#putting on a room-temp winter coat and immediately going out into the cold will mean I get slightly colder

[mysterious-corpse]

if hand warmers weren’t such a huge use of plastic I’d be using those literally all day every day except in the summer. like indoors and out. I’m standing in front of the heater rn rotating like a rotisserie chicken. I’d have them in my boots and in my pockets and in my hands/gloves… maybe just 1 or 2 a day during springtime/early fall

[qvid-pro-qvo]

cold, your toes against my knee (warm, your hand in mine)

mike dodds x gender neutral reader. reader is an svu detective, and mike dodds is a lieutenant at homicide.

word count: 2867

rating: mature, because of a distinct winter chill (this is a fic that attempts to tackle a mere part of the struggle following a traumatic event. mike therefore experiences symptoms of ptsd/post-intensive care syndrome. tw: mentions of gun violence, scars, blood, hospital scenes, flashbacks). 

-

you meet mike dodds on a beautiful fall day, some kind of conference that you get pulled along to with lieutenant benson. when she sees him across the way, her voice calls out to him, and he responds with an eager smile, a fervent shake of her hand in place of a hug. professional settings and all that.

“mike dodds, this is one of our newest transfers,” benson says, and her voice is warm, gesturing to you. he turns to face you, and you have to blink when he smiles full-force at you, taken aback by the earnest way it hits you. but you recover.

“lieutenant dodds,” you say with a grin, offering your hand. “i’ve heard a lot about you.”

“only the bad stuff, i’m sure,” he offers, and your chuckle is light, shaking your head.

“well, my partner is sonny carisi,” you return, and he’s able to laugh in return.

-

november starts to fade, and mike feels the aches. they’ll always be there, because physical therapy can’t fix everything, and they’ll linger as long as he wakes up afraid of the snow outside. he trembles as he moves through his apartment, not thinking about the sleep he’ll inevitably sink into. it’s voluntary this one, and the bed isn’t in a damn hospital with ten blankets piled up –

never mind.

the gas bill is outrageous. he turns the heat up another degree. just until he leaves the house.  

“sweetheart,” you call out, and when he turns it’s with a small smile. your arms reach to wrap around him from behind, and while your head can’t rest on his shoulder, you let your face press into it. he can feel your kiss even through the layers.

“just for a few minutes,” he starts, feeling self-conscious, and your smile is evident in the sound of your voice.

“hey, you’re okay,” you tell him, and every time you say it, it seems a little truer. did you put on a thermal this morning?”

at first, he’s certain he did. and then his fingers lift to his neck, where his shirt collar is unbuttoned. no tie yet, and he’s able to feel bare skin. he turns to face you, so you can see where his collarbone is, and with a little chuckle you push to kiss the spot before cupping his cheek with your hand.

“while i do enjoy the little look… you want the white one or the gray one?"

he thinks on it, the whole time focusing in on the way you smile.

“gray. there’s no snow in the forecast.”

with a nod you move to the dryer, and he can hear the machine is running. in that moment, his love for you hits hard, and before he can think he’s following you to the laundry space, insisting on a few more kisses before he puts the warmed shirt on.

-

“good to see you again, detective.” he reaches for your hand to shake it, polite. a slight tremble to his fingers. his bare fingers.

“where are your gloves?” is your response.

at first, he just blinks, then pulls his hand back. shoves it into his coat pocket. he can only offer a shrug before you’re patting down your own coat, searching the pockets for something.

when you uncover them, they’re deep within the confines of your outerwear. three inside pockets have already been searched when you yank them to the surface, waving them a bit to shake the lint off before offering them over. the lieutenant blinks again, something like uncertainty playing on his lips as he glances at the proffered pair.

“well, come on, then,” you say, holding them up again, pushing them towards the hand that had offered to shake in the first place.

“i don’t want to take your spares,” he starts, and you have to scoff.

“you’re not taking them, i’m giving them,” you laugh out, shaking your head. “i always have a pair of extra gloves. i’m always cold and they’re good to have. i’ve got three more pairs just like it at home, sized up for comfort, and you could take every one of them if it means your hands don’t turn blue. take ‘em. trust me, lieu, take ‘em.”

he’s boggled, you can tell. you don’t know why, and it’s for long enough that you roll your eyes, and without a thought push forward, grab his wrist with your hand. it’s how you end up curling his fingers down over the offering.

