#robin only stops when her throat gets too dry and she needs to drink water

[judaluffy]

Jonathan says something mildly bad about Steve and Robin goes feral on him.

Jonathan isn't even sure what she is saying anymore. He only knows he walked into family video in the morning and it's getting dark outside now.

Steve has given up trying to stop her and is watching a movie with Nancy behind the counter.

[mycurrent-hyperfixation]

Take A Chance On Me - Chapter Three (Eddie Munson x Reader Series)

Series Summary: Corroded Coffin is lacking only one thing that could help them win the upcoming Battle of the Bands; original songs. So when a new band comes to town with a lead singer that looks all too familiar and a repertoire of original songs up their sleeves, Dustin concocts a plan that will get you to spill of your songwriting secrets to Eddie. It’s just a few dates, right?

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Masterlist

Word Count: 6.4K

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, 10 Things I Hate About You AU

A/N: Don’t ask me how the hell this chapter got so long because I honestly have no idea. I was going to split it into two but there wasn’t a good halfway point to cut it at and I didn’t wanna have one long chapter and one super short one. So here we are. As always thank you all for your continued to support. Your comments always make my day. Let me know if you want to be added to either of the taglists!

The last few notes of the song seemed to reverberate around the walls of the garage until finally there was nothing but the sound of your heavy panting, your breaths heaving in an out as a bead of sweat dripped down from your forehead. Your throat was dry and raspy as you bent down to pick up the water bottle you had left on the floor beside you, drinking enthusiastically from its contents. The water felt heavenly as it trickled down your throat, a slight reprieve from the heat of the afternoon.

“No more, I beg of you,” Robin groaned as she slumped down heavily upon the couch in the corner. “My fingers are about to fall off.” She glanced down to gaze at her fingers intently, almost as if making sure that they were all still there.

“Robin’s right. Let’s stop for a bit,” you responded, heaving your guitar from around your shoulder and repositioning it in its stand. You rubbed at where the shoulder strap had been digging into your skin and, with a sigh, quickly joined Robin on the couch. Meg followed suit, lowering herself to the ground in front of you as she leaned against the wall of the garage, Vicki emerging from behind her drum set to take the seat on Robin’s other side.

The four of you remained silent for some time, each of you staring out of the open garage door onto the quiet street beyond, the sky a vibrant orange as the sun slowly set. There was the sound of your breathing having somewhat returned to normal. There was the smell of the heat in the air; of the sweat that encased you and of grass growing dry and brittle and of the tarmac of the road burning under the sun. And it was nice, you thought to yourself, the normalcy of it all.

“Are you guys nervous?” Vicki finally spoke, her voice soft and somewhat sleepy. “For the competition?”

A small chuckle escaped from your lips. “Have you met me? I’m always nervous.”

“I think it’ll be fun,” Robin added.  

“Of course you do,” Meg said, the corner of her mouth lifting ever so slightly.

“Just picture it,” Robin said as she jumped up from her seat somehow renewed with energy already, arms outstretching before her as if she were painting the scene. “There’ll be a whole room filled with people who’ll be so bored out of their minds because every other band is gonna suck. And then when we get on stage we’re going to blow them away so that they’ll be screaming our names.”

“I think I vomited a bit in my mouth,” you said.

“Oh, Y/N, there’s no need to worry. We’ll be surrounded by our adoring fans and then everyone will come up to us afterwards and ask us for our autographs and our numbers and-”  

Vicki scrunched up her face in disgust. “Why would we want that?”

Your gaze met Robin’s as you lifted a singular eyebrow. “Exactly, Robin. Why would we want that?”

A redness slowly began to form on Robin’s cheeks. “Well, I don’t need the numbers of my adoring fans. I was just saying for you-”

“What makes you think I need them?”

“Y/N,” Robin said, jumping back down onto the seat beside you once more as she brought one arm up to wrap around your shoulders. “How do I put this delicately?” She paused, pretending to think for a moment. “You need to get laid.”

Your mouth fell open as your hand shot out to punch Robin in the shoulder.  

“I do not!” you exclaimed. Vicki and Meg burst out laughing as Robin continued to smile widely at you.

“Y/N, I’ve seen many a guy try to flirt with you,” Robin continued. “And every single time you practically run away from them.”

“That’s not true!” you exclaimed once more.

“Yeah it is,” Vicki said.

“Very accurate,” Meg added.

“Alright, name one guy that has flirted with me and-”

“The blonde guy with the mullet from our show last week,” Vicki instantly responded, the other girls nodding in agreement. You turned your gaze away from them as you tried to remember who they were referring to.

“I don’t remember…oh, wait, that guy? He wasn’t flirting he was just being nice about our performance.”

“He was practically undressing you with his eyes!” Robin said.

“I swear I saw him drooling,” Meg added.

And then all four of you were laughing. You were quite sure that the bout of laughter only continued for so long because all of you were so tired, but it was almost like none of you could stop once you had begun. Eventually, when the laughter turned into giggles and the giggles turned into smiles, the four of you finally calmed down.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you are the nicest person I know and you deserve to be cherished,” Robin said.

“Are you saying that you don’t cherish me?” you said mockingly, unable to contain your smile.

“Oh piss off,” Robin responded. “I try to be nice and-”

“Y/N!”

The four of you jumped, Vicki letting out a strangled scream that she quickly tried to cough away at the sight of Dustin Henderson standing in your driveway. Mike Wheeler and Lucas Sinclair were by his side, a guitar case strapped to Mike’s back.

“Jesus Christ, Henderson! What’s with the yelling?” you yelled.

“We need you to drive us to the Hideout,” Dustin continued.

A loud groan fell from your mouth.

“Do you seriously have no one else that you can ask? You nearly scared me half to death and now I’m just supposed to ditch everything to play taxi driver for you?”

“Pleeeaassee,” Dustin whined. “Steve’s at work and Nancy’s not home and my mom is-”

“I’m at band practice, Dustin. I’m busy.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like you’re practicing too hard.”

“It’s called a break, dipshit, and-”

“You can take him if you want, Y/N,” Vicki spoke up. “I’m pretty pooped anyway.”

“Yeah, well the thing is I don’t really want to,” you grumbled, glaring at Dustin who simply continued to show you his toothy grin. “Ugh, fine!” you relented.  

“Yes!” Dustin exclaimed excitedly, Lucas and Mike sharing a triumphant look between each other.  

“Oh, can you drop me home on the way?” Robin asked, jumping up from the couch.  

“You really need to get your license, Robin,” you responded. Robin pouted her bottom lip out. “Oh, alright, yes, everyone get in before I change my mind.”

“Shotgun!” Robin exclaimed as she ran outside towards your car. You grabbed your keys and waited for Meg and Vicki to grab their things before closing the garage door. You waved goodbye to them apologetically as the boys jumped into the backseat.

“Move over, Lucas,” Dustin whined.

“I’m literally squished against the door. I can’t go any further.”

“Dustin, get your bag off my foot,” Mike said.  

“Well where am I supposed to put it?”

“On your foot,” Mike exclaimed before picking up Dustin’s bag and shoving it into his chest.  

“Hey, there’s delicate equipment in here!”

“Your walkie-talkie doesn’t count,” Lucas said.

“Hey, hey, hey!” you exclaimed, turning around in your seat to glare at the three boys. “If you don’t stop this bickering, I’ll turn the car around.”

You were yet to leave the driveway but the sentiments were noted as the boys continued in their bickering in an aggravated whisper instead. You backed out of the driveway slowly as Robin turned to face you in her seat.

“Listen, about what I was saying-”

“I get it, Robin. I need to be cherished,” you said with a smile. Robin didn’t smile back.  

“I know it’s hard. Especially since what happened in your freshman year...and then the thing in sophomore year as well. But I really think if you open yourself up more to-”

“Robin,” you interrupted her ramblings. “I love you and I appreciate the sentiment, but I promise I am completely fine. Okay?”

“Okay,” Robin hesitated. “But like one date would be really good for you-”

“Robin,” you laughed.

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

You turned your attention to the rear-view mirror where the boys were still arguing in hushed whispers, Dustin’s bag being shoved around.  

“Why do you guys need to go to the Hideout?” you questioned, the boys ceasing their bickering.

“Corroded Coffin are playing tonight and Eddie wants Mike there early so they can practise a little before the doors open,” Dustin answered.

“So why are you and Lucas going?”

“Well, I am the newly appointed manager of the band,” Dustin said proudly.

“Wow, congratulations,” you said with a smile.

“And Lucas was bored,” Dustin finished.  

“Fair enough.”

After dropping Robin home, you pulled up in the parking lot of the Hideout.

“Alright, the taxi has arrived,” you announced.

“Thanks Y/N,” the boys said in unison as they shuffled over to exit the car, pausing by your window as you kept the engine running.  

“Are you not coming in?” Mike questioned hesitantly, looking at Lucas and Dustin with an indecipherable expression.

“Um, no,” you responded. “Why would I come in? I was just dropping you guys off.”

Another look passed between the boys, Dustin’s expression nearly frantic.  

“Well,” Dustin hesitated. “You could...um...you could watch the band play!”

“I’m pretty tired, Dustin. I’ll come on another night if you want me to.”

“Why come another night when you can come tonight?” Lucas said.

“Because it’s hot and I’m sweaty and I’m still in my band clothes.”

“Y-you look great,” Mike stammered.  

“Thanks, but I really don’t think-”

Before you could finish, Dustin swiftly propelled himself through your window, grabbed the car keys and turned them in the ignition so that the engine turned off. In the blink of an eye, he had the keys in his hand and was promptly running away. Mike and Lucas looked towards each other, looked back at you and then hastily followed.  

“What the actually fu-” you screamed after them, stopping yourself as they disappeared inside the venue. With a long sigh, you brought your hands up to rub at your eyes before begrudgingly exiting your car, a string of profanities leaving your mouth as you did so.  

You pushed the doors of the Hideout open with slightly more force than was strictly necessary, causing a slight blush to creep up to your cheeks as the loud bang that resounded throughout the venue caused the few heads in the room to turn instantly towards you. A mane of hair looked up from the stage, a pair of large brown eyes locking with yours.

Eddie couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his features, instantly putting his guitar down before jumping quite unceremoniously from the stage.

“Well well well,” Eddie began as he made his way over to you. “What a lovely surprise. Finally come for those tips, have you?”

You tried to suppress your smile.

“You wish, Munson,” you responded with a smirk. “I’ve actually come to murder three boys. You didn’t happen to see where they went, did you?”

“Well that depends. I can’t really condone murder,” Eddie said as he came to a halt before you. He leaned over you slightly with a smirk and whispered closely in your ear, “That is unless you have a good reason for it.”

A heat began to creep up your features at the closeness of Eddie’s breath, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up at the overwhelming scent of him; something smoky and yet alluring all at once. As Eddie pulled back, you turned your head swiftly to the side in an attempt to hide your burning cheeks.  

“Well they asked me for a ride here and then ran off with my keys,” you responded, trying your best to act nonchalant when your racing heart said otherwise.

Eddie furrowed his brows before neutralising his expression, his signature smirk returning as he tried to supress a laugh.  

“The minds of youths are a strange thing,” Eddie said. “But I do have to agree with you. That is a very valid reason for murder.”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Eddie said as he had to bring a hand up to cover his smile.

“So did you see where they went?”

“You would have me betray my brethren so easily?” Eddie said with a fake gasp.  

“Would you like me to add you to my murder list?”

“They’re in the bathroom,” Eddie quickly admitted. “I’ll go get your keys.”

“Thank you,” you said with a sigh, a sincere smile spreading across your lips as you looked up at Eddie. He hesitated for a moment, his face suddenly featureless as if he were in deep thought before he skipped away.  

You smiled after him as he left before noticing that Gareth and Jeff were watching you from the stage.  

“This is working out better than I thought,” Gareth leaned over to say to Jeff.

You furrowed your brows in confusion at the statement before you made your way over to the bar and grabbed a glass of water. A wide smile adorned your features as a loud scream erupted from the bathroom.  

Eddie’s smile fell from his lips as soon as you were out of sight, a scowl replacing it. He kicked open the door to the bathroom with his shoe, a strangled scream coming from inside.  

“Don’t kill me!” Dustin exclaimed, cowering in a cubicle. He opened his eyes and looked at Eddie. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Eddie whispered aggravatedly, not wanting you to overhear him.  

“We’re trying to help you,” Dustin responded, turning to Mike and Lucas as they remained silent. “A little help here?”

“This is your fault!” Lucas exclaimed. “Why would you steal her keys? She’s going to kill all of us now!”

“Well I didn’t see you two doing anything,” Dustin responded.  

“Just give me the keys,” Eddie sighed, holding out a hand expectantly.  

“But then she’ll leave!” Dustin argued.  

“She’s just been robbed. I would hardly expect her to stick around!” Eddie responded.

“I’m just trying to do what we planned. If you had asked her out the other day like you were supposed to then I wouldn’t need to resort to theft!”

“I’ll ask her out when I ask her out, okay? You don’t have to worry. Now give me the keys.”

Dustin begrudgingly handed them over.  

“Thank you,” Eddie said. “Now go out there and apologise.”

“What? No!” The boys exclaimed.

“Listen,” Eddie said, grabbing Dustin and Mike by their shirt collars whilst glaring at Lucas. “I am about to be her knight in shining armour. So do me a favour and apologise.”

A chorus of groans erupted from them as they began to slowly shuffle out of the bathroom.  

Your stare was venomous as you saw the boys emerge, making Eddie instantly grateful that he wasn’t on the receiving end of it. The three of them slowly made their way up to you, their gazes fixated upon the floor. You crossed your arms as they stopped before you.

“S-sorry,” they each chorused and at the sight of their sorry looks you couldn’t help but soften.  

“It’s alright,” you said. “Just don’t do it again. If you want me to come watch you that badly you just need to let me know a bit more in advance next time.”

The boys remained silent.  

“Alright, go help set up,” Eddie said, shooing them away. As they scrambled to leave, Dustin turned back to throw Eddie a quick smirk.

“Thank you,” you said softly to Eddie as the boys left.

Eddie extended his hand towards you, your fingers coming to brush against his as he handed you the keys. The feeling of his calloused skin trailing across your own had your heart suddenly racing within your chest. And although the touch was only fleeting, although it was barely there at all, the sudden lack of it as Eddie pulled away had you yearning to feel those fingers trace across more of your skin. The thought had you shaking your head slightly in an attempt to dispel it, your cheeks burning.

A silence settled between the two of you, neither of you knowing what to say as you continued to look at each other.

“You can stay if you want,” Eddie said sheepishly. “We’re just going to practice a few songs before the doors open.”

You thought over the proposition, Eddie instantly taking your silence as hesitation.

“Y-you don’t have to of course,” he hastily added. “We’re just doing covers tonight so it’s nothing interesting and the crowd won’t be all that big so-”

“Okay,” you interjected.

Eddie furrowed his brows in confusion. “W-what?”

“I’ll stay,” you responded with a smile. “Just for a little bit. I can’t pass up the opportunity to scope out the competition.”

A smile erupted onto his features.

“C-cool!” he stuttered. “Um, take a seat. We just have to finish setting up and then we’ll start playing.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling back. “I’ll go chat with my best friends.” You turned your attention to where Dustin and Lucas were sitting, grinning wickedly at them and revelling in the fear that spread across their faces. Eddie let out a bark of laughter at the sight before jumping back onto the stage where Mike was uncasing his bass guitar.

You walked over and took the seat next to Dustin.

“So, care to explain your momentary lapse in sanity?” you questioned with a grin.  

It took Eddie about half the time that it normally did to set up all the equipment as he raced back and forth across the stage. He glanced up to look at you periodically as you talked with Dustin and Lucas, the two boys slowly becoming more at ease in your presence as your anger continued to dissipate. Whenever the sound of your laugh filled the room, Eddie couldn’t quite help his head from instantly whipping upwards to look at you, your smile practically intoxicating as he revelled in the sight of it.  

When Eddie finally deemed everything to be ready, he nodded to the boys behind him. When they nodded back, he tapped on the microphone to grasp your attention, your eyes glancing up to meet his as a wave of nervousness wash over him.  

“We are Corroded Coffin and this is Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be by ACDC.” Eddie didn’t trust himself to say anything more.

It was only after Gareth had tapped his sticks together, when Eddie finally begun playing, that his nervousness ebbed slightly. His fingers danced over the strings, his eyes closing as the music began to wash over him.

From the crowd your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of Eddie completely consumed in the music. You stared intently as he banged his head to the beat, his hair flowing around him. And then all at once as your gaze came to rest upon the guitar in his hands, you found yourself completely unable to look away from the sight.

The sleeves of Eddie’s hellfire shirt were pulled up slightly, exposing the inked skin that lied beneath. Turning your gaze slightly lower, you became transfixed by the movements of his hands, fingers moving swiftly over the strings. His hands were large, veins pulsing from each movement. The heavy rings he adorned only seemed to accentuate the length of his fingers in such a way that had your cheeks burning and your breath quickening.

When Eddie started to sing, you became quite concerned by just how little oxygen you seemed to be inhaling. His voice was deep and raspy yet somehow melodic at the same time; an alluring combination that you had listening with rapt attention.

“Sometimes I think this woman is kinda hot,

Sometimes I think this woman is sometimes not.”

When Eddie reopened his eyes they found yours immediately. You held his gaze, seemingly transfixed by his stare, unable to turn away. A small smile curved Eddie’s lips upwards.

“Puts me down, fools me around

What’s she doing to me?”

When he winked at you it took all of your strength to remain upright in your seat.

Dustin, who you had completely failed to notice was staring intently at you, had a devilish smile spreading across his face. He turned around to Lucas, nudging him with his elbow to grasp his attention before pointing towards you. Lucas’s smile mirrored Dustin’s as he clenched his fists and upturned his thumbs in support.

“So, Y/N,” Dustin began. “What do you think of the band?”

Your gaze, seemingly unable to be pulled away from the sight of Eddie upon the stage, remained rooted in place as you answered.

“They’re,” you said breathlessly. “They’re great.”

Dustin and Lucas shared another wide grin.

When the song was nearing its end, Eddie’s head continuing to bang softly along to the beat so that his hair was cascading around him, you altogether found yourself quite unable to breath. A small sheen of sweat had begun accumulating upon Eddie’s skin, a delicate smile plastered to his features as he looked downwards towards his guitar. His fingers danced across the last few strings almost effortlessly in such a way that had your breath hitching in your throat at the sight of it. When the sound of the last note began to dissipate within the room around you, echoing inside your head, Eddie glanced upwards through his mane of hair and offered you a smile.

In truth, the smile was just a smile, and you were perfectly well aware of that fact. But in that moment when your gaze was transfixed by Eddie’s as he panted slightly into the microphone, his chest rising and falling slightly faster, you felt something stir within you, something that you had not felt in quite some time.

And the feeling was hungry.

So in the end you had to physically tear your gaze away, knowing that your cheeks must have been burning. But your attempts were in vain as Eddie’s tall figure still lingered within your peripheral vision. He turned back to talk to his band mates for some time, and you couldn’t quite stop yourself from sneaking a glance towards him, that delicate smile still upturning his lips as he talked.

You turned towards the door, wondering if anyone would notice if you simply slipped out. But then after seeing the emptiness of the room and the silence that engulfed it when no music was playing and the way that Dustin wouldn’t seem to stop staring at you, you knew that you would not get very far.

But as you turned back around to face the stage you knew you were trapped anyway as Eddie brought his pick up towards the strings and begun a new song. And his eyes and his smile and hands were just as transfixing as before so that you became quite certain that you would not be able to leave even if you wanted to.

They played a total of two more songs, each one causing the sheen of sweat to grow on Eddie’s skin so that now small strands of his hair were sticking to his temple. And although you knew you should be partly disgusted by the bodily fluid, you found yourself wanting to reach out and brush his hair back from his face, if only to see that soft smile of his again. Between each song Eddie would always turn back around to his bandmates to discuss their performance, giving tips and notes where needed and listening with rapt attention whenever anyone did the same for him. It brought a small smile to your features.

Eddie’s gaze found yours again and his smile was back, if not more prominent than before. And before you knew it he was jumping from the stage and heading straight for you, weaving in and out of the tables so that you could do nothing to compose yourself before he was in your presence.

Eddie’s heart beat faster in his chest the closer that he got towards you, his smile somehow widening when your gaze fixated upon him. He was breathless by the time he reached you although he was not altogether too sure why since the last song he had played had not been as fast as the others. As he stood above you, the table the only thing keeping him from inching closer towards you, he couldn’t quite seem to stop his gaze from flicking down to your lips where a gentle smile was directed at him.

“Scared now, princess?” Eddie toyed with a smirk.

“I’m actually more confident than ever, Munson,” you responded.

“Confident that you’ll lose?”

“Confident that even if we don’t win, we’ll at least beat you.”

Eddie placed his hands across the table, bending down so that he was practically leaning over you. Your heart began to beat faster in your chest as he drew towards you although you did not pull away, a comfortable smirk still plastered across your features even though your composure was crumbling inside.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are. Do you know that?” Eddie asked, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

“And you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

Dustin raised an eyebrow, confused as to why both you and Eddie were still smiling whilst simultaneously throwing insults at each other. He leaned forwards, placing himself in the space that still sat between you.

“She’s lying. She said you guys were great.”

You turned to look at him with a venomous scowl before reverting your gaze back to Eddie who had not stopped looking at you. He was smiling devilishly now, his face having somehow inched closer towards yours. Dustin turned towards Lucas with a confused expression, altogether unsure what exactly it was that he was witnessing. All he knew was that he no longer wanted to be a part of the situation and so instead stood up and made his way towards Mike on the stage with Lucas following close behind him.

“Is that so, princess?” he said, his voice deep and his tone almost a growl.

“Hmm that doesn’t sound like something I’d say,” you responded with a smirk.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll get you to admit it one way or another.”

You were so close now that Eddie could feel the heat emanating off your skin as he continued to lean over the table. You were so close that he could smell your perfume; still the same one he had first smelt on that fateful day in the hallway. You were so close that Eddie couldn’t quite help himself from glancing downwards towards your lips, so soft and so beautiful that it would just be so easy for him to simply lean slightly further downwards and capture them within his own.

The thought had him abruptly pulling away as a violent heat invaded his cheeks all at once. He turned his head away, quite sure that if he were to look at you he might do something he would surely regret, especially with his friends still very much present within the room. You said nothing as he tried to compose himself and for that Eddie was very much grateful, so that when finally he turned back to look at you he could do so with some semblance of self-control.

“We’re gonna head over to the diner across the street before the doors open if you want to come,” Eddie said, surprised by how unwavering his voice was. “I promised Wheeler I’d buy him a milkshake if he came in to practice early.”

The small smile that upturned your lips had Eddie wishing that he had taken just a few more seconds to collect himself. You hesitated thinking over the proposition, and Eddie altogether realised just how desperate he was to remain in your presence.

“I’ll buy if you come,” he hastily added.

You quirked an eyebrow, your smile turning into a smirk.

“Alright,” you finally relented.

Eddie’s smile was so wide that it seemed to travel from ear to ear.

---

A bell chimed above as you opened the door to the diner, the place deserted save for an elderly couple that were occupying the booth towards the back. The boys wasted no time in rushing inside, pushing past you to shuffle into the first available booth. The leather squeaked underneath them as they each piled in, the seats barely able to fit three a side with Mike, Dustin and Lucas looking particularly squished. With Gareth and Jeff occupying the other seat, it was abundantly clear as you looked upon the table that there was only room for one more person.

You turned to Eddie, opening your mouth to say something but stopping as he bowed lowly before you.

“M’lady,” he said dramatically, gesturing for you to take the seat.

“Oh, no it’s fine,” you hastily began. “You sit with your band. I’ll just take the next booth over.”

“No, really, I insist-”

“Or,” Dustin interjected. “Since this booth is pretty full already you can both sit in the next booth.”

You rolled your eyes at the boy, and before any more arguing could ensue you stepped around to the next booth and shuffled your way along the seat, your gaze flicking down to the menu that sat before you. A small smile crept up your features at the sound of somebody else shuffling into the seat across from you.

“Anything tickling your fancy?” Eddie enquired.

“I’ll probably just get my usual,” you responded.

“And what’s the usual?”

“Vanilla.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as he leaned his head back to lie upon the back of the seat and let out a dramatic groan.

“You’re so boring,” he whined.

“Excuse me,” you began, unable to wipe the smile from your face. “Just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s boring.”

“I beg to differ,” Eddie said, leaning forwards to rest his arms upon the table.

“Well then what are you getting?”

“My usual.” At the sight of your upturned eyebrow, Eddie elaborated. “Triple chocolate fudge.”

You scrunched your face in disgust.

“That sounds awful.”

“It is delicious and I will convince you of that.”

You opened your mouth to respond but before you could do so a waitress had appeared at the end of your table. She smiled sweetly down at Eddie, her eyes going wide in recognition when her gaze turned to you.

“Oh, deary, I wasn’t expecting you today!” she exclaimed which had Eddie furrowing his brows in confusion.

“Hi Wendy,” you greeted with a smile. “I’ve been dragged out by another band today.” You leaned closer towards the woman, your gazing flicking back to Eddie’s for just a moment as your smile grew. “But don’t worry, they’re not as good as us.”

Eddie couldn’t quite help the bark of laughter that erupted from his throat. The waitress furrowed her brows towards him in such a way that had Eddie sinking back a little deeper in his seat.

“What can I get for you today?” the waitress said, her smile having returned as she turned her attention back to you once more. “The usual?”

��Yes please,” you responded.

“And for the gentleman?” the woman questioned, turning towards Eddie.

“A triple chocolate fudge milkshake please, m’am,” Eddie responded with a smile.

It was quite clear that the waitress was slightly taken aback by Eddie’s politeness, smiling sweetly down at him when she overcame her initial shock.

“Of course, my dears,” she said before waddling off towards the other table.

“So are you friends with all the waitresses around town?” Eddie asked, leaning in slightly so that the waitress would not overhear him.

You smiled as you responded.

“Me and the girls come here for milkshakes after every gig. It’s…calming.”

“That sounds nice,” Eddie said, his smile softer upon his features now.

A silence lingered between you then, but one that was surprisingly comfortable. Eddie could hear the boys talking loudly in the booth behind him but he could not quite bring himself to care about what they were saying. Because you were before him looking distractedly out the window and the light from the setting sun was hitting you so very perfectly that for just a moment nothing else seemed to quite exist. There was simply you sitting before him in a booth as you waited for milkshakes, and Eddie, for just a moment, wondered whether he was dreaming.

“Are you nervous for the competition?”

Your voice sounded so very far away so that Eddie found himself having to pull his focus back to reality. You were looking at him now, he realised, quite expectantly as you awaited his answer.

“I don’t really get nervous,” Eddie began. “Well, I do when we’re about to go on stage. But that’s about it.”

The laugh that came from your lips was delicate and gentle and breathtaking.

“I’m the complete opposite,” you responded.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a big ball of nerves whenever we perform.”

“That surprises me.” Eddie felt a heat begin to creep up his neck as you turned to him, one eyebrow upturned quizzically. He was quite well aware that you wanted him to elaborate, but he still hesitated before doing so, slightly embarrassed. “I just think…well you looked so”—beautiful, stunning, ethereal—“confident on the stage the other night.”

“I’m alright when the song starts to play,” you began, turning your gaze to look out the window once more. Eddie took the opportunity to dance his gaze across you, taking in every curve of your silhouette and every blemish on your skin. “I kind of get lost in the music after a while and if I keep closing my eyes or looking back at the girls then I can usually forget about the crowd. Or if the person that the song is about is there, I like to look at them too. Then it’s kind of just like I’m giving them a little poem I wrote for them, you know?”

“That’s adorable.”

Eddie couldn’t quite seem to stop the words as they tumbled from his mouth, a violent blush invading his entire face as the words seemed to linger in the air between you. He turned away, pretending to look out of the window instead, hoping that you wouldn’t notice it.

“So you write the songs for the band then?” Eddie asked. He had only asked the question as a means to change the subject, but at the sound of Dustin pausing mid-sentence behind him as he clearly tried to listen in had a sickening feeling of guilt begin to rise up Eddie’s chest.

“Yeah, I guess so,” you responded. “Well, I write some of them. Our songs wouldn’t be anywhere near as good as they are without the other girls. They write their own stuff as well sometimes and they rewrite half of my lyrics and then actually set it to music. They’re the real songwriters.”

Eddie wanted to protest. He wanted to stand up from the table and grab your face within his hands and tell you that you were wrong; that you were brilliant. But instead he remained within his seat and continued to look at you, completely at a loss for what to say.

“I just don’t get how you do it,” he finally settled on saying.

“Do what?”

“Put stories into lyrics. I’ve tried before and you make it look so easy but it’s not.”

Another soft laugh left your lips.

“Read some poetry, Munson. You might learn a thing or to.”

“Poetry?” he questioned.

“Lyrics are just poetry set to music. If you understand how to convey a story in the form of a poem you’re basically halfway to writing a song.”

“But I feel like the story itself always alludes me as well. How do you always have so much to write about?”

You paused slightly before answering, leaning forwards until your elbows rested on the table. You beckoned Eddie forwards and Eddie found himself responding to your wishes before he had even made the decision to do so until his face was so close to yours that he could smell that familiar intoxicating scent of your perfume. He couldn’t quite stop his gaze from flicking down to your lips in that moment. They were so temptingly close to his after all.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” you practically whispered. And then you were leaning forwards even further so that your mouth was only inches from Eddie’s ear, the feel of your breath floating across his face causing the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. “I steal them from other people.”

And then you were pulling away and Eddie found himself altogether quite breathless as he remained motionless for some time. His brain had apparently stopped working for a split second and he had to physically shake his head to break away from the fog that had clouded his mind at the sheer closeness of your presence.

“S-steal them?” Eddie managed to stutter out, quite surprised that he had managed to say anything at all.

“Everyone else’s lives are just so interesting. I wrote a great break up song the other day completely about Steve and Nancy’s break up. They both told me so much about it it was practically like I was there anyway.”

“That’s…genius,” Eddie breathed out, but before he had time to say anything more articulate the waitress was back standing at the end of the table leaning over as she placed the milkshakes before you. Yours looked simple. Eddie’s looked like a monstrosity.

“That looks disgusting.”

“It looks delicious.”

“How much whipped cream did they put on there?”

“The perfect amount.”

“And what exactly is that on top of it?”

“Hundred and Thousands, chocolate chips, chocolate syrup and then caramel syrup.”

“That looks disgusting.”

“Do you want to try some?”

“Yes please.”

Eddie smiled as he slid the milkshake over to you, watching intently as your lips wrapped around the straw. He couldn’t quite manage to pull his gaze away as the dark liquid slid up the straw and into your mouth, Eddie having to quickly turn his head away in embarrassment when his cheeks began to blaze red as you swallowed.

“That’s actually pretty good,” you responded with a smile as you slid the milkshake over to Eddie. “But I definitely wouldn’t be able to drink a whole one.”

Eddie turned his gaze back towards you, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

“We’ll have to share one next time then.”

---

Songs Used:

- Hell Ain’t a Bad Place to Be by ACDC

---

Main Taglist:

@alicetweven​ @juggernort​ @theh3aven​ @manamitoyota​ @mimiluvsualot​ @cherrypieyourface​ @kaqua​ @c0untryclub​ @goldencherriess​ @emotionaldreamer​ @givemethesleep​ @milkiane​ @miscreantsnopossoms​ @legendaryfestsoul-blog​

Series Taglist:

@grungegrrrl​ @thirddeadlysin​ @boomitsallie1​ @renaroo123​ @annnnn91​ @bakugouswh0r3​ @wordsthatwaterflowersinyoursoul​

[pricetagofficial]

The Archer -Part Twenty-Three

Warnings: Language, Angst, Violence, Blood, Torture, Electrocution

Part Twenty-Four

Word Count: 2.5K

Tag List: @idkmanicantenglish @kishony-the-geek @unknowntoanyone @subtleappreciation @catxsnow​ @starxfires​

A/N: AGAIN THIS IS REALLY DARK PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRESSION

As Rory sat in the chair, she could feel how weak she was getting. It had been weeks and she was still playing Joker's prisoner, every day he would come in a try to piss her off to the point where she would kill him but every day it didn't work. Since she worked out the fact that it was Slade who put him up to this, she knew what he wanted. Slade wanted her to kill again, and spiral further before he finally killed her himself.

