#rocking back and forth in a corner with a thousand yard stare right now. and gnawing.

[echoland]

Prof was like even if you get an A- from the final you're getting an A girl relaxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx your pussy

[mattzerella-sticks]

A Common Thread, Day 3 of Batflash Week - Spells & Missions

John Constantine awoke to discover one of his old enemies had broken free from Hell again. How? By a bloodstained message left in his bathroom mirror. If he doesn't come to where she wants him, he'll never see one of the best things that had ever happened to him. All he needs to do is walk into her trap alone and everything will work itself out.

Unfortunately Batman throws a wrench into the plan by storming in.

Are they brave and bold enough to rescue Barry?

John Constantine stares up at the faded sign of the warehouse, spray painted in a mess of symbols any self-respecting warlock would spit at. It’s one of many graffitied markers of kids playing with forces they know nothing about. Lucky that none of the sigils were any good sewn together by the hands of a novice.

Except luck runs out. Evident by the dried blood splattering the ground next to a perfect symbol used to summon demons. Kicking over an upturned crate John finds a severed hand clutching a dirty page with instructions on it.

“Doesn’t anyone know,��� he mutters, inspecting the spell printed out, “that by tampering with forces you can’t begin to understand there’ll be hell to pay?”

And it’s usually at John’s doorstep they show up, aiming to collect.

Blythe takes what’s hers in blood .

He hadn’t expected her sorry ass to climb its way from Hell so soon, especially since he left her ground under the hell of Neron’s well-polished boot. Underestimating her resourcefulness proved much to dangerous, yet he does it constantly. John thought he learned his lesson when she kidnapped Oliver. In school the teacher always had to go over her lessons more than once before John understood, and the habit’s followed him like a horrid stench.

Now someone else he cares for is suffering under her clutches. John hopes he isn’t too late.

A rustle sounds from nearby. John drops the page, tensing in his squat. Mud squelches underfoot as an intruder steps closer, human from the sound of it. If Blythe wanted to surprise him she wouldn’t announce her presence in such a pedestrian manner.

“Whoever’s there,” he starts, sparks dancing at his fingertips, “I’m half-cocked and ready to fire off like it’s nobody’s business. Announce your presence or spend the next millenium picking yourself from between brimstone.”

“John…”

Sighing, John relaxes somewhat. He recognizes the broody timbre of the man waiting nearby. While it wasn’t a demon, John suspects an ounce of the devil runs through his blood. Why else would someone choose to dress like a giant bat?

“Batman,” he stands, lips thinning into a masked smile, “What brings you around these haunts? I know it must remind you of home but…” John drops the sentence, Batman catching it perfectly from the sneer crossing his expressions.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, skipping pleasantries. Of course.

“Fancy a bit of a stroll,” John shrugs, “bilge water does wonders for the body’s health…”

“ John …”

John levels a glare at Batman, readying a cigarette. “Why should I say what you already know. I’m here for the same’s you are.”

Although for vastly different reasons, John supposes. Batman was his colleague, one of the original seven. A detective who could follow the clues Diana in all her grandstanding glory wouldn’t have been able to notice. Trying to find the bigger picture where there is none. Because this wasn’t some prophecy or plan to take over the world.

It was the consequences of a mistake finally catching up. Doesn’t matter how fast you can run when there’s a blemish on your soul. A dark print where John brushed up against his life, if only for a moment.

Batman peers from behind his cowl, scanning him. “Zatanna send you?”

“Didn’t have to,” John says, “got a direct line from the perp herself.” He snaps his fingers, a photograph appearing instantly. John shows Batman, letting him keep the picture as he drifts closer towards the doors. John memorized exactly what was on it.

Blood smeared across his bathroom mirror in an imitation of a crack. Upon closer inspection, John realized what it was.

A lightning bolt.

He reaches the door when Batman slams him against it, crushing his face against the rusted metal. “Easy!” he whines, “I never got my tetanus shot!”