“here. the day is still young, and we can save your fingers if we work fast.”

and they’re great gloves. he kind of sings their praises the rest of the day, and you just chuckle at his words before helping him adjust them on his hands. you’re glad you size up, because his hands are bigger than yours, and they fit snug, tight. warm.

he keeps them. you insist on it.

-

he heaves out a shudder, and his blankets are pulled down even tighter over his shoulders. he’s in three layers, with a down comforter, and it’s still not enough to push the feeling back.

it settles over him, like fog. one moment, he’s waking up for work, and the next, he’s curling in on himself. one hand pushing against the scar like it’s the off button.

he’s so… he’s so cold. he’s lost so much blood, he can’t move, he can’t think, and he’s so goddamn cold. all he can see is bright white, all he can hear is steady beeping, and all he can think about is the way that he can’t get warm. he can’t get warm. they chill him on purpose and then bring him back up to room temp, and he feels like he’s in a fucking freezer.

another sharp press, one that makes him hiss against the pull of scar tissue. it pushes the bright white away, brings him back to the present. his knees are up to his chest, and the insistent buzz of his phone against the nightstand tries its best to help him emerge.

“mike?” you’re coming back from the bathroom when you see him, curled up, and immediately your hands are on him. you’re grabbing the second blanket from the foot of the bed, the weighted one with the fleece cover, and with a little grunt you’re pulling it over before settling in beside him. “mike, sweetheart, i’m here.”

your hands go to work. rubbing up and down the bare skin you can see, moving through the layers to use friction and build up some heat.

the phone stops buzzing. and you’re curled alongside him, pressing kisses to his hair. your hand reaches for his and pulls his fingers up so you can kiss the knuckles.

“five minutes,” you say gently.

he nods, eyes squeezing shut as you wrap around him.

“i’m here. let’s get you warm.”

-

“i’m always cold, too,” dodds admits one day, while the two of you are hunched over a case file. special victims and homicide usually don’t coordinate this often, but homicides are up this month and liv insisted on taking on of the cases that would’ve fallen across his desk. he’d come over personally to tell her what’d been found, what’d been checked out what hadn’t. had paired the two of you up for the transition while she handled some meeting at one police plaza.  

“hmm?” your finger is moving across one of the documents, your eyes following it before you glance up at him. he’s standing up straight now, and you watch as he shoves his hands into his pockets, elbows flapping a little as he shifts.

“just. you mentioned, last time i saw you. that you’re always cold,” he says, and he doesn’t quite stumble over his words. he’s trained too well for that. but you hear the hitch at the top of the statement, and watch as he doesn’t quiet meet your eyes, glancing down at the case file again. “it gets bad for me in the winter. always have a chill.”

suddenly realization hits you, and you smile at him, standing up straight again, closing the case file and picking it up to hold against your chest. “i just have poor circulation,” you say, shrugging. “i’ve macgyvered a lot of tricks to keep me sane when winter comes around.”

and it makes him chuckle, thankfully. his hand lifts to his head, moves through his hair, and you’re watching the movement without thinking about it. how it makes his short brown locks flop forward a little over his forehead. now you have to duck your head, avoid his gaze, and try not to think about how good he looks with that blue dress shirt.

“willing to share some of your tricks with homicide? in the spirit of interdepartmental cooperation.”

and that makes you snort.

“maybe not with homicide,” you laugh. “but with you, lieutenant dodds, no question.”

“mike,” he returns immediately, and it makes your tongue feel a little thick in your mouth.

“r-right. mike.”

-

you’re undercover, and it’s… the worst. third night in a row. not a text to be seen, a call to be heard from. he’s worried, and he’s chilled, and the apartment is surely roasting as he tries to fight the air from outside that insists on leaking in.

it’s been hard to sleep. hard to close his eyes without thinking about what could go wrong. he knows the risks of the job, better than almost anyone, but it feels like he’s walking on eggshells the next few days, trying to direct his squad while your safety sits in the back of his mind.

and liv is with you. that makes him feel better, but makes the tightness in his chest amplify. the thought of losing you both in one fell swoop makes his eyes cross. but he can’t linger on it, he can’t, and by the fifth day he’s taken to stealing your fuzzy socks for a third layer on his feet.

then he gets a text, that fifth night. it’s from sonny, an update, and he’s grateful until he reads the words “concussion” and “bellevue.” 

outside the wind is howling. he can feel the tremors start before he’s even begun to move. but he grits his teeth, not letting the outside air see his trepidation. mike starts moving, starts layering up, and he’s willing to face any winter night if it means that he’ll be there for you.

when he arrives, and you see him, there’s visible relief on your features. you look haunted, exhausted, like you’ve just been undercover for the past week and haven’t eaten since you started. it makes mike’s anger bubble up, but he’s stopped by the way you reach for him.