When it didn't work, the Joker took to his favorite part; torturing her. Of course, the wound on her side was still injured and he used it to his advantage. The Joker figured out pretty early on just how high her pain tolerance was, and what would make her scream but not what made her angry.

Her body was sore, and her throat was dry. Of course, no one was courteous enough to let her take a shower, or even wash her hair so it was matted and went everywhere. Her suit was dirty and covered in blood, grime, sweat, and dirt. Her bow and quiver were missing along with her utility belt, Rory had a feeling they tossed them somewhere in a dumpster.

Every day she reminded herself of what was important, it was easy to lose yourself in this situation and Rory refused to let that happen. No matter what the Joker did to her, she refused to kill even if it meant he killed her instead. At this point, she partially hoped that he was getting tired of her and would just put an end to all this but then she would think of Tim. Rory didn't want to put that kind of pain on him, nor did she want Oliver, Dinah, and Roy to hurt like that either.

She worried about Tim more than anything, what was he doing and how was he handling it? She wasn't there to make sure he took care of himself, and she was sure one of the others would make sure he at least ate something. Her thoughts wandered to the others, especially Barbara and Jason.

They were hurt by the Joker, Barbara was paralyzed and Jason was literally murdered by him. She really hoped that they didn't see the footage the Joker sent to Batman and that Tim wasn't seeing it either.

Right on schedule, the Joker walked in with four of his goons at his side. He held something in his hand, but Rory couldn't see what it was from her spot and the dim lighting. "Hello, birdy! How'd ya sleep?" he laughed, swinging the item in his hand.

Rory's eyes followed him, as he walked to the camera and turned it on. She saw the light go green and she knew it was recording. "I slept great, metal chairs are ever so comfortable. We should switch places so you could see."

The Joker laughed, "Wow, you really don't give up, do you? Why, do you want to beat me around some?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, I see you brought more friends. Are you scared that I'll find a way to kick your ass with a metal chair too?" she asked, blowing her hair out of her face. She noticed that they were holding several buckets of what seemed to be just plain water.

"Ever so feisty! Go on boys, drench her!" he said, and beckoned them forward. Each one held a large bucket of water, what the hell was he planning on doing to her with it. Rory watched as the first one dumped the bucket on her and she gasped, it was ice cold and she shuddered in the chair.

"Oh great, I was just thinking about how I needed a shower. I was worried that I was the only one who noticed the sm-" she didn't get to finish before another bucket was dumped on her, Rory inhaling some and began coughing. Her hair fell in her face and she could barely see anything.

"Save the other two for later." The Joker called. Rory tried to blow her hair back but it still stuck to most of her face. She noticed that he was closer than before, and what it was that he was holding.

It was an old-looking crowbar, and he was waving it around with a large grin on his face. Rory knew what he was doing, and it wasn't going to end well.

"I want you to meet a friend of mine, I named it Robin. You know, after the brat I blew up? Apparently he didn't stay dead, and you got to meet him. Tell me, does he still remember me?"

Rory clenched her fist, he was changing tactics. The Joker had figured out that he couldn't break Rory by just hurting her, he had to hurt others to make her snap. "Yeah, I know him. You must be a real shitty clown if you couldn't kill a fifteen-year-old."

"I remember it well." he grinned and swung the crowbar, stopping it right before it hit her chest. "He was tied up much like you are, but without the chair. I remember the sound of each crack as I hit him with this same crowbar."

Rory's eyes didn't leave him. The Joker swung it again, tapping her on the stomach. "Crack."

He tapped her on the shoulder. "Crack."

He tapped her on the back. "Crack."

He tapped her on the back of the head. "Crack."

Rory closed her eyes, trying to keep the image of a young Jason out of her head. She didn't want to think of someone she cares about in that much pain, it hurt her to think of it. The anger was bubbling up inside her, Rory tried to keep it at bay but with every 'crack', it would rise higher and she was close to snapping.

She but her lip so hard to keep herself from yelling in anger, her lip was starting to bleed. Her heart was beating so hard, it made her ears pound and her breathing ragged. At this moment, she wanted nothing more than to take the crowbar to him but she didn't.

The Joker could see that he was getting to her. "What? Too much?" he grinned.

Rory looked at him and gave him a glare. "Go to hell."

At her words, he began laughing. "You have more self-control than I gave you credit for, I can tell you want to do something to me. Come on, say it."

Rory stayed silent, she refused to say what she was thinking and give him what he wanted to hear. That he was starting to break her down, by threatening her family. "I said, go to hell."

This time, he didn't laugh. "You know, you should really do what you're told." The Joker backed up and Rory saw him grab something off a table that was attached to a cable. Following it, she saw that it let right to the puddle of water surrounding her, and right, where it touched the cord, was cut slightly.

Looking back at him she laughed. "You're going to electrocute me? That's the best you can do?"

Rory was good at masking the emotions in her voice, but it was her eyes that gave away what she really felt and she was terrified. She was covered and surrounded by water and was sat in a metal chair. Rory was a perfect conductor for electricity.

She watched as he pressed the button, Rory letting out a scream of pain. This was by far the worst pain she had felt, electrical shock coursed through her body making her twitch and scream wishing it would stop.

As soon as it came, it was gone. Rory dropped her head, panting softly as tears fell from her eyes. The water on her face covered it up some, but anyone could see that they were tears if they were close enough. Before she could even catch her breath, the pain was back and she started screaming again.

The Joker held the button for longer this time, letting it go a few seconds after the last time with a huge grin on his face. "Why don't you just kill me already," she muttered, her hair covering her face.

The Joker walked over and lifted her head up, Rory too tired to fight back. "Because that would be too easy." he then swung the crowbar and hit her fully in the stomach, making Rory gasp in pain making it impossible to breathe.

He hit her several times, satisfied as he heard her bones crack under the metal. After a moment he stopped, and Rory was minutes from falling unconscious. Walking back to the camera he turned it off and took the tape out. "Wonderful show darling, now be good and I might have a surprise for you tomorrow," he called.

Rory looked up slowly and watched as he headed towards the door. "I heard from a friend that you are close to a certain bat brat, maybe I should pay him a visit for you and bring some flowers as a gift." he grinned.

Her face drained from color. He was talking about Tim, Slade had told the Joker about her relationship with Red Robin and he was going to use it against her. "I swear if you hurt so much of a hair on his head-"

"You'll what, kill me?" he grinned. "That's what I'm hoping for." and he walked out, leaving Rory there alone with her thoughts.

*****

When Tim woke hours later, his head was throbbing. He sat up and rubbed his forehead trying to ease the pain, he was so exhausted that Jason was able to drug him and make him sleep. Deep down he knew that he did it for good reasons, but he had lost hours of his time that he could have spent looking for Rory.

He stretched with a yawn and looked at the clock, it was almost midnight and that meant that the others would be leaving for patrol soon. Getting up, Tim quickly noticed that he was in Jason's room. He must have put him there once he saw the condition Tim's room was it.

Rubbing his eyes, he left the room and shut the door behind him. Tim walked down to the kitchen and grabbed himself a cup of coffee and some cookies. There seemed to be a constant supply of cookies, Alfred was a stress baker. With Rory missing, Alfred was worried and spent his time making cookies. Tim could tell that Alfred was baking to try and calm his mind while trying to cheer everyone else up, and he loved him for it.

With his cup and cookies in hand, Tim walked down to the Batcave once again. "Jason, you ever sedate me again and I will find your copy of Shakespeare's works and drop it in a blender." When he got down to the cave, he saw that everyone was there talking.

Jason looked up from the gun he was cleaning and grinned. "Hello, sleep well babybird?" he grinned.

Tim frowned and threw a cookie at his head, drinking more coffee. "I mean it, you sedate me and I will blend your books."

"You touch my books and I will give your computer a bath." Jason threatened, cocking his gun in a threatening manner.

"Boys seriously?" Barbara asked, looking over at them from the computer. "Tim, don't touch his books. Jason, next time maybe just punch him unconscious. He would stay asleep longer."

Tim looked at her in shock, "Wow, that's cold Babs."

"You're the idiot refusing to sleep, next time I'll knock you out." she grinned, "But I am glad that you look better, you have some color to your cheeks and don't look like you belong in The Walking Dead."

"If anyone belongs there, it's Jay," Tim argued, Jason just simply rolling his eyes.

"That's so original Timbo, it's like I haven't heard every zombie joke in the book," he muttered and looked over at Bruce who just entered the cave.

"Tonight, we're going to do another sweep of the city. Tim, I need you to come so we can cover it in less time. Can I trust you to keep it together?" he asked, looking at the boy who was cradling a cup of coffee.

"You can count on me Bruce," he said, finishing his coffee. "I feel better and a little nicer, so I think I'll be okay."

Bruce gave him a nod. "I want you all to stick in pairs still, we don't know what's going on but I don't want someone else getting taken." Everyone gave him a nod.

"We leave in twenty, get your gear and anything else you need." and he walked away.

Bruce was going alone, so Damian paired with Dick and Tim paired with Steph, leaving Jason and Cass together. They were all about to get on their bikes to leave when they got a message with another video.

All the chatter stopped and they looked at each other, another video meant that she was alive right?

Barbara hesitated, but she hit play. Watching the video, Tim stayed behind her his eyes not leaving Rory. They all could see how weak she was, her hair was a mess and she looked tired, Tim was worried. He watched as they dumped two large buckets of water on her before the Joker came into focus with something in his hand.

Listening to him recount what had happened in the past, only pissed Jason off more. He could see Rory struggle to keep herself quiet, it hurt her to hear what had happened in gruesome detail but it hurt Jason more to watch her.

When he electrocuted her, he saw Tim blink away tears as he watched. Seeing this happen hurt Tim more than anything and that didn't sit right with Jason. No one hurt his family and got away with it.

"Why don't you just kill me already," she muttered, her hair covering her face.

The Joker walked over and lifted her head up, Rory too tired to fight back. "Because that would be too easy." he then swung the crowbar and hit her fully in the stomach.

The cup Jason was gripping, cracked and shattered in his hand as he watched the Joker beat Rory with the same crowbar he beat him with. Jason had sworn to himself that he wouldn't let anyone else fall to this fate, and yet here he was watching it.

When he stopped, they watched as he laughed while Rory trying to catch her breath and the screen cutting off after that. At the end of the video, they could see that Rory was beaten down physically and mentally. Her comments had stopped and she looked defeated.

With silence washing over them all, they knew what had to be done. Rory wasn't going to last much longer, they needed to find her and fast no matter what it took.

[zwiezraczek]

Blurb request! 20 She/Her Y/N joins the team, but gets hurt when she "dies". Thank you 😊

Love at First Sight [Blurb]

20. “I think I just found somebody to love” // You get hurt as you join the team

Part 2: Wounded

(No problem about the pairing haha ^^)

You were the big brain and not the reckless person you pretended to be. You only pretended, never showing how lonely you felt at work when your co-workers invited you to go and get a drink with them. Loneliness scared you, but people were scarier. Their judgment, their looks, their words, everything. If you could, you would curl up in your bed, binge-watching another show, a useless one, the kind of show that didn’t require any IQ and then, you would binge-eat. The perfect plan. Nobody would care if you died, they would be relieved and you knew that. Maybe your parents would cry for a moment because they always saw you as the happiest girl of the family: the one with a great job, with great abilities, with money and everything. Everything but happiness. Serotonin stopped flowing through your brain as soon as you started working for this evil company, wanting money, more and more, never enough as you sunk into more anxiety, maybe depression. But you didn't care, right? You had human contact, you even called your mother everyday and laughed with her, and as you hung up you got yourself a cup of tea before beginning to over-think how all your high-school friends were married, had children, a house and a debt. And you? You had none of these.

This was when One stepped in, during one night, as you were lying on your bed, under your blanket, maybe crying, maybe not, looking at the ceiling. Failure. Big big failure. You wished that you weren’t here, and somehow, feeling someone’s presence eased your mind: did our time come?

“Wow,” the man said as he approached the bed looking at you. “People tend to put gun against my head telling that if they pull I’m dead.”

“Pull the trigger if it amuses you, take whatever you want too, don’t care,” you muttered still looking at the ceiling. You accepted it, it was only a matter of time now.

“Okay,” he said, sitting on the bed next to you. “I’ll need your brain right here, for more greater good than money y/n,” the stranger said, and you immediately looked at him. A murderer would know your name? Not impossible. “I’m a kind of Robin Hood, stealing from rich bastards to give to poor people.”

“Wow, where were you Robin when I needed you,” you asked, looking back at the ceiling.

“Looking for you, I, we, me and my team, will need your abilities to track the bad people and to help the ones in need. You’ll be more than a stain in the whole painting, a bug in the system with your small legs and antennae wiggling you know,” he said as he put his hands against his temples, miming antennae. “You in?”

You thought about it for a second, maybe you were more reckless than you thought when you accepted to be part of this crazy thing, without even knowing what it was about. You maybe were desperate to be needed, to help others.

~~~

Unfortunately, nothing was as easy as it seemed. You had to die. Legally speaking of course, you had to jump of a bridge, with many people around, into the cold water, with one of your co-workers coming “too late” to save you. You began to sweat, your palms moist as you stepped on the edge of the huge bridge, you first sat as people used to do there. Somebody is down there waiting for me if I lose my shit, you thought as you squeezed your hands together. Nothing could go wrong, right? You were so far from the truth. You got up, you knew you had One’s eyes on you from afar, him telling you when your co-worker arrived, you looked at them and smiled. Finally some relief. And as you prepared yourself to jump, hearing vaguely your name coming from the mouth of your co-worker, you slipped. This wasn’t how you were supposedto die, really. You feel the air hitting your face, water being closer and closer as you fell down, you felt death, for real. You closed your eyes, a splash, darkness, water and coldness. Slowly, your body began to sink, cold taking over your body as you fell asleep, for a long moment it seemed…

~~~

Fuck, Four muttered as he saw you slip from the bridge. He knew how dangerous this situation was for both of you, because he had to put an oxygen mask on your face, but with you being unconscious, everything became way more difficult. She had to slip from that fucking bridge, she fucking had to. He swam up to you, seeing you drowning, eyes closed and put the oxygen mask on your mouth, he touched your neck to look if your heart was still beating and thankfully it was. If he could sigh, he would. He wrapped his hand around your waist, delicately not knowing how to handle this situation underwater because you had to swim for a long moment with him, to reach somewhere when nobody would notice you coming out, a place where Five stayed with Three in order to greet you. But you were unconscious, and Four had to swim for two, struggling as he never did, cursing under his breath until he reached the spot the boat was waiting for them.

Four dragged you out of water, looking at your pale face in this foggy weather. He quickly found himself overwhelmed by the amount of beauty he saw, your rosy cheeks and nose as you breathed slowly, eyes closed, visibly cold. He held you against his chest to bring you to the boat, having a closer look on your face, you were freezing to death and he wished his body could provide enough heat to not let you die, you seemed too angelic to die. And if you would, he would kill One for this. And as he reached the boat, Five hurrying him up to get you up there as she knew what happened, and left you in Three’s arms to bring you inside, he whispered to himself “I think I just found somebody to love…”

~~~

Four sat by your bed everyday, you were in a small coma for a few days after your bad fall, with a broken hand too. And he is here, waiting for you to wake up. It became his morning routine, to go and say hello to you, to look at your face, to hold your hand. He didn’t know you, he felt weird about it, but at the same time he wanted to be the first one you would see when you would open your eyes. He even practiced his lines, imagining every possible dialogue, day dreaming about you opening your eyes – which color were they? Would they shine? Would they look at you the same way he looked at you? During these moments, Three would appear in the medical trailer, laughing a bit as he saw Four all worked up about their new recruit, Eight, you.

“Don Juan de la Ukraina,” he would tease him as he put a sandwich on the small table next to your bed.

“Fuck you, fuck Two,” Four would reply, with a grumpy face.

“My pleasure, of course Don. Hope your girl will wake up soon so you can woo h…”

“Stop it,” he would stop him as soon as he could, face becoming reddish.

“Oy papi, you are so much in love,” he would laugh and go out, Four still hearing him from where he was sitting.

~~~

You felt light on your eyelids. You felt warmth, a weight on your hand, cologne. You felt again, after a few days of dreaming and wandering. Your fuzzy mind only remembering the moment you fell, water, bubbles, darkness. Slowly, you began to open your eyes, struck by the light. Your throat still dry, and your mouth felt like paper as you wanted to ask where you were, and who was probably holding your hand, but the weight disappeared as soon as you began to open your eyes. And you saw him, these blond locks and blue eyes looking at you, fondly, with care. A look you forgot, nobody looked at you with so much care and passion, and even your fuzzy mind could figure this out. He gave you some water to drink, carefully as you gulped half the glass. He smiled.

“Who are you,” you managed to ask, with a weak voice as you looked at him, thankful.

“The guy who got you out of trouble when you fell off that bridge,” he answered, putting his hand on your shoulder. “I’m Four, welcome in the Ghosts crew, Eight.”

[i-writeandread-blog]

Halloween (originally a one shot) Chapter 1

This was published as a one shot through @echelonlab but I needed to make an edit to the characters name (as it was originally Cat, and we can’t have that, now can we? Lol) I will change the title once I can come up with something clever. I’m open to suggestions. Anyway, here’s the new updated version. Enjoy!

"Delilah, you have to come.  It's Jared Leto's party. You love him.  Just say yes.  I know it's last minute, but you can't turn down this once in a lifetime opportunity."  Angie pleaded with me.

My friend Angie had just moved to LA and somehow managed to get invited to Jared's Halloween party.  I couldn't figure out if she was just lucky or if somehow she stalked the right people.  She didn't care about Jared or his band, but she knows this is a dream come true for me.

"I can't figure out how you did it, Ang.  Of all the people, you get invited to my absolute favorite humans place.  But as much as I want to come, how could I? Flights are expensive when they're last minute and in case you didn't know, I'm not loaded with cash."  I proffered.

"Delilah, you get on a plane and you come and you meet your idol, I don't want to hear anymore excuses. Do you understand?" She isn't going to let me decline, if I don't show up she'll be mad enough to go months without talking to me. I have no choice. Scared as I am, I am going to LA and I can only hope I can be in the same room with Jared and not fangirl, faint, or make a complete fool of myself.

                                    -~~-

Three days later I found myself exiting LAX airport and into the most welcoming of weather and arms.  LA from what I could tell was going to be amazing at every vantage point.  Except maybe the few sketchy areas we drove past.  I was glad Angie's apartment was nowhere near those places.  My eyes were wide and I felt child-like taking it all in.

Angie had been an extra at the film studios back home and when she decided to take a chance and try for bigger things in LA, everyone, myself included, thought she was nuts.  But in the 5 months since she arrived she had already been cast in a tv pilot.  It was anyone's guess as to if it'd actually be picked up by a network, but she seemed to think it would.

Her apartment was the size of a shoebox, but it was in West Hollywood where she assured me was the "place to be."  We didn't stay there but to sleep, so it wasn't that cramped. The next two days we shopped for my Halloween costume and I finally found pieces that would make the perfect one, much to Angie's dismay.

                                   -~~-

"Today's the day! Are you excited?" Angie bounces on the bed.  "Go away. It's too early!" I begin throwing pillows at her head.  "Not a chance sweetheart, I didn't barter with the devil only to miss out on my favorite girl meeting her celebrity crush. Get. out. of. bed. now!" She is tenacious as ever.

I am nervous and anxious. Time feels like it will stand still, but I know it is just my imagination.

'What will I say to him if given the chance? How will I keep my cool? Will he even notice me?' A million questions and thoughts start running through my head.

"Oh for Heavens sake, get out of your head! Drink your coffee and start getting dressed. It's already 1 in the afternoon, thanks to your laziness. If I didn't know any better I would think you're trying to get out of going." Angie screamed. "I am not! I'm just scared. Look you go get ready and I will do the same." I say even though a part of what she said is right.

I lay out the tights, shorts, and vest of my costume on the couch as Angie showers. As soon as she is done, it's my turn. I work out all the kinks in my neck and let the water massage my tense muscles. I get out and begin the process of making myself into the silliest of characters.

"I don't get your costume.  It's so weird.  I don't think anyone will know what or who you are."  Angie says as she puts on her slutty Little Red Riding Hood outfit.  "Yes, but HE will know. That's all that matters.  Sorry I couldn't be cliché like you!" I joke. I put on my hat to finish the look and we leave.

We still have several hours before the party but she insists we go out already dressed.  We go to eat at a diner and then since we are in Hollywood I request some light sightseeing on Hollywood Blvd.  Some people stop and give me a puzzling look. I smile and offer no explanations. To my right I hear a child say "look mommy it's Robin Hood."  I have to laugh because I can see where they would think that's what I am.

Time rushes by and it's now 8'o clock so we make our way up into the winding streets of Hollywood Hills and to the Wonderland compound.  I get out of the car, blowing out a breath I am holding, grab my props and repeat a mantra in my head, 'I am here. This will change your life, let's do this!'

"Cmon. Let's go have some fun and meet some crazy rich celebrities!"  Angie grabs my arm and pulls. "Wait! I'm not ready!" The words rush out past my lips.

Angie is trying to get me moving by saying, "It's go time, the time is nigh, now or never."

"Do or die." I whisper.

"Huh? Yeah whatever. Let's just go in. If it becomes too much for you, just squeeze my arm and we will leave, okay?" I begin squeezing her arm. "Not now dork! Give it at least 20 minutes."

The music is louder the closer we get to the door, people are arriving in droves, but I don't recognize anyone yet. We walk in and follow everyone else towards what I think is where Jared recently did a private concert for radio winners.

I notice Jared instantly. He's standing in the shadows apparently aware of everyone around him, his eyes darting around, but he's talking with Jamie and Jordan and laughing. I look away feeling a pang of guilt for staring in the first place. I can't help but think he looks gorgeous in his Jon Snow getup.

Almost immediately I find myself separated from Angie. Panic starts to rise up and I try to calm myself with breathing in and out. I don't know anyone here aside from her. I turn toward the entrance we walked in from, then back to the other garage-like door which opens out to the pool. There's people everywhere. I look back to where Jared was, but he's not there anymore.

"Oh no no no." I blurt out. Then directly behind me I hear, "I'm the only Bart Cubbins in this house." It's Jared's unmistakable voice. I gulp.

I turn to find myself face to face with Jared. My breathing hitches in my throat.  He gives me a sly smile and licks his lips.  I'm fairly certain I am going to pass out.  He stands back and gives me a once over look.  "This is perfection! I don't know why I didn't think of this."

I curtsy and almost immediately regret it. "It was the only thing I could think of to wear once I found these hats at a costume shop.  But I could never try to be the real Bart Cubbins." I explain to him. "Oh I don't know about that! Looks pretty spot on to me.  I'm Jared." He offers his hand.

Of course he has to know that I'm aware of who he is, after-all it is his party, but even if there were questions as to whether or not I knew it was his party and in fact him, the mere fact that I am dressed as his favorite Dr. Seuss character should be a good indicator.

"I'm Delilah. It's nice to meet you Jared." I shake his hand.  "Delilah, how did you come to be at my party? I don't recognize you?"  I begin to freak out. 'Am I not meant to be here? I'm gonna kill Angie!' The look of panic must be evident on my face because Jared laughs and says, "don't worry, I'm not kicking you out or anything, just didn't know why I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before."

"Im umm..." My throat is dry and I look around to see where the drinks in people's hands are coming from.  Jared notices.  "How about I get you a drink and we go sit somewhere quieter where we can talk?"  As much as I'd like to take him up on his offer I wouldn't dare dream on acting upon it.  "No, I don't want to take you away from your party and your friends."  He shakes his head, not letting me say no.

He leans in close.  "I'll tell you a secret, half the people here I don't like.  The other half are either friends or employees who won't even miss me if I leave."  I can't believe what he is saying.  Under different circumstances I would miss him if he left the room.  "Come.  I'll give you the grand tour."  He takes my hand and leads me into the house.  I notice several eyes on me as we make our exit.  He really has no idea how wrong he is about being missed.  Or I'm wrong and the people staring are looking for gossip fodder.

We enter the kitchen and he asks if I would like something to eat.  I shake my head no.  I'd throw up instantly from all the bundled up nerves inside of me going crazy.  He hands me a glass and asks what I would like to drink.  I tell him water to which he replies, "you're at a party, live a little." I think about it for a second.  "You don't drink, and you're at a party."  He steps back closing the fridge. "Touché. But I think you need some lubrication, you're too stiff."  He emphasizes the words lubrication and stiff.  It almost makes it sound sexual.  "Okay, I'll have whatever you think I should have, you're the boss."  He quickly makes up a gin and tonic and hands it to me.  I swallow it down quickly.  The corners of his lips curl up.  "I'll have another please, less tonic though."  He makes the 2nd one and then guides me to the next room of the complex.

There are a few people scattered around but as if they know something I don't, they scurry off as soon as we walk into each room.  He points out the living room, some office space, and a bathroom.  Then we go back to the stairs and I follow him up watching his ass the entire time.

"I feel your eyes on me little girl, do you like what you see?"  I blush.  "Yeah, it's quite the view." I reply.  The alcohol has opened up my self confidence, otherwise I'd have never said that aloud.

He turns around quickly and looks me over once again, almost as if he's seeing me for the first time. Or maybe he is undressing me with his eyes. I can't handle it so I keep walking past him.

"Mmm, now I have a nice view." He states matter of fact once I'm in front of him. As soon as we both reach the top of the stairs he pushes me against the wall. He's much stronger than I think anyone gives him credit for. "What's going on inside of your head?" He asks while tilting his head this way and that. "You're quiet now, what happened to the bold little girl from 30 seconds ago?" I giggle. "Oh for fucks sake, it's just a number." But I'm still giggling. He releases me and opens a door to the right of us.

"This is a guest room." I peek in and see a bed and some artwork.  He closes the door and steps across the hallway. "This is my moms room when she comes." He points to a door but doesn't open it. And then he walks a few steps and opens another door and shows me the upstairs guest bathroom. Directly across from the bathroom door is another room and down the hall at the end is one more door. He opens the door next to the guest room and walks in.

"This is my bedroom. Come in, I'll show you the view." I walk in and see his bed made up in white linen. There's a door on one side of his bed leading to a closet which he opens. I see flashes of color everywhere I look and can tell most of it is designer, and almost all is Gucci.

"What's the other door down the hall lead to?" I ask since this appears to be our last stop. "Ohh that's just storage." I let it go because he clearly didn't want me to know what it could be, but I couldn't help but wonder why there was a light on in there. It was hardly visible through the crack in the door, maybe a lamp was on.

"Well, I'm impressed Jared. It's very nice. But why am I getting to see all of this?" I can't help but wonder how I became so lucky.

"You wear a costume to a party I am hosting-that only I would know what you are dressed as, and you didn't think my curiosity would be peaked?"

"I wore this yes because it was your party, but also because I didn't want to be like everyone else. I'm not made for wearing sexy nurse costumes." He starts laughing at my revelation. "Oh Delilah, you are most definitely made for sexy nurse or sexy anything costumes. You don't even realize how sexy you are. Even dressed this ridiculously." He reaches towards my head and takes the hat and wig off. He takes off the cape he is wearing and sits down on the bed.

"Sit down with me. I want to know more about you. Who is Delilah?" He slides back towards the headboard and pats the empty space next to him. I sit down but just on the edge, not sure how comfortable I should get, but he grabs me by the waist and guides me back. "So?"

"Well I lead a fairly boring existence, I don't want to disappoint you. Let's talk about something else." I can tell this wasn't the right answer so I continue, "okay well let's see. I am 32, I started an online store about two years ago selling homemade candles, incense, and soaps. Umm, I have a dog named Sorcia- you know from the movie Willow..." he nods. "I just bought a condo in Myrtle Beach, SC. Nothing special." Then I mumble almost inaudibly, "oh I also have a twin who I killed. Anyways, what about you."

Jared shakes his head and laughs. My face however remains deadpanned. "Wait that last bit... it's true?"

"Yeah, so anyway your turn." I try to change the subject.  I don't even know why I felt comfortable opening up and telling him that.

"Oh no, you don't get off that lightly.  What the fuck do you mean you killed your twin sister?"  He stands up and walks towards the window which overlooks the pool.  "Should I be worried, should I kick you out?"

"No, Jared. I'm not a psychopath, I'm not crazy, I don't even know why I told you."  I stand up and walk towards the door, but somehow even though he was further away he catches me and stops me.  His eyes are glaring at me and daring me to tell him more.  "Okay, I'll tell you the whole story.  You're gonna want to sit for this." He sits back down at the foot of the bed as I begin my story, pacing back and forth.

"Three years ago my twin Penelope was in an accident.  Somehow she survived but she was changed.  Like a switch in her brain had been triggered.  She became depressed and angry.  Then that turned into doing really odd things.  She'd offer people things, like for instance, my aunt had come over and she asked if she wanted ice cream... after she ate it my sister laughed and said she had poisoned it.  Or she'd bring people a book but the pages would be torn out.  Just really weird and vile things.  She just wasn't the same.  After months of doctors not knowing what was wrong and being tormented by her we thought it best to send her away.  Before we could she attacked me."  I show him the scar on my stomach where she had stabbed me.  His eyes go wide.  "She said I would never put her away, never separate us.  She intended I think to kill me and then herself.  I don't know how I overpowered her, but I did.  I got the knife and stabbed her several times.  I couldn't believe what I had done and I was so scared.  I had an anxiety attack and blacked out.  When I woke up there was so much blood.  Her body wasn't there, but when the cops came they said no one would survive that amount of blood loss.  They searched the woods and followed a trail of blood.  It ended at one point or another, but they never found her body.  They figured an animal must have found her and dragged her body away.  They thought maybe a bear.  Oh God, this is the worst thing I have ever done and no one here in LA apart from my friend downstairs knows this.  I'm so sorry Jared.  I'll leave now."  Jared rubs his hands up and down his thighs and shakes his head no.

"No, I don't want you to leave.  You're so brave.  Thanks for telling me.  We all have hidden skeletons in our closets.  You weren't charged with a crime, were you?"

"No, the police said it was in self defense."  I explained.

"You're hardly a murderer, Delilah.  You're a survivor and to me that is the hottest thing about you."  He stands up and closes the distance between us.  He stares into my eyes asking for permission and then crashes his lips on mine.  The room instantly goes from ice cold to boiling.  His hands are wrapped in my hair and he stops only long enough to take a breath, until we hear a noise.

It's coming from the room he said was just storage.  It sounded like something fell, maybe a box.  He laughs nervously and then leans forward to attack my lips again with his, but then there's another noise and it sounds like footsteps.  Annoyed he steps back and says, "hold on, someone from the party must have come upstairs.  Let me go tell them to fuck off and leave, okay?"  I agree and sit down on the bed.

He walks out.  I try to catch my breath.  I bring my fingers up to my lips and smile.  It was everything I'd have ever hoped and imagined.  My thoughts were broken when I heard a scream followed by Jared saying "what the hell is this? Who the hell are you?" And then another scream, a scuffle, and footsteps running towards his bedroom door.  The last thing I hear before the door opens is Jared yelling, "Delilah , run!"

[blackroseaki38]

Tea Party For One

When Tim was younger, he was happier. Sure, his parents were rarely home — and when they were, they were only there to bring him along to Gotham's latest gala or charity event. Too bad they never make it to the Wayne events because they are so spontaneous. Tim wouldn't mind getting a chance to meet his heroes — but so far, he hasn't been able to. Of course, things changed when his parents started talking to a woman who always came to children's events. It was during this time that the betrayal began.

She was a tall woman with long brown hair and little makeup on. Tim always recognized her because of the tiny orange ribbon she tied on her neck — it always stood out next to all the dark colors the other elitists wore. He didn't know her name, but he remembered some of the conversations she had with the parents at these events, including to his own parents.