“This,” he growls, “This is your fault?”

“When isn’t it my fault!”

“What did you do? What did you do !”

“Back… off!” John throws Batman to the ground with a quick spell, eyes glowing when he sees the other hero skittering to a fighting stance. Red edges at the corner of his eyes, driven by a bottomless fury. Curious, if he weren’t on the receiving end. “Listen,” he starts, “you could get your rocks off beating the shit out of me or we can go in and save him. Which do you prefer?”

Batman huffs heavy breaths, thinking. Ultimately he relents, fists hovering at his sides. He strides forward. John plants his feet, hoping the mud will keep him from instinctively flinching backwards.

Stopping inches from his face, Batman growls. “If he’s hurt - in any way - than there’s no cheap parlor trick you can do that’ll save you.”

John scoffs, drunk on false bravado. “You haven’t seen my best cheap parlor trick, then.”

Batman shoulders him on his way towards the door. “Hurry up,” he says, “let’s not waste time.”

A beat passes, John crossing his arms as his cigarette dangles - unlit - between his lips. He curses and flings it down. Stomps over it while moving towards the warehouse.

While barren on the outside, signs of life were more evident inside the cavernous building. Mussed floors, littered with abandoned beer bottles and an amp or two, remind John of his wilder days years ago. Could picture himself and Chaz a few yards away rocking to a cruddy band performing on a makeshift stage. Sees the perfect place to snog, hidden from the view of the crowds. Where you can slip a finger or two in and hide moans under angry screams and shredded licks.

Those thoughts lead him to another time in another place. A bedroom with mussed sheets and hands that scoured every inch of his skin while trembling instinctively. Achieving orgasm was like being struck by lightning.

Sobered, he casts a dim eye towards Batman. The detective scans the room with an objective eye, bouncing from shadow to shadow. “You see anything?”

“No,” he says, “do you sense anything?”

“Not without a little help,” John says. He flicks open his lighter, a small flame bursting forth. Spinning it in small, concentric circles, John whispers Latin until the fire grows in size. It changes from a bright orange to an enchanting blue, hopping off the lighter. Dancing around John, the flame drifts over to Batman and circles him.

“What is this?”

“A little tracking spell,” John shrugs, watching the fire shift dangerously close to Batman’s cape. Only to veer suddenly on a different curve. “Like our own will o’ the wisp. It’ll follow the energy of the person we’re looking for.”

“You sure it’ll work?”

“I believe it will. And with magic that’s half the battle.” They fall into silence as the flame finally flies from Batman. Darting towards the right, it hovers by a faded poster briefly until it charges through it. Burning the poster to a crisp. “Now that’s one way to find a secret entrance!”

Batman huffs, cape fluttering after him while he leaves to follow John’s wisp.

“It was no problem at all, Batty Boy… I can show you how to do it after we’ve wrapped this up… right…”

John chases the detective before he fades from sight.

Past the poster was an ominous staircase descending into the bowels of the Earth. A little on the nose for a demon, but John bets she didn’t have much time to decorate to her liking. If she wanted to cause dread to bloom in the hearts of her enemies, she hit the nail on the head.

Distracting himself from all the horrors waiting for them at the end of the staircase, of what Blythe might have done to him - John guesses why Batman stepped from off his pedestal for such a personal vendetta that didn’t involve him.

From his earlier display John doubts the League knows he’s here. Asking about Zatanna, like she sent John there to fetch the errant hero. Like John wasn’t the whole reason Blythe had a valuable bargaining chip that could fetch her ten kingdoms in Hell. And then the violent outburst at finding out John was at the root of their problem...

John faced down angels and demons alike yet none made him want to cower from the full force of their glare like Batman. If he were able to smite John wouldn’t even have atoms left.

“So,” he starts, voice echoing in the cavernous staircase, “how did you figure out this was the place to find him.”

“Clues.”