“i’m here,” he tells you, and you chuckle, burying your face into the front of his coat. his arms wrap around you easily, pulling you tight against him. “i’ve got you.”

“you’re so warm,” you groan out, and his chuckle chokes up, his nose pressing into your hair as you grip him. 

-

you start dating in the late moments of spring, after a couple months of dancing around it. a winter of trading secrets to keep hands and feet from turning blue turns into a wonderful friendship, and with that friendship feelings soon blossom.

and after all, it’s easy to fall in love with him. anyone could, you’re certain, looking at him from a distance. you take a glance at mike dodds and you see what everyone does. the brave cop, injured in the line of duty. the incredible lieutenant, who runs homicide with ease. the good man, who smiles at everyone he can, fighting for what’s right. the son of the chief, making his own path.

and then you see a little bit more, the stuff under the surface.

you see the way that he is never shy of curling up close, his touch almost always a full-body one. the nights get hot and stifling, but he’s always under the blankets. you see the way he picks and chooses socks with intense concentration, never afraid to grab two pairs instead of one. you watch the summer months pass and fall come even closer, and that space between his eyebrows furrows more and more.

and then there’s the conversation. as october hits, and you can see your own breath in the mornings, mike asks to talk to you.

he seems shaky. you can’t tell what it is that has him trembling, but your hand reaches out for his on instinct, pulling both of his hands into yours to warm them up.

and that gesture seems to be what pushes him to speak at all.

“a couple of years ago i got hurt on the job,” he starts, and you watch, intently. your own brow furrows as he describes waking up that first night in the hospital, dad and liv and squad around him, and feeling nothing but the chill.

“i couldn’t escape it. i couldn’t do anything. and when my body got worse before it got better, i was trapped.”

part of it was the fever, he tells you. there were moments he was delirious, an infection after the surgery almost wrecking his body. part of it was the blood loss, his body having to fight to rebuild what had gone missing from the bullet, from the operating room. part of it was the room itself, a faulty thermostat sending the whole hall into the sixties.

“nothing seemed to help. but… i managed to recover,” he admitted lowly. his voice is bitter, and you find yourself pulling his fingers to your lips, kissing his palm. because in that moment you’re hit with how close you came to losing him before you ever found him.

he tells you how he doesn’t feel it all the time. how spring, summer, and even the start of fall is okay. and then the temperatures start dropping, the sun starts to fade, and in winter he locks up. the cold sinks into his skin, and.

“all i can think about is that damn room. i go to therapy, i talk through what i can. my therapist tells me this is a hump, a mental block, but. i don’t know if it’ll ever end. if the cold will ever stop sending me into a... spiral.”

he’s frustrated. his hand is gripping yours back tight, and before you can stop yourself you’re sliding out of your side of the dining room table and slipping into his lap. you pull him against you, running your fingers through soft brown hair. you don’t let go of his hand, you can’t, and you feel his shoulders shake as he fights back the tears, face pressed into your chest.

and you… you hold each other. for a little while.

the minutes pass by. you’re uncertain what to do, besides assure him that you’ll never let him go. those promises are whispered into his hair, his ear, against his lips as you kiss him.

“i’m proud of you” is said a lot. you hope he hears it, believes it. because in that moment, you’ve never been prouder of this man you’re so lucky to call yours, a man fighting a battle he’s so scared of losing, a man who faces months on end with his chin held high. he’s unsure if it’ll ever come to an end, but you know that one day, it could. you’re gonna see that day, you’re certain of it. you tell him that, too.

and when the silence stretches on, the two of you in each other’s arms – when he comes back to himself, you tilt his chin so he can look up at you, holding his jaw with a small smile.

“so. what i’m hearing is that we’re gonna need a fireplace when we move in together.”

it shocks a laugh out of him. “what?”

“well, if we’re gonna stay warm, central heating and a fireplace will help do the trick. i’m not going anywhere, mike dodds, so you better start house hunting now.” you have a grin on your face, big and bright and bold, and when he looks up at you again he’s stunned into chuckles. leaning forward to press a kiss over your heart as he shakes his head.