"Everyone knows kids can't be allowed to be themselves," she would say in her deep voice.

"But what about creativity and being different?" one patron asked, naively, like she actually believed in those things.

"And look where that has gotten Gotham. We got creative and different crazies alright — the Joker, the Riddler, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, you name it! It isn't a good thing," she countered swiftly.

"So your tea will keep our kids calm if they drink it twice a day? What if we don't get your tea?" his father asked cautiously.

"They'd get themselves killed in a city like Gotham for sure," she said, taking a sip out of her drink.

"I'm sure my four-year-old is fine," his mother replied, not wanting to admit she wouldn't be able to protect her son in front of these other prestigious parents.

"But any good parent would be able to afford my good ol' Granny's special soothing tea to help keep their kiddies nice and calm, not to mention quiet!"

That was the end of the conversation. He remembered his parents returning home with a copy of that lady's card.

Soon after, he got a nanny to make sure he drank his tea on time and to help out from time to time.

"Now, as Timothy's nanny, you must make sure he gets his special tea every morning and every evening," his mother told his new nanny before she and his father went on another one of their ongoing trips.

After that, he always had to drink the horribly bitter tea because his nanny made sure he did. It was after he started drinking the tea, that he felt out of sorts with himself.

"Now, now. Tim, honey, I know you don't like your tea, but you know the rules. Your mommy and daddy want you to drink a nice big cup of this tea every morning and every night. Now, if you're a good boy, I'll give you some candy," his nanny would say. She would bribe him to finish his cup when he was younger. As he got older, he got used to drinking the tea without wanting candy, like he had a need to drink his tea — but when he started to have trouble thinking and theorizing about things, he knew something was wrong.

Tim wasn't sure why his head was always muddled and clouded. He wanted to read his books without feeling lost and confused. He wanted to do so many things. His head kept spinning and spinning like the characters from the Saturday morning cartoons. One morning, when his nanny wasn't looking, he did something he never did before. He spilled his tea in the potted plant nanny liked to keep on the dining table as a centerpiece. On that day, his head felt clearer then it did in what felt like forever. From then on, he knew something was wrong with that tea, so he wanted to avoid it at any cost. When Nanny left for the evening, Tim dug a hole in the plant's pot. He planted a paper cup in the hole and covered it with a picture of dirt he took earlier that day. Every day after that, he would spill his tea into the hiding place and would empty it once his nanny left.

Tim knew his head felt clearer without the horrendous tea being forced down his throat, but for the first few days after he stopped drinking the tea, he felt like he was dying.

He started vomiting after every meal that second day without the tea. His nanny's hand rubbing his back as he would be hunched over the toilet was one of the only comforts he had. She just thought he caught a stomach virus, but knew she couldn't take him to the doctor. People would ask why is she with Timothy instead of his parents and then the questions would begin.

Throwing out his guts wasn't the only effects that happened to his body. His nanny would say he has a fever, but Tim felt like he was freezing and his tremoring wouldn't stop for hours. His clothes would always be damp from the continuous stream of sweat his body would be letting out. He tried to eat, but nausea would always kick in a few seconds after a bite and he wouldn't be able to eat anymore.

The cloudiness of his head was back. But, this time it would worsen. Before, it felt like nothing was ever clear, but at least nothing hurt. Now, his head felt he was holding up 1000 thoughts.

Tim knew whatever was going on must be because of the tea. He was able to spill it down the toilet while he was ill like this while his nanny was distracted. He felt almost tempted to give up, to drink the tea and let all his suffering end.

But he knew he mustn't! He saw the news reports on tv about Batman and Robin. He remembered the joy he felt when he went to see the Flying Graysons. He remembered how happy he was when he figured out their identities. He remembered all the things he used to do before the tea came into his life — and he wanted that all back.

He knew if Batman and Robin can keep the darkness of Gotham from consuming the city, then he can keep himself from being consumed by the darkness of the tea.

Tim tried his best to stay strong. His sleep might have been restless and his body continued to rebel against itself for a few the next few days, but he kept fighting. With his heroes in his fogged head, he fought himself to keep away from the tea.

After 3 days, most of Tim's ailments were gone. He was no longer vomiting or nauseous. His fever had broken that second day. He was no longer sweating and his clothes were dry once more. His muscles still ached for a few days and he would tremor from time to time. By the end of the week, he was back to normal, well the new normal at least — and best of all, his head was clear again!

But Tim knew he couldn't keep avoiding the tea forever. So, he ordered a lot of packets of tea that looked similar to the ones that were delivered to his home every month. When the package arrived, while his nanny was out getting groceries luckily, he hid the packets in a place he knew his parents or nanny never went into, the attic.

That evening, after missing another dose of the tea, he climbed on to the counter and found the large box full of tea bags. After counting them all, he replaced them all of them. He flushed most of them down the toilet. He knew he would need to make sure to have at least 60 packets of normal tea for every month — but he kept one bag.

He got his favorite teddy bear, the only toy his parents let him have since he got it at some children's charity event. He only got it because every teddy bear bought for $100 raised money for orphanages. Of course, his parents not only bought him one but also made sure to mention it every time he went to that's man's next charity event, making Tim bring it along. It was no wonder the other rich kids made fun of Tim.

He took a pair of sharp scissors he found in the kitchen and cut his teddy bear open from one of the seams. He placed the tea bag deep inside the toy's body, making sure the white fluff hide it well. The next day, he asked his nanny to sew his teddy after it ripped the night before — so, of course, the naive woman fixed it, without realizing what was inside of the teddy.

Tim knew he had to keep at least 1 packet safe. He needed to find a way to contact Batman and tell him about the evil tea, and he won't give up till he does! He knew he must not be the only kid being forced to drink it, from what he heard his parents talking about with other elite parents. He had to keep fighting to find the person behind this conspiracy and he can only do that with a certain dynamic duo.

Tim wasn't sure what part his parents played in this scheme. Did they know what was in the tea? Did they suspect? Or were they innocent bystanders like the other naive Gotham elitists. Whatever the case, Tim knew he would always feel betrayed by them.

They might have not to know what was in the drug or where they are ordering it from, but they should have tried it themselves before forcing him to drink it. So many years spent trying to stay afloat over the water. Years wondering why his projects and theories weren't coming together the way he wanted — all because his parents thought some 'soothing tea' from a strange lady would keep him quiet. He was used to being betrayed by them by leaving him alone, but the tea was the last straw. From now on, Tim knew he would have to be on his guard when his parents come by for the next high-class event in Gotham.

Tim Drake would be forever changed by this unknown betrayal by his parents — but then again, his whole life so far has been a betrayal.

[shardclan]

After a long and hungry winter, greatly-missed warmth radiated down on the Summerlands from a clear sky the color of a new robin's egg.

Shoots of hasty weeds and hardy flowers peeked up between the dry remains of stalks, luring centaur foals out to snatch these early season snacks while they could. They had been born into a gaunt season following the change in the direction of the Vortex, and if the next was to be any better, many ancestral grains had to be replaced. The entirety of the cropland would be deeply and thoroughly turned as soon as the earth warmed a little more.

Both their elders and those of the serthis had spent hundreds of cold hours in Analemma, planning with the matron of the Leyline Gardens and sending letters to the Weathervane for predictions that could no longer be based on previous almanacs. All winter long hybridizing staples in small green houses and choosing new ones that would favor the sometimes difficult soil of the Sunbeam ruins. Holding out against hunger that grew more and more dire as their stores empties and they relied on out of territory hunts and expensive imports.

But now spring was coming. They only had to hold on a little longer. Already, clouds of insects were making pests of themselves and birds were returning from the Viridian Labyrinth.

The air was full of warmth and promise and Malu's song.

A song which had not stopped in two days.

It was Merlot who first noticed and grew uneasy. For everyone else, Malu's gentle serenade was as welcome as spring itself. They had all sat by the riverbend or on the upper hills of the river valley and listened to his idyllic voice for hours in the past. But he absolutely did not have the training to go for two days. The toll it was taking on him was clear to her before the first day was over, and she was quick to take the news to the coven when the second day dawned.

Dust's pebbled soles crushed the sharp stalks of dead grass and get her sturdy in the snow-melt mud on the riverbank. She stopped short of Malu well before she got within range of him. It wasn't the red flecks on his lips, or his raw fingers still plucking at the strings of the lute, or the deep redness of his sleepless eyes. 

What stopped Dust was the song under the song. The countering warcry in the air that resonated down into her lightning glass horns and seemed to pierce through into the center of her skull.

“Let Him Go!!!”

She knew that voice. And instantly knew something was here that she might not be ready for.

"Hello, witchling!"

The hatchling imperial was the color of the sun coming through fresh honey, dappled by rich brown rosettes. She shone with a resplendent light, and smiled with the joyous abandon of a child raised in a safe and loving home. Her eyes were smooth and round, like golden pearls, yet there was a faint iridescent sheen that showed they were segmented.

Dust's head swam. "Who are you?"

"I'm Titi," the impcub answered brightly. "What's your name?"

"Dust..." The lightning trapped in her horns was flashing. Heat permeating into her short, ashen coils. The voice from the other plane boring into her. "My name is Dust."

"Can you dance? Malu can sing, so you should dance!"

She should dance. Titi called over to Malu and asked him to sing something for dancing to, and Dust grabbed the hem of her dress and felt herself lifting light-footedly onto her toes.

Malu managed one strangled note, and began to cough.

Dust watched. For far too long, with far too little response, until he was doubled over and blood spattered between his fingers and stained the half-frozen waters at the river's edge.

She returned down onto her pebbled soles.

"No stay there," Titi urged with merry anticipation. "Just give him a minute, he'll be okay." She ambled by, rearing up and slapping her paws heavily against the the guardian's back. "Stop being so gross, Malu! It hasn't been that long."

The urge to be ready coursed through Dust. To dance. Until Titi didn't want her to anymore. But her feet were already turning. There was blood there was so much blood, but Titi was everything, Titi had asked him to sing, he was going to sing, he was going to sing until he died if she didn't MOVE.

Dust ran. The yelp as she slapped Titi away did not reach her, and she crouched over Malu's side, splashing cooling water onto his face and forcing him to drink even as he tried to push her away.

"You hit me!"

Dust stared incredulously at the golden hatchling. "You were killing him."

"Was not! He just needed some help clearing his throat; I was helping! Wasn't I, Malu?"

Through his gasps, he nodded erratically.

Dust held him tight. Full grown drake or not, he had not eaten or slept; he was too weak to fight her.  Especially not when her chest boiled with anger. She had not expected to ever feel such an ugly rage again with the Catoptria dead. It made her feel ill, sick with adrenaline, but even if it had not, she wouldn't have attacked.

She had no training in sidereal magic, but she knew enough about the effort with the astrals to guess what she was dealing with. Killing Titi would only send her somewhere else, to some other place where she would hurt someone else. It would have been good if she could capture her but out there on the empty plains, Dust did not have enough debris to restrain an imperial hatchling in any meaningful way.

And there was Malu to think of. She couldn't deal with both of them at once.

"Come on friend..." she murmured, hefting him up onto her back. "Let's get you home."

"What?" Titi wailed. "You can't take him! He's mine!"

"Malu is no one's play thing." Dust's belts, made by Serir of odds and ends and recycled bits of broken things, rattled and began to float. She might not be able to restrain Titi, but the debris-adorned rings would certainly give her something to think about. "If you want to fight me for him, I will gladly show you the dangers of trifling with a witch."

The imperial's face went so red it seemed she would explode out of her own rage. She stamped uselessly, and beat her wings in an ultimately impotent display, before running away.

From the distance, she yelled. "Whatever, I don't care! I was bored anyway!!"

She blew an impressively obnoxious raspberry, made a rude gesture with her tail, and vanished into the sunlight.

Dust looked out on the empty, silent valley without moving until she was certain they were alone. Malu shifted, and made a miserable croaking noise. His fingers twitched in the direction Titi had gone, and Dust knew he was not free of the her influence.

The voice in her horns was fading now. Just a whispering echo of what had been an insistent roar from the very edges of the exalted plane.

"It's okay..." Dust assured. She hefted him up securely onto her back, wound her belts around him, and shed her glamour. Though her mass sank into the warming earth, and the shadow of anxiety crept along the back of her mind at the thought of her own size, she took each step with firm resolve.

"It's okay, Brightose. I've got him."

Around her horns, the last of the echoes died away.

[gray-autumn-sky]

Happiness Can’t Be Arranged, Chapter 31

He’s not sure that he even slept.

His head is throbbing at the temples and behind his eyes, and he feels vaguely nauseous. His mouth is dry and pasty, and when he swallows, he can taste the liquor in his mouth, though it’s been hours since his last drink. He hadn’t been picky about what he started with, and worked his way through the whiskey his father always kept on hand and a nice bottle of cognac that was kept for special occasions that never seemed to come. He’d drank until his vision was hazy and his thoughts were blurry, and when he’d fallen back into the armchair in front of the hearth, he’d thrown his glass into the dwindling fire, lamenting there was no more within his reach to drink.

He’s not sure what happened after that. Everything just sort of… blurred together.

His thoughts flitted aimlessly back and forth and around again. They moved from what happened that night with Jefferson to the sting of Regina’s words and the guilt that bubbled up in him as soon as she said them. The jumped from the favor his father had done for him to the riddles Mr. Gold spun to the good day he and Regina had been having before entering the tavern. For whatever reason, that last bit--the lightheartedness of Reigna’s mood, her laugh and smile, and how it all came crashing down--made him the angriest.

He’d seen none of this coming, but especially not that.

Eventually, though, the fire faded out and eventually the morning sun came in through the windows.

And eventually, the regret set in.

This had been a stupid choice--a stupid choice to cap off a night of stupid choices.

Grimacing, he sits up, groaning as the ache in his head pulses.

His eye catches a glimpse of the portrait above the hearth that’s been there for as long as he can remember--an oil painting that his father commissioned when he was young. He’s sitting on his mother’s lap, and she’s sitting in a stately-looking chair while his father stands behind her, one hand on her shoulder and the other tucked into his pocket. His mother wears a faint smile and he looks as angelic as any two-year old might as he twists a long pearl necklace between his little fingers, but his father gazes out sternly--and it’s that stern look that finally pushes him up and out of his chair.

“It’s been a long while since I’ve found you this way.”

Robin blinks as a blurry John looks up from a newspaper. He squints and rubs at his dry eyes, then looks again to his valet, sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on the table in front of it. “What time is it?”

“Oh, well before eight,” John says easily, glancing up again from the paper. “There’s a story here… about a brawl at the local tavern.”

Robin grimaces and presses his eyes closed, mutter a low fuck me under his breath.

“Says the assailant looked an awful lot like the town’s benefactor’s son--”

“Looked--”

“Yes, but upon further inquiry, the watchmen came to the conclusion that the younger Mr. Locksley was at home with his wife and children,” John says, looking back to the newspaper. “Something about in the midst of a bedtime routine.”

Robin’s eyes open and instantly narrow. “It really says that?”

“It does.”

“Oh--”

“It nearly sounds believable.”

Robin nods. “Yes. Nearly.”

“Upon further inquiry at the tavern, the watchmen determined that the men who witnesses the brawl couldn’t be certain of the man’s identity… which, they attribute to the alcohol.”

“I see.”

“Apparently, the assailant’s target had been drinking and gambling all day,” John says. “Cheating at cards. He got caught earlier that day.”

“So surprising.”

“Mm, so, the watchmen believe that someone he swindled came back for him.”

“Interesting--”

“It is,” John agrees, setting down the paper. “It’s complete and utter rubbish, but it is interesting.”

Robin’s brow arches. “Suppose I have an evil twin.”

John nods. “I could… except for the fact I was the one who saddled up your horse when you said you needed to run an errand into town… and then explained it was to pummel Jefferson Hatfield to a pulp.”

Robin feels a prickle run up his spine. “Well--”

“Of course, I somehow managed to forget those details when the watchmen asked me last night.” A grin twists onto his lips. “I’d just finished putting your horse into his stall when they arrived. I told them I was checking on Henry’s horse.”

“Ah--”

A little chuckle bubbles out of John as he rises. “You know how young boys can be--so eager to do things for themselves, but not always careful about detail.”

“Yes,” Robin says, nodding as he clears his throat and thinks how unlike Henry that would be. “Indeed.”

“So, no harm, no foul, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Did you get in a good punch?”

“I got in a few.”

“Good--”

“I’m not so sure,” Robin says, sighing. “Regina’s upset.”

“Of course she is. You lied to her--”

“And did exactly what she asked me not to do.”

“But did it feel good?” John asks. “Did hitting him make you feel any better?”

“I… don’t know. In the moment, yes. In the moment, it felt so good. But then… something overcame me, and I didn’t want to stop.”

“But you did.”

“Yes.”

“Then--”

“Then, I came home and…”

“You didn’t feel so good.”

Robin frowns. “No.”

“Because Regina’s upset about it.”

“And because I owe my father.”

“How much?”

Robin sighs and shakes his head. “Too much.”

“I’m sure he said he’ll take it from your inheritance,” John says, shrugging. “He always says that and then never does.”

“I don’t like owing him.”

John nods. “Debt of any kind to someone who you don’t get on well with is always an uncomfortable thing.”

“I have enough to cover it,” Robin says, talking more to himself than to John. “More than enough.”

“So, problem solved.”

Robin nods. “I hate to take it from the return on the investments Regina and I made, but--”

“If it’ll clear your head--”

Again, Robin nods. “It will, and that money is mine, free and clear. It’s nothing to do with my father.”

“So, the debt will be erased completely.”

“Yes.”

Robin draws in a breath, turning his head from side to side and letting his neck crack. He doesn’t want to go into town or sit in the bank manager’s office or fill out the necessary withdrawal forms. Instead, he wants a warm rag, a headache powder, and his own bed.

“Will you get my horse prepared for--”

“After I prepare you.”

Looking down at himself. “Oh, I’m fine to go as I am.”

John’s eyes narrow. “Are you?”

“I’m dressed and--”

“And look like you were in a brawl last night.” John’s nose scrunches slightly. “At least put on a shirt that doesn’t have blood on the cuff.”

Blinking, Robin looks down at his sleeve. “Son of a bitch--”

“Wash up. You look like hell. You’ve got bags underneath your eyes and your hair looks like some little woodland creature tried to make a nest of out it.”

Robin blinks and his temples pulse. “I know I’ve always encouraged you to speak your mind--”

John laughs. “You’ve known me far too long not to allow that.”

Robin frowns. That’s true enough. John has been with him since he was just a bit older than Henry is now. He’d been hired as a companion for the lonely only child--an only child who struggled to make friends because he had a penchant for stealing things he felt they didn’t need or properly care for.

“Come on,” John says easily. “If you’re nice to me and do as I ask, I’ll put a little honey in your wash water.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “Why would you do that?”

“Vapors.”

“Vapors?”

John laughs. “My mother swears by it, and who am I to argue?”

“Everyone knows vapors are made up--”

“I won’t argue with my mother and experience tells me honeyed water works to relieve a headache.”

Sighing, they start toward the stairs. “But--”

“It’s better than the alternative.”

Robin blinks. “And what is the alternative? Other than a medication that actually works?”

A tight, coy smile stretches across his lips. “Well, short of an eel to send a shock through you, trepanning.”

“You mean… drilling holes in my head. That’s your other suggestion?”

“People have been doing it for centuries.”

“And dying.”

John laughs. “Well, their headache goes away, then, doesn't it?”

“You’re an asshole,” Robin says, sighing as his eyes roll.

“An asshole, but your only friend.” Then a hearty laugh escapes him. “And a paid one, at that.”

“You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me.”

“Sure, I can.”

“Yes, when your father dies.”

“I have… other friends.”

John laughs. “Sure, I’ll give you that. You have one more friend.”

“See--”

“But she’s mad at you right now.”

Robin groans as they start toward the stairs. He’s not in the mood for any of this--not the banter, not the pending errand, and certainly not the cackle he hears coming from the top of the stairs.

Bewildered, he looks to John.

“Zelena awoke early,” John says, rolling his eyes. “To everyone’s great delight.”

“Did she stay in her suite? I hardly need her blabbing to my father that I slept--”

“Yes. She had a guest, I think.”

“A guest--”

“Early this morning, she took a meeting in her sitting room.”

Robin’s brow creases. “With whom?”

“I didn’t care enough to inquire.”

Robin shrugs. “That’s fair.”

“She’s probably going down to breakfast now.”

Stepping off the stair, Robin shakes his head and starts toward the opposite end of the corridor. “We’re taking the servant’s stairs. I’d rather not bump into her.”

“Fair enough,” John says, chuckling slightly. “You’ll get no complaint from me. The less I bump into her the happier I am.”

They end up in his former bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed while John choses a new set of clothes and prepares a pitcher and basin--and just as promised, he adds a spoonful of honey to the water. He cleans him up and combs his hair, dressing him before sponging on the honeyed water, which Robin begrudgingly allows.

When John is done with him, he looks almost as if he didn’t spend the entire night drinking--almost, but not quite. And he makes it a point to inform him that the honeyed water did not work to relieve his throbbing head. John shrugs and tells him he’s stubborn, then helps him into his coat.

John stays back to clean up while he goes downstairs, intentionally circumventing the dining room where his father and Zelena are eating. From what he can tell, the mood is tense--his father’s scowling and Zelena looks vexed--and if he didn’t have such a headache, he’d pop in, just to rile things up. But instead, he passes by unnoticed.

He walks to the stables, finding the air is bitterly cold, and his cloak is entirely too thin. He’s shivering by the time he reaches the stables. Quickly, he saddles up his horse and takes the same shortcut through the woods he took the night before, and he arrives just as the banker is opening up the doors.

The banker greets him gingerly as he always does--which is entirely based upon the amount of money his family holds there and nothing to do with being personable--and Robin explains his situation. As they enter, the banker opens up the office and fishes out the necessary forms. Robin sits at the desk and scowls at the small print--his eyes aching as he struggles to read it--and finally, when they’re filled out, he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Then, finally, he’s handed a slip that indicates the transfer from his personal account to the Sherwood account that his father micromanages was made.

It stings a little and as he leaves, guilt prickles up his spine. He hates that the had to use some of this money--money meant for him and Regina and their boys to start a new life, money meant for his family’s security--to pay off a debt to his father over an incredibly stupid mistake.

Then, kicking the sides of his horse, he shrugs it off and races back to Sherwood, hoping to be back before Regina wakes--and hoping that sleep has calmed her down.

______

From the window of the small sitting room attached to their bedroom suite, Regina watches as Robin rides across the lawn--and she wonders where he’s coming back from and how long he’s been away.

The spot beside her was cold when she woke, and the pillow and blanket undisturbed. After walking away from him the night before, she undressed herself and got into a nightgown. She’d kept the fire going as she crawled into bed, and she stayed up as late as she could, just waiting to see if Robin came to bed.

She hoped that he would.

She hoped that they could talk.

She hoped that she could more calmly explain herself--tell him that she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, that she’d poorly chosen her words, that she hadn’t meant to accuse him of making her a kept woman. And that hadn’t been at all what she meant, despite the way that it sounded.

But she was upset and her emotions raged. Her words got jumbled in her head and when they came out, they came out wrong. She’d been too frazzled to correct herself and too mad to want to--but she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, and deep down, she knew that he didn’t mean to upset her.

He’d been angry at the situation--and this sort of behavior was still new to him.

She’d learned to deal with it, to shroud in the shadows and make herself as invisible as possible--after all, if she was out of sight, she was out of mind, and the longer she stayed that way and the longer people didn’t think of her, the more her indiscretions would fade away. When she and Henry moved back to Dragon Head, that had been her plan, and it’d worked. People eventually stopped talking about the disgraced, prodigal daughter returned.The scandal didn’t go away, and as she well-knew, the story cropped up every now and then, but for the most part, she’d been able to give a quiet life away.

And that was how she spent the earliest months of her marriage.

But Robin wasn’t used to that and he didn’t understand it.

Sure, he’d been a relative recluse, not often attending social engagements or fraternizing with the men or couples of his age group.

But he lived by a different set of rules.

He could do that. His gender and position allowed that--no matter how strange people thought he was.

But Robin hadn’t come up to bed and she never got the chance to explain herself.

She’d waited up until the sun was peeking up over the trees and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. It seemed she’d barely closed her eyes when Mal was waking her up, explaining in too-quick a voice that Belle was still feeling under the weather, and she’d made an executive decision--which she knew she had no right to make--to give her one more day in bed to ensure she’d kicked whatever bug had overtaken her.

Regina nodded blindly, agreeing--and she thinks she meant it--and only half listening.

Mal led her into the little dressing room at the back of her bedchamber, and stripped her down, offering up two choices of dresses. She’d only shrugged and told Mal to pick, and she stood there like a inanimate doll, letting Mal stuff her into the the cream-colored long-sleeve dress spotted with little brown flowers.

When she was dressed, Mal took out her braid and pinned her hair, letting it hang down over her shoulders. Mal giggled as she chose an ivory comb for her hair. Regina shrugged when Mal asked if she wanted the rest of her hair up, and when she indicated didn’t care, Mal patted her shoulders and told her she was going to wake the boys.

Regina nodded and watched her go, then frowned at her reflection.

She looked tired and she felt worse than she looked--and that made her grumpy…

Blinking, she looks to the door, listening as footsteps near. She swallows. She knows the footsteps--and for a moment, she thinks up a quick apology. But everything she thinks to say seems to fall short or not quite explain what she really means--and that only frustrates her.

“You look like hell,” she says instead as Robin enters the room.

Robin blinks, almost blankly. “Yes. Well. Good morning to you, too.”

She bristles. This isn’t how she wanted to start the conversation. “Where were you?”

“What?”

“I saw you riding across the lawn.”

“Oh. Right,” he murmurs. “The bank.”

“Why?”

“The same reason anyone goes to the bank. I needed to make a transaction.”

Regina frowns as Robin flops down into one of the chairs by the window. He’s usually not this short with her.

“What was the transaction for?”

“My father,” he says., sighing as he reaches for the cord on the window, tugging at it until the curtain falls. “I needed to pay my debt.”

“How much?”

He blinks. “Too much.”

“That’s not an amount.”

She grimaces. It doesn't matter. What’s done is done, and truly, she doesn't care about the amount of money. She meant to sound curious, but her voice sounded more frustrated than she intended.

Robin doesn’t reply, instead, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a bank slip. His eyes close and his head falls back as he extends the slip to her on his fingertips. A bit awkwardly, she shifts herself to him and takes it; but she doesn't look at it, instead, she just looks at him, again trying to muster an apology.

“You… didn’t come to bed last night.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“Well, you… you share this room, so…”

“I’ve spent the last several nights sleeping elsewhere,” he tells her. “What’s one more night?”

She frowns. She hadn’t expected that. “Well, that was… different. Henry was sick and--”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I passed out. In the library.”

“Oh--”

“I fell asleep in a chair.”

“That sounds… uncomfortable.”

Robin shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

Again, she bristles, not quite sure what that means or how to take it; but nonetheless, it annoys her. “So, you… drank yourself stupid and passed out. That’s what you’re telling me?”

“I suppose it is.”

Her jaw tightens. “So, instead of facing me, you… got drunk.”

“I suppose that’s the sum of it.”

Again, she tenses. She spent the night worrying about him--worrying that she’d ruined something between them, that one poor word choice changed something between them--and all the while, he was downstairs, drinking.

“I just wanted to forget it all.”

“So, you wanted to forget… me and what I said.”

“Well, it was a shitty thing to say, but--”

“Well, you did a shitty thing.” Her shoulder square as his eyes open, and she feels herself growing defensive. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said what I said, but perhaps you shouldn’t have done what you did.”

Robin stares blankly at her for a moment, then, with a sigh, his head falls back. “This isn’t worth the fight.”

“Isn’t it, though?” she asks, again her defense piquing. “It was worth getting stupid drunk. So, you obviously care, so why not--”

“Damn it, Regina. I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

She feels her jaw tighten as her cheeks warm. “Well, I can tell you what I don’t want you to do. I don’t want you to blow things out of proportion, as you’ve already done. I don’t want you to lie to me or dismiss my wishes or feelings, and I don’t want you to make an uncomfortable situation worse--”

“So, we’re back to this--”

“Did we ever leave it?”

Robin sighs, rubbing two fingers against his forehead. “Your situation is only uncomfortable because--”

“Because of my choices. No one else’s. No one else is to blame. It’s just me. And you can disagree with that, and to be perfectly honest, I love you for disagreeing with that, but at the end of the day, you’re the only one who sees my situation as you see it.”

Robin blinks--he looks like he’s not quite following.

“But I’ve lived with this longer than you have, and I understand there are different rules for different people. That’s just the way the world works. I don’t make the rules, but neither do you, and we both have to live by them, whether we like them or not.”

For a moment, he’s silent--and then, he shakes his head. “I don’t accept that.”

“But I have to.”

Again, he shakes his head--and then, he offers a sardonic little chuckle. “Right, because you’re not just at my mercy, you’re at the mercy of the whole world.”

She swallows. That’s not an inaccurate statement. She is at the mercy of the world; but she’s never felt as his mercy. She’d said it, of course, but she hadn’t meant it in the way that he’d taken it. She’d meant that the only reason anyone was inclined to treat her nicely was because of her marriage to him and his status within the town, and the only reason she was allowed to live a comfortable life was because he’d decided to marry her and give her that comfort. As a man of considerable wealth, he could make those choices, and everyone just had to grit their teeth and accept it, no matter how undeserving they deemed her.

And they did deem her undeserving--from the barkeeper at the tavern to his father--she was not worthy of the second chance her husband had afforded her. So, if something happened to Robin, the world wouldn’t hesitate to take it all away--and her father-in-law would be at the front of the line to do so.

“You should know that’s not what I meant--at least not about you.”

“Should I?”

“Robin, this is all very complicated and--”

“Is it, though?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Because you don’t have to see it that way!”

“Or perhaps you’re choosing not to.”

She scoffs and shakes her head. “I don’t have choices.”

“Sure you do. We all do.”

She nods. “To an extent.” Drawing in a breath, she tires to tamp down her anger--and she is angry that he doesn’t understand and that he doesn’t seem to even be trying to understand. “I didn’t mean that I am living at your mercy… not exactly.”

“Yet, that’s what you said.”

“I misspoke! Damn it, Robin. I misspoke. I was upset! I was mad at you! I was mad at myself! I hate myself for doing what I did, and I hate myself for the way it’s affected my son and the way it now affects you. But there was some truth in what I said. Mercy wasn’t the right word, I’ll own that. But I am here at your grace.”

“Is that different?”

“Yes! It is! If you weren’t here, if something happened to you--”

“I have a will,�� he says simply, cutting in and shrugging in a way that seems to diminishing. “You are my benefactor.”

“And your father would not hesitate in challenging it.”

“It’s legally binding--”

“No! It’s not!” she cuts in. “The laws are not on our side. I can’t inherit.”

“But you can hold--”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “It is so kind and so wonderful that you included my son in your will--”

“I consider him my son, too--”

“I know you do, and I love you for that, but the truth is, the law does not see it that way--”

“Yes, it does. I signed--”

“Your father could easily convince a judge to say that you were persuaded, that I forced you or blackmailed you or....” She sighs, throwing up her hands as tears burn in her eyes. “I would lose everything you think I’d be left, including Roland. Your father would be sure of it--if not to stick it to me, then to stick it to my mother.”

“Your mother is irrelevant to this.”

“No, she’s not, and I am not claiming that she’s innocent or deserves anything from your family, but--”

“But all of this is irrelevant. Nothing happened, Regina. You’re getting upset over--”

“It almost did! It almost happened last night!”

“No--”

“Robin, if your father hadn’t just written a cheque--”

“And this isn’t nothing.”

“Yes, it is. Nothing--”

“Are my feelings nothing?”

Her voice cracks when she asks, and he sighs, again rubbing his fingers at his forehead. He looks frustrated and when he looks back at her and sees her trembling jaw, he shakes his head and looks away.

“I… am too hungover to do this right now.”