“Any elaboration on that or…?”

“ No .”

John sighs, fiddling with his lighter. “Look, I get it. You’re worried… so am I. Blythe she - she’s done this once before, to someone I care about. The first time didn’t end so well and I… I’d really hate it if something were to happen to him. He… he doesn’t deserve it. So you can trust me on this, I’m here to help .”

Batman pauses, John nearly slamming into him. He slowly cranes his neck and reveals half his face in the light of the wisp. John bites back a gasp, surprised at the venom dripping from his features. The words of encouragement were supposed to fling the bullseye from his person, except John managed to tattoo it to his forehead.

“ Care ?” Batman asks, “I don’t know what personal stake you think you have in this but - but you do not get it. Not at all . So stay out of the way, let me save him, and we’ll never have to see each other again. Understand ?”

The wisp snuffs out their light before he can answer. In its place thousands of candles lighting the walls. Reveals the true darkness of the stretch below them, how one misplaced foot could lead to an eternity of falling. Thankfully the stairs end in a few steps.

Right by the door, where they will most definitely find Blythe waiting for them inside.

Batman nearly knocks him over with his cape, closing the distance to the door. “Like I said,” he reminds John, “stay out… of the way…”

John fixes his jacket, glaring at the disgruntled detective. “Seriously,” he mutters, “what did I step in to have to deal with this team-up?”

Closing the gap, they walk confidently into Blythe’s lair - sure that a trap awaits them. On first glance John doubts his first conclusion. Nothing about the gauzy drapery or the lazy river littered with reeds and lily pads seemed dangerous. All the deadliness sucked into the mannequin posed elegantly across a blood red chaise lounge.

“Oh John! I was waiting for you,” Blythe crows, dumping her wine glass over top a stout demon with a tray soldered to his horns. “And you brought a guest! I warned you about that didn’t I… but I guess I’ll forgive it for such a handsome devil he is…”

“I didn’t bring him,” John defends, jerking his thumb at his dour companion, “He and I are after the same thing… separately.”

“Of course. Because that makes absolute sense…”

“Cut the bullshit,” Batman growls, “where is he?”

Blythe shifts her features into faux innocence, tapping a sharp nail to her chin. “Hmm… he … I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about - oh !” The illusion shatters, a shark’s grin cracking her face. “ Of course … how could I forget! He’s been such a lovely guest…” She claps her hands, a figure shuffling from out of the shadows.

John chokes on air as he sees the haggard slump of Barry’s body. Arms swinging while he walks, Barry stumbles into view. His skin lost the golden tan he remembered, instead a sickly pallor that makes his heart stutter.

Batman drifts closer, shaking. “Barry…” he whispers. His shoulders droop for a moment. In the next, they climb back to where they were. Stiff and ready for combat. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing too noticeable ,” she coos, reaching up to squish his cheeks together. Forcing drool to dribble down his chin. “I think he looks like every other adult his age. Lifeless, hopeless, without a soul -”

“You took his soul?” John yells.

Blythe smirks, revealing a glowing amulet around her neck. It crackles with unbridled power, a wild storm trapped within. “It looks absolutely lovely. I’ll be the envy of every creature when I return with it.”

“Like hell you will!” He spits a quick spell into his hand, summoning a fireball to hurl at her. It passes between her and Flash, Blythe flinching out of its path. Barry remains frozen.

She snarls, “If that’s the game you want to play…” Four more arms erupt from her sides as she stands, green fire crackling in her palms. John curses when she launches all of them like a catapult. He skitters to the side, hiding behind a column.

Readying another spell, John sees Batman opposite him fire two bat-a-rangs at Blythe. She catches them both, only they explode and coat those hands with quick drying foam. “Disgusting!” she screams, “Don’t you know how difficult it is to get this type of blood as nail polish?”

John smirks, “Doesn’t matter what you paint ‘em love, it won’t help you look better.”