-

winter comes. steadily. gently. like the hush falling over the crowd. and mike dodds hates every second of it.

he can feel it creeping up his spine – the inevitable chill that lingers, stretches its fingers over his shoulders and grabs him. october is gone, november is here, and he lets out a shaky gasp each time a breeze hits him wrong.

he wants to yell out. holds the edge of his desk in a white-knuckled grip. but he doesn’t. he just lifts his chin. he pushes on, he handles it.

he is michael dodds, isn’t he? the son of the chief, the brave soldier. and yet, he fears the turn of the season.

the days keep coming. one after the other. nights get longer, get unending, get colder.  

but this winter something is different. this winter he has you. and the icy grip that the season has starts to fade with time. with time, with time, with time. with therapy, with talking, with time, with time.

with you, your hand in his, and time.

[jennygirl2014]

White~Part 1

(A/N: I do not own any rights to the movie and I didn’t create this cool gif. Anyway, I clearly haven’t written in a while, and I hope this doesn’t reflect on that. The entire story will likely be 4-5 parts.)

       White.  Everything was white, all the time.  And cold. It was the norm, but it was still maddening.  For most of your life, you knew nothing but cold air, snow and ice.  It was a way of living now.  But the faint and distant memories of different seasons stayed with you from a young age.  Playing in the leaves, watching flowers bloom, seeing wildlife, it all happened sometime decades ago.  You should have been used to it now, and yet you weren’t.

              You sat in your car, not wanting to get out.  Not just because of the brutal sting from the air, but because you hadn’t quite come to terms with what was about to happen. Just to your right, a couple feet from the road, sat a restaurant that you had never been to, in a town you had never visited, in a place completely unfamiliar to you.  And in that restaurant, someone was waiting for you, someone you hadn’t seen in many years.  Your hands were clammy inside your gloves, not from the heat inside your car, but from your nerves that just wouldn’t settle.  What were you even doing there?  None of it made any logical sense.  And knowing that made it even harder for you to muster up the courage to go inside.  If your friends knew what you were about to do, they would have thought you were crazy. If your parents knew, they would have criticized you to no end.  If your fiancé knew…

Perhaps it was best not to think about that.

              You bought yourself some more time, sitting in the idling car and now playing with the diamond ring that sat on your finger, running your other fingers over the fabric covering it.  Maybe you were reminding yourself that you were committed. Maybe you were trying to convince yourself to put the car in drive and leave, to go back home and live your life like this moment was never even going to happen.  But the phone call would have still haunted you.  It had been so long since you last heard his voice that you almost dropped your phone when he told you it was him calling.  After not hearing from him for so long, he had the nerve to ask you to meet him somewhere. But then again, you had ghosted him as well.  He didn’t say why he wanted to see you, only that it was important.  It had to have been, right?  He sounded sincere, but then again, he always knew how to talk to you, how to convince you to do things you didn’t think you would do.  That was the history the two of you had, him somehow talking you into something.  Didn’t you convince yourself that you were over that?  It was in the past, it was done, you had moved on, spell broken.

And yet there you were, after driving seven hours through the snow and whiteout conditions, after cursing at yourself and hitting your steering wheel in frustration and guilt, after lying to your friends, family and fiancé about where you were going.  A conference you said… and they bought it.  There you go again, lying to cover up the fact that you were going to see him. Clearly, you hadn’t changed that much.  

Enough, it was time to go in.

              You huffed as you finally shut off your car and opened the door, immediately feeling the bitterly brisk air bite at your warm skin.  You may have wanted to drag your feet, but the low temps were going to assure you hurried inside.  The snow crunched under your boots, and you wrapped your arms around yourself to hold onto some body heat.  It was a particularly cold day, and with the windchill it had to have been below zero, not the usual balmy 20 degrees for that time of year.  What time of year was it supposed to be again?  Fall, it was supposed to be fall.  But fundamentally, every day was winter.

              Upon entering the restaurant, the smell of food hit your senses, and the warmth from the in-house fireplace that was burning on the far end of the small dining room.  You looked around, scanning the tables and booths, looking for the familiar face you were there to see.  It was such a small place, with rich colors and a cozy feeling, romantic in a weird sort of way.  You didn’t see him.  Did he stand you up?  Or had it been so long that you didn’t remember his face? You thought you would never forget that face.  And then you saw the hand waving in the air, trying to get your attention.  You looked to your right and saw him leaning out of the booth, cajoling you over with a small smile.