“Robin, this isn’t--”

“I can’t do this right now,” he tells her again, this time, stepping around her. “Perhaps later would be a better time, perhaps then we can talk about this more rationally--”

“I’m not irrational.”

“And I don’t think I am either.”

He says no more.

He just leaves.

And then, the tears burning in her eyes being to slip down her hot, flushed cheeks; and once again, she hates herself for every stupid choice that led her to this moment, the stupid choice that seems to taint every good thing she has, the stupid choice that won’t fizzle into her past, the stupid choice that sentenced her to the life of a marked woman.

_____

The rest of the day is uncomfortable, at best.

She doesn’t see Robin after their brief and snarky exchange that morning--and that only further proves her point to herself, making her feel isolated and alone.

The boys ask again and again where Robin is, and she tells them the watered-down version of what she knows--he didn’t sleep well, so he’s napping.

She picks at her breakfast which earns another round of questions from Henry and Roland. Roland accepts her excuses, but Henry looks worried, asking again and again if he got her sick--a possibility he seems quite anxious and guilty over. So, she puts on a smile and tries to reassure him, all the while trying to avoid Mal’s narrow gaze.

When breakfast is done, Mal sends the boys off to their room to put on sweaters and change from their shoes to their boots. She makes a passing comment about how fortunate they are that Henry has two good, thick quilted coats because Roland’s arms are getting too long for his own, and Regina tells her about the appointment she wants to make with Ruby to fit the boys for new wardrobes.

Mal laughs and says she hopes that’s tomorrow because both boys are growing like weeds, and Regina says when Ruby comes to drop off a package later that afternoon, the three of them should talk about it. Mal tells her to make the appointment, and she’ll work the boys’ lessons around whatever she chooses, then asks permission to take the to Dragon Head for the late morning and afternoon. Mal doesn’t say it’s to get them out of the house or because Henry’s already picking up on the tension, but it goes without saying--so, Regina agrees, explaining that the boys had a great time playing with the animals and her father in the barn the last time they were there.

Together, they get the boys ready and Roland chatters on about the fat cat that cuddled with him before--and when Mal corrects him, telling him the cat was pregnant with kittens, he only shrugs and adds that she was still fat and still cuddly. Henry asks if they can ride horses instead of walk and Mal nods easily as she looks to Regina, who also nods--and then, before Henry can celebrate, she adds a stern you can ride with Mal, not on your own that leaves Henry scowling at her.

After they leave, that lonely, isolated feeling returns, so she busies herself with going through the boys’ things. She spends the day measuring shirts and breeches and casting ones that won’t fit either of them into a donation pile, and she makes a list of all the things each boy will need. She moves some of Henry’s old things to Roland’s side of the closet, and when she sees how much longer Henry’s list of needs are compared to Roland’s, she adds a few extra things to Roland’s list. She hesitates momentarily--considering the cost of redoing an entire wardrobe for two still-growing children--but then, reminds herself that they’re not exactly on a budget.

She bristles as she thinks about the banking slip Robin had handed her--the one she didn't look at, but knew likely noted a hefty sum--and decides if they can afford to pay off watchmen, they can afford a few extra woolen sweaters and linen shirts for Roland.

Biting down on her lip, she looks at the mess she’s made--things that should be donated and things that can be repurposed or mended--and she begins to sort. She arranges the clothes to be donated by type, laying them out on each of the beds. When she looks around, the mess is only minorly better, and she sighs.

It’s not lost on her that no maid has come into the nursery--likely knowing that she’s in there--so, she steps into the hall in search of either a hall boy who can assist her or a linen closet that might have something in it to bundle up or store the donations.

She roams around for a few minutes, finding no hall boy in that part of the hall, but she does find the linen closet at the end of the hall, near the servants’ staircase.

I heard she had a gentleman caller.

Ooh, from who?

One of the hallboys told me.

Regina’s eyes roll as two maids giggle from the stairwell.

Well that isn’t what I heard. I heard that Mr. Locksley didn’t sleep in his own bed.

At that, Regina stiffens.

The old one or the young one?

Ew, the young one. He and the wife had a row.

How do you know that?

A hall boy overheard.

Regina’s eyes roll as she stands in front of the cabinet, rooted in place, barely able to breathe.

So, Mr. Locksley slept in Ms. Mills’ room with Ms. Mills--and that’s the Ms. Mills that isn’t his wife?

That’s what the hallboy said.

Regina feels heat rising up the back of her neck, her jaw tightening as she thinks of all the times Robin and Mal have pointed out the maids’ rudeness where she’s concerned. She doesn't believe a word of what they’re saying, they’re just stirring up gossip, but she’s hardly in the mood for it. Drawing in breath, she holds it in her chest as she works up the courage to slam the cabinet’s door--and then, when she hears both maids gasp, she pushes open the door to the stairwell, finding them frozen and wide-eyed.

“I’ve done some sorting in my sons’ room,” she says curtly as she looks between the maids, her fingers gripping the door handle to keep herself from shaking. “The donations need to be bundled.”

They stare blankly, nodding.

“There’s also a pile to be mended and some things that are beyond repair that can be repurposed, too,” she says, her hand that’s hidden aching as she holds on a bit tighter. “And while you’re in there, the beds need to be made.”

“Oh, I--”

“Isn’t the nanny--”

“No,” she cuts in. “My husband made it quite clear when Mal was hired what her obligations are and what obligations belong to you.” Taking a short breath, she looks between them, hoping she doesn’t look as scared as she feels. “Now that you’ve had a reminder, this shouldn’t happen again.”

“Y-yes, of course--”

“And for the record,” she says, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she looks to the one she assumes was speaking. “Where my husband slept last night isn’t for you to speculate about or even to wonder about.”

The maid looks down as the other maid’s cheek’s flush, both seeming quite embarrassed--and both likely very much needing the job at Sherwood.

“And I can say, quite confidently, your informant had it wrong--he was not Zelena’s gentleman caller.”

Regina takes a step back and the maids scurry away toward the nursery--and as soon as they’re out of sight, she falls back against the door, her heart racing and her lungs desperate for the air she’d been depriving them. She takes a minute to try and calm herself, taking long, deliberate breaths and hoping Robin didn’t drink so much he lost memory of what transpired the night before--and when a little voice at the back of her head, one that sounds an awful lot like her mother and always creeps out when she’s feeling most insecure, reminds her of the rumor she heard about him kissing Zelena weeks before and the fact that he once got so drunk that he took a maid from another house to bed while married to Marian, her stomach churns.

_____

It seems an eternity before Mal returns with the boys--and even longer before Robin emerges from his former room.

A footman brings up their dinner, and as they’ve lately done, they eat in the boys’ sitting room around the round table by the hearth while Mal takes a much-earned break. As they sit down, she notes that Robin looks decidedly less rough than he did earlier that day; it’s obvious that the sleep was needed and did him some good. She also notices that he keeps looking to her--looking like there’s something he wants to say--but time and time again, he doesn't say it.

All through dinner, the boys keep the conversation going, telling story after story about their afternoon adventures at Dragon Head. Henry goes on and on about her father taking them for a ride on his horse--how fast he let the horse run and how much colder and more refreshing the wind was when when they were riding, and how he took both him and Roland separately, twice. Henry also tells stories about the young goats and how much bigger they are, how he and Roland laughed and laughed as they jumped over each other and head-butted each other, and Henry explains how important he felt when his grandpapa took him into the little back office in the barn and showed him the ledgers that tracked grain production.

“That’s where we saw the kitties!”

“Kitties?” Regina asks, looking to Roland.

“The fat cat had her kitties!”

“How many were there?” Robin asks.

“Six.”

“They were really tiny,” Henry adds. “They were just born a couple of days ago.”

“One was even tinier than the rest of ‘em,” Roland says. “He was my favorite.”

“They were all cute,” Henry says.

“But this one was definitely the cutest of the whole liter,” Roland states, as if absolute fact. “He was orange.”

Both she and Robin chuckle softly, and for a brief second, their eyes meet--Roland seems also smitten with the tiny kitten and she’s sure he finds it as cute as she does--but then, he looks away.

“Were any of the other kittens orange?”

“Just him,” Roland says, beaming as if an orange cat is something truly rare and spectacular.

Roland keeps talking about the kitten all through dinner--and every now and then, she or Robin pipe in with a question or a comment, and from the outside looking in, it appears that everything is normal.

But it feels like they’re each having a separate conversation, each time they respond to one of the boys, rather than talking to them together. They don’t play off of each other the way that they normally do, and aside from that one brief moment, they don’t make eye contact.

And there’s a tension between them. She can feel it, and given the way Henry keeps looking between them, he can feel it, too.

As Robin and Henry shift the conversation away from the orange kitten that Roland’s so enamored with--shifting it to a discussion about Henry’s horse and when he can ride him on his own--she can’t help but notice this is the sort of topic that Robin would normally include her in on, even if Henry’s questions were directed at him.

But she sits beside him, almost unnoticed, watching as Roland happily eats a bowl of chocolate pudding. She shifts uncomfortably as she thinks about their fight and thinks about how dismissive he seemed that morning. Of course, he didn’t look well, likely due to a hangover, but he could barely look at her and he barely accepted her explanations. Perhaps, he disagreed, or perhaps, he was still too angry to have a conversation, or perhaps he just really was that hungover--but that nagging little voice in the back of her head that she couldn’t shut up before starts chirping again. It reminds her of what the maids said, of what the hallboy supposedly knew, of where Robin might’ve spent his drunken night--and her stomach lurches.

She doesn’t think he’d intentionally hurt her that way and she doesn’t think he’d ever intentionally make that choice--but the voice reminds her that he was very drunk the night before and quite distant that morning, and as much as she doesn’t hold his drunken, adulterous one night stand against him, the voice reminds her that this has happened before.

And she knows Zelena, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d tried to seduce him.

A wave of nausea hits her and she clears her throat, feeling hot tears burning in her eyes and beads of sweat forming on her brow.

“Mama,” Henry says, abruptly shifting the focus to hers. “You didn’t eat.”

“What?” She looks down at her plate. “I… I suppose I wasn’t very hungry.”

“You… look sick.”

“Oh, I’m just… not feeling as well as I could.”

Roland blinks up at her from his pudding, looking concerned. “Are you getting sick?”

“No. I’m just--I just took a turn, briefly--”

“I was sick,” Henry says. “I could’ve gotten you sick.”

Regina forces a smile, decidedly not looking at Robin. “No, I just… it’s not that sort of sick, Henry.”

“How do you know that for sure?” he asks, sounding alarmed.

“There’s different types of sick?” Roland asks.

“Regina,” Robin murmurs, finally chiming in as he reaches for her hand--and instinctively, she pulls it back, an action she immediately regrets. “You know, I think I’m going to go and lie down.”

“Should I send in Mal?” Henry asks. “She was really good when--”

“No, I think I just need to lay down,” Regina says, her stomach twisting as the voice in her head continues to scream things she doesn't want to believe, things that she doesn’t believe. “After a quick nap, I’ll be good as new.”

It feels like the walls are closing in.

Her heart is racing and she feels on the verge of tears, and she just wants the patronizing voice in her head to stop. She reminds herself that she doesn’t believe that Robin would intentionally hurt her in that way, that he knows how fragile she feels her security is, and that his standoffish behavior was simply the result of an argument--and really, that was more of a misunderstanding, at least on his end.

Logically, she knew that. In her heart, she knew that. But for whatever reason, she couldn’t convince herself.

She’s not sure what it is about this particular moment, or why it’s taken all day for her to feel this way. Once upon a time, it hadn’t been so uncommon. When she was married to Daniel, it popped up occasionally, catching her off guard; then, after his death, it’d been her near-constant state. In the earliest days of her marriage to Robin, she second guessed everything. But she’d learned to trust him--and he’d earned that trust and deserved it now, even if she was mad at him for acting like a fool the night before.

And while she knew that, she couldn’t seem to make it matter--and she hated that his eyes were now on her, watching as she melted down, and worse, that both boys were watching.

“Mama--”

“Are you okay?”

Robin reaches for her, taking her hand--and she grimaces at herself when she pulls away again.

“I’m just feeling a bit under the weather,” she says, swallowing hard and doing her best to keep her composure. “I think if I just lay down--”

“I can come with--”

She shakes her head and smiles, hating that Robin looks alarmed--and hating this seems to be what broke the tension between them.

“Regina, I can--”

“No, you stay and finish dinner.”

“Did I get you sick?” Henry asks again.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists, rising up from the table. “I just need to lay down.”

She can feel their eyes on her as she leaves--and as soon as she’s in the hall, her tears begin to fall and she’s heaving for air. She stands outside the door, taking long and deliberate breaths, focusing on that and not the voice in her head and wishing more than anything she didn’t feel so insecure.

_____

Robin stands in the center of his old bedroom, feeling lost.

Though this bedroom had been his for most of his adult life, it no longer feels like his space. It feels lonely and isolated, and so incredibly foreign without Regina’s things scattered amongst his.

When he’d tucked the boys in--and reassured Henry for what felt like the umteenth time that he hadn’t gotten his mother sick--and turned them back over to Mal’s care, it occurred to him to join Regina in their bedchamber, but as he made his way down the hall, he’s pace slowed and he wasn’t sure that she wanted him.

He’d spent the better part of the day in this room, laying in bed and metaphorically kicking himself.

Regina had some valid points--and when she explained herself, he couldn’t help but realize how clear it was what she meant the night before. Then, emotions had been running high and he couldn’t see it, but now that he was calmer and had more of her perspective, he knew that he’d crossed a line.

They both did.

That morning, it seemed that she was ready to talk, but he’d been too hungover to do that. He’d been short and distant, and he knew her feelings were only further hurt--and he knew that an apology was in order.

Of course, that was if she’d still accept it...

“Ah, here you are.”

He turns at the sound of John’s voice. “Yes.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t find you here,” John muses, “But I suppose it’s an improvement on last night’s condition.”

“I’m not in the mood for teasing.”

“I’m not teasing,” John says. “That’s a perfectly accurate, straight comment. No jeers intended.”

“She’s still mad.”

“Of course she is,” John says, looking directly at him. “She asked you not to do something, and you did it.”

“I know--”

“She asked you to drop a matter, and you didn’t.”

Robin’s brow creases. “Who’ve you been talking to?”

“Mal.”

“Ah--”

“Then, to make matters worse, the watchmen show up, drag you out of your children’s nursery and--”

“I know that,” Robin says, his jaw tightening as he cuts in. “I get it.”

“Alright, so have you apologized for your end of it?”

“No.”

“Well, I think we’ve figured out why your wife’s still mad at you.”

Robin blinks as John chuckles. “I… don’t know that she wants to see me. She couldn’t wait to get away from me earlier, she practically recoiled when I reached for her hand.”

“Again, I’m sure if you were to apologize for being a complete ass--”

Robin sighs and his eyes fall away from John’s. “And suppose the damage is already done?”

“I doubt--”

“Regina doesn’t trust easily. She doesn’t think…” He sighs, rubbing his fingers to his brow as he looks back to John. “She’s convinced that the entire world is against her--”

“Minus you.”

Robin shrugged. “Two days ago, sure--”

“You’re on her side,” John says. “You just… had a shitty way of showing it.”

“She asked me to let it go and I didn’t, and--it’s not the first time I lied to her about something stupid.”

John nods. “The rumor about the red-headed nightmare kissing you?”

“Yes,” Robin sighs. “Only that it wasn’t a rumor. Zelena did kiss me.”

John’s face screws up. “Did you kiss her back?”

“No,” he’s quick to say. “I pushed her away.”

John nods. “Were you near a hearth?”

Robin’s eyes narrow and his head tips, as a little chuckle escapes John. “What?”

“A bit of a harder shove, and she’d have been in the fire. Then, we’d all be rid of that witch.”

“And the watchmen would have surely arrested me on charges my father couldn’t pay to have dropped.”

“But it’s still technically legal to burn a witch at the stake. You were only missing a stake, and I’m sure a judge could’ve forgiven you that?”

In spite of himself, Robin laughs. “You really hate her, don’t you?”

“With the passion of a thousand suns.”

“Why?”

“She acts like she’s the Lady of the House, yet can’t seem to differentiate between a footman, the butler and a valet.” John’s eyes roll. “The next time she catches me in the hall and demands a bit of tea in her room, I’m going to pretend I’m hard of hearing.”

“She’ll lose her mind.”

“And hopefully make a scene your father can’t ignore.”

Robin grins. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a plan.”

“I’ve many plans for ridding us all of that woman.”

“Another time, I think I’d like to hear them.” He takes a breath. “And I think Regina would, too.”

John nods, as a soft grin edges onto his lips. “Go talk to her, before she goes to bed, go and talk to her. Smooth things over.”

“Suppose she doesn't want to talk to me?”

“Then she’s not ready to talk, but at least you’ll know, and at least she’ll know that you cared enough to try.”

Robin smiles and nods, but nonetheless, sits on the edge of the bed. He feels terrible--about last night and this morning, the fact that she went through the entire day on her own in a house full of people who didn't like her, and the fact that so much of what she said had so much truth to it. He knew the world didn’t share his outlook--it was why he usually hid away from it--and he knew that the laws and societal opinions weren’t on her side. No one would give her the benefit of the doubt, and no one would give her her due in his absence--that was, after all, how she ended up in the position she did after Daniel and that was, after all, why he’d initially felt so inclined to marry her.

His apology--no matter what he said, no matter how heartfelt--would fall short. He couldn’t fix the way the world was and he couldn’t make the world understand.

Well.

Not as it was and not here.

Now, a change was possibly pushed back--financially speaking--on the account of his poor choices and the heavy debt that came with it. And the worst of it was he wouldn’t feel that financial cost--not personally--but she would and that wasn’t fair.

“We were supposed to leave here.”

“What?”

He looks up. “My plan was to move Regina and the boys up to the hunting lodge.”

“You can still--”

“I wanted to be independent of my father.”

John shakes his head. “I don’t understand what--”

“I was going to buy him out,” Robin explains. “I was going to buy the hunting lodge, and have it as my own, free and clear.”

“Would he have agreed to that? It’s not his favorite piece of the estate, but a piece of the state nonetheless, and he’s always so adamant about keeping the estate together.”

“He loves money more than this estate, and it’s more the idea that I could,” Robin explains. “It’s the idea that… that I don’t have to live by his rules anymore or minute details of his will.”

John’s brows arch. “You’ve done that well with all those railway investments?”

Robin nods. “Thanks to Regina’s advice.”

“You two make quite a pair.”

“I had nothing to do with this. I was leery. Everything I wanted to do, flopped--”

“And everything she trusted flourished.”

“Exactly, and… I can’t even put her name on the account at the bank, did you know that? That my wife can’t even be listed on an account filled with money that she earned?”

“I… knew vaguely of that rule.”

“Of course, I have no reason to think the money will stop--”

“No, rail is an industry that’s only growing.”

Robin nods. “But we were nearly there. By Christmas, I could’ve sent my father a check and… and been gone.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I could have taken her away from here and brought her to a place where she’s comfortable, where she’d never be refused service, where people in town don’t know every private detail of her life.”

“How much did you have to repay your father?”

“Nearly half.”

John’s brows jut up. “Oh--”

“I… think Regina knows,” he says, sighing as he shakes his head. “I gave her the bank slip. I don’t know if she looked.”

John frowns. “Like you said, the money won’t just stop.”

“I know, but… how many more days will she have to walk on eggshells? How many more nights will she have to ignore gossipy maids and hallboys? How long--”

“You know,” John cuts in. “You could still go.”

“I know, but the point was to not have anything hanging over me. I could still manage the estate, of course, I doubt he’d disinherit me.”

John nods. “He’s too much of a traditionalist to do that.”

“But he couldn’t hold my inheritance over my head the way he does, using it to manage my choices.” Robin sighs. “You know, last night, I kept looking at that portrait over the hearth…”

“The one of you and your parents--”

“Yes,” Robin says, nodding. “My mother was such a kind soul. Everyone said so. Kind and forgiving, almost to a fault.” He smiles wistfully up at John, remembering the way his mother’s friends used to talk about her--how willing to listen she was, how she never judged their choices, but always offered advice, how she warmed a room and--

His thoughts stop abruptly as a memory flickers.

“John, do you remember that summer when my father went to visit, um… what was his name?” His eyes narrow as he strains his memory. “He had a son just a bit older than me, and stepsons--”

“William was the son, I remember.” John sighs. “There was another boy in the family, Augustus, who liked to be called John--”

“It was his middle name--”

“And he told me nearly hourly.”

Robin grins. “He was young.”

“And obnoxious.”

“I stole a pair of dice from him,” Robin muses as John chuckles. “That’s all I remember of any of those boys.”

“Why… are you suddenly thinking of them?”

“Because the mother was a friend to my mother. She spoke so kindly of her. They wrote letters,” Robin says. “She showed me one that my mother wrote to her announcing that she was pregnant with me.”

John’s eyes narrow. “I… I still don’t understand.”

“When I came home, I found the letters in my mother’s cottage.”

“I imagine that you did.”

“You kept watch while I hunted for them.”

“I… think I remember that,” John says, chuckling softly. “You paid me in desserts.”

“There was one, in particular, that was just full of scandal--”

“Ah--”

“I need to find it.”

John blinks. “Now?”

“I want to be sure.”

“Why?” John asks, shaking his head. “I… I don’t understand.”

“I just… don’t want to speak in falsehoods. I’ve told Regina enough half truths and have been vague about stupid things, and while this might not fully matter, I don’t want to misspeak.” John blinks as Robin gets up from the bed. “If Regina asks, please let her know that I went to retrieve something from my mother’s cottage and I’ll be back before ten.”

John just blinks and nods as he moves to the wardrobe, fetching an old coat and putting it on. It seems silly, he knows, but he wants to be sure before he tells the story that doesn’t belong to him, but a story that’s not unlike his wife’s--a story in which a good woman fell from grace, then successfully rose back up to live a respectable life that many envied.

_____

Regina’s head turns at the sound of the opening door, and she sighs in disappointment when she watches Mal come through.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Mal says, smirking at her. “Belle will be back in commission tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s not why--” She stops and sits up. “Never mind.”

“You were hoping for Robin.”

“He’s still upset with me.”

“Well, you overreacted. You blew this whole thing completely out of proportion.”

Regina blinks as she sits up. “I admit, I… was a little off base with what I said--”

“Jefferson Hatfield had it coming.”

Regina sighs and looks away. “No--”

“Yes,” Mal counters, folding her arms. “The fact that Robin only punched him a few times really showed restraint, in my opinion.”

She bristles. “I asked him not to--”

“Regina,” Mal says, cutting in as she comes to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “The reason men like Jefferson Hatfield are able to get away with the things they get away with is because no one holds them accountable. Not ever.”

“The rules for--”

“Rules can be changed with time,” Mal says. “And the way to do it is to not let the status quo continue.” Regina looks away and shakes her head. “I’m not saying it’s easy or comfortable or doesn’t draw negative attention, but that rumor--the scandal of what happened between the two of you--was dying down.”

“Until Zelena dredged it up.”

“She couldn’t have done it without Jefferson’s compliance.”

“I know,” Regina murmurs. “It’s just--”

“Hard.”

“Yes.”

“And isn’t it comforting to know that for all the emotional turmoil you’re facing, he’s got a bloodied up face and a crooked nose to contend with?”

Regina looks back to Mal and blinks. “How do you--?”

“I don’t,” Mal sighs. “But a girl can daydream, right?”

For a moment, Regina just stares at her, and then she laughs. “You have a very strange outlook on life, you know that?”

“I’ve been told that, once or twice,” Mal says, smirking as she nudges her. “Just… cut him some slack. He loves you and wants you to be treated well, that’s not so bad, right?”

“No,” Regina murmurs. “It’s not.”

“It’s sweet--”

“I know.”

“He’s a catch, Regina. You’re lucky. He’s not perfect and he’s going to screw up every now and then, but he loves you without condition.”

“I know,” Regina says again. “And I’d like to apologize, but… he doesn’t seem interested in hearing it.”

Mal’s brow furrows. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s not here,” Regina says simply, shrugging. “Mal, what if I ruined--”

“Oh, stop. You didn't ruin your marriage. You got into an argument. He’ll come back...probably with his ears back and his tail between his leg, but he’ll come back.”

“I miss him.”

“And I’m sure he’s missing you.”

Regina nods and then looks at her hands, folded in her lap, watching as her fingers twist around the fabric of her skirt. “I… had sort of a panic earlier.”

“Is that what happened? Henry thinks he got you sick.”

“Oh, I know. I--”

“Robin reassured him.”

“Did he?” she asks as a smile edges onto her lips. “That’s sweet.”

“It is. He’s sweet with him.”

Regina’s eyes press closed. “I just… it’s selfish, but… but if I lose him--”

“You won’t.” Regina nods, though she doesn’t believe it--last night was a reminder of that, and even if he never did something so foolish again, life offered no guarantees. She, of all people, knew that. “Look, Robin--”

“Did you hear a rumor?” Regina asks. “Are the maids talking downstairs?’

Mal offers a tight grin. “Giggly maids don’t really talk to me.”

“Oh--”

“Is there something specific?”

Regina shakes her head. “I don’t believe it,” she says. “There’s no point in voicing it.”

Mal’s eyes narrow, but she nods, then rises up from the bed. “Alright, let’s get you changed and ready for bed.” Regina nods and Mal takes her hand, pulling her up and leading her toward the dressing room. “What… what’s that?” she asks, pointing to a white box on the bed that’s tied up in a red bow.

“Oh, Ruby dropped it off. It’s… just something that I ordered.”

“Did you talk to her about the boys’ wardrobes?”

“I did,” Regina confirms. “She’s going to check her calendar and write me with a few dates tomorrow.”

“Good. You’ll keep me informed?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Mal says, with a curt nod and a smile. “Then that’s that.”

“I’m sure the boys will be thrilled about it. They hate being still, especially for long periods of time.”

Mal laughs. “Maybe we can turn it into some sort of game or contest.”

“Perhaps--”

“Can I?” Mal asks, pointing to the box. “Ruby always makes such lovely things.” Regina’s eyes widen and she feels her cheeks warm was she thinks about the lace robe hidden in the box, and as soon as Mal notices her obvious embarrassment, she grins. “Oh, well, now I just have to look!”

“Oh--”

“Please?”

Grimacing, Regina nods. “Fine. I mean… you’ve dressed me, so you’ve seen me naked. This can’t be worse than--” She stops and watches as Mal unties the ribbon, and she holds her breath as Mal lifts the top of the box--and then, with one eye open, Regina watches as she carefully lifts the lace robe.

“So, something tells me this isn’t the dress you’ll be wearing to Mary Margaret Blanchard’s little soiree,” Mal says as she slowly turns to look at her.

“Um, no,” Regina murmurs, her cheeks burning. “Not quite the occasion I had in mind.”

“Oh?” Mal asks, her brow arching as she looks back to the robe. “This little number has an occasion?”

For a moment, Regina hesitates, and then with a deep breath and a soft giggle, she tells her. Some of it isn’t new information and some of it is, but she tells the whole story--from what happened the morning after she and Robin were together at the hunting lodge to the tea and assurance caps that Mrs. Beakley sent her home with to Robin’s absolute patience with her.

“So, tonight was… going to be the night.”

Regina nods. “It was going to be.”

“Why can’t it still be?”

Regina’s brows arch. “Did you… just forget everything about what happened yesterday and today? Including the fact that my husband is nowhere to be found and… well, to do what I was planning on doing, I… sort of need him.”

“Well, he’s around here somewhere.”

“Mal, he’s… not… interested in…”

“How do you know?” Mal asks. “He’s not here.”

Regina’s eyes narrow. “Yes, that’s… that’s my point.”

Mal just laughs. “Let it get around that you’ve got this thing on and he’ll be stepping out of the woodwork.”

A grin edges onto Regina’s lips. “But, it’s… it’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is,” Mal insists. “And truly, I think you’ve preemptively figured out a way to smooth things over with him.”

“Have I?”

“Seduce him and have makeup sex.”

Regina nearly chokes.

“Oh, come on. He won’t stay mad at you and… if he’s still upset, this might just be the thing that snaps him out of it.” She looks back to the robe and grins. “Because if he looks at you in this, there’s really only one place his mind is going to be.”

Regina’s cheeks flush deeper. “And… suppose he doesn't come tonight? What if I’m just… standing here alone, practically naked and he doesn’t come?”

“Oh, he’ll be coming.” Mal laughs out. “In more ways than one.”

Regina’s eyes widen. “Oh my god. Mal--”

“Come on, let's get you changed,” Mal says, draping the robe over her arm and laughing, “And maybe we can return you to a human shade of skin.” Regina’s eyes roll as Mal reaches for her and tugs her into the dressing room. “I’ll have John send Robin in. I swear, he’s like a bloodhound when it comes to him.”

“They’ve been together forever.”

Mal nods as they enter the dressing room and she immediately reaches for a hanger. “Last night, we couldn’t find him. I spent twenty minutes searching empty bedrooms, and the whole time, he was in the library. John found him in under five minutes.” Her eyes roll as she turns Regina toward the mirror. “Drunk and passed out, but of course, he didn’t tell me that.”

“Why were you looking for him?”

“John was,” Mal says, shrugging. “Like I said, he likes to keep tabs on him.”

“Oh…”

A little grin edges onto Regina’s lips as she thinks about what that means, and her shoulder relax as Mal works on buttons at the back of her dress.

“What should we do with your hair?” Mal asks, snapping her from her thoughts. “Up? Down? What does he like?”

“Oh. I--”

“Does he like to get his hands in it? Or does he--”

“Mal--”

“What?” Mal asks, her eyes widening innocently. “I want to help.”

Regina's eyes press closed and a giggle bubbles out of her--and then, as she draws in a breath she concedes and answers all of Mal’s questions, regardless of how embarrassing she might find them.

_____

All the way back from his mother’s cottage, he rehearses his planned apology.

It starts with a mental list of things he wants to say--things he wants to apologize for--and by the time he reaches the front doors of Sherwood, it’s morphed into a full fledged speech.

He’ll tell her that he’s sorry--that he’s sorry for everything.

He’s sorry for not listening to her, for ignoring her request to leave it all alone and let the gossip die out, for agreeing to do so and then doing the opposite.

He’s sorry for not being more understanding of her situation--it’s one she’s lived with for years now, and it’s still new to him--and regardless of his personal outlook on the world, he knows it’s not one that many share. He can’t change the world on his own. It’s not fair--especially not to her--but he should’ve been less focused on righting the injustice of the world and more focused on what he could do to create more security at home, where it mattered.

He’s sorry for scaring her--for rocking the fragile security she’d come to know since they married--and, he’s sorry for scaring their sons.

He’s sorry for the financial burden that his poor choices, and the long-term impact of a few foolish minutes.

He’s sorry that he hasn’t always been completely honest, that he’s tried to shield her from truths he feared would be too difficult, that he wasn’t totally honest about his whereabouts or intentions, and that he’s sorry for any additional stress that it’s caused her.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen; he hadn’t meant to hurt her. She was right, there was a lot he hadn’t considered--there was a lot he’d never thought to consider, there were things he’d never had to consider. But they were things that were always at the forefront of her mind, and he should have known that, or at the very least, respected it when she voiced those concerns.

That’s, of course, if she’ll hear it.

Taking a breath, he opens the door to their bedroom, stepping quickly through the little sitting room of their bedchamber that connects to their proper bedroom--and when he arrives, he frowns when he doesn’t see Regina at her dressing table combing her hair in her nightdress or in bed with a book propped up on her knees.

The room is dimmer than it usually is at this time. There are a few candles lit and the fire is burning at the hearth, and he squints as he waits for his eyes to adjust as he looks around aimlessly, wondering what comes next.

“Regina?” he calls, not expecting a reply. “Are you here?”

“In the dressing room.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, smiling. “I’m glad.” He shifts toward the open door. “Can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

“No.”

“Oh--”

“I’ll be out in a second. I’m just finishing up.”

He nods, though she can’t see him and sits down in the chair by the hearth, fidgeting with his fingers as he waits, silently rehearsing his little speech.

