger bowed before us, relaying the news.

“Show them in.” My Chosen announced,

Standing tall and straight, I let my presence fill the room. The doors opened, and light flooded in. The room glowed, a spectacular, shimmering blue, as the light reflected off my feathers.

The envoy walked in, precise in every step, like toy soldiers. They wore a rich purple, and carried golden staffs, and every hair and sash was perfectly in place.

“Greetings, Great Phoenix.” The lead Watcher called. “We have come to make our Judgemnt, as is done every year. We thank you for your hospitality.”

“We welcome you.” My Chosen spoke, and I stayed silent, as was customary. “The Watchers are always welcome in the Spire, as you know. We can only hope that our new customs bring much to the…”

Their voices slowly faded from my mind as they continued to talk, back and forth, polite and monotone. I didn’t truly need to do much, so I allowed my mind to wander, observing the half-dozen strangers standing in my hall.

They were all blind, weren’t they? I’d heard that each new initiate spent two weeks staring directly at the sun in order to prepare them, and their eyes were pale and bleached. But they still tracked me as if they could see. And they stood so stiffly, too, without the slightest indication of soreness or boredom as the voices droned on.

What would it be like, to be one of them? I closed my eyes, shutting out the world around me—only briefly, I promised myself—and let myself imagine what the world would be like if I had been born among the Watchers, instead of where I was now.

There were sudden gasps all around me, and I opened my eyes in a hurry.

I couldn’t see. Except… I could, in a way. I could feel the world around me, sense the stone beneath my bare, fleshy feet. I could see the minds of those around me, too, albeit only faintly. Shock, awe, fear…

And I could practically taste the disapproval radiating from my Chosen. That was a more familiar feeling, and I knew what it meant.

I’d done something wrong again.

—

“You may go. Your God wishes to be alone.” My Chosen dismissed the guards, now that the great hall was empty, the Watchers gone on their way. Obediently, the blue-steel-clad guards tromped out of the room, and the doors closed behind them.

We waited in silence, for a few long minutes. I stared at the far wall, trying not to shuffle my wings and show my nervousness. But eventually, the emptiness of the room became too much, and the words burst from my mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“We will need to apologize for your… unseemly behavior. We are indeed fortunate that they stayed to finish their judgment of the Spire.” They sighed, long and weary, and my skin prickled. “Pray, my God, what would you consider a proper apology for a great and powerful being such as yourself to bestow upon them?”

I did not look down, unwilling to meet their eyes. “…Perhaps a bouquet of sapphire feathers?” I ventured, hopefully.

“For an embassy of Watcher disciples? Perhaps that would be prudent.”

For a moment, I let myself believe that would be all of it.

“And a talon.”

I flinched, and my toes curled in automatically, scraping the stone beneath my feet with razor-edged claws.

“Yes, I think that will do. The Watchers appreciate practical gifts such as that. I would almost suggest an offering of an eye, but, ah, that may come off as a mockery of their condition.”

Their arms, tucked so neatly within their sleeves, emerged smoothly, revealing the short blade held in one hand. They wiped the edge with a delicate cloth as they approached, and the practical steel gleamed in the light. “Now, let us ready the gift.”

I closed my eyes, and prepared for the pain.

—

I woke to the whirring sound of rolling machines. I scrambled to my feet, feeling for my sword, the hilt forming comfortingly to my hand.

Two strange god-machines rolled down the hallway, a mere twenty yards away. They sat upon either side of a traveling sphere on the wall, glowing faintly from within. They followed with dedication, keeping perfect pace. Like guards.

And only valuable things required guards.

Still shaking off the shackles of sleep, I stepped forward. They paid me no mind, unreactive to my presence. Hopeful, I took a swing at the glass-like surface of the sphere. It shattered like glass, and a thick blue liquid gushed onto the ground.

Immediately, they whirled on me.

What did you think was going to happen? Lucirron scorned in my mind. The dreadful things would hardly be guards if they didn’t fight to protect their charge.

I ignored him, preparing for battle instead. As they bubbled, internal fluids spinning and glowing, I stoked my own inner flame,

Then I threw my sword at them.

It bounced off the shell, but the angle and momentum meant it ricocheted between the two, back and forth, until I dove between them and grabbed it by the hilt, retrieving my weapon.

Finally I drew on the essence of my armor, and for a brief moment I became impervious. It was only a heartbeat, but that was enough time for the double streams of boiling liquid to strike my skin and splash off, leaving me untouched.

Then the protection fell away, and I was left standing in a column of superheated steam. The air wavered in front of my eyes, and I could hear the liquid sizzling under my boots.