              There he was.  Your heart quickened and you clutched your purse a little tighter.  Your feet seemed to move towards him involuntarily, but your brain was still trying to decide whether or not to turn and run away. There was a lump in your throat you tried to swallow down.  As you neared him, so many memories came flooding back to you, all in a flash. Some good, some bad, all reminding you of heartache.  The fighting with your family, the embarrassment from people in your town, the inner turmoil of trying to separate right from wrong…the excitement, the passion, the thrill.  

Your secret.

              Your feet suddenly slowed, unsure of the path ahead, but you were already there, just a few steps away.  He got to his feet and stood, his tall frame feeling both off-putting and enticing, like a home you once knew but tried to run away from many times before.  He was all too familiar, the broad shoulders, only somehow even broader now, you could see the girth in his arms from under his sweater and, oh, how you missed the feeling of those arms around you.  But that was wrong, you couldn’t think about that.  Not with that ring on your finger.  His eyes were set firmly on you, like two blue orbs that were looking right through to your very soul.  He knew you well, although you tried to convince yourself otherwise.  That crooked smile that crossed his pink lips added a charming affect to his sharp jawline and chiseled pale face.  Oh yes, that boyish charm, that face that was burned into your memory.  And yet he looked so different.  He looked like a man, a different version of the boy who clouded so much of your memory. Neither of you spoke at first, you only stared at each other.

“James Mace.” you spoke is so softly, just loud enough for you both to hear.  It tasted weird on your tongue.

“Hey Y/N.” his voice tone was low, but still expressing happiness for your presence.  

              This was awkward.  You wanted to reach out your hand and offer to shake his, but that felt wrong with the long history the two of you had.  Then you thought maybe a hug, but that may have been too much, given the current situation.  Instead, you clenched and unclenched your fists at your sides, unsure of what to do. Apparently, he was unsure too, because he stood there eyeballing you for a few moments.  Finally, he motioned with an extended hand for you to sit opposite of him in the booth.  You nodded, taking off your coat and setting it and your purse in the booth before sliding in.  He sat across from you and smiled, and there was no doubt that his smile was genuine, but the confidence behind the smile might have been a little less than so.  

“It’s good to see you.” He offered, and then licked his lips, “God, how long has it been?” he squinted his eyes, as if trying to calculate it.

“Ten years,” You realized you may have sounded too eager to answer the questions, “I think”. You finished. You didn’t want him to think you had been counting the time that had passed since you last saw each other.

“Wow.” he leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table, getting closer to you, “I knew it had been a while, but I wasn’t quite sure.”

There was a moment of awkward silence between the two of you.

“So…” you started, trying to sound relaxed, despite your heart pounding in your chest, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he repeated the question, like it had confused him.

“Well, yeah.  I mean, we haven’t spoken in years and then suddenly,” you shrugged a shoulder, “I get a phone call.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and looked away. “There’s nothing wrong, really.  I guess I just…” he paused with his lips parted.  He looked like he was trying to find the right words, but instead just shook his head.

“How did you even get my number?” you had planned on asking him that the moment you saw him, but it had slipped your mind until then.

“Well, you’re a shrink, and your number is listed on the internet, so…” he made it sound so nonchalant.

“Psychologist.” You corrected him. He looked at you with eyes full of mischief and placed his open palm to his chest.

“My mistake.” He apologized, but not really.  No surprise. James Mace apologized to no one.

“So, you were just browsing the internet, looking for a psychologist, and found my name?” you questioned him more, sounding bitter.  Did you mean to come off so harsh?  Maybe.

“No, I wasn’t looking for a psychologist, per se.” he leaned back in his side of the booth.  

“So, what, you randomly thought to look up my name after all these years?” you got bolder.  

“Okay,” he held out his hands defensively before he placed them on the table, “Let me explain.”

“Please do.” You placed your elbow on the table and rested your chin on your fist.  Your eyes were set firmly on his face, daring him to say something that would incriminate him.  

“I…I saw your name listed as a psychologist of interest at NASA.” He shared.  Now, you were truly interested.  Only a very few people knew about your brief line of communication with NASA a year back. You watched his expression change to a softer one, with another charming crooked smile, “Always knew you would be successful in whatever it was you decided to do.  It’s a big deal, being considered for a mission by NASA.” He complimented you. “I should be congratulating you on your success.”