It’s not lost on him that the box that Mrs. Beakley gave to her is sitting on the end table beside him; but he thinks nothing of it, assuming that Regina simply had her tea later than she usually did.

And then, she appears.

“I’m sorry--” he says in a burst as he looks up, and as soon as he sees her, his voice halts.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“I--”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” she tells him as she moves toward him, coming into better view.

He swallows hard and nods dumbly, unable to find his voice.

She looks… stunning.

Her hair is up in a loose bun atop her head, showing off her neck and shoulders--and she’s wearing lace.

Just lace.

See through lace.

It covers her shoulders and her breasts--though he can see them almost plainly--and then ties with a ribbon beneath her bust before belling out over her hips and pooling around her feet. It’s open from the navel down, and her skin looks soft and smoothing--and it’s nearly impossible to resist touching it.

“Can you forgive me for overreacting?”

Again, he nods as he stares.

“I’m glad,” she tells him as she crosses the room toward him. “I hate it when we fight.”

“Me, too,” he says, swallowing as he reaches for her.

Her touch--which is something he should be used to--sends a shiver down his spine. As her hand coasts up over his stubbly cheek, he turns his head into her palm nuzzling it. He missed this. He missed having her close to him, and for a moment, all he wants to do is savor it.

He kisses her palm as he draws her in by the waist, holding her closer as he kisses her wrist and the back of her hand, and then, he looks up at her, smiling at the soft grin on her lips, watching the way she relishes in the soft touches, enjoying being near him as much as he enjoys being so near to her.

“I missed you,” he tells her as he leans in and presses a kiss to her neck and then another to her chin. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” she tells him as she presses a quick kiss to his lips. “I missed this.”

He thinks to point out that it’s only been just a little longer than a day, but that would be a stupid thing to say--and, in truth, it’s felt like so much longer than that.

“I’ve come to realize that I don’t like sleeping alone, anymore.”

“It’s miserable,” he tells her as he pecks her lips and lets his hand slide down the back of the lace robe--he can feel the warmth of her skin through it, and he loves the contrast of it against the cool silky lace. “Absolutely miserable.”

“We should make up for it,” she tells him. “We owe each other that.”

Again, he nods--and again, he finds that he lacks the words as she steps back. His eyes linger over her body--barely clad in lace--and he can’t wait to touch her and to taste her again.

“I thought I’d ruined this.”

“Hm?”

“I planed this whole thing,” she tells him, “And then--”

“I’m sorry--”

“It’s not just your fault.”

He grins. “I… think you could’ve ended it a lot sooner by showing up in that.”

She giggles and her cheeks flush slightly. “Well, I don’t know about that. I really think it’s a matter of timing.”

He nods--dumbly--as he looks down at her. He doubts that, really, considering the difficulty he’s having thinking about anything besides her in that robe and the fact that he wants to ravish her, right here, on the spot. He barely remembers what he was thinking about before she came out from the dressing room, much less something as complicated as what he was feeling.

“Well, regardless, I was thinking that we could… um…” Her cheeks flush adorably, as she bites down on her lip and her eyes shyly meet his. “It’s been more than month,” she tells him as she takes a step back, and takes him by the hand, “And it’s been much longer than that that we’ve been together, well, properly.”

“Properly--”

She nods as her hand presses to his chest, gently pushing him back to the chair in front of the hearth. “I want to be with you again. I want… to feel you inside of me again, and I want us to be able to enjoy that part of marriage, fully.” She grins, biting down her lip. “That is, of course, if you want that, too.”

“I do,” he tells her, thinking of all the late nights and early mornings he’s fantasized about a moment like this.

“Good,” she tells him, stepping in and forcing him to take a step back. “I’m so glad.”

His lips brush over hers as she pushes forward again, and this time, he sits down in the chair, pulling her down into his lap. Her hands settle on either side of his faces, her fingers rubbing against his scruffy cheeks as her tongue parts his lips--and eagerly, he opens his mouth, letting her tongue slip against his.

He pulls her closer and kisses her back, enjoying the softness of her lips and the warmth of her breath. She bites down on his bottom lip as she pulls back slightly, adjusting her body over his so that she’s straddling his lap. His hand dips inside of the lace robe, sliding over her ass, his fingers kneading gently at her skin.

She smiles at him as she leans in and kisses him again. Her hand slips between their bodies, her fingers working over the buttons of his vest. He wriggles out of it, discarding it on the floor along with his coat, and she lets out a shaky breath as she pulls back and sits up a little straighter. She runs her fingers down the front of his shirt--back and forth and down again--before her fingers finally begin to work on the buttons of his shirt.

When it’s opened, she pulls it apart and leans in, peppering a few kisses down his bare chest and then, she works her way back up to his lips.

He grins at her as he leans in to kiss him again. He likes letting her set the pace, letting her choose what’s going to happen, while he sits back and just enjoys it.

For awhile, they kiss--her on his lap, his hands exploring beneath her robe--trading warm kisses.

Beneath her, he can feel himself hardening in his trousers--slowly, but surely--as his body reacts to her touches.

Pulling back, she grins a bit coyly--she notices it, too.

He draws in a breath as she slips off of his lap to kneel in front of him, and he swallows hard as a little anticipatory shiver runs through him as she works on the buttons at the front of his pants.

Robin lifts his hips as she pulls off his pants, freeing his cock--and that alone brings a bit of satisfying relief.

Regina smiles up at him as she licks her lips--and then she looks back down as she takes his cock in her hand.

Of all the intimate experiences they’ve shared, this act is the thing they’ve done the most--and she knows exactly what he likes and how to make him come.

Her hand slips up and down his shaft as her tongue and lips swirl and suck on his tip--something she does for several minutes, and something he always loves. If she did only this, he’d be coming in no time, but she wants it to last, so she lets her tongue slip down his cock, flattening out and working over him like a feather, and then she pulls herself back up before taking him completely in his mouth.

His head falls back and he offers an encouraging groan as she sucks him--it feels so damn good, each and every time, it feels absolutely incredible, never getting old.

Her hands cup his balls, her fingers massaging gently, and every now and then giving them a harder squeeze as her mouth works its magic on his cock--and truly, there’s a part of him that wishes this could never end.

Slowly, she pulls herself back, grinning as his hard cock and then up at him as if praising herself for her handiwork. Her hand replaces her mouth, stroking him slowly.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“So much.”

“I’m glad.”

“Your mouth feels amazing.”

She grins, proudly. “You’re not the only one who's getting worked up, you know.”

His eyes slip down her body as she stands, his eyes immediately going to the uncovered-by-lace spot between her legs--and he reaches for her. He pulls her down to his lap and slides his hand up her thigh--and she grins, watching as his hand slips up and between her lips. His hand cups her as his thumb slides through the wetness there, circling around her clit, as she leans in and kisses him.

They stay like that for a while--kissing and with his hand between her legs--and all the while his cock aches for attention.

This time, when she pulls back, she bites down on her lip as she reaches for the box beside the chair--the box that he’d almost entirely forgotten about.

He watches as her fingers flip it open and with her free hand, takes his cock, stroking it as she pulls out one of the wound up little caps.

“Do you… want to try it?” she asks, her voice shaky. “I know the tea alone should--”

“I’ll try it,” he’s quick to say--he’d try anything for the chance to have sex with her again.

“Alright,” she says, slowly unfolding it in a way that’s somehow erotic. “So, it just… slips on, I suppose.”

He nods, taking it from her.

It’s made from a thin, cool material. It feels waxy, yet skin like and at the end, is hard little ring.

“Do you want me to… um, get up or… or help… or--”

Robin shifts his arm around her and shakes his head. “No. I think it just…” He positions the hard ring at the tip of his cock and pushes it down over the head. “There--”

Biting down on her lip, Regina watches. “Here,” she murmurs, slipping down to the floor and sitting on her legs in front of him. “Let me help.”

She licks her hand, then presses it to his cock, lubricating it and allowing the cap to slide down more easily. It sticks to his cock, forming around it. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable and after a couple of minutes, he finds that he barely feels it.

“It’s… alright?”

He nods. “It’s fine.”

“Good,” she says, rising to her feet and taking him by the hand. “You can… feel through it?”

He draws in a breath as her finger slips down the length of it. “Yes.”

She grins, almost shyly as she takes his hand, lacing her fingers down through his and leading him over to the bed. He follows, not taking his eyes off of her. When they reach the bed, she pushes his shirt off of his shoulders, leaving him completely naked before her.

Regina sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching for his hip as she pulls him to her--and he grins, rubbing his hand over her cheek and lifting her head. Gently, he rubs the back of his fingers against her cheek, grinning at her as she looks up at him with wide, waiting eyes.

“Lay back,” he tells her.

She nods and complies.

Reaching out, he tugs at the ribbon holding the top of the robe closed and when it’s looser, while it doesn't free her breasts completely, the sides become visible--looking so round and soft, and squeezable behind the loose layer of lace.

Drawing in a breath, he tears his eyes away from them and lets them linger down her body as he crouches down in front of her. His hands run down over her thighs to her knees, and slowly he parts them, looking up her body and watching her writhe with anticipation of what she knows is about to come.

He loves watching her this way--comfortable and exposed, taking no guilt in enjoying what pleasures her.

Leaning in, he swipes his tongue over her, from her clit down and then back again. His lips close over her clit and he sucks on it, as his fingers stroke her--slowly and gently, careful not to enter her. Little moans escape her as she gets wetter and wetter.

He pulls his fingers away and releases her clit as her hips began to squirm. He slows down, taking his time as his tongue laps at her. She breathes out a long, deliberate and shaky breath as his tongue slips into her, curling and twisting and teasing.

When he momentarily looks up, he sees her fingers curled around the blanket--and he decides not to end it there and move on to what’s next--after all, there’s no reason she can’t come more than once, and the slicker she is the more they’ll both enjoy what’s to come. So, he pulls back, dragging his tongue up the length of her, letting it twist and circle around her clit as his fingers dip inside of her. He goes slowly at first, making her hips wriggle as she tries to control the pace--and then, his fingers start to pump in and out of her. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle, either--and given the way she moans and the way her fingers grip harder at the blanket, she likes it.

His fingers curl inside of her, then flatten out and withdraw, before pushing back in and curling up again, hitting on the spot that almost always make her come within a few minutes time. He hits on it harder and faster as his lips clamp down on her clit, sucking hard as his tongue wriggles against it--and then, as he wiggles his fingers back and forth inside of her, her hips begin to buck against his face. Her breathing becomes increasingly erratic and then in a burst, she’s coming--gushing against his fingers.

He pulls back and licks her slowly, letting her orgasm take its course and smiling.

Usually, this is where they’d end it.

But Regina smiles as she tries to catch her breath, pulling herself onto her elbows.

“Come here,” she says. “I want to kiss you.”

He easily complies, crawling up onto the bed with her.

His body covers hers as he kisses her deeply and lets her taste herself as her arms come up around his and her fingers tangle in his hair.

Then, when her legs come up and wrap around his hips, he pulls back and looks at her. He grins and licks his lips, sitting up and pulling himself back slightly, gazing down and appreciating the way the lace robe frames her body.

“I want you on top,” he tells her.

She grins and draws in a breath, nodding.

“And leave the robe on.”

Her brow arches and she looks at him, giggling softly as they adjust themselves on the bed.

Robin lays back against the pillows. He reaches for her, and she comes along easily, kneeling over him as her hands fall to his shoulders.

He steadies her with a hand to her hip, and with his other hand, he adjusts his cock.

Regina bites down on her lip as she looks down, and then slowly, she begins to lower herself onto him. She goes slowly, needing a moment to adjust to him, and he takes a moment to savor the eroticism of his cock disappearing inside of her.

When he’s in, she looks up at him and smiles, blushing slightly as she holds him there. Her hands slip to his chest and he sits up a little straighter, wrapping his arms around her, letting his hands dip beneath the lace to eventually settle at her hips.

“Is it okay?” he asks, looking up at her.

She nods, and grins, and then begins to move her hips. Slowly she rocks against him, working up her pace until she’s riding him. He slides in and out of her, and it’s almost mesmerizing to watch--mesmerizing and incredibly erotic, watching the way he fills her, the way he stretches her and the way she slides against him with ease.

Leaning in, she kisses him, and it changes their angle, making her tighter and squeezing his cock with each move she makes. His tongue slides into her mouth and one hand squeezes at her ass while the other roams, gripping at and sliding against her sleek skin until it eventually finds her breast.

His hand covers it and his thumb rubs at her nipple--and for a moment, he thinks he could easily stay this way forever.

And then, she pulls back and breaks the kiss. Her skin is flushed and her eyes are filled with lust.

“Fuck me,” she murmurs in a low voice as she sits up. “Please.”

And suddenly, he finds himself no longer eager to stay complacently as they are.

He rolls them over, her legs wrapping around him as they shift to the other side of the bed--and she laughs at the quickness of his movements.

He grins down at her and sits up a bit straighter, looking down at her and once more, taking a moment to appreciate the way the lace frames her figure. This time, though, her breasts are free and the ribbon lays against her stomach--and somehow her neck looks longer between the lace over her shoulders and the crown of hair piled at the top of her head.

Leaning in, he kisses her jaw and down her neck, teasing her as she wiggles beneath him--this isn’t what she wants, but he wants her to ask again.

He wants to hear the words as she asks to be fucked.

His lips slide against her clavicle and his arm slides between her body and the robe, his fingers ghosting down her ribcage and making her giggle.

His lips glide up her throat and over her jaw, pecking her cheek as his nose brushes against hers. He licks her bottom lip and when her lips open and she tries to catch his, he pulls them away, kissing his way down her jaw and over her clavicle. He pulls back further, her legs fall open on either side of him, falling away from his body as his tongue swirls around her nipple--and when she moans, she smiles and reaches for her other breast, kneading it roughly in her hand.

“Robin,” she murmurs as her legs come up and tighten around his waist. “Please. I-- I want--”

“What? What do you want?”

Her eyes are wide. “I want to feel you again.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Please.”

His lips peck at her chin before he leans in and kisses back down her throat.

“Robin. Fuck me. I want--”

He doesn’t wait for her to finish.

He slips into her, easily sliding in fully and groans as his cock disappears--then, he looks up at her, and watches her eyes closed and smile stretched over her lips.

He thrusts in and out of her, slowly at first, but quickly increasing the pace. He groans--and when he looks down at her, it’s obvious that she’s enjoying it as much as he.

He fucks her fast for a few minutes, then slows down, trying to make it last as long as possible--and for awhile, it works.

“That feels so good,” she tells him, as his thrusts slow and he reaches for her clit, rubbing it as he fucks her slowly. “So good--”

He grins and his pace speeds up, grinning as he feels her tightening around him.

He’s close too, but he thinks he can last through her orgasm--and as she begins to thrash beneath him, he feels a thrill of victory run through him. He holds his pace until she’s done, his balls aching for release, and then as he slows and her breathing becomes less erratic, he buries himself inside of her and lets himself come.

She smiles as she rubs his thigh, moaning softly as he continues to thrust, slowing down with each movement until he can’t do it any longer. He rolls off of her and collapses at her side, and almost instantly, she rolls onto her side, turns his head toward her and kisses him--softly and gently as he comes down from his high.

“That was so worth the wait,” he tells her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah--”

“It wasn’t… different with--”

“Different, yes,” he says, looking down at his softening cock as it lays against his thigh. “But not bad.”

She grins. “You’re not…just saying that.”

Reaching to the nightstand, he pulls out a handkerchief and removes the cap from his cock, chuckling softly as he looks over at her. “There are some things a man can’t fake.”

She giggles and kisses him, and he drops the handkerchief to the floor, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

“In fact,” he says, as he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers. “I think it’s better than its been in the past.”

Her brows arch. “Really?”

“Well, you wanted to do this, you were ready to and… we were able to let go completely, no stopping.” He grins and strokes her cheek. “And as far as I know, this time your decision to go to bed with me wasn’t influenced by too much wine or whiskey or--”

“No, no alcohol involved.”

“Good, then no regrets.”

“None,” she tells him as she leans in and pecks his lips. “Not a single one.”

They lay together for awhile, then get out of bed and clean themselves up.

Regina puts on a favorite soft, woolen night dress and hangs up the lace robe, while Robin puts on new pajamas. Her brows arch at the new button down shirt and pants set, and he grins excitedly while stuffing his hand into the pants pockets offering the simple explanation of Granny had Ruby make them for me.

Robin grabs the extra thick, down comforter from the shelf while Regina changes the top layer of the bedding. She hands them off to Robin and he dumps them into the hamper, grinning when he returns to find her already in bed.

He slips in beside her and she slides close, resting her head on his chest.

He holds her, feeling relaxed, as they chat lightly about nothing in particular, and it’s somewhere around then that he remembers his conversation with John and his trip to his mother’s cottage.

“Have you ever been to Devonshire?”

“No,” Regina says, turning her head to look at him. “Why?”

“We used to go--my father and I--when I was a boy.”

“We didn’t travel or go on visits,” Regina explains. “My mother wasn’t exactly popular in many social circles.”

“Shocking--”

“Right? So shocking.”

She laughs and he smiles.

“Well, my mother was friends with the Duchess--”

“The Duchess of Devonshire?” Regina asks. “I know that title. I don’t know why.”

He grins gently. “She was involved in quite a scandal. She had a daughter who’s about our age.”

“Ah--”

“With a man who was not her husband.”

Regina’s brows arch. “How do you know this?”

“She and my mother exchanged letters.”

“As friends would.”

“Yes.”

“And she told her about this?”

“She did.”

“Oh--”

“She had to give her up,” he explains. “To the baby’s father’s family.”

“I can’t imagine--”

“Nor can I,” he says, nodding. “She got to see her, still.”

“But not raise her.”

“No--”

“I’m sure she didn’t have much of a choice in it.”

“He wanted to marry her,” Robin says. “Her daughter’s father--”

“But she couldn’t do that?”

“No.”

“She must’ve been miserable.”

“I’m sure,” he agrees. “She had other children.”

“So it was complicated.”

“Yes,” he murmurs, nodding. “She was stuck in a loveless marriage, watching her child and love from afar with a husband whose mistress lived with them”

“That sounds terrible.”

“I imagine that it was, at times.” He pauses and looks down to her. “And I believe that’s the double standard you spoke of this morning.”

“Yes,” she admits. “It is, exactly.”

“The point to this is that everyone knew about all of this--”

“Of course they did, and I’m sure they did. That’s the sort of thing that spreads like wildfire.”

He holds her a little tighter. “She was a good person, she didn’t deserve that.”

“No one does, really. It’s terrible to be on the receiving end of that.”

“She came back from it though.”

Regina looks up at him and he leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“She ignored it. She immersed herself in culture and society. She took up causes that were important to her, and kept showing up--”

“I can feel where this is going--”

He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t trying to be coy.”

“Is this about Mary Margaret’s party? I’m not even sure I want to go anymore, not that I ever really did.”

“Yes, the one you think you were only invited to because of some sort of obligatory guilt--”

“Well--”

“I think that’s your new start.”

“Robin, I don’t even know that I want to go. I’ve told you that.”

“Why not?” he asks. “We have an invitation. We’ll go and have a nice meal that isn’t spent cutting up someone else’s food or reminding anyone to chew with their mouth closed. We’ll drink expensive champagne and dance—”

“You know, as it turns out, I very much enjoy dancing with you.”

Her eyes roll, but she grins.

“And we’ll prove to all of those people that you have no reason to hide away.”

“Except--”

“You don’t, Regina. Not really.” He sighs and shakes his head as she looks up at him with wide eyes. “When the story about you and Jefferson came tumbling out that evening, I asked you if you regretted what you did.”

“I remember--”

“And I remember that you said no. You said no because it meant Henry didn’t go without food or shelter--”

“That’s true. It doesn't mean that I’m proud of it.”

“I understand.”

“I have nothing to prove to--”

“But you do.” Taking a breath, he smiles. “You can prove to them all that you’ve moved on, that you’re not your mistakes, and eventually, people will see that.” She looks down, but he lifts her chin. “There’s a precedent for that, you know.”

“Your mother’s friend?”

“Yes, and I’m sure there were others.”

“Robin--”

“I’m proud of you, Regina. I’m proud of our marriage and the life we’re building together, the future we’re building for our sons.” He grins. “We’ve so much more to be proud of than we have to hide away from.”

“I don’t know--”

“Please don’t let this one--albeit terrible--encounter at a public house force you into hiding. Don’t let Jefferson win this way.”

Reigna bites down on her lip. ���And suppose… none of the other women talk to me? Suppose no one wants to sit next to me--”

“I’ll talk to you and sit next to you, and be right at your side, beaming proudly.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I’m sure it won’t be,” he admits. “But you’ve been through much harder than this.”

She nods, but says nothing.

And then, she takes a breath and looks up at him, rolling onto her stomach and resting her chin on his chest.

“You won’t leave me on my own?”

“Not for a second.”

“And if I want to leave, we can?”

“The second you want to.”

She pauses, biting down on her lip. “You promise.”

“I promise.”

Her nose scrunches. “You really want to go? You don’t even like--”

“What I like is spending an evening away with you, and I’ll admit, I won’t mind rubbing our happy marriage in the faces of some people I don’t much like.”

Regina’s eyes roll, but she laughs.

“I’m serious. I like you. I like spending time with you. You’re a friend as much as you are my wife, and while all the poor saps I’ve never much cared for are trying to ditch their wives for games of darts and drinks for an evening of escape, I’ll be happily dancing with mine, and when it’s time to go, they’ll be miserable with their company, and I’ll be happy as a clam.”

She laughs again. “You’re such a child sometimes.”

“But you love me.”

“I do,” she says, nodding as she grins at him. “I love you a lot.”

“So, you’ll go?”

She hesitates, then nods. “Alright. I’ll try it.”

He pulls her closer and hugs her, kissing the top of her head--and he can’t help but think that this is a much better way of helping her overcome her past--and the gossip that comes along with it--than what he chose to do the night before. And as he holds her, he can’t help but be glad he didn’t do any irreparable damage with his foolishness.

[crazyfreckledginger]

Damian Wayne x Reader - “Addicted To Your Love”

You make a surprising discovery when Damian is not in his normal state.

Requested on Wattpad :”can I make a request with 69+ 81+ 93 + 95 + 96: where everybody's in the Batcave because they just got from a fight and Damien's really hurt and the reader is taking care of him and hes   a little high in painkillers and just keeps blurting out that stupid stuff and accidentally confesses he has he has feelings for the reader (Jonsen can be preson B in the 81)  please and thank you

69. “What are you saying? (in a squeaky voice) I’m fine!” 

81. Person A: “But let’s face it guys, I mean (Y/N)…  You of all people should be willing to look past the questionable things I’ve done and see that there is good somewhere in me. You did it with [Person B]!” Person B: “Okay, I think we’re done here!”

93. “I’m sorry did that hurt? It looked like it did!” 

95. “You know what your problem is? I’m too good looking!” 

96. “Your ass is my greatest weakness.” 

A/N: See what I did? He’s high and I wrote ‘Addicted’ in the title? No? Okay, I’ll stop! 

Warning: Drug use? Damian is 18 for reference

"I hope they're okay," the girl sighed, fiddling with her fingers nervously.

"They'll be fine Miss (Y/N), they have each other's backs," the butler reassured, sending her a warm smile before looking back at the computer. Soon enough, three motorcycle engines roared in the cave as they arrived. The girl shot off the chair and scurried to them. 

She noticed Nightwing, Red Hood and Red Robin get off their powerful vehicles. A frown appeared on her features as she noticed Red Hood wobbling slightly, behind held by his brothers, who winced when they or Jason's weight applied pressure to a particular spot on them. 

"Jesus, what happened to all of you?" She cried out, rushing to Jason, enveloping him in a hug before taking his weight away from his injured brothers.  

"Ambush, the demon got hurt the worst," He explained, his robotic voice out of sorts due to the damage. Alfred opened the two small medical rooms, (Y/N) dragged her best friend to the bed, helping him remove his helmet. 

"Where's Damian?" She finally asked, not being able to take the pressure her stomach was feeling since he gave her the information on her crush's state. 

She's always liked Damian, even with the rough start between the two, but after a while, he warmed up to her, and she developed feelings for him, but she didn't do anything about it. On the few remotely similar subject, he'd become defensive and aggressive. She took the hint and left it alone.

Dick knew about it, and he swore he would never tell Jason. Knowing how protective he was of the girl, all hell would have broken loose.

"He's with the old man, they're on their way here." The girl nodded, smiling down at him before kissing his forehead. 

"Do you want some water?" She questioned him, he nodded slowly "need some help taking your gear off?" 

"No, I'll manage, thank you, princess," 

Running off, she perceived the Batmobile entering. Racing through the halls and to the kitchen, she filled up five 1 litre bottles of water and awkwardly walked back down to the cave. 

She set them on the large table under the Batcomputer, keeping one in hand as she walked back to one of the medical rooms. When she re-entered, the three eldest were now in there. Jason was still in his laid down position, staring at her as she came into view. Dick as keeping his leg off the ground as Tim kept an ice pack on his rib.

[x]

"Alfred made us leave because Damian needs the space," The latter mumbled. (Y/N) nodded, helping him out of the top of his suit and sliding a warm sweatshirt over his shoulders. He smiled gratefully as he put the icepack against the inside of the sweatshirt and zipped it up. The girl then proceeded to help Jason sit up to make a small space for Dick to sit. 

"Are you going to extract the bullet?" Jason gestured to his wound in his shoulder.

"Can't, Alfred hasn't taught me how to do it, he said he'll teach me during the weekend, I only do the preparation before he does the healing,"

"Ohhh," He nodded in understanding.

"Besides, I'm sure he'll hunt me down if I hurt any of you," She joked.

"No, actually, he'll hunt us down if we stress you out," Dick shook his head. "What?" 

"Yeah, it's true, he told us that this morning. Since he's going to teach you soon and it might be on one of us, he'll make sure you're comfortable." Tim nodded.

"It was haunting!" Jason started, "he said he'd keep us up at night if you'd feel stressed because of us."

"I do believe that wasn't what I said master Jason," The person in question informed. Dick screeched with Tim before shutting their mouths wide-eyed, realising how girly they sounded.

"I didn't know you screamed like girls," (Y/N) teased.

"I did," Jason laughed as they looked away embarrassed.

"Miss (Y/N), I finished with Damian, he'll simply need to be looked after and occasionally give him painkillers if he's in pain. Will you please keep an eye on him whilst I deal with the Masters," He nodded.

"Of course," She smiled. 

"No, (Y/N), don't leave us!!!" Dick cried out. She laughed at his drama and walked out, shutting the door behind herself. Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat and she quickly realised that she would be taking care of Damian, alone. 

"Dami?" She whispered, peeking through the door. A numb body was laying in the small bed at the far end of the room, only releasing a low grumble in response. After tiptoeing through the room, she proceeded in settling on the bed beside him.

"How are you feeling?" She mumbled, caressing his cheek.

"I'm fine," He grumbled, turning quickly away from her. A loud groan left his lips as he felt the pain worsen from the pressure.

“I’m sorry did that hurt? It looked like it did!” She teased. He mumbled something Arabic under his breath as her laugh subsided until she spoke up again. 

"Do you want some painkillers?" He moved slightly, releasing a pained moan as he did so.

"No," He denied. She chuckled at his stubbornness, standing up to reach over the table and grasping the painkillers. 

"Here," She instructed, helping him down the dissolved drink.

"Thank you," 

*****

"Alfred!!" She cried out, racing to the other medical room.

"What? What is it?" His head snapped away from Dick's leg. Jason marched to her, his arm in a cast and awaiting her answer.

"I.... did a thing," She whispered.

"What did you do?"

"I kind of gave Damian a little too many painkillers..." She trailed off.

"Is he...?" Tim started.

"God NO!! He's kind of high..." 

"Oh, that's fine," Jason brushed off, dismissing the matter very quickly.

"It's alright Miss (Y/N), he'll recover, you'll just need to stay close," He nodded. 

"I'll come with," Jason informed, walking behind (Y/N) as she opened the door. 

"How are you feeling Demon? Not too weak I hope!" He asked, straight to the point, earning a small glare from the girl. 

“What are you saying?" He shook his head, his voice heightening to an unimaginable squeaky voice, "I’m fine!” 

Jason burst out laughing, never believing he could enjoy his little brother in crisis this much. He found so much pleasure in watching his brother suffer through extreme mood swings he knows he wouldn't have if he was sober. 

"What is he still doing here, I hate him," The blood son grumbled suddenly. 

“You know what your problem is? I’m too good looking!” Jason scoffed, "I'm leaving! God, I thought you'd be more fun to be around, clearly, you're not" He continued. 

It seemed harsh to Damian but (Y/N) slapped the older brother's arm, knowing exactly that he was trying to spite him.

“But let’s face, I mean (Y/N)…  You of all people should be willing to look past the questionable things I’ve done and see that there is good somewhere in me." He stated, very out of character, "You did it with Jason!”

“Okay, I think we’re done here!” The second Robin clarified, grabbing the girl's arm. 

"Wait, Jay, you should go," She mumbled, "Someone needs to look after him," 

"No no, I'll ask Dick when he's stitched up, come on," He sighed, pulling her away as both their backs turned towards him.  

“Your ass is my greatest weakness.” They heard him mumble.

"The fuck you just said?" The Red Hood sneered through gritted teeth, snapping around and prowling towards him.

"Jay, Jay, Jay, ease on the brakes, he's high," (Y/N) pulled him back glaring up at him. The hardened gaze that had previously been fixed on Damian softened slowly as she slowly hugged him the way she always knew he loved, even without admitting it.

"Fine," He grunted, kissing her temple before walking out.

"I want Titus," Damian mumbled, his upper body swaying from left to right dully. A small smile spread across her face at his confused expression as she played with his hair.

"Why are you so beautiful, this makes no sense," He continued. She gasped, caught off guard.

"What?" She asked.

"You're so pretty I want you to be mine but you're too oblivious, what do I have to do?" He asked, clearly thinking that he wasn't talking to (Y/N).

"Well..."

*****

"Good morning," Damian mumbled.

"Good morning, how are you feeling?" (Y/N) asked, a shy smile on her face as he begrudgingly sat down. 

[x]

"In love?" Dick teased.

"What?!" He growled.

"You don't remember anything from when you were high?" The girl whispered, a blush appearing on her face. 

The boy wasn't sure about what they were talking about, but after connecting the dots, he could only imagine the kind of nonsense— or truths, that came out of his mouth. 

Suddenly, his mind clicked and a very very apparent blush sprinkled his cheeks, suddenly feeling a very large and dry lump at the back of his throat as he swallowed. 

"No," He answered, mentally scolding for hearing his voice cracking at the mutter of one word.      

"Dami, can I talk to you for a second?" (Y/N) asked.

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[bat-losers-inc]

Kintsugi: Chapter 4

Warnings: drug use

Summary: Final Crisis/Red Robin AU. Dick admits Tim to a psychiatric facility after Bruce is lost in time. Jason finds him suffering at the hands of a Scarecrow-copycat and breaks him out. While safe in Jason’s apartment, Tim still struggles with panic attacks and drug withdrawal. At a loss for what to do, Jason calls Roy Harper.

Pairings: Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Roy Harper, Roy Harper & Jason Todd.

“Can I get you boys something to start off with? Drinks?”

Tim managed to turn his flinch into a nod of his head, though not before Jason caught the deliberate nature of the movement.

“Uh, yeah,” Tim cleared his throat but his voice still sounded just as hoarse as it had a moment ago. “Can I get a coffee, please? With creamer.”

Jason eyed him even as their waitress directed her attention at his profile, her pen held limply over her open notepad. He spoke without addressing her. “Just water for me, thanks.”

She turned away to go fetch their drink orders and Tim turned his gaze immediately towards the window beside their booth, not wanting to witness Jason’s mental assessment of him again.