I moved toward the foremost orb, scanning it for weaknesses, and finding one in the way it followed me. A quick slide to the left, and I had open access to its glass belly, which I immediately pummeled with quick, strong blows. The glass cracked, and the creature rolled away, spewing flame wildly as it went. The air increased even more in temperature, somehow.

The second orb turned toward me, and I could see it’s liquid insides roiling like a volcano. I had to kill it quickly, but by this point I felt like I understood the pain of an egg on the pan, my edges crisping. Burns covered my body, making it hard to think, hard to act.

Or at least, it would have once.

I spoke the Oath, and Lucirron howled his fury in my head. For I spoke it only quietly, and he hated how I had learned to warp his power.

Sacrifice

to destroy for a cause.

But who was to say what I had to offer? There was strength in giving up my blood, my time, in making myself vulnerable for the sake of a greater reward.

Instead, I offered up the pain and the wounds and the burns on my skin. I gave it all away, and in turn I felt my body strengthen itself in preparation for—

I caught the stream of liquid fire on the edge of my blade, and managed to turn it harmlessly to the side.

Refreshed from my second wind, the distracting pain gone, I threw myself back into the fight.

—

The small steel top spun on my fingertip, showing no sign of slowing down. It was hard to imagine it being worth the fight I’d just had to retrieve it, but perhaps it would show its power in a crucial moment and save me. Or maybe I would forget it in my pocket along with the darkstone necklace I’d scrounged off the gremlin leader a few days ago, back when I’d still been in the City.

Still, it was intriguing how it spun and spun after I’d twirled it, with no sign of stopping. If I let it, perhaps it would burn a hole in my fingertip.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A little more pain to fuel your conquest?

Lucirron’s voice murmured softly in my ear. I almost pitied him, nowadays. His attempts to goad me were getting weaker and more desperate, but that only made them easier to ignore. Instead of responding, I tucked the top away in my bag and got to work building a fire.

I didn’t need a flint and steel to start the tinder. Instead, I lifted my mask, then focused on my leg. A heavy bandage showed the still-painful result of my encounter with the boulder. The golden idol had been worth it in the end, but somehow I’d never gotten around to letting it heal more than superficially. The injury remained, slowing me down just the smallest fraction. Most of the time, I didn’t even notice, but once or twice it had tripped me up at a critical time.

Now, I silently invoked the Oath, and the pain from the injury surged up through my body. It escaped from my mouth in the form of a burst of flame, and for a moment the cavern was lit with a flash of incadencent fire.

Then it settled back down into a calm, crackling blaze, the dry bones I used in place of wood catching easily. I lowered the mask back into place.

Lucirron wailed his frustration somewhere in the back of my mind. He hated how I used his power, how I’d bent it to my will. Truly, it felt more like my power than his, now. It subsumed my bones and gave me strength, fueled my hunger, healed me.

I’d taken his power and made it my own, and now…

Lucirron was nothing more than a vengeful voice in my head. Like the chirping of a cricket scorned, buried in the sounds of the night.

So like a thorn from my finger, I plucked him out and tossed him into the fire, and let him burn bright and brief, until he was gone.

My mind was quiet, for the first time that I could remember. Gloriously, peacefully, silent.

I didn’t need him to guide my fury anymore. I could decide for myself.

I turned over on the ground and lay my head on my pack, closing my eyes. The warmth of the fire crackled at my back, and the burning of a new emotion simmered in my blood.

Contentment.

—

I woke, again, to the whirring sound of rolling machines. I scrambled to my feet, feeling for my sword—no, my staff. Another dream. A dream within a dream? Which was I, the Watcher, or the Ironclad? Or something else completely? Who had that person been, the one the Chosen had…

I shuddered, the strange feeling of dread rushing over me like a wave. There had been Watchers there, like me, except… I hadn’t been one of them.

I didn’t have much time to think about it, as my instincts guided me to hide behind a nearby set of vaguely hip-shaped rocks while the whirring got closer.

Just as in my dream, two of the fiery orbs rolled down the corridor, escorting a boil of stone that flowed down the wall like a bubble on the river.

What were they doing? There was a treasure of some sort in there, but why were they guarding it? Where were they taking it?

There was someone I could ask—in a fashion—who could understand these unusual machines. Carefully, so as not to spook them, I reached into my satchel and pressed my fingers to the cool surface of the prism.

[QUERY] PURPOSE of the MECHANICAL CREATURES

[ANALYSIS] ORB WALKERS are ESCORTING ERRONEOUS RELICS to the CITY

[ANALYSIS] ORB WALKERS are DISTRIBUTING POWER to RESTORE BALANCE

[DEFINE] BALANCE

[ERROR] BALANCE NOT FOUND

[DEFINE] BALANCE

[ERROR] BALANCE NOT FOUND

[ERROR] RECURSIVE LOOP DETECTED

I pulled out quickly, before the muffled terror could grow too strong. It was getting easier to slip from one set of memories to the next, flitting between the Defect and the Watcher with only a little bit of confusion during the transition.