“Thank you.” You were somewhat surprised by his sweetness, and you lowered your fist from your chin, putting your guard down some.  “But that still doesn’t explain…”

“I was being considered as well.” He cut you off.  “Obviously, not for psychology, but as an engineer.” You had wondered what career path he would have chosen.  When you last saw him, he was serving in the military.  

“So, you left the army and went into engineering?” you questioned him.

“Yeah.” He chuckled as he nodded, “Doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

“No, not really.” You admitted, looking away from him briefly.  

              A waitress came up and topped off his coffee mug, which he thanked her for.  The woman turned to you and asked if you wanted anything.  You hadn’t thought that far ahead.  Then again, you weren’t planning on staying long.  You thought for a second as she touched her pen to her pad of paper and then replied firmly that you weren’t going to be staying long and didn’t want anything.

“Wait, what?” he interrupted you, “You don’t want anything?” he questioned you.

“I just said, I wasn’t planning on staying long.” You repeated yourself.

“You just drove how long to get here?” he questioned you more.  

“A while.”

“A while.  Like, what?  A few hours?”

“A little more than that.” You weren’t about to tell him you drove seven hours to see him.  He must have seen right through you, just like in the old days, because he furrowed his brow and asked another question.

“Do you still live in our home town?” he investigated.  You didn’t answer, even though it was true.  Instead you opened your mouth, only to close it again.  “Oh my God, so you drove way more than a few hours Y/N.” he calculated it in his head.

“I don’t need anything.” You tried to confirm your original response one last time.

“Nonsense,” he turned back to the waitress, “Can you bring another cup of coffee and two menus?”

“Sure.” The woman walked away and you turned back to your old flame with heat under your collar.

“No, no, James, I’m fine.”

“You drove all this way and you don’t want coffee for the drive back?  How will you stay awake?”

You stayed silent. The waitress returned rather quickly with a cup of coffee and two menus and placed everything on the table before walking away again.  You turned back to him, to protest a little more, but he already had a sickening smirk across his lips that made you go quiet.  

“You weren’t planning on driving back, were you?”

“James…” you spoke his name and closed your eyes in frustration.

“They call me Mace now.”

“Really?” your eyes snapped open to give him an annoyed look, “Well I’ve never called you that, so I’m not about to start.”

“You called me a lot of things.” He jested.  You felt something in your gut.  Was it churning from disgust, or was it butterflies at the memory?  

“Look, I drove all this way because I thought there was something wrong.  And the weather is nasty so I made arrangements to get a hotel.” You very quickly spit out, not giving him a chance to interrupt.  “Don’t get any ideas.  This was NOT something I did just because it’s you.” You gave him a warning.

“Never said you did.” His smirk stayed plastered to his face.

“Yeah but you were thinking it.” Your expression didn’t match his at all.

“How do you know what I’m thinking?  Are you psychoanalyzing me?” he played at you more.

“You know what,” you suddenly had enough and reached for your coat and purse.  “This was a bad idea.”

“Y/N,” he tried to stop you.

“I should have never come here.  I knew better.” You went to slide out of the booth.

“Y/N wait.” He tried to stop you again.  

You got to your feet and were just about to take that first stride to the door. It was better to head home and avoid any inuendoes or references to your past with this man than to sit there and continue to play whatever game he had been trying to get you caught up in.  A firm hand grasping your wrist stopped you, and you spun your head around and looked back to see that he had lunged across the table, knocking over his coffee, in an attempt to stop you.  You wanted to snap at him, or curse at him, or to do something that would shock him into letting you go.  But it was his eyes that stopped you.  His entire demeanor had changed, his eyes were wide with panic, and he seemed desperate to keep you there.  You looked down at his fingers, feeling them pressing into your skin, and then you looked back up at his face.

“Don’t go.” He sounded like he did over the phone.  Like he needed you.

“What’s going on?” you finally asked the question as directly as you meant to that entire time.

“I’ve been recruited to go on The Icarus II.”

Next part here.

[justtessasworld]

time after time - caspian x

Hello, this is a little something i wrote about Caspian and an oc named Elizabeth, i actually thought about making a few more parts of this so tell me what you think about it :)) love, tessa

warnings: just my english, i´m sorry it´s not my first language 

-

In which Elizabeth finally finds back to Narnia, and to Caspian.