He’d woken up on Jason’s couch an hour ago in new clothes that were a size too large for him and no idea how he’d gotten there. What he could remember from the night before felt more like a dream than it did reality, and most of it was more sound and sensation than anything else. Things like— the horrible throat-choking sensation of panic at the hospital when the fear toxin was coursing through his bloodstream. The vibrating hum of a car (stolen, he’d only later learned from Jason) mixed with the deep rumble and rise of Jason’s voice. Waking up had been an equally surreal experience as he opened his eyes to see Jason perched on the edge of the chair across from him, the sun setting a flaming orange through the window at his back.

And Jason had erupted into a strangely affectionate kind of excitement when he noticed Tim trying to push himself up onto his elbows, calling him ‘Timmy’ and then— as if sensing how out of character that was for him— quickly brushed it off with a clearing of his throat.

“Hey, kid,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “How about we get something to eat? I’ve got to drop some letters in the mail anyway.”

So they’d walked the half mile from the docks to a diner that served an odd mixture of local workers and Gotham U students who lived off campus. The entire walk there, Tim could sense that Jason wanted to ask him a million questions, or perhaps was working out the best way to tell him something important. Sitting across from him now, though, in a booth with cracked leather cushions, he couldn’t help feeling like he was waiting to be ambushed.

The waitress returned, toting coffee and water. Tim poured cream and sugar into his coffee and stirred it together with the dented flatware spoon the diner offered, before setting it aside.

Jason reached across the table and plucked the mug from his saucer. He took a sip, absorbing the openly aghast expression Tim leveled at him over the rim of the mug while he did so.

He winced. “I could have done with a bit less sugar.”

Tim continued to stare at him, a flush breaking out across his cheeks. “What?”

Jason rolled his eyes and pulled Tim’s saucer towards him, placing in its spot his untouched glass of water. “Just drink some water, you miserable dehydrated fuck.”

To his own surprise, Tim’s lips twitched into a smile. Well that sounded a bit more like the Jason he knew, not this person sitting across from him that just a moment ago had struck him as Dick possessing Jason’s body from the other side of Gotham. He tried to hide his smile behind his glass as he took an obedient sip, but ultimately failed.

“What could possibly be so amusing?”

“Nothing.”

Jason leaned forward over his interlocked fingers, eyebrows quirking up towards his hairline. “No, really. I’m dying to know.”

“You really need to stop with the dead-guy puns. It’s been six years.”

“Thanks for that input, kid. One quick question, though. Have you died? No? So, yeah shut up and tell me what’s so funny.”

Tim gave up the argument with a sigh. “Seriously, it’s nothing. Just— you were weirding me out before with how nice you were being to me. Glad we’re back to normal.”

Jason blinked like Tim had stuck his fingers in his water glass and water in his face. He learned back against the booth cushions and tapped a sharp rhythm on the formica table with his thumb.

“Wow, that’s um— yeah, that’s really fucking insulting, Tim. To both of us.”

Despite his harsh words, his voice lacked any anger and it took Tim a second before he realized that something was wrong, confusion overriding his aches and fatigue in an instant. What had he said wrong now? It suddenly felt like all of his family members were finding fault with him and he was completely blind to it. “I didn’t—”

Jason held up a hand, shutting off his apology before he could even start.

“No, I get it. We were never that close, but I care about you. If I find you drugged out of your mind in a mental hospital, it’s ‘normal’ for me to act freaked out and concerned the next day. And it’s ‘normal’ for you to take a day— or a week, hell take a fucking month— to digest that shit before acting like everything is fine again.”

“I know that—”

“Do you?”

Tim took a breath, trying to force some conviction into his voice. The world around him still felt overly bright and glassy, like street lights reflected on wet pavement, and despite his best efforts he found his mind pulling away if he didn’t put the full weight of his attention on Jason and the words coming out of his mouth. “Yes.”

He wanted to elaborate more—felt like he owed it to Jason and to himself to explain his side of it all while somebody finally gave him the chance, but at that moment their waitress returned. They were so deep into their own private conversation that her arrival startled them both with enough force to jerk them away from each other to their own separate sides of the booth. If anyone else in the place was paying attention it would have looked like they were up to no good. But neither the tired-looking waitstaff nor the worn-down clientele paid them even a glance up from their plates. The apathy of this place hit Tim all at once and it was reassuring in a way Tim couldn’t put into words. He felt himself shedding his protective layer like a snake would it’s skin.

Jason ordered a plate of fries for them to share and waited in patient silence until they were slid onto the middle of the table before he continued their previous conversation.

“I know you’re used to getting into rough situations,” began Jason with a wave of his hand. “It comes with the job, but this isn’t something that you can just bounce back from. You’re going to have to detox and even after that you might still need to go to meetings and see a sponsor.”

Tim’s fingers tightened around his water glass. His mouth was dry but he was too nervous to take a sip, afraid of what Jason’s next words would be. “I know that this is a lot to take on, but I just want you to know that I’m not expecting anything from you. I’m 17, old enough to make my own decisions and I have an apartment in my name. I already have the emancipation documents ready there—”

“Woah, hey save the speech. I didn’t sell you out to Dickhead. I’m offering to let you stay at my place.”

“You are?”

“Well, yeah. I mean…” Jason shrugged a leather clad shoulder. “If you can swallow your pride for a little bit, I’ve got a free couch and some experience with this. Enough to help you through the worst of it...should you want that.”

Tim picked up a fry and broke it in half as he took in this new information. He broke those pieces down into smaller bits, afraid to lift his eyes and meet Jason’s gaze when he spoke with such tenderness. “You’d do that for me?”

“Well, I can’t let you go through it alone—Roy would kill me— and I won’t let you continue to use, so… yeah. The decision was simple.”

It was decidedly not a simple decision, but looked at with Jason’s mindset—  with his background and his past teammates—  it really did seem that way. Tim took a moment to admire the way that Jason approached breaking free of a drug addiction the way other people did replacing a busted tire. He just rolled up his sleeves and did it.

They stayed at the diner a while before finally getting up to leave. Enough time for Jason to fill in the gaps in Tim’s memories and to explain the reason behind Roy’s trip down to the safehouse he shared with Jason in Gotham Proper. Tim waited and watched the cars rushing past out the dark window as Jason stepped away to call Roy to come pick them up.

When it was time to go, Tim watched from a step or two behind as Jason paid for their barely-touched meal. There was a clatter as Jason scooped a handful of spare change out of his front pocket.

“Aw hell,” muttered Jason, hurriedly trying to corral the spinning dimes and nickels before they tumbled off the edge of the cashier's counter.

Tim's eyes followed the reeling progress of a rust colored penny, feeling his world sway and lurch with each full spin it took across the counter. He ran a shaky hand over the damp sweat of his upper lip.

Despite the water that Jason had forced on him earlier, his mouth was as dry as sawdust as he open it to call out Jason's name. Something was very wrong, but he found himself struck mute in the face of it. That watery, half present sensation had amplified inside Tim and it was only now that he was standing upright that he realized how untethered he felt to the world around him. The diner interior looked more like a backdrop abandoned on a production lot during a sudden storm. Around him the room contorted, the bright neon and chrome streaking as the canvas twisted and snapped to and fro.

Jason slapped his hand down on the penny, and Tim shoved at the door behind him, stumbling out into the blessed cool of the parking lot.

“Tim? Hang on a sec won't you—”

Jason came up behind him right as he leaned against a parked car and vomited onto the black asphalt beside the front tire. There wasn’t much in his stomach to cough up except a few partially digested fries and a trail of watery bile. Even after that had come up Tim continued to dry heave, working his already sore throat. Jason’s hands came up to brace him at his shoulder and hip.

“Deep breaths.”

One of his hands moved to rubbed against Tim’s back. When he finally stopped retching, Jason walked him over to sit on the sidewalk with his back against the diner wall.

“Something’s wrong,” Tim’s hands were shaking where they rested on his knees. He tried to curl his fingers into fists, but it did nothing to stop his trembling. “Wrong. Jason, what—”

“Shh,” Jason had an arm wrapped around his shoulders and his head tucked against his temple so his voice drowned out the street noise and electrical hum of the diner’s neon lighting. “Don’t work yourself into a panic. It’s just the beginnings of withdrawal. You slept for a day and a half. No drugs since I pulled you from Breckenridge.”

  “Oh, c’mon!” A man cried behind Jason. “That’s disgusting.”

As Jason turned to look over his shoulder, Tim peeked around him to see a man standing over the mess he’d made a moment ago. As if sensing his eyes on him, he turned to glare at the two of them sitting on the walkway. The man took in Tim’s pale shaky form, the sick on his too long shirt sleeves and the way he clutched his middle.

Tim dropped his gaze hurriedly to the pavement, already knowing what he saw in him.  

“Yes?” snapped Jason, standing.

The man shook his head in disgust and turned away, but not before spitting just loud enough for them to hear, “Fucking junkie.”

“Hey, shit-for-brains!” Jason called, bringing the man to a stop. Tim had to tilt his head way back against the bricks to see Jason's face from where he sat and from that far up, Jason towered over him like a protective god, his head haloed in fluorescent pink.“He’s not a fucking junkie. He’s got the fucking stomach bug. You ever heard of it? What kind of a horrible person do you have to be to go around throwing out insults like that at a sick kid? He’s been on the bathroom floor puking his brains out for three days, hasn’t eaten more than a packet of crackers, and I was just trying to take him out for some fresh air and see if he could hold something down. Screw me for being a good big brother, I guess right?”

“Hey, man,” He put his hands up defensively. “I didn’t know. It’s just around here we get a lot of addicts and alcoholics that hang around—”

“ — Yeah, save it, asshole. Why don’t you make yourself useful and grab some napkins and mints from the cashier.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course.” He ran back in to fetch them and Jason snatched them out of his cupped hands the moment he offered them to him.

“Here,” Jason split the wad of napkins down the middle and handed half back to him. “Clean off your car and get the hell away from us.”

The man was gone in record time, reversing quickly out of his spot and speeding out onto the street.

Jason watched his tail lights recede for a moment before he returned to stand over him. He offered Tim a mint.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Tim. “He was right.”

Jason pulled a face and pocketed the spare napkins in his jacket pocket. “Yeah, but nobody ever said he had to be a judgemental asshole about it.”

A pair of headlights arced across the parking lot, partially blinding them for a moment. Ah, finally, Roy was here. Tim stood only to sway heavily into Jason’s shoulder and quickly found Jason’s hand slipping under his armpit to hold him steady.

Roy stepped out of the car, red hair tied up in a messy bun and wearing a pair of worn out jeans and a shirt wrinkled from sitting in the driver’s seat for part of the day. “Did I miss something interesting? Some guy just tore ass coming out of here.”

Jason waved a hand dismissively but said nothing.  

“Well, I’m glad to see you’ve kept him alive this long.”

“Yeah, but if he faints again you’re carrying him into the safehouse. Don’t let his size fool you, the kid’s nothing if not dense.”

Roy laughed and held open the door to the backseat for them. “C’mon, Jaybird. Let’s get him home.”  

[constelacionde-orion]

All We Ever Knew (4/4)

Prompt: Y/N and Jason don’t usually fight each other, but one night they can’t hold anger anymore… just remember this the next time, be careful with your wishes.

A/N : Grammar mistakes of course. We reached the end fellas... Tell me about what you think, maybe it will be a  hidden chapter. (Add this song to this chapter : LOVER, PLEASE STAY ) 

| -> Italics - memory

Pairing : Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Preview Chapter Here

Bruce Wayne added this situation to the list of 'personal confusion’. Also, for some reason he felt disappointment and failure with some mix for sadness and anger.

The girl in front of him looks scare and confuse, her eyes are trying to focus on him, but they are moving side to side. A hand reaches her nose, slowly she looks at the red stains, she opens her eyes wider than before, her hand is shaking and her lips is trembling, in seconds she's going to be in a state of hyperventilating.

"Y/N, focus on me" Bruce says trying to keep her calm before her mind explodes.

The girl looks at him once more, she wants to scream, she wants to leave, she needs to find answers, but his eyes tells her that he means no harm, none of the boys in the room are trying to hold her down, actually they all look worried.

"Remember Jason... Jason Peter Todd" Bruce says quietly as he moves a strand of her hair out of her face. 

There's something in her eyes, something inside of her made a click, but she doesn't know what's happening. She hasn’t said a word, afraid of whatever could happen. Actually, her mind it's a mess, nothing seems to have a connection until he said that name.

"He has blue eyes and dark hair...,” one of the boys in the back says as he sits in front of the girl. Concern is writing all over his face.

"He also has a white strand in the front..." other boy, younger than the other says as he points at a spot on his hair. 

Her eyes moves, Bruce know she’s trying to figure out the situation or maybe, she’s trying to remember. 

“He really loves his brown leather jacket and... he laughs at my bad jokes” the boy in front of her says with a sad smile.

“He wears a red helmet and sometimes he sings cheesy rock songs” the youngest boy says with a sigh... his voice, even if he was a young, carries a big amount of nostalgia. 

For some reason she’s sobbing. She has her eyes shut, but she’s crying. Her tears are not from sadness or anger. Bruce Wayne knows better than anyone else on Earth that those tears are from regret.  

"I told you, not only once, MILLION of times, that you couldn't jump that fucking roof Y/N" Jason says with a grin as he looks at you.

"Shut up. At least thank God that I'm alive" you say with a chuckle as you look at his blue eyes. "I don't need to thank God Y/N. I need to thank that garbage bin for catching you" Jason says as he held your hand.

"You're an idiot" you say, your eyes still on his face. "I'm your idiot. Forever Y/N, don't forget that" He truly says, with a smile you get to know after all this years, that only means adoration. "You serious?" You ask him, for some reason you need it to know if he was joking or not.

"Only if you want me to stay by your side... we can even move from here, get a dog, an old couch, maybe a house with big windows so you can see the rain without this big buildings... or we can stay here.... whatever you want, whatever you need but... please... stay with me? " Jason says with so much love you could believe he was proposing in that moment.

"I do want a dog" you say with a chuckle and he laughs too.

"And I do want you to stay with me" you add as you hold his hand.

"Forever?" he asks you with hope in his blue eyes.

"Forever" you confirm with a big smile.

And in that moment, like a movie, the last memory you had from Jason was vanishing, like and old film it was burning out in your mind. His eyes and his smile disappeared from your mind, like if every single piece of Jason was dragged by a black hole.

It was all gone. His voice didn't echoed in your mind. His face didn't belong to anyone in your memories. Not even his touch stayed with you, his scent was far-gone, but you knew, deep inside you, that you need it to find him again, somehow....

"This, belonged to him" Bruce says.

You opened your eyes when you see the gold 'R' in your hand, it looks familiar... the other boys also has one on his chest, but they all different, this one also holds something else just than metal...

"Belonged" you quietly say as your finger traces the letter.

"His... his far gone from us, but... you can give it back to him, when you see him again" the boy with the blue bird on his chest says.

"'Am dying?" you ask more to yourself that any other in the room. Your mind is totally black. There's nothing. No names, no sounds, no memories, no feelings. Your body also feels drain, your head hurts, your eyes wants to close, your breathing might be calm, but you know your heartbeats are getting slower by every passing second.

You missed the change of looks between the four men in the floor with you. All worried about how you truly looked like, maybe you weren't mistaken.

What you didn't miss was the green glowing eyes on the ceiling, those eyes somehow where calling you. You lay on the ground, this way you have a better look at that face. It's voice was calm, you name was coming out of it like a sweet melody, and your eyes began to close.

For whatever reason, you looked at the golden letter again; you turned around to see a engraved name on it.

"Jason Todd... I wish I could be with you..." you say with a smile as you eyed the name.

For some reason, you longed to know the face behind that name... you whished with all you heart to know the man these people were talking about. And you didn't noticed when you stop breathing.

                                               *Credit to the owner*

Your mind is still black, but your body is feeling. It began like sweet feeling... warm all over you, you are in something really soft, there's a smell floating in the air... like roses. But then, something it's itching in your skin, somewhere in your leg and shoulder, your head is aching too. But then, there's something else in the air, not only this stays in the air, this hits you in your heart... you know that voice, the one that's it's coming clearer every passing second.

"So I climb one-two flight three flight four," Danny sang, "five flight six flight seven flight more ... when I get to the top, I'm too tired to rock...." the male voice said... by how he was speaking, you knew he was reading.

"She came around him, sat down on one of the stair risers, and saw that his lower lip had swelled to twice its size and that there was dried blood on his chin..." the voice keep going with whatever he was reading.

Slowly you begin to open your eyes. You blink few times until you see your surroundings. It's kind of dark but welcoming. It's warm and it gives you the feeling to be in somewhere familiar.

"Hey there sleeping beauty" you hear the same voice... it's close, really close to you.

You turn to look at the source of the sound. Your heart nearly explodes. The white strand on his black hair, those blue eyes, and that smile. He was the man the boys were talking about... he was Jason.

"Oh, you must have your throat dry as hell, sorry, just let me..." Jason says as he turns around to grab a glass of water, he helps you to drink a little and then he returns the glass to the table.

"Hey, about... what happened that night... and the others before that... I wanted to apologize" Jason says as he holds your hand.

"I acted like an idiot with you, I know we had some bad moments, but... I do regret all of them, trust me." Jason says with a sigh as he looks at your eyes.

But you can’t answer him. What where you supposed to say, you couldn't even remember what the heck he was talking about. Truth be told, as he was talking, something is in your mind clicked, old name and maybe memories where coming...

"Y/N... Are you with me?" Jason says concerned when you didn't say anything back.

"I don't remember what you're talking about... I don't remember a lot actually" you say shyly as you turn your head to the other side.

"Are... Y/N are you kidding?" Jason says with a chuckle as he grabs your face gently again.

"I don't even know how I get here... I was in a vault and there was this thing with glowing green eyes above me..." you quietly say without looking at him.

"But... there's something in my mind, that every time I see you it kind of clears the path... you know what I mean?" you ask him worried that he might leave you alone with your craziness.

"Hmm... I do know what are you talking about... actually, Alfred said something about some kind of temporal amnesia, but I didn't think it could actually happen..." he says with sadness.

"You do really gave a hell of a fight that day Y/N. I'm proud of that, I could be death without you" he says with a chuckle as he sits on the chair again.

"But... I do really want you 100% back, we need to solve our problems. So... let me think a little while" he says as he eyes you once more.

"Are you going to leave?" you say, more scared than you want it to be.

"I'm never leaving you Y/N. But I think Alfred has the solution for that fried brain of yours" he says again with a chuckle as he gives you kiss on your forehead.

Turns out, not only Alfred had the answer to your problems. Bruce, Damian, Dick, Tim and even Jason had managed to bring your memory back.

You spent over three weeks watching at your family old and new recordings, some of them involving your first steps as a Wayne, those where Alfred videos. you saw yourself, wandering in the garden and looking at the many roses, the times you cooked with him, and the first time you wear a Robin suit.

Bruce videos were even sweeter than you thought they could be. Bruce Wayne, taking his child’s to the sea, the birthday parties in the Manor, including one where the Justice League came by, and you were playing with Diana and Clark. But mostly, Bruce had videotapes of training with you and Dick, pictures of the both of you sleeping the car or when you were toothless.

Dick recordings were treasures, that man has been with you almost all your life, he has been your bigger brother and your ultimate best friend. So of course, you had make pranks of the Batman itself and to Alfred too. Even the welcome pranks to Damian, Tim and Jason.

Tim. That motherfucker have recordings of you and Conner, the idiot wanted the two of you to date since he found out Conner liked you. He made everything on his power to make that a relationship. So of course, you recalled why you didn't want anything with that superboy.

Damian oh Damian. The angry and devil boy have more videos than anyone else. He make sure to only told you why he had them. He was afraid to be alone one day, and if something happened to you or your brothers, Alfred or even Bruce, he wanted a backup of his family. 

Your little brother, make sure to have every single day recorded. No matter if something special happened or if you were just chilling by his side, he wanted to make sure to have your presence in every single way.

But Jason had the lovely ones. Dates, sweet nothings, chilling, even just doing nothing, like walking down the street, or when he wanted to make you laugh, or make you angry. He had videos of you helping him with his tie on the galas days, he have video of both dancing or just you alone dancing, singing in the car or making pranks to your brothers. 

You realized after those weeks how unique your family was... but also you recalled another person, who was the key of this happiness, even thought it was a kind of bittersweet of telling this, your mom was the reason why you had everything you have today, even if she wasn't with you any more. 

When you realized that, you remember when you where in the other side. You recalled when she came by the room, how tender she spoke your name and how warm her hands were. You wanted to hold her was more, in fact, you didn't want her to go, but it was a sacrifice if you really wanted to have your family back. 

And so, as time passed and your memory was totally healed. You went to the garden, when as a kid you went to watch the roses, you cut a few pink ones (with Alfred permission), and you drove half hour to arrive at Gotham's cemetery. And there, in the grave you used to hate, you placed the twelve roses in the your mother's grave. 

"You were right that day mom, when you told me that I was never going to be alone. And also that day in the roof when you said I was going to find happiness in other person. But, in what you have always being right is, that you're still here, with me... and I know that, wherever you are... you're as happy as me"

You went to the Manor after that. The usual darkness of the big mansion was welcoming, it’s was quiet until you heard Titus coming down, followed by Damian shouting at Dick. Alfred passed you by as he offered a cookie, Bruce was in a red robe with his Batman mask, Tim was fast asleep on the couch and then, warm hands surrounded you by behind. 

"Welcome home, sweetheart" the voice you get to love said behind you as he place a kiss on your temple. 

This house might be a disaster. Your father can be a weird adult sometimes, your brother can be idiots and Jason can be... TOO MUCH JASON sometimes, but this was your family, where you heart truly belong in.

TAGLIST: @boosyboo9206​ @spooder-moon​ @julesatticusb​ @dawnshuntress​ @lonewhitewolf488​ @lisssays @ultrahippiecollection @insaneanddamnedgirl  @roseangel013bf 

[seanhtaylor]

No Man Is

Dinner at eight. Sex at nine-thirty -- ten at the latest. Depends on the service at Roberto's tonight. If we get that lousy mid-western kid again, it could be as late as eleven before we're out of there. Really, Roberto ought to fire that kid.

Should it be the skimpy red velvet one tonight? Maybe the navy blue leather one -- Warren says I look really sexy in the blue one. What would he know? He'd say I look sexy in any of them. Just play along, that's what he thinks, just play along and feed her a few compliments and he'll get what he wants, all stars are like that. . . Small minds, I get so sick of them.

Another interruption. Just great. I really ought to talk to someone at that answering service. Too many of these things slip through.

"Hey darling. I've got some bad news."

"Really. What? Having trouble matching your bow tie to your socks again?"

"Worse."

"Your polo pony caught something from an undesirable filly and won't stop scratching?"

"Hilarious. You're a regular riot. Now would you please shut up and listen?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Look. Dad's entertaining some Arabs tonight, and one of them has a daughter ready to hit the big three-oh. It's a favor for Dad. Really. She's a tramp, true dog meat. Got nothing on you, sweetheart."

What, no screaming fans at every corner? No number one re-mixes? Dry up and die, Warren.

"Yeah, whatever. Maybe tomorrow night."

"OK. . .Hey, thanks for understanding. Blood's thicker than water, you know."

I hang up, listening to the bath water lap against the sides of the tub while Boots swats at the bubbles. I imagine the same bubbles swimming in my nose, throat, lungs. Boots licking my hand, giving up, and slinking off to the bowl by the refrigerator. Rest. . .

"Here Boots. Let Mommy in. Cats aren't supposed to like water."

Nice night for a walk. Maybe afterwards.

* * * * *

Tramps, all of them. Whatever happened to real heroes? When I was kid, we had the Shadow, Lone Ranger, even Batman and Robin. Now it's these sex-crazed musicians. Self- proclaimed Messiahs for a new generation.

At seven-thirty, I'll call it a night. Been on the corner all day anyway. I'll be back tomorrow morning, shouting and screaming. "Repent! Repent!" It used to be so clear, easy to tell them. Now they can't hear me for all the noise those headphones are pumping into their ears.

Just like Ellis, everyone of them. Not one of them goes by that I don't see a little bit of Ellis in their eyes, hear a little bit of Ellis out of their mouths. Ellis cursed his father, too. Even cursed me on the note he left.

One more show tonight. Gangster rap crowd. They think it's cool. I can tell by the walk.

About four of them. The biggest one's got a knife. He doesn't know I know, but he's got it anyway. Right up against his wallet. Probably a butterfly. That's where Ellis kept his.

"Yo! What's up, old man? Why ain't ya preaching no more? You all out of things to say? Or did you change your mind all of a sudden?"

"Yeah. I got some something real smooth jammin' right now. Real smooth. . .'Ooh baby. . .give me what you got. . .' Wanna hear it?" The short one offers me his headphones.

"Repent!" I say. "Repent! Quit following the gods of that trash you're listening to. 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me.' That's what the Bible says."

"Ain't got no time for the Bible. It don't rhyme."

"Can't dance to it either."

"Listen," I say, "You'll dance soon enough. Dance right on into Hell. Dance forever. No stopping, then. All these zealots of immorality will be dancing with you then. But you can outsmart them. Repent! Repent!"

They don't like what I say. The one with the knife pushes me down. I think each one of them gets a chance to kick me as they go by. That'll hurt in the morning. But bruises heal.

They yell something at me as they run off. I can't hear it clear enough to make it out. The sounds don't separate themselves in my head when the darkness comes in. . .they just mix together. Maybe I'll go in at eight or nine -- whenever I wake up.

Some listen. Some don't. All I can do is all I can do.

* * * * *

I'd turn on the radio, but I get so tired of hearing my songs over and over again. I used to think it was so cool to hear the radio playing something I wrote, something I sang, because I knew then that they thought I was good enough. Now it doesn't matter, and I know it. They'll play any old crap I give them. All it needs is my name on the CD.

Let's see: jeans, raggy t-shirt, Papa's fishing hat, a ski-mask if I had one, and these old Nikes (the old-fashioned ones I bought before the air pumps). Maybe this windy city will be blowing so hard nobody'll notice me. Sometimes a girl needs to be alone. Without the whole crazy world chasing her down like she was wearing a sign that said "A MILLION BUCKS - - JUST CATCH ME TO WIN!"

Wonder if I'll see Warren and that Arabian princess tramp. His Dad does enjoy showing off the city whenever company is in town. Driving down the strip in his stretch limo. Guess he doesn't quite realize that those things are a dime a dozen nowadays. Oh well, Warren wouldn't recognize me if I weren't wearing something kinky anyway. It's a perverted kind of tunnel vision he's got.

Better call George downstairs. See if he can't let me leave by the loading area again. The winos make great company. Don't ask a lot of questions.

"George."

"That you, Miss Diva?"

"Can you sneak me out back again tonight? Last time, I promise."

"For a kiss."

"Don't tempt me, George. Your heart rate alone would kill you. And I wouldn't want that on my conscience. Besides, I might not find anybody else who'd let me use the back door."

"It was worth a try, anyhow. Sure, come on down. You gonna use the service elevator?"

Dear sweet George. I bet he hasn't seen a single one of my videos. He probably wouldn't be so sweet then. Come after me like I was the anti-Christ, jump on that "She's ruining our kids" bandwagon. Thank God Salem was a hundred years ago.

"Yeah. Bought my new album yet?" I hope he's blushing.

"Naw. Not on a security guard's salary. It'd be a little too new for me, anyhow. No Benny Goodman on it. I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes."

"Thanks, George."

Well, Boots. You up for a little walk down the strip? No? Well, keep an eye on the apartment for Mommy. Wouldn't want to lose anything. On second thought, let someone take it all. It would be a welcome change.

* * * * *

The lights spin like showgirls, rapt in their performance. I try to focus, but the showgirls keep dancing, teasing, taunting, twirling around all glamor and frills.

Something dark that reeks of a night's sweat comes between me and the lights.

"Hey, mon. You ok?"

He's a big black man, close to six-and-a-half feet, no joke. And he's got those long dreadlocks growing like ropes from his scalp. Real unnatural.

"I say, hey mon, are you ok?"

I groggle something out to him, noise mostly, that he at least pretends to understand. He reaches out to help me up, out of the alley.

"Thank you," I say.

"Don't mention it. You need a ride somewhere?"

"No thanks. I live here." As I say it I realize he probably assumes I'm talking about the alley. . .that I'm a boozing, vagrant wino.

"Ok, mon. Take care!"

He's gone before I can correct him.

My watch beeps faintly, one of those cheap twelve dollar made-in-Taiwan kind of beeps, alerting me that it's ten till eight. I always set it ten minutes fast.

The loading bay doors of The Regal open. Probably some college kid carrying out the trash. . . No, it's a rent-a- cop checking the alley. No drugs here, I start to yell to him, just a beat-up old preacher, trying to save a few souls.

After he comes out, he holds the door for this kid who was behind him. Rough looking kid. Faded blue jeans, full of holes, baggy flannel button-up covering an old undershirt, and an ancient fishing hat. Fashion is something I'll never grasp.

The kid kisses the rent-a-cop on the cheek, makes him cross his heart on a whispered promise, and then jumps from the loading dock to the alley. I'm going to assume the best, that the kid is just leaving work from one of the shops downstairs at The Regal, and takes a shortcut home through the alley. Only walks a few feet after the door closes behind the rent-a-cop. Leans against a wall, pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket on the front of the flannel shirt, lights a match on the bricks of the wall, and sucks a cigarette like it was a straw. Blows smoke rings, too. Darn good ones.

Ellis used to blow rings, too. He used to try to catch them on his finger, score a point for each one he caught. Scored thirty-eight points once. His room smelled like smoke when his mother and I cut him down. Unfiltered smoke. It made his mother sick. Me, I just ignored it, washed the odor out of my clothes, and threw up later. But first we had to turn that music off.

The kid looks over to me, offers me one.

"No thanks. I like my lungs."

"Suit yourself. Gonna die anyway. Fire's as good as ice, or something like that. I never can remember."

I want to tell this kid to repent. Throw away those smokesticks, and breath the fresh air of Jesus. But I can't -- my lungs and ribs hurt too much. One of the hoodlums must've been wearing pointed shoes.

The kid finishes the smoke, then puffs down two more without missing a beat.

* * * * *

The fresh air smacks against me like a kiss, shooting me up like morphine. No pain. No memories. No anything.

I finish the third stogey, and crunch the butt under the heel of my Nikes. The wino looks at me, still shaking his head after declining my offer of a cig. Well, at least I'm not sleeping in some alley with a bottle of Jack, or whatever guys over sixty-five who live in dirty alleys drink now. I wish he'd stop looking at me that way, accusing. If I wanted that, I could just grab the Lear and fly back to Iowa to Mom and Dad. Even they would hug me first before condemning me.

Maybe that's why I hang on to Warren.

Three to get ready, and four to go, so I light up one more, and start walking out of the alley. The wind has other ideas, lifting Papa's hat, whisking it back over to the wino. He's nice enough, picking it up and knocking the dirt from it. I pop my neck, stretching the muscles, and slide my fingers through my freshly cropped hair. Kind of a long flapper cut. . .it's starting to grow on me. The wind tickles my scalp, triggering the night's rush again.

"Thanks."

He doesn't answer, seems shocked that I'm a girl underneath the street urchin clothes. Oh well, thought I'd made a friend. You win some, you lose some. Nothing new under the sun. I take the hat, tuck my hair back up under it, and head incognito into the street.

Then all Hell breaks loose. The wino starts screaming at me.

"You! You're that high-fashion harlot of music that's running this country's morals into the ground! Diva! My God, what if everybody's little girl grew up to be like you?"

Great. So much for incognito. In just a few seconds, people start gathering like maggots on dead meat. Thanks a lot, old man.

"Taxi! Hey, taxi!"

People, paper, pens. No matter where I look they're all around me. Stupid old preacher. Go ruin somebody else's night. I've got enough problems.

"Hey, everybody! Look! It's Diva!"

"I think you're great."

"Can I have your autograph? It's for my cousin."

I wonder if this is what a lab rat feels like, having to push all the right buttons while the guys in glasses and white coats stand around and watch. Only, now the glass between me and the crowd has been removed, and they're squeezing in, huddling in tighter to touch me, pull me apart, get a piece of me, carry me home as a souvenir -- "The Night I Touched Diva!"