That worried me, but I didn’t have time to think about it. The orb walkers were getting away.

I never had time to think, these past days.

I hefted my staff and charged.

—-

I rolled the colorful gambling chip over my fingers, thinking about the spinning top the Ironclad had held in my dream. The token danced over my fingers, gleaming in the firelight. I’d been taught the trick a long time ago, by…

By someone. A tutor? A friend? I couldn’t remember their voice, or their name.

Still the chip danced, irregardless of my broken memories.

My new memories tickled at me, of the Ironclad, of discarding his whispering voice of fury. It seemed familiar to something I’d been experiencing recently.

Don’t be a fool. My own malicious companions hissed in my mind. You’re seeing connections that aren’t there.

Two keys. One blue, one green. One from the Silent, the other… the Defect? I stared at the flickering flames, turning the thought over in my head.

It was just a hunch. A guess, really, based entirely on my growing understanding of the way power and dreams and belief seemed to work in this shifting realm.

Just a hunch. But maybe that was enough to try.

I thrust my hand into the fire before I could change my mind.

The pain seared up my arm, but I pushed deeper, groping blindly for what I hoped would be there… and the sharp edges of the key dug into my fingers.

I grabbed it, yanking my hand free. My whole arm seared with pain, and I could feel the cutting edge of the crystal bite into my palm. I was worried, distantly, that I might have caused permanent damage.

But most of all, I felt the fury.

I thought I had known what anger really was. I utilized it every day, to fight and to push myself onward through otherwise impossible odds. But my Wrath stance was just a tamed tool, a way for me to channel my emotions and force a combat state.

This was something else.

I pulled my hand to my chest, clutching the key. I wanted to kill something. Not just to protect myself, not just to fight and win, but to fulfill some sense of satisfaction deep in my gut.

I fought it. I had been expecting another voice, perhaps even Lucirron, shouting in my mind. But this was more primal than that, more ancient than an Ancient.

Calm, my amulet hummed to me, doing it’s best. But it was like a bucket of water against the sun-baked sands of the desert, evaporating in the vast, dreadful feeling.

How had he handled it? How could he have possibly kept this under control? How any one person could contain this much hatred was beyond me, but my dreams of him… I clutched to those, the memories of the Ironclad.

He hadn’t fought back. There was no fighting with an emotion like this. It just burned brighter, fueled by the fear.

In fact… I had the tools I needed already.

I couldn’t force myself to sit down and meditate, however. My knees just wouldn’t bend that far, not with this much fire in my bones.

So instead I scooped up my staff, and attacked the walls.

I didn’t often feel like shouting when I fought, but now I could hardly keep it down. I let it loose, bellowing every profanity I knew. The stone bones shattered under my blows. Ribs, spines, unidentified and miscellaneous bone-like shapes, I struck and crushed and broke.

And while I did, I listened.

For a few minutes, or maybe hours, it was just endless, wordless anger. But my patience gave way soon enough to a voice. My voice, my thoughts.

I hate what this place has done to me. I hate what I’ve become. I hate how I’ve changed.

I felt oddly disconnected from the thoughts, sunken deep into the satisfying crunch of breaking stone. But practice had given me the ability to spot the small thoughts as they started to crop up.

And they were my thoughts. The emotion, the pure and unadulterated anger, that was from the Ironclad. But it was only fuel for my mind to feed upon, and the fears were my own.

I’d been dutiful and faithful, only a few weeks ago. I would give anything to go back to that feeling of truth and confidence that I’d lost.

Except… it hasn’t truly been confidence, had it? Just ignorance. Or hope, if I was being generous. Hope that someone knew what they were doing. That I, of all people, was on the correct path.

This place had changed me, and there was no correct path. The spire had beckoned me forward, and there was no going back.

Then change it back. I thought to myself, crushing a spur of stone. Shape the world as it has shaped you.

The Ironclad hadn’t learned to control his fury, I came to realize. Nothing in the world could hold back passion and pain that deep.

He had simply learned to guide it.

My body felt invigorated, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. With renewed purpose, I packed my bag, carefully sorting each of the many relics I’d collected along the way. I gave the Akabeko a little pat on the head.

Then I wrapped myself in the various tools I’d collected, the potion belt slung over my shoulder and the dark chain knotted around my waist.

I took a minute to collect myself, be sure I had everything. Once I was satisfied, I began walking, away from the campfire. It didn’t matter which direction I went, at this point. I would end up where I needed to go, one way or another.

It was time to find what I’d been looking for.

#The Ascension #Slay The Spire #The Watcher #The Ironclad #fic #Part 33

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