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Elizabeth was 6 when her mum left her dad. She didn´t remember much about him. He was mean, never voluntarily spending time with his daughter, or it seemed, with his wife, so when Beatrice left together with their daughter no one was actually surprised.

They tried living on their own after that for a year. A crappy apartment in the middle of nowhere until Beatrice decided she wanted a better life for her daughter.

A few months after Elizabeth turned 7 they moved to their grandmother, Beatrice mother, a mean and strict, old lady that lived in a mansion not very far from the city, with a massive forest in the backyard and no immediate neighbors. That time Elizabeth felt like the most lonely person on the world.

Shortly before her 8th birthday Elizabeth explored the forest, like she often did. That day she found a big group of trees near the lake, with a gait between them. Walking through it, Elizabeth suddenly found herself in the backyard of a small but friendly faun family.

That day Elizabeth found Narnia.

The family brought Elizabeth to their king, a handsome, young man with kind eyes and an even kinder smile. He told her about the magical land she had found and about the other siblings that had come there from her world.

When Elizabeth went back home, she didn’t feel lonely anymore.

She told her mother about Narnia, who smiled and nodded, even when Elizabeth knew she didn´t fully believe her.

After that, Elizabeth visited Narnia nearly daily.

The family brought her to the castle every time, and King Caspian spent all of her visits with her.

He showed her all of Cair Paravel and Narnia, taught her the Narnian history as well as royal duties so that Elizabeth felt more and more like a true Narnian princess, like Queen Lucy the Valiant or High Queen Susan the Gentle.

On special occasions, when Caspian didn’t have any very important duties and Elizabeth just didn’t stop begging, he even taught her some sword fighting and shooting arrows.

When she was 9 she was in Narnia again, sitting next to Caspian at the table, wearing Narnian clothing and picking at her bread. They did that often, just living their daily life together as if they didn’t come from different worlds.

“When will I be queen?”, she asked, tugging at her sleeves, that had become dirty while they had explored the village next to Cair Paravel. “I love Narnia so much but I guess I´m still to young to marry you, aren’t I?”  

Caspian coughed and set down his plate.

“You definetly are”, he laughed, smiling at her softly. “Let´s wait for marriage until you´re at least a few heads taller.”

She grinned at him, standing up from the table. “Well then you have to keep training me too, so that when I´m tall enough to marry you I can also kick your butt.”

A few days later, Elizabeth had a visitor at the mansion. The new girl from her class, Katie. She was small, even a head smaller than Elizabeth, with blonde hair and brown eyes. She became  Elizabeths only friend.

When she tried showing Narnia to Katie, they walked right through the trees, but stayed in their world. They tried it again and again but it never worked. Katie shrugged her shoulders, “maybe another time it would work and they could have wicked adventures in Narnia”.

But it never did. Not even when Elizabeth came alone.

Years passed and Elizabeth, now called Lizzie, didn’t think about Narnia anymore. It was just some weird game she had played with herself when she was feeling lonely.

She and her mother had moved out, Beatrice had a new and great job and could afford a small house away from her mother. And while Lizzie grew up, with new friends and new hobbies, she just couldn’t shake the feeling of missing something.

 “And why exactly did we agree to a Christmas eve dinner with the witch?”, Lizzie grumbed, leaning her head at the car window while they drove to their small town.

“Because she´s still part of our family”, her mother said, then mumbling:” and she´s probably dead soon anyway.”

Lizzie laughed softy, while it did sound evil, their relationship to the woman just hadn’t gotten any better since the stopped living with her. Still strict, mean and controlling, that was Theodora. And no, they weren’t allowed to call the mom or mother or grandma. No, just Theodora.

“It´s not too late, we can still run away and go home and watch Harry Potter”, Lizzie suggested when they were standing in front of Theodoras front door.

“Don’t temp me”, ringing the bell, her mother tugged at her dress. Any imperfection would be critizised by their hostess.

The door opened and Carla, the maid that worked for Lizzies grandmother, greeted them and showed them to the table in the living room.

“You´re late”, Theodora said, her wrinkly eyes cold and her grey hair pulled into a tight bun.

“But I shouldn’t expect any better from you two, now should I?”

Well, this was going to be fun.

“And what are you doing right now again?”, Theodora asked Lizzie, elegantly cutting up a potato.

“I´m still in university to become an elementary school teacher.”

Theodora lifted an eyebrow unimpressed.