"Taxi!"

"Please, just a few autographs."

Can't think. Can't feel the night air. Won't you please leave me alone. You don't want me. . . you want Diva. I'm not Diva. I'm not Diva. I'm. . . My God, who am I?

"Sure, just a few. Anything for my fans."

A blur of yellow rescues me. I fall inside less than gracefully. In the back seat, I cup my hands to hide my face.

* * * * *

My God, Ellis. Is this what you saw when the floor danced beneath you?

The attention she commands. The worship she craves. A pimp in black leather selling sex to children. And once they're hooked, they beg for more. Not one kid in the crowd is older than eighteen. Most look at least thirty, padded and curved, showing off the adultness of their bodies. But they're children. And begging at her feet like pets, ready to play.

"Repent! Repent!" I say, but I know they can't hear. All I can do is all I can do.

My sermon gets lost in the thunder they give her. Try as I might, I can do nothing here. God forgive them for they know not what they do. If anyone causes one Your little ones to stumble, oh Lord, have mercy. . .

A cab sweeps in, screeching recklessly next to the curb. She crawls in, bowing first to soak in their praise. The yellow door slams behind her, and the cab screams off.

It takes a good fifteen minutes for the crowd to fully disperse. Most of them linger, trading stories of how close they got, what her clothes felt like. Two girls in the front lie on the sidewalk, passed out. I guess they actually touched her.

Might as well get a cup of coffee before going home. Henry's place is only two blocks away. Let the commotion die down a little.

When I enter, the smell of hot coffee is solid like a wall. Just being here cheers me up, even makes my side feel better. Sid and Gladys wave, ask me for a soul count. Marty looks up, nods, then looks away, finishing his grilled cheese and Maxwell House. Two drunks are passed out in the corner booth. I stuff a Gideon New Testament in each one's shirt pocket, and order them each an omelet plate and some fresh coffee for when they wake up. Henry will see that they get it.

"Here's twenty bucks. It'll get them each a night at the shelter," I say to Henry as I sit down, "Don't let them have it till after I leave."

He takes the money. "The last two blew it on more liquor. What makes you think these two won't?"

"Just got a feeling this time, Henry."

"You had a feeling last time."

He's right. Most of them drink it all away. Probably end up right back in the corner booth, drunk and passed out. Some don't.

"Didja hear the news, Wilson? About Diva's new album being banned in two stores in Mississippi?" Henry asks me. And as he does, I remember the color of her eyes when I handed her the cap, deep brown like Ellis', before they dulled from drugs.

"Well, preacher, didja hear me? Diva's new album was banned from two stores in Mississippi."

I ignore him as much as I can. "Ham and cheese omelet. Grits and toast, too."

"Bet those libs'll be making a stink about their first amendment rights again. Yes sir, this time it's got the smell of a lawsuit all over it."

Henry keeps talking to me, but the words get lost somewhere between us. Eventually, he gives me the omelet plate, and I join the two drunks at the corner booth. One stirs as I sit, shows me a picture of his wife, then passes out again. My watch lets me know it's ten till nine.

© Sean Taylor

[cooperjones2020]

Second City, chp. 10

Summary: Sometimes she worries she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but that was before she found out Jughead Jones lives in Chicago. That was before she found out the final secret of Jason Blossom’s murder.

A/N: Fletcher Foley is a real Archie comics character, but I haven’t read any of the issues he’s in.

A/N 2: Apparently I forgot to post this a few days ago when the chapter went up on Ao3, so for those of you who only read here, here you go :)

ao3–>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/26328312

All previous chapters of Second City and Nobodies Nobody Knows under the tag #second-city and on the Who Sings Heartache to Sleep series page on Ao3.

10. In which a change of scenery takes place

She steps out of Jughead’s apartment and into an uber. Well, not immediately. She can’t telepathically summon ride-hailing services. Though she’s sure someone in Silicon Valley is working on that very problem in this exact moment. A hysterical laugh gets caught in her throat at the thought.

She’s worried Jughead will come after her, so she zigzags a couple of blocks until she’s on the far side of the square. In between a coffee shop and a wine bar, she finds a large hedge to stand beside, and then she summons the car. Thankfully, his neighbourhood is still busy on a Sunday afternoon, and there are many small black icons zooming around when she opens the app. The wait is less than two minutes.

Kevin, she knows, is at work, some special project keeping him up at all hours and in the office, even on weekends. Polly doesn’t pick up. It’s her day off, so Betty assumes her sister and her sister’s boyfriend are enjoying their last few days of kid-free time. And, while she’s so glad she and Veronica are reconnecting again, she doesn’t think they’re quite at the point for this. Even if they were, she also doesn’t think she’s quite ready for Ronnie’s particular blend of supportively brutal honesty. Archie is an option she doesn’t even consider.

So, she goes to the only person who knew her then.

She manages to recapture and hold onto her anger all through the car ride. It feels righteous, powerful, and, unfortunately, all too short. Because once she steps into Mary’s house, she bursts into tears. Something deep inside her, long forced closed and held together with glue, staples, tape, cracks open and grief stampedes through her. She’s vaguely aware of Mary pulling her to the couch, wrapping her arms around her, and rocking her. Mary rubs circles on Betty’s back and makes calm shushing noises. She speaks only enough to ascertain that no one’s been injured or died, then she just lets Betty unload until she’s empty.

She cries for an embarrassingly long time, in violent sobs that wrack her body and cause a headache to bloom behind her eyes.

At some point, she comes to and slides from the couch to the floor. It’s still light out, though it is the middle of summer, so all that really tells her is it’s before 9 pm. Her throat is dry and lips parched. There’s a water bottle on the coffee table in front of her. She grabs it and drinks half in a series of gulps. Mike must have brought it out for her. She hasn’t noticed him in the haze of her heartache, but he must be around somewhere.

Betty settles back against Mary’s legs and lets her stroke her hair, allowing herself to be comforted by the maternal gesture.

“He lied to me.” She doesn’t know if she’s talking about Jughead or her father, but, in the end, she supposes, it doesn’t really matter.

Once she gets to her gate, Betty tries to take up as much space as she possibly can without feeling guilty about it. She picks a seat at the end of a row and sets her purse next to her, her sweater in the seat next to that. Her suitcase she slides so it’s partially in front of a fourth seat. She creates a forcefield of belongings so no one can approach her.

Yesterday had scooped her out and left her numb, depleted. But the one good thing about a multi-hour crying jag is its cleansing power. Sitting at the gate, she feels a renewed sense of purpose.

As soon as it’s crossed nine o’clock, she calls Cynthia.

“Betty, why are you calling me? Why don’t you just come down the hall? We can start our Monday meeting a little early.”

“I’m not in the office, Cynth. I had a bit of a personal emergency. I’m actually at O’Hare waiting for a flight back to Riverdale.” In all her years of grown-up-hood, Betty’s never done something like this. When her father died, they’d known it was coming, so she’d made arrangements to work from home and had trained the person who’d filled in for her on the things she couldn’t do remotely. Anxiety bubbles in her stomach at the thought of disappointing Cynthia.

“Oh no, is everything okay? Your family?”

“No, they’re fine. It’s more a me thing. But I’m so sorry to just leave like this. I know I don’t have vacation time or anything yet, but I was thinking I could use some sick days? Though I don’t know how long I’ll be gone—no more than a week surely. But I can also just take it as unpaid time, I know I’m leaving you in the lurch. And I have a piece half-finished—”

“Betty, stop. We’ll survive. We were gonna run your FP Jones interview this week anyway before his pre-publication publicity circuit starts next month.”

“Oh right.”

The flare of anger she has at the memory of her and Jughead in the bar in May, the moment she first started letting him back in, gives her the courage to get to the thing she’s been thinking about since she cried herself to sleep, then woke up at midnight on Mary’s couch and bought the plane ticket.

“Look, about that. The personal thing. I have a piece to pitch you. I think we should extend the Jones series to three articles. I’ll still review the new book. But I wanna write about—about Betsy Coleman. About being her. About what really happened, all the stuff Jughead omitted from the story. I want to write about it.”

But Cynthia knows her. Knows how deeply uncomfortable she’d been at the prospect of being publicly connected to the character.

“Oh honey, no. Why don’t we just talk about that when you get back?”

She lets Cynthia talk to her down, but she makes notes on the story anyway, while drinking the largest Starbucks green tea frappucino she thinks she can get away with without totally wrecking her blood sugar. She doesn’t mind that Jughead had written about her, about their life. She’d always known he would, had believed it in all the years between their break-up and The Final Fissure’s publication. She couldn’t begrudge him the one thing that she knows has always kept him sane, the thing that he does so beautifully it would be a crime to keep it from the rest of the world. She can’t begrudge the world for wanting to share in that. But, now, she’s pissed that he made her the heroine. She’s pissed that he put her on a pedestal, even while her own family was just as dirty as the Blossoms, the Kellers, the McCoys. In the Civil War between the North and the South of Riverdale, it was the Montagues that were blameless. Her own Capulets commanded every gun, every sword, every gavel.

She does wind up talking to Veronica, huddled against a charging station, and Ronnie makes her laugh through the tears that occasionally threaten.

Betty is jealous of Veronica (what else is new?). She is jealous of how sure and easy things are between her and Archie. And god she’s jealous of the sex she knows they must be having.

“It’s like the universe was saying here’s what you get, Elizabeth. You finally get to have a really great lay and then it all comes crashing down around your ears,” she whisper-yells, all too aware of the businessman in the row behind her. She hates being on FaceTime in public. Headphones make it marginally better, but not enough dispel her anxieties over being heard.

“Betty, that’s not how it works and you know it. You and Jughead, it sounds like you were a ticking time bomb anyway. Both physically and emotionally.”

“Bomb is exactly the right word. Only there’s a hell of a lot more shrapnel than I predicted.”

“Are you sure you should be leaving right now? I’m sure Jughead’s worried about you if you just ran out on him. And your mother—look, I may have only known her a short while but Alice Cooper makes an impression. Don’t you want to be calm when you see her?”

“I need to know, Ron. And she’s out of town right now, so I’ll have some time to figure out what I want to say. To look for, I don’t know, something.”

“Do you want to talk to Archie? I can wake him up.”

“No, I’m not ready yet.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t know.” She feels her nostrils flare.

“How could he not know?” She doesn’t know what would be worse — if Archie had lied to her or if Jughead had lied to Archie. Even through her own pain, she’d noticed how deeply Archie had felt Jughead’s loss. She’d been so pleased when she’d heard they’d reconnected. She didn’t want to come between them. Even at the time, she’d felt guilty for being with Archie. And sometimes, she’s pretty sure he felt the same. But they’d needed each other then, to hold each other up when the foundation had crumbled beneath them.

No, she knows what would be worse. As much as she hates having Robin Scherbatsky-ed them, the thought of her lifelong best friend, the only person who’d always been there for her, who’d always been honest with her, even when it would have hurt her less to lie, the thought of him keeping something like this from her—Well, it’s almost as bad as Jughead keeping it from her.

As she readies to board the plane, she finally pulls up their text message thread. He called her eight times yesterday, before finally giving up around 11 pm. He also sent her twenty-two texts, none of which she’d read. When she’d awoken at midnight on Mary’s couch, she’d opened the apps to get rid of the notifications, then pulled up the internet to book her flight. She hands her boarding pass to the gate attendant to scan, then shuffles along the jet bridge and scrolls through them.

“betty come back”

“you can’t just wander around a neighborhood you don’t know”

“i have more to tell you”

“i really want to talk to you”

“please answer me”

“you forgot your food. and your bra”

“hello”

“i will keep texting and calling you until you answer me”

“i just want to make sure you’re safe”

“please betts”

“i didn’t want to make it worse”

“i should have told you a long time ago”

“but in my defense it was pretty clear you’d moved on”

“shit ignore that last one”

“betty”

“betty”

“betty come on”

“answer your phone damn it”

“i’m sorry”

“just tell me you’re okay. please.”

“nvm, heard from mary”

“i’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

There’s one more text, from 5 o’clock that morning: “just please be ready to talk sometime”. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Now, she responds: “can you send me copies of the security photos you have?”

He calls her when she’s still getting settled in her seat, and his voice is a familiar cocktail of anger, panic, and pain. “Betty, where are you?” Before she can answer, the flight attendant’s voice comes over the intercom. “Are you on a plane?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t mean to be short, but it’s hard to know what to say, what she can say in this moment.

“Where are you going?”

She debates not telling him, but knows he’d figure it out anyway. “Home. I need to talk to my mother and I need to do it in person. She’s not as good at lying to me face to face.”

He lets out a ragged sigh she can hear, even over the sounds of the engine warming up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to screw up—”

But she cuts him off, “I’m not. Jughead, whatever else I’m feeling, and who even knows what that is right now, I’m glad I know.”

“Why did you walk out?”

“Not right now, okay? Can we just focus on the Jason Blossom murder mystery plot?” There’s so much still for them to say, but she almost understands why he’d asked her that yesterday.

He’s silent a moment, then he says, “Are you okay?”

“No.” She lets out of shaky laugh. “Fuck no, definitely not. But I will be, once I get some answers.” But then the flight attendant comes by and signals that it’s time to switch to airplane mode. “I have to go, Jug. I’ll—I’ll call you, I guess. Later.”

“Okay.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye.

She can’t get comfortable during the flight. The ache between her thighs and across her shoulder blades reminds her how long it’s been since she’s been with a man. It also reminds her of the cost. She wonders if there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but the thought is too tiring. So, she stares out the window as the lake gives way to the fields and forests of Michigan, Ontario, and, eventually, to New York.

Betty walks out of the airport, and, for the second time in two days, dissolves into a puddle of tears, this time in her sister’s arms.

“Hey, hey, little sis—what’s wrong?” Polly’s perfected her mom voice over the years, and for a moment Betty lets it lull her into a false sense of security. Then she freezes as realizes she cannot tell Polly any of what she suspects. Not until she’s sure. “No-nothing. It’s just been a hard week and I didn’t realize how much I missed you.”

Polly pulls back from her, hands still on her shoulders. “Do we maybe need to stop for some ice cream and Midol on the way home?”

Betty manages to pull a laugh out of somewhere deep inside, her spleen maybe, and says, “I hadn’t even thought of that, but sure.”

“One pint of Tonight Dough coming up! Mom only has that no sugar added frozen yogurt at her house, and, believe me, you don’t want to eat it unless you have to.”

She lets her sister console her with the promise of frozen dairy products and pain relievers she doesn’t need as they bundle her suitcase into the car and pull away from the airport.

“I’m sorry I won’t be here for your visit, Betty. And mom won’t be back from her conference for a couple of days, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”

“That’s okay. I’m the one who didn’t give you any warning I was coming. Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Are you kidding? A whole hour of you to myself and I don’t have to answer Cheryl’s incessant texts about SPF and not wearing mom shoes and yes I’m sure we don’t need fast passes and Disney World and Universal are plenty, we definitely don’t need to go to SeaWorld too.” Betty rolls her eyes. Cheryl is some Frankenstein’s monster of sort-of-cousin and sort-of-sister-in-law and completely overbearing, but Betty couldn’t imagine her life without her. She just wishes Cheryl would stop trying to buy the twins’ love. One, it’s unnecessary, they adore her. And two, sometimes it makes Betty feel a little bad that she can’t do the same, no matter how much Polly hates when Cheryl goes over the top.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, just for tonight? I can have Fletcher push back our reservation.”

“No you should go. Don’t let me derail your plans. Besides, I had to be at the airport so early, I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Polly rolls her eyes but keeps them on the road. “Of course not. You could have gotten a later flight, you know. Like two weeks later.”

“I know, it was sort of an impulsive decision.”

“Betty Cooper doesn’t do impulsive.”

“Maybe now she does.”

Polly glances over at her. “You look happier.” It’s surprising thing to say, considering the tears that had met their reunion.

“Pol, I just busted out the waterworks when all you did was hug me.”

“Stop it. I mean, you seem brighter. Like you’re taking better care of yourself. You’re smiley-er.”

“You spend too much time talking to twelve year olds. But yeah, I think…I think overall I am. I mean, it’s been hard, being so much farther away from all of you and basically starting over. But I like my life so far.”

“I’m so happy for you even though I miss you so much. Maybe once we all get to Orlando, I can have the twins FaceTime with you.”

“That’d be great. We all? Who else is going on this adventure again? Besides Cheryl.”

“Me, the kids, Fletcher, Cheryl’s girlfriend. Cheryl’s picking them up and we’re all meeting up at the airport Wednesday, so Fletcher and I are going to spend tonight and tomorrow in Saratoga Springs, a little mini-vacation before the crazy.”

Betty turns her sister’s statement around. “You’re happy?”

Polly’s smile is so big that Betty thinks it must hurt. She grabs Betty’s hand where it rests on the console and squeezes it.

“Yeah, I’m happy.”

Betty’s heart clenches.

For the rest of the ride, Polly chatters happily about their vacation plans. As much as Betty had enjoyed Harry Potter world, the prospect of that many consecutive days in the full buffet of Orlando’s theme parks, packed into crowds like sardines, and in August no less—she thinks it sounds like her own personalized version of hell.

But most of all, she thinks, she’s glad her sister won’t be here to see what’s coming. That she’ll have time to think of how to tell her.

[lala-kate]

Pulse Points:  Chapter 7

This chapter is dedicated to @lillie-grey and @sometimesangryblackwoman. I hope you enjoy it, my dear friends and sisters. 

All mistakes mine. You can read it here or on ff.net. :)

It’s been five days.

 Five miserable days since she ran out of his house in a panic. Five lonely days of ignored texts, unanswered calls, and of him wondering just what the hell happened after he left his bedroom and walked into the kitchen.

.

One minute, they’d been kissing and touching, smiling and discussing what he should fix for breakfast--the next…

 The next minute she’d shot out his front door like a frightened hare, her face wet from tears she tried to hide from him, her legs as unsteady as her voice.  What in God’s name had terrified her so badly?  What the hell had he done wrong?

 He touched his lips, remembering the taste of her, the feel of her, how warm she felt pressed into his body, how perfectly she fit him in more ways than one. He ached all over, longed for a glimpse of that smile that had dazzled him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her in his restaurant, craved her laughter that tickled his insides, missed her touch that left him burning, remembered her scent that drove him wild.

 Regina. Christ, he just missed her.

 She’d left him a bruised and battered man living in a fog of his own creation, a fog he had to shake in order to get back to living.  He’d had a life before her, after all, one that wasn’t so bad, actually, one filled with family, friends and a son who brightened his entire world. One regulated by schedules, salaries, and late night poker over a few beers, one that resulted nightly in his lying down in an empty bed, a bed that had once been warm because of Marian’s presence in it.

 A bed now colder than ever because of Regina’s absence.

This was ridiculous--no, he was ridiculous. He had to forget her, this woman who rearranged his heart before he’d even realized she’d set up residence. Forgetting her shouldn’t be that difficult, actually, not when she’d waltzed into his life and nearly broken his nose a mere week ago, all five feet and three inches of her. But she’d somehow worked her way into his psyche and under his skin, and she refused to leave him alone, even when she wouldn’t acknowledge his calls.

 The problem seemed to be his and his alone.

 But she’d laughed at his stupid jokes, had been brave enough to stay the night after he’d ruined their dinner and presented himself to her in his boxers and socks. She’d let him talk about Marian, had held his hand when he spoke of her death, had listened to story after story about her Lupus and Roland’s birth before sharing her own about adopting Henry. They’d compared notes about raising boys, being single parents, about trying to balance work and family, about dealing with guilt when personal needs arose at massively inconvenient times.

 He’d told her there had been no one since Marian, that no one had even caught his eye since her death. She admitted that it had been years since she’d had sex, that she kept a vibrator hidden in her nightstand drawer and that she lived in semi-fear that Henry would happen upon it one day. He’d kissed her in a way he wouldn’t have believed possible for him again, and she’d kissed him back with the same fervor, one he’d savored and devoured, one he now replayed over and over again in his mind.

 She’d let him see her naked, had allowed him to kiss the scar she found so daunting, the same scar he found beautiful because it meant she lived. He’d touched it, tasted it, had memorized it’s texture as his breath painted assurances over exposed skin.

 He’d thought they were on the verge of something special. But she obviously felt differently. Why else would she leave him high and dry without an explanation, a text, or even a note for five days? But that explanation didn’t make sense, either, not after the night they’d shared. No something was off, something he was missing, something that should probably be glaringly obvious and would probably bite him in the end.

 Shit. Just shit.

 He didn’t love her, that wasn’t possible, not after a mere two dates and one night together, no matter how mind-blowingly incredible the sex had been. He didn’t think she’d faked anything, hoped to God he hadn’t somehow inadvertently hurt her. She’d cried her release into his mouth, his shoulder, his neck, had cinched and fluttered around both his fingers and his cock.

 But it had been more than sex for him, and he’d thought it had been the same for her. She’d told him as much as they’d lain wrapped up in each other, naked and sated and so very tired. She’d shown him as much over and over again, through touches, smiles, caresses and whispered confessions that felt every bit as intimate to him as being inside her body. He may not love her, but he was in the process of falling, and damn it, it was next to impossible to stop mid-air and reverse the laws of gravity.

 But he had to, it would seem. She’d made that choice for him after he’d already stepped off of the cliff.

 “Daddy. I don’t feel good.”

 He set down his reheated coffee, this morning’s leftover brew he’d microwaved to ward off a simmering headache still bitter on his tongue. It was his night off from the restaurant. God, he was supposed to have been cooking dinner for Roland and himself while he’d been staring at his silent phone, brooding over a woman who’d written him off.  But one look at his son’s face let him know that dinner probably wasn’t going to happen tonight.

 His boy was pale, his cheeks flushed a bright magenta.

 He moved to Roland and laid a warm palm on his son’s forehead. Christ, he was burning up. He pulled Roland to his chest and scooped him up gently, somewhat alarmed at how limp the boy felt in his arms as he moved to the medicine cabinet and took out the Children’s Ibuprofen.

 “Here, Roland,” he murmured, sitting his son down on the toilet seat, popping open the lid and pouring the red liquid into a plastic measuring cup. “Drink this.”

 Roland grimaced as he swallowed.

 “It hurts,” he muttered, pointing to his neck. “My throat. And my arms.”

 Robin ran some water into a small glass and brought it to Roland’s mouth.

 “This will help,” he assured him, stroking curls that seemed droopier than usual. Roland drank without protest, his face scrunching as the liquid made it’s way down his throat. He raised his arms up towards his father, and Robin picked him up again, glancing at his watch, noting that it was already a little after 6:00 pm. That eliminated calling his pediatrician, he realized, wondering then if Roland’s temperature would warrant a trip to the emergency room.

 He grabbed the thermometer and gently nuzzled it into Roland’s ear, growing more concerned as it took longer than usual for the device to beep. 102.3. Yes--it was definitely time for a trip to the ER.

 He bundled Roland up in his heaviest coat, grabbing his Captain America blanket for good measure as he carried him to the car, cursing himself for not warming up his vehicle ahead of time as winter cold stung his cheeks. But Roland didn’t seem to mind, his eyes drooping to half-mast as Robin buckled him into his car seat and tucked the blanket in around him. How had this happened so quickly, he wondered?  Roland had been unusually tired this afternoon, had refused his regular after school snack, had actually fallen asleep while watching Peppa Pig, but he hadn’t been hot when Robin picked him up from preschool. Robin had assumed the boy had just had an overly busy day, but he should have paid more attention, should have checked him when he’d refused his snack, should have quizzed about his symptoms before this fever had spiked.

 Shit. He hoped it wasn’t the flu.

 But it was making the rounds among both students and teachers at Highlands Montessori, as was strep and the dreaded stomach bug, and he breathed a word of thanks that at least Roland wasn’t vomiting. Adding that to his high fever would be adding insult to injury.

 Snow flurries grew into decent-sized flakes as he drove, but the roads remained clear as he made his way to the nearest hospital and parked as close as he could to the ER entrance.

 Roland didn’t protest as Robin scooped him out of his seat, his head falling onto his father’s shoulder as one small hand patted his father’s back.

 “Cold,” Roland uttered, prompting Robin to walk even faster towards the door.

 “Yes,” Robin said, rubbing his son’s back through the blanket. “But we’ll be inside in a second, and it will be nice and toasty in there.”

 It wasn’t as toasty as he’d hoped, but it would have to do, he observed as they made their way to the front desk. Shit--it was packed in here tonight. God only knew how long it would be before it would be their turn. He carried the clipboard with the necessary forms in one hand while balancing Roland in the other, sitting down clumsily as far away as he could from any other sick person in the waiting room, a difficult task when practically every seat was taken.

 “Want me to take that up to the desk for you?”  

 A young woman in Cookie Monster scrubs with brown hair and a nametag that identified her as Belle: RN Pediatrics stood in front of him, her hand extended towards the clipboard. He smiled, nodding as Roland snuggled further into his chest and groaned.

 “Looks like your hands are full enough,” Belle observed, leaning in to feel Roland’s forehead. “How long has he had this fever?”

 “Just a few hours,” Robin answered. “It hit him out of nowhere.”

 She nodded, looking over the boy’s chart.

 “Sounds like flu,” Belle said with a sigh. “We’re seeing a lot of it this week. I’ll try to get you two back to get checked as quickly as I can. The ER is so swamped tonight with the multi-car pile-up on Storrow Drive added to cold and flu season that they’ve called in extra help, including me. We have a make-shift peds area set up with two extra pediatricians on hand so the babies and children won’t have to wait too long.”

 He closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

 “Thank you,” he muttered, kissing Roland’s curls after tugging off his toboggan. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

 Belle smiled and carried his chart up to the registration desk, speaking with the woman in charge a few moments, giving her instructions. Robin slid down into the chair, trying to get as comfortable as possible as he adjusted Roland in his lap until the boy’s head lay flat against his chest. Even with extra hands on deck in pediatrics, there was still no telling how long they would have to wait, and he felt his own eyes start to droop as CNN played softly in the background and various people coughed and hacked around them.

 “Locksley.”

 The voice shook him out of his stupor, and he stood, locating a young man with closely shaved black hair and round glasses holding his chart and motioning him towards a door.

 “I’m Carlos,” the nurse stated, leading them back through a maze of hallways and equipment. A man either in extreme pain or high as a kite was yelling obscenities in the background, but Roland didn’t even stir, a fact for which Robin was both thankful and alarmed. “We’ll get you two settled and I’ll check his temperature.”

 They made their way through curtains into a small, rectangular space which held a chair, a bed on wheels, and an assortment of medical equipment that left Robin cold inside. He’d seen too many rooms like this during his marriage, especially during Marian’s pregnancy and right after Roland’s birth, and he swallowed down bile, forcing himself to focus on Roland and only Roland as Carlos checked the boy’s temperature.

 “101.6,” Carlos stated. “Did you give him any medicine before you came?”

 “Children’s Ibuprofen,” Robin answered. “It was 102.3 earlier, so it has gone down somewhat.”

 Carlos nodded as he scribbled something on the chart.

 “I’m going to check him for strep and flu,” he stated. “So I’ll need you to hold him still, if you don’t mind.”

 “Of course not,” Robin uttered, adjusting Roland so he faced the nurse and leaned back against his torso. The boy nearly gagged on the throat swab and tried to hide his face when Carlos leaned in to swab his nose for the flu test, but they got it done without too much difficulty.

 “The strep test takes 5-10 minutes to produce a result, the flu test about 15-20,” Carlos explained. “After we have the results from both, Dr. Mills would be in to see you.”

 He nearly shot out of his seat at that.

 “Dr. Mills?” Robin asked, his voice rising in pitch as his tongue doubled in size.

 “Trust me,” Carlos stated as he pulled back the curtain. “You’re in good hands. She’s one of the best.”

 Dr. Mills...a pediatrician…and a female pediatrician, at that. It could be a coincidence, but his heart pounded all the same, robbing his mouth of moisture as his mind scattered in one hundred directions at once. Roland snuggled back into his chest, asleep within seconds, and Robin was glad for it as he stroked the boy’s hair, his heart in tatters as Marian’s memory, Roland’s illness and Regina’s proximity turned him into a sodding mess.

 Twenty minutes seemed like a bloody eternity.

 He finally heard a shuffling from behind the curtain, and he watched as a delicate hand drew it aside, only to find himself staring at the very woman who had haunted his every waking and sleeping moment for the past five days staring at him with wide, tired eyes.

 “Robin,” she muttered, moving into the small cubical, looking down at Roland in concern. She seemed surprised, but not startled, and he knew that his son’s chart had given her a few seconds to compose herself before facing him. How in God’s name would they have handled things if neither of them had been given any warning?

 “So you’re alive,” he said, hating his words as soon as they left his mouth. She had the decency to look sheepish, but she composed herself quickly, forcing herself to meet his gaze head-on.

 “Yes,” she returned. “I’m alive.” The air was thick, his every nerve on high alert as he watched her look back down at Roland’s chart and clear her throat. “Roland’s flu test was positive.”

 Just like that, they’d changed course. He was actually glad for it.

 “Did he get a flu shot this fall?” she asked, and Robin nodded, trying to get his train of thought moving in one direction rather than twelve. “Good. That means he should recover quicker than he would have without one.” Her words continued, something about Tamiflu being a possibility but not really one she would recommend as Henry had a reaction to it last year, about lots of fluids and rest, and would he be able to get his family to cover for him at the restaurant while he looked after Roland?

 “I owe you an apology,” she then stated, catching him off guard, her voice far calmer than he felt. His insides churned, and everything hit him at once...Marian’s death, his night with Regina, their love making, her running out the door, Roland having the flu….

 “Yes,” he said. “You do. An explanation would be lovely, too.”

 She looked hurt, truly hurt, and he hated himself for making her look that way.

 “It wasn’t you,” she began, her tone barely above a whisper. “You did nothing wrong, it was…”

 “It was what?” he cut in, impatience and pain prompting him forward. “Is this where you tell me it was all you and that I shouldn’t feel bad about it? Because I do feel badly about it, Regina. I feel like shit, to be honest.”

 She closed her eyes, swallowing hard before looking back at him.

 “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I never meant to hurt you. And if it makes you feel any better, I feel like shit, too.”

 A bitter laugh forced itself out, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

 “Then why did you run away? Why do this to both of us?”  He stood, holding Roland to his chest, staring at her directly, willing her to tell him the truth. But her eyes fell to the chart, her cheeks heating as her breath hitched.

 “It’s complicated,” she finally said, her hands shaking slightly. She looked so small and vulnerable then, and his heart squeezed until it hurt, until every part of him wanted to yell, to throw up his hands and run out in the cold until he was past the point of feeling.

 “Then tell me,” he practically begged. “I’m a fairly intelligent man, Regina. Complicated stories are usually something I can manage to comprehend.”

 “This isn’t the time or place,” she cut in, taking a step in his direction. “I have patients to see, and you need to get your son home and into bed.”

 His chest deflated at that, and he felt like the worst dad in the world for allowing his heartache over a woman he’d known a week interfere with his concern for his son. She seemed to sense this, God, she sensed too much about him, and she handed him a paper with instructions he couldn’t quite make out at the moment.

 “He’s going to be fine,” she assured him, her tone more personal than professional. “Regular fluids are the key. Pedialyte and Gatorade would be good to have on hand because he’s likely to have little to no appetite for a few days. If he won’t drink, give him popsicles. I used to have to do that with Henry.”  She smiled softly, her gaze moving to the dark curls splayed over his shoulder.

 “So no Italian Cream Cake.”

 His own words surprised him, as did the small smile that danced across her features as she stroked Roland’s hair.

 “If he feels good enough to ask for Italian Cream Cake, give it to him,” she instructed. “Nonno and Marco’s cooking might do wonders for him, especially if they can whip up a nice, healthy broth.”

 “You know those two,” he muttered, unable to keep from smiling himself. “They’ll deliver it by hand if it’s for Roland.”

 “Yes,” she breathed, looking up at him, seeing into him one glorious second before the mask of the physician slid back into place. “They would.”

 He knew the moment was gone, and he missed it already, that one brief moment of emotional intimacy enough to let him know that something was off here, terribly, terribly off. If only she’d let him know what the hell it was.