“Well, like I already told you, you should definetly focus on a different part of your life, you´re nearly 23 already and you still don’t have a husband or even a boyfriend”, she shook her head disapprovingly.

“At this rate you´re just going to end up like you´re mother. A bad reputation, no husband and a daughter from some idiot that she couldn’t even keep.”

“Mother!”, Beatrice looked at her mother shocked.

“What, you know I´m right. Look at that girl, she´s not nearly as intelligent or pretty as she should be at that age. She´ll probably never find a husband.”

Lizzie dropped her fork. She knew how mean her grandmother could be but this was a new for her. Fighting the tears that welled up she put away her napkin, ignoring her mum that was yelling at Theodora.

“Excuse me, I´m going for a walk”, she whispered shakingly and left the room.

The cold air was biting at her nose but she ignored it, wrapping her coat tighter around her as she waked towards the wood.

The tears had already started falling, but she didn’t bother wiping them away.

How could someone be so mean to their own grandchild? She knew Theodora didn’t like her very much, but she still thought that deep down she cared about her.

“She will never find a husband”, Lizzie repeated angrily. “I don’t have to find a husband right now, you dumb witch”, she said to herself. “I´m 22 for gods sake. I still have plenty of time left!”

She kept walking, away from the lake and towards a group of trees, while she raged about her grandmother.

Stepping through a gait between the trees, Lizzie suddenly looked up.

The sun blinded her and she couldn’t open her eyes, why was the sun suddenly out? It was nearly 8 pm on a winter evening, and why was it suddenly this warm?

She knew this place. She didn’t know why but she remembered this place, a warm sensation bubbling up in her chest.

She blinked slowly, her eyes getting accostumed to the light, and when she opened them the memories came rushing back.

She was standing in the backyard again. The backyard of the faun family.

Lizzie grinned brightly, her heart feeling warm.

“Who are you?”, a voice said. Turning around Lizzie recognized Bandon, the faun boy, standing next to his mother Ariadne.

“Bandon”, Lizzie laughed, “Ariadne, it´s me: Elizabeth.”

Getting both of them to believe her took Lizzie nearly an hour. All those years Lizzie hadn’t been in Narnia had only been 2 for them, so it had been kind of a shock for them when she was suddenly an adult.

After a lot of crying and hugging and telling a summary about what happened in all those years, Bandon and Lizzie readied their horses and rode to Cair Paravel.

Lizzie couldn’t stop looking around, the view was nothing new but still, she knew that that was the part she had been missing. It seemed so unrealistic now, that she could have simply forgotten about this place, about these people, and she still didn’t understand why but right now, she was way too happy to be back to worry about it.

A guard greeted them and while Bandon and her were trying to explain what was going on a servant was already ordered to send message to the king.

“I can´t believe I´m back here”, Lizzie laughed, smiling at Bandon as they brought their horses to the stables.

“Elizabeth!”, someone yelled. She recognized the voice instantly, Caspian.

Beaming she turned around. He was running towards her, still tall and handsome, his hair a tad shorter than the last time she´d seen him and, confusingly, only a few years older than her.

He grinned from ear to ear and, as soon as he reached her, engulfed her in a tight hug.

Lizzie laughed softly, hugging him as closely as possible, her eyes filling with tears. God, she had missed that, she had missed him.

“You´re back”, Caspian said, slowly letting her go to look at her properly. She nodded, holding back her tears, she really shouldn’t cry again. That would be the third time today.

“You´re…”, he started, looking her up and down, and again.

“…older?”, she suggested, pushing her hair back. He nodded this time, still shocked.

“I can´t believe it, I- How long has it been? For you, I mean.”

Lizzie lowered her eyes.

“12 years”, she whispered.

She remembered everything now, especially the devastation she felt, when she couldn’t go back to Narnia, but she still felt like it was her fault. Had she done something wrong so that Aslan didn’t want her in Narnia anymore?

“So long? It only been two years here and I still-“, he stopped suddenly, looking at her again intently. “I missed you everyday.”

She nodded, wiping away a tear that had fallen from her eye. “I missed you too”, she whispered, trying not to cry completely. It was a lost cause.

“I missed you so much all those years”, she sobbed and Caspian pulled her to him, his arms tightly around her waist.

“It´s okay, you´re here now”, he said, burying his face too her neck. She nodded, it was true. Now that she was here, everything would be okay.