 “Alternate Tylenol with Motrin every four hours until his fever breaks, but know that it’s likely to continue to come back for several days. If his fever goes higher than 103, becomes unresponsive to medication or his symptoms linger for longer than five days, take him to his regular pediatrician to get  him checked again.”  She paused once more, avoiding his eyes, weighing something carefully in her mind before she swallowed hard and met his gaze. “Or call me. I’m happy to check up on him any time.”

 His lips pressed together as he nodded, words pressing through dry lips before he could call them back.

 “So you’ll take my calls now?”

 “Robin…”

 His name feathered over her lips, lips he wanted to kiss even as he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her.

 “Sorry,” he uttered. “That was unfair.”

 He moved towards the curtain, preparing to take his leave when she reached out to touch his sleeve.

 “No,” she stated, her tone low and private. “It wasn’t.”  Emotions he couldn’t identify rolled over her features, but he was able to discern turmoil. It was palpable between them. “I’ll take your calls and your texts,” she continued. “I’m sorry for not answering them this week. It’s just...things have been...things are…”

 “Complicated. I get it.”

 They were standing close now, so close he could smell the sweet, floral scent of her hair mixed in with the strong odor of disinfectant. Her eyes were dark, her lips practically free of lipstick, and he saw then that she’d had a long, probably sleepless tenure here what with her taking on ER duties on top of her regular office hours and patients to help sick children. He wanted to comfort her, of all things, wanted to hold her to his chest, to kiss her forehead, to tell her that they’d work out whatever she thought was so tricky that it prompted her to run out the front door. But it stung, the rejection she’d served him up on a cold platter, so he stepped back instead, wondering if he’d actually call or text her, knowing he probably would because he was just that pathetic, wondering if she’d ever tell him the truth about what had scared her so badly.

 Because she was scared of something between them. That much was obvious.

 “Goodbye, Regina.”

 The words tasted bland on his tongue as his insides shut down, and he watched her flinch before her eyes fell and she nodded, accepting what she obviously interpreted as rejection in a manner that seemed practiced and well-used. She shouldn’t get to him like this, shouldn’t matter this much, but as he turned and walked out of the hospital, she was still with him in his head, in his heart, and he cursed once he had Roland buckled in securely, turning on the heat before slamming his hands against the steering wheel until his hands stung.

 He couldn’t know that she’d slid into the bathroom after he left and locked the door, that she’d cried as she hadn’t cried in months, that she was cursing herself with the same ferocity as he just had, that her heart now lay in tatters around her feet but that she was too frightened to pick it up. He couldn’t know that she went through the rest of the night as a robot, her emotions trailing behind her like a slip whose elasticity had broken, her scar throbbing even though it could generate no pain. He had no idea that his name was what she whispered when she finally fell into bed at 2:00 a.m., pulling the covers up to her chin and tracing the very scar that now stood between them.

 He couldn’t know that they both thought of Marian and each other as they finally fell asleep. He couldn’t know how badly she wanted to let herself fully trust him, fully love him, how she wanted to tell him everything yet feared his reaction too much. He couldn’t know that she replayed their encounter over and over again in her mind as the minutes ticked by, wishing she’d handled it differently, wondering just what he thought of her now, knowing she’d probably never hear from him again, crying over the fact even though she thought it was for the best.

 He only feared she’d just stepped out of his life forever, cursing himself and this bloody insomnia as the night’s events held him hostage, knowing deep down that he’d never be able to get over what could have been.

____________________________________________________________________________

Something was terribly wrong with his mom.

 Henry knew that she’d worked longer hours than usual last night, which was disturbing in itself as hard as she worked anyway. That’s why she’d let him spend the night with Aunt Mary Margaret and Uncle Dave, because she knew how late she’d be and wanted to make certain he got a good night’s sleep. But she’d been upset by something earlier in the week, something he was sure had to do with Robin, the guy in the restaurant she’d liked, the one he’d known had liked her, too. She’d been a nervous wreck before their date, but she’d been a bigger wreck after it was over, and that wasn’t okay with Henry, not one little bit.

 If Robin had hurt his mom, he wanted to let the guy have it.

 He’d asked her several times what had happened, but all she’d say was that Robin was nice, but that they just weren’t meant to be. She was a terrible liar, even though she thought she was really good at it, and Henry knew there was a lot more to it that she was letting on. Besides, if Robin was such a nice guy, how could she know that they weren’t meant to be so quickly?

 “She is acting weird,” Mary Margaret had stated. “I agree with Henry, David. Something had to have happened with Robin.”

 “Okay,” David had returned. “Let’s say that something happened between them. It’s still none of our business. If Regina doesn’t want to talk about her love life, she shouldn’t have to.”

 “Mom doesn’t have a love life,” Henry said. “You know that. This is the first date she’s had since her surgery.”

 “And she needs to talk about it, David,” Mary Margaret argued, patting Henry on the hand as he ate his bologna and cheese sandwich. “You know how Regina tends to keep things all bottled up inside of her until they eat her alive. A little nudging from her friends can’t hurt.”

 “Yes,” David returned. “It can. We should stay out of this, Mary Margaret.” He paused, looking directly at Henry and pointing a finger in his direction. “And so should you.”

 Mary Margaret said nothing else, but she’d shot Henry a look that let him know that she had no intention of dropping it. Good. He had an ally.

 The two of them were now alone together at his house, chatting as Mary Margaret was slicing vegetables for a salad that would accompany the spaghetti that was boiling on the stove.

 “Do you think she’ll work as late tonight as she did last night?” Henry asked. Mary Margaret sighed, turning to look at him from her position by the kitchen counter.

 “Who knows?” she returned. “Regina told me that last night she didn’t get home until 1:30. Let’s hope there are no more multi-car pile ups and that she can make it earlier tonight.”

 He nodded, tapping his fingers on the counter.

 “I think something happened last night, too, you know. Something personal.”

 Mary Margaret paused, her eyes narrowing.

 “You mean with Robin?” she asked. “Why do you think that? It could have just been a rough night with patients, Henry.”

 “Aunt Mary Margaret, I know my mom,” Henry replied. “Something besides work was bothering her this morning, something she wouldn’t talk about, and that makes me think it has to be about Robin.”

 He’d seen it in the way her shoulders drooped, in the way her eyes looked almost dead, had heard it in the flat tone of her voice. She’d had her hopes dashed, something she’d gotten used to as they’d waited and waited for a suitable heart to become available for her, and he couldn’t let his mom go there again. She’d been a dark, lonely place for too long.

 The only person he’d seen lately who’d raised her hopes as far as they’d been raised earlier this week was Mr. Robin Locksley. Therefore, he had to have been the one who’d dashed them onto the ground.

 “Crap,” Mary Margaret muttered, raising her index finger to her mouth. “I cut myself. Where are the Band-Aids?”

 “There are some in mom’s bathroom,” Henry answered, already halfway up the stairs as he yelled back his answer. “I’ll bring them down.”

 He pushed open his mom’s bedroom door, shaking his head at the clothes that had piled up in the corner. She hadn’t left messes untended like this since right after her surgery. This wasn’t a good sign. She’d come so far--they’d come so far, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her drifting back into depression. He sighed as he walked towards the stack of dirty clothes, intending to put them in the hamper before he grabbed the box of Band-Aids. A paper fell out of a pocket, and he stared at it as he dropped the clothes, picking up the paper, his breath catching when he realized what it was.

 It was a letter. His letter. The one he’d written two years ago and sent to the family of the person whose heart his mother now had.

 Why did his mom have it? How did she have it? He’d never even told her that he’d written it, had relied upon Mary Margaret to help him get it mailed so as not to upset his mom any further. There was no way she should have it, it had been mailed years ago, unless the family hadn’t wanted it and had returned it, somehow, unless she’d met the family and had figured things out, unless...

 Wait. Robin. Robin!

 His wife had died...wasn’t it two years ago?  Wasn’t that what his mom had told him? Hadn’t she revealed that the woman had been an organ donor, Robin’s late wife, because Henry had then stated that that was a quite a coincidence, that Robin’s family had helped someone just like someone had helped the two of them?

 His eyes flew open as the truth hit him like a bolt of lightning.

 “Aunt Mary Margaret!” he yelled. “I know! I know what happened!”

 He dashed down the steps, the Band-Aids forgotten, stopping dead just in front of his very startled looking godmother.

 “What’s this?” she asked, plucking the paper from his fingers, her eyes widening as she took in the truth.

 “It’s my letter!” he replied. “The letter you helped me write. It was upstairs in mom’s pants’ pocket.”

 “But how?” she muttered, confusion still clouding what he’d already put together. “How did she…”

 “Don’t you see?” Henry asked. “She must have found it at Robin’s house after their date, which would mean…”

 “Oh my God,” Mary Margaret breathed, her eyes doubling in diameter. “His wife. Regina’s heart once belonged to Robin’s dead wife!”

 “Exactly!” Henry cried, jumping up in his excitement as Mary Margaret’s hand rested on her slightly rounded stomach. “That’s why she’s been so upset. That’s why she won’t talk about what’s been bothering her, because she thinks it’s her fault. She always thinks it’s her fault.”

 “Even when she’s done nothing wrong,” Mary Margaret uttered, dashing over to the oven and turning off the burner. “Come on, Henry. Get your coat.”

 His heart sped up in his chest.

 “Where are we going?” he asked as he slid on his navy beanie. Mary Margaret turned to face him, a determination he knew well enough to respect staring back at him through greener than green eyes.

 “To L & M’s Pub and Trattoria,” she replied, scooping up both her car keys and her purse. “We need to find out if our theory is right, and to do that, we need to go straight to the source.”

 “And if it is?” Henry questioned, his brows slanting upward as they walked out the front door and down the front steps.

“Well,” Mary Margaret smiled, her focus narrowing as they reached her car. “Then we’re going to give your mom and Robin a good, hard nudge in the right direction, whether either of them or David wants us to or not.”

[i-love-me-a-lotta-whump]

Once Upon a Time Fanfiction: (Part 3 of “My What?!”) “Captain Swan”  {L}

Short recap of the last 2 parts: Sex, gun, pregnancy, birth, proposal and overall, happiness.

Synopsis of this part... to put it crudely: It’s about damn time.

***(Location: Captain Swan household)

“Oh no. You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding starts. It’s a superstition that even I agree with.” Regina said to Killian. He was all dressed up in his pure black tux with the one pink flower, from Camelot, in his pocket. His tie was a really dark navy blue. His guyliner was perfect. Belle had done it earlier that morning.

“I forgot something. I’ll be in and out before you can say Jolly Roger.” Killian said.

“What is it? I’ll get it.” Regina crossed her arms.

“I need my handkerchief.” He was going to try to walk past her. He heard a poof. There it was. The dark green handkerchief that he needed. It was in his pocket, already, folded like the other groomsmen’s. It was so that it would look like the flower’s leaves.

“Now get out of here before you accidentally see her.” Regina grabbed him by the shoulders, gave him a turn and a slight push, then headed into the house.

“What was that?” Emma asked. Regina had been standing outside all day and had only come in to grab a drink. She looked Emma up and down and stopped in her tracks. “What?”

“I didn’t think that dress would work, but you look amazing.” Regina said as she looked her friend up and down. Her wedding dress was magnificent. It had a red leather bustier, with a ball gown-style bottom that was pure white. Her train was long but not too long. Her veil was an intricate and beautiful white lace. Her shoes were pure white heels with two light green leaf jewels on the back of each shoe with a single jeweled red rose in the middle. Her makeup had never looked that good in her life. It was nude with a crimson lip. She didn’t want too much makeup on, though, because she wanted it to symbolize being completely open to Killian. No “masks” on.

“Thank you.” Emma said. “But what was that outside?”

“Hook came over to get his handkerchief. He’s left, now, so you don’t have to worry about him seeing you.” Regina said. She sat down with the glass of green tea she had just gotten. Zelena’s been shoving it down her throat and she’s actually starting to like it.

“Alright. Everything’s ready to go.” Belle said, walking around Emma. Snow walked down the stairs, right after Belle finished her sentence, carrying Laurel and took one look at her daughter before the tears started to flow.

“You going to be okay, mom?” Emma asked. She tilted her head with the softest smile.

“Yeah. I think so.” Snow replied. Emma nodded and did her magical hand gesture and everyone was poofed from where they stood, to the inside of the boat shed. That was where the other bridesmaids were getting ready. It was decorated, though, to look like a salon.

***(Location: The Docks)(The Jolly Roger is there)

The altar was right in front of the best view of the horizon on the docks. It was two, twenty foot tall, artificial trees. Their plastic leaves looked almost overgrown, but they were still perfect. Both had small branches “growing” out in  the other’s direction, at 10 feet. A beautiful pearly satin was laid on top of both of the branches and flowed down all the way until it barely touched the ground. To the right was a newly cleaned and painted Jolly Roger, whose shadow was cast nearly onto the seating. Regina had cleared up the weather for the perfect day. It was sunny, but it wasn’t too bright. There were clouds placed just right. It was a cool, yet warm day. Every single thing was perfect. Magic can really do that for a wedding.

Killian and the groomsmen were already at the altar, rearing and ready to go. All except for David. He was the best man. The bromance was strong with those two. The groomsmen included; Henry, David, Hook’s kid brother, Liam, August and in spirit, Robin. Their tuxes were as black as Killian’s, with white button-up shirts and navy blue ties. They all had the same flower from Camelot and dark green handkerchiefs.

The bridesmaids were; Belle, Regina being the maid of honor, Mary Margaret, Granny who was holding Laurel, Ruby and Ariel. They all wore red heart line strapless dresses made of chiffon. The bustiers of their dresses were also red leather. Laurel was wrapped in a white blanket with red stitching on the outsides and her name sewn in, in black.

In the chairs, literally sat almost every single person that’s ever step foot in Storybrooke. Jefferson was even there. He and Emma had made amends after she admitted to him that magic was real and he apologized for drugging her and holding her and Snow hostage. His daughter was there, as well. All of the dwarves were there, from Grumpy to Doc to Dopey. Killian looked down the aisle. The music had started. It was the classic “Here Comes The Bride” played on the violin and harp.

Emma and David walked out to the head of the beautiful red carpet that was laid on the concrete. Killian’s eyes watered and began overflowing with tears. Thank God the guyliner Belle used was waterproof. He bent down and put his hand and hook on his knees, then stood up quickly and threw his head back. The tears were like the Mississippi River in high tide. He wiped them away with his hand and his hook and stood back upright and looked to his beautiful bride. Emma had a smile from ear to ear while her tears flowed, as well. Her eyeliner was also waterproof. She finally reached the altar, standing next to Archie and Killian. David stepped to the side, right behind Hook. She looked over her husband-to-be’s shoulder and saw her father crying. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Before this ceremony begins, Emma made it clear that she had something that she needed Killian to know before anything got started.” Archie said.

“What is it, love?” He was getting nervous but he kept as cool as he could.

“These people. They’re not just here for me. I want you to know that. Every single person is here for you, too.” Emma said. She smiled and they looked out into the crowd. Hook’s eyes started to water again.

“Yeah!” The wedding attendants yelled. “We love you, Killian!”

“Bloody Hell.” He said, voice shaking. This was the first time he truly saw it. He was loved. Not just by Emma. But everyone else that was there, that day. He finally had what Nemo had tried to give him all of those centuries ago. A family.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” Emma laughed. Killian looked back to her and she wiped the tears from his face, gently.

“We gather here today to make two people, one. Emma Swan and Killian Jones. We celebrate the love of two heroes. A woman who’s saved the town a million times over, and a pirate who didn’t give up on pursuing the woman he loved. He’s also saved the town a bunch of times let’s not even pretend to forget that.” Archie began. There were smiles all around. Tears, too. “We shall begin the ceremony. Do either of you have anything to add before we do?” He looked to the beautiful bride and the groom.

“No.” Emma said, smiling. She looked back to Killian.

“Not that I know of.” He said. Everybody laughed. He did the puppy dog head tilt. He didn’t know why they were laughing but ultimately just accepted it. Archie nodded and began the beautiful bonding of the two.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. I require and charge you both, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts will be disclosed, that if anyone knows any impediment, why these two may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Everyone looked around. No one said a thing.

“Killian Jones, do you take Emma Swan, as your wedded wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour her, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” Archie continued.

“I do.” Killian said. His eyes started to water, again, but he managed to hold it in and blink them away.

“Emma Swan, do you take, Killian Jones, to be your wedded husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honour him, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“Aye.” Emma said. “I do.” Killian let out a small laugh. The rest of the crowd laughed through their tissues. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house! Or dock…

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” Archie asked. David stepped forward from his previous stance.

“I, Killian Jones, take thee, Emma Swan, as my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.” Killian said to Archie. David walked around and gave Killian the ring. It was silver with a round, 6.5 carat diamond. He had much larger diamonds but he knew it would be too bulky and uncomfortable. Regardless, everything he had was hers, in his eyes, already. This marriage was only going to make that official. Killian took Emma’s left hand and placed it onto her ring finger.

“Who gives this man to be married to this woman?” Archie asked. Killian’s kid brother, Liam, made his way to Emma with his big brother’s band. It was pure silver, as well, with an intricate pattern carved into it with a fleur de lis that would show from the top view of his hand.

“I Emma Swan, take thee, Killian Jones, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.” She looked back to Killian. She took his right hand and placed the ring on his ring finger. The two smiled at each other.

“By the authority invested in me by the town of Storybrooke, and the internet, I pronounce you, husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” Archie took a large step back, sensing something amazing was about to happen. He was right. Emma leaped into Killian’s arms, and he swung her around until she was bent over backwards, with their lips pressed together firmly. When they finished the kiss and were upright again, they ran down the aisle while everyone in the crowd was throwing pink rose petals everywhere. Everyone cheered for Captain Swan!

“She had better be in good hook!” David yelled. Everyone laughed. Even Killian.

And they lived happily...ever...after…

...fighting bad guys together. Like a real, badass couple does.

The. End.

(This was the final part to my CS fic and I’m proud. I hope you love it as much as I do, if not, more!)

[cooperjones2020]

Second City, chp. 9

Summary: Sometimes she worries she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but that was before she found out Jughead Jones lives in Chicago. That was before she found out the final secret of Jason Blossom’s murder.

A/N: FYI, Fletcher Foley is a real Archie comics character, but I haven’t read any of the issues he’s in.

ao3–>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/26328312

Second City one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine (ao3)

Nobodies Nobody Knows one / two / three / four / five / six (ao3)

9. In which a change of scenery takes place

She steps out of Jughead’s apartment and into an uber. Well, not immediately. She can’t telepathically summon ride-hailing services. Though she’s sure someone in Silicon Valley is working on that very problem in this exact moment. A hysterical laugh gets caught in her throat at the thought.

She’s worried Jughead will come after her, so she zigzags a couple of blocks until she’s on the far side of the square. In between a coffee shop and a wine bar, she finds a large hedge to stand beside, and then she summons the car. Thankfully, his neighbourhood is still busy on a Sunday afternoon, and there are many small black icons zooming around when she opens the app. The wait is less than two minutes.

Kevin, she knows, is at work, some special project keeping him up at all hours and in the office, even on weekends. Polly doesn’t pick up. It’s her day off, so Betty assumes her sister and her sister’s boyfriend are enjoying their last few days of kid-free time. And, while she’s so glad she and Veronica are reconnecting again, she doesn’t think they’re quite at the point for this. Even if they were, she also doesn’t think she’s quite ready for Ronnie’s particular blend of supportively brutal honesty. Archie is an option she doesn’t even consider.

So, she goes to the only person who knew her then.

She manages to recapture and hold onto her anger all through the car ride. It feels righteous, powerful, and, unfortunately, all too short. Because once she steps into Mary’s house, she bursts into tears. Something deep inside her, long forced closed and held together with glue, staples, tape, cracks open and grief stampedes through her. She’s vaguely aware of Mary pulling her to the couch, wrapping her arms around her, and rocking her. Mary rubs circles on Betty’s back and makes calm shushing noises. She speaks only enough to ascertain that no one’s been injured or died, then she just lets Betty unload until she’s empty.

She cries for an embarrassingly long time, in violent sobs that wrack her body and cause a headache to bloom behind her eyes.

At some point, she comes to and slides from the couch to the floor. It’s still light out, though it is the middle of summer, so all that really tells her is it’s before 9 pm. Her throat is dry and lips parched. There’s a water bottle on the coffee table in front of her. She grabs it and drinks half in a series of gulps. Mike must have brought it out for her. She hasn’t noticed him in the haze of her heartache, but he must be around somewhere.

Betty settles back against Mary’s legs and lets her stroke her hair, allowing herself to be comforted by the maternal gesture.

“He lied to me.” She doesn’t know if she’s talking about Jughead or her father, but, in the end, she supposes, it doesn’t really matter.

Once she gets to her gate, Betty tries to take up as much space as she possibly can without feeling guilty about it. She picks a seat at the end of a row and sets her purse next to her, her sweater in the seat next to that. Her suitcase she slides so it’s partially in front of a fourth seat. She creates a forcefield of belongings so no one can approach her.

Yesterday had scooped her out and left her numb, depleted. But the one good thing about a multi-hour crying jag is its cleansing power. Sitting at the gate, she feels a renewed sense of purpose.

As soon as it’s crossed nine o’clock, she calls Cynthia.

“Betty, why are you calling me? Why don’t you just come down the hall? We can start our Monday meeting a little early.”

“I’m not in the office, Cynth. I had a bit of a personal emergency. I’m actually at O’Hare waiting for a flight back to Riverdale.” In all her years of grown-up-hood, Betty’s never done something like this. When her father died, they’d known it was coming, so she’d made arrangements to work from home and had trained the person who’d filled in for her on the things she couldn’t do remotely. Anxiety bubbles in her stomach at the thought of disappointing Cynthia.

“Oh no, is everything okay? Your family?”

“No, they’re fine. It’s more a me thing. But I’m so sorry to just leave like this. I know I don’t have vacation time or anything yet, but I was thinking I could use some sick days? Though I don’t know how long I’ll be gone—no more than a week surely. But I can also just take it as unpaid time, I know I’m leaving you in the lurch. And I have a piece half-finished—”

“Betty, stop. We’ll survive. We were gonna run your FP Jones interview this week anyway before his pre-publication publicity circuit starts next month.”

“Oh right.”

The flare of anger she has at the memory of her and Jughead in the bar in May, the moment she first started letting him back in, gives her the courage to get to the thing she’s been thinking about since she cried herself to sleep, then woke up at midnight on Mary’s couch and bought the plane ticket.

“Look, about that. The personal thing. I have a piece to pitch you. I think we should extend the Jones series to three articles. I’ll still review the new book. But I wanna write about—about Betsy Coleman. About being her. About what really happened, all the stuff Jughead omitted from the story. I want to write about it.”

But Cynthia knows her. Knows how deeply uncomfortable she’d been at the prospect of being publicly connected to the character.

“Oh honey, no. Why don’t we just talk about that when you get back?”

She lets Cynthia talk to her down, but she makes notes on the story anyway, while drinking the largest Starbucks green tea frappucino she thinks she can get away with without totally wrecking her blood sugar. She doesn’t mind that Jughead had written about her, about their life. She’d always known he would, had believed it in all the years between their break-up and The Final Fissure’s publication. She couldn’t begrudge him the one thing that she knows has always kept him sane, the thing that he does so beautifully it would be a crime to keep it from the rest of the world. She can’t begrudge the world for wanting to share in that. But, now, she’s pissed that he made her the heroine. She’s pissed that he put her on a pedestal, even while her own family was just as dirty as the Blossoms, the Kellers, the McCoys. In the Civil War between the North and the South of Riverdale, it was the Montagues that were blameless. Her own Capulets commanded every gun, every sword, every gavel.

She does wind up talking to Veronica, huddled against a charging station, and Ronnie makes her laugh through the tears that occasionally threaten.

Betty is jealous of Veronica (what else is new?). She is jealous of how sure and easy things are between her and Archie. And god she’s jealous of the sex she knows they must be having.

“It’s like the universe was saying here’s what you get, Elizabeth. You finally get to have a really great lay and then it all comes crashing down around your ears,” she whisper-yells, all too aware of the businessman in the row behind her. She hates being on FaceTime in public. Headphones make it marginally better, but not enough dispel her anxieties over being heard.

“Betty, that’s not how it works and you know it. You and Jughead, it sounds like you were a ticking time bomb anyway. Both physically and emotionally.”

“Bomb is exactly the right word. Only there’s a hell of a lot more shrapnel than I predicted.”

“Are you sure you should be leaving right now? I’m sure Jughead’s worried about you if you just ran out on him. And your mother—look, I may have only known her a short while but Alice Cooper makes an impression. Don’t you want to be calm when you see her?”

“I need to know, Ron. And she’s out of town right now, so I’ll have some time to figure out what I want to say. To look for, I don’t know, something.”

“Do you want to talk to Archie? I can wake him up.”

“No, I’m not ready yet.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t know.” She feels her nostrils flare.

“How could he not know?” She doesn’t know what would be worse — if Archie had lied to her or if Jughead had lied to Archie. Even through her own pain, she’d noticed how deeply Archie had felt Jughead’s loss. She’d been so pleased when she’d heard they’d reconnected. She didn’t want to come between them. Even at the time, she’d felt guilty for being with Archie. And sometimes, she’s pretty sure he felt the same. But they’d needed each other then, to hold each other up when the foundation had crumbled beneath them.

No, she knows what would be worse. As much as she hates having Robin Scherbatsky-ed them, the thought of her lifelong best friend, the only person who’d always been there for her, who’d always been honest with her, even when it would have hurt her less to lie, the thought of him keeping something like this from her—Well, it’s almost as bad as Jughead keeping it from her.

As she readies to board the plane, she finally pulls up their text message thread. He called her eight times yesterday, before finally giving up around 11 pm. He also sent her twenty-two texts, none of which she’d read. When she’d awoken at midnight on Mary’s couch, she’d opened the apps to get rid of the notifications, then pulled up the internet to book her flight. She hands her boarding pass to the gate attendant to scan, then shuffles along the jet bridge and scrolls through them.

“betty come back”

“you can’t just wander around a neighborhood you don’t know”

“i have more to tell you”

“i really want to talk to you”

“please answer me”

“you forgot your food. and your bra”

“hello”

“i will keep texting and calling you until you answer me”

“i just want to make sure you’re safe”

“please betts”

“i didn’t want to make it worse”

“i should have told you a long time ago”

“but in my defense it was pretty clear you’d moved on”

“shit ignore that last one”

“betty”

“betty”

“betty come on”

“answer your phone damn it”

“i’m sorry”

“just tell me you’re okay. please.”

“nvm, heard from mary”

“i’m here when you’re ready to talk.”

There’s one more text, from 5 o’clock that morning: “just please be ready to talk sometime”. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Now, she responds: “can you send me copies of the security photos you have?”

He calls her when she’s still getting settled in her seat, and his voice is a familiar cocktail of anger, panic, and pain. “Betty, where are you?” Before she can answer, the flight attendant’s voice comes over the intercom. “Are you on a plane?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t mean to be short, but it’s hard to know what to say, what she can say in this moment.

“Where are you going?”

She debates not telling him, but knows he’d figure it out anyway. “Home. I need to talk to my mother and I need to do it in person. She’s not as good at lying to me face to face.”

He lets out a ragged sigh she can hear, even over the sounds of the engine warming up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to screw up—”

But she cuts him off, “I’m not. Jughead, whatever else I’m feeling, and who even knows what that is right now, I’m glad I know.”

“Why did you walk out?”

“Not right now, okay? Can we just focus on the Jason Blossom murder mystery plot?” There’s so much still for them to say, but she almost understands why he’d asked her that yesterday.

He’s silent a moment, then he says, “Are you okay?”

“No.” She lets out of shaky laugh. “Fuck no, definitely not. But I will be, once I get some answers.” But then the flight attendant comes by and signals that it’s time to switch to airplane mode. “I have to go, Jug. I’ll—I’ll call you, I guess. Later.”

“Okay.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye.

She can’t get comfortable during the flight. The ache between her thighs and across her shoulder blades reminds her how long it’s been since she’s been with a man. It also reminds her of the cost. She wonders if there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but the thought is too tiring. So, she stares out the window as the lake gives way to the fields and forests of Michigan, Ontario, and, eventually, to New York.

Betty walks out of the airport, and, for the second time in two days, dissolves into a puddle of tears, this time in her sister’s arms.

“Hey, hey, little sis—what’s wrong?” Polly’s perfected her mom voice over the years, and for a moment Betty lets it lull her into a false sense of security. Then she freezes as realizes she cannot tell Polly any of what she suspects. Not until she’s sure. “No-nothing. It’s just been a hard week and I didn’t realize how much I missed you.”

Polly pulls back from her, hands still on her shoulders. “Do we maybe need to stop for some ice cream and Midol on the way home?”

Betty manages to pull a laugh out of somewhere deep inside, her spleen maybe, and says, “I hadn’t even thought of that, but sure.”

“One pint of Tonight Dough coming up! Mom only has that no sugar added frozen yogurt at her house, and, believe me, you don’t want to eat it unless you have to.”

She lets her sister console her with the promise of frozen dairy products and pain relievers she doesn’t need as they bundle her suitcase into the car and pull away from the airport.

“I’m sorry I won’t be here for your visit, Betty. And mom won’t be back from her conference for a couple of days, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”

“That’s okay. I’m the one who didn’t give you any warning I was coming. Thank you for coming to get me.”

“Are you kidding? A whole hour of you to myself and I don’t have to answer Cheryl’s incessant texts about SPF and not wearing mom shoes and yes I’m sure we don’t need fast passes and Disney World and Universal are plenty, we definitely don’t need to go to SeaWorld too.” Betty rolls her eyes. Cheryl is some Frankenstein’s monster of sort-of-cousin and sort-of-sister-in-law and completely overbearing, but Betty couldn’t imagine her life without her. She just wishes Cheryl would stop trying to buy the twins’ love. One, it’s unnecessary, they adore her. And two, sometimes it makes Betty feel a little bad that she can’t do the same, no matter how much Polly hates when Cheryl goes over the top.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay, just for tonight? I can have Fletcher push back our reservation.”

“No you should go. Don’t let me derail your plans. Besides, I had to be at the airport so early, I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Polly rolls her eyes but keeps them on the road. “Of course not. You could have gotten a later flight, you know. Like two weeks later.”

“I know, it was sort of an impulsive decision.”

“Betty Cooper doesn’t do impulsive.”

“Maybe now she does.”

Polly glances over at her. “You look happier.” It’s surprising thing to say, considering the tears that had met their reunion.

“Pol, I just busted out the waterworks when all you did was hug me.”

“Stop it. I mean, you seem brighter. Like you’re taking better care of yourself. You’re smiley-er.”

“You spend too much time talking to twelve year olds. But yeah, I think…I think overall I am. I mean, it’s been hard, being so much farther away from all of you and basically starting over. But I like my life so far.”

“I’m so happy for you even though I miss you so much. Maybe once we all get to Orlando, I can have the twins FaceTime with you.”

“That’d be great. We all? Who else is going on this adventure again? Besides Cheryl.”

“Me, the kids, Fletcher, Cheryl’s girlfriend. Cheryl’s picking them up and we’re all meeting up at the airport Wednesday, so Fletcher and I are going to spend tonight and tomorrow in Saratoga Springs, a little mini-vacation before the crazy.”

Betty turns her sister’s statement around. “You’re happy?”

Polly’s smile is so big that Betty thinks it must hurt. She grabs Betty’s hand where it rests on the console and squeezes it.

“Yeah, I’m happy.”

Betty’s heart clenches.

For the rest of the ride, Polly chatters happily about their vacation plans. As much as Betty had enjoyed Harry Potter world, the prospect of that many consecutive days in the full buffet of Orlando’s theme parks, packed into crowds like sardines, and in August no less—she thinks it sounds like her own personalized version of hell.

But most of all, she thinks, she’s glad her sister won’t be here to see what’s coming. That she’ll have time to think of how to tell her.