Another fireball chars the marble pillar, a few embers too close to his skin. He waits for another barrage of attacks to move. Runs over to Batman’s newest hiding spot behind a large, wooden chest while summoning a line of spectral knives in his wake. They fly for Blythe.

Skidding next to Batman, he sees Blythe dodging knife after knife. “Damn…”

“Pretty good trick,” Batman says, prepping a few more of his weapons, “where’d you learn it?”

“Your girl Zatanna -”

“Not my girl -” “Used it on me after a bad night in Vegas when I wouldn’t leave. Not that it did much good. She’s more powerful than before.”

“So,” Batman frowns at him, “how do we defeat her?” “Usually it wouldn’t be so easy,” John tells him, “I could do a quick banishing spell, send her to Hell like all the other times. But if I did it now, where she goes Barry does, too.”

“How did he get involved in all this?” Batman asks, “Why go after him?”

John finds a loose cigarette in his pocket and lights it, sucking on the bitter smoke. “Because she knew it’d hurt me.”

He can’t explain further, their shield splintering from a concussive force. John hears a splash, Batman no doubt landing in the river. John luckily skids close enough for his fingers to dangle at the edge. Quickly he pulls them close, in time to dodge the piranha-esque demon jumping up to feast on him.

Safety isn’t long. Blythe grabs his jacket, pulling him up until his feet dangle. Tips of his shoes scuffing the floor.

She drags him close enough he can smell the hideous sulfur-and-carnation perfume she wears. See the lines in each hideously sharp tooth. “I could do so many things to you,” she says, “To make up for all the knives you planted in my back -”

“Had to…” he huffs, struggling in her grasp, “Otherwise it’d be the other way around. And I can’t recover as fast as you can.”

Blythe caresses his face with a free hand, nails digging into skin hard enough to draw blood. “You talk big, John. But you’re as weak as every other human. Let your heart lead you even though it hurts itself thousands of times. Provide fodder for the many enemies you create by existing .”

John chuckles, “You been talking to my dad?”

“Oliver was one thing but him …” Blythe looks at Barry, souring his routine. “Do you know the number of demons wanting to carve their name into the soul of a hero ? You’ve given me the best kind of gift I never could’ve asked for…”

He glances behind at where Barry’s soulless body rests, his eyes gazing at him with a frightening emptiness inside. John never prays for himself, and the few times he does it’s for other people more deserving. Barry Allen deserves a miracle, and John Constantine is far from that.

But Batman delivers.

Jumping from the river, he latches onto Blythe’s neck with a shout. She drops John to fend off Batman’s attack, stumbling around due to the other man’s grapple.

“John!” Batman shouts, “Now! Do it now!” He stabs her shoulders with bat-a-rangs, Blythe’s screams shaking the room. Batman drops and rolls away, over to John. “John!” “But what about -”

Batman dangles Barry’s soul in his sand, the chain wrapped around his fist.

John pauses briefly, in awe of the soul. He breaks from the spell when he hears Blythe’s cursing and metal clattering to the floor. Nodding, John stands and begins chanting the exorcism.

“You can’t do this to me again!” Blythe screams, stomping towards them, “Every time you send me there I come back angrier. Tougher. More vicious.” The ground under her feet begins crumbling, hellfire shooting upwards. “You can’t save anyone . His soul was damned the moment he allowed you into his bed!”

Columns fall around them, crushed by debris. Batman turns to him, “What’s going on?”

“This whole place is coming down around us!” he yells over the roar of demolition, “Grab our boy and make a run for it. Otherwise we’ll be seeing more of Blythe!”

John finishes the incantation, watching Blythe’s shadow disappear. He then spins on his heel and follows Batman up the stairs, Barry over his shoulder. Steps crumble as he jumps off them. Racing to the top, they keep running until they’re outside the warehouse where they began.

Panting, John leans against a few crates. “That’s my cardio for the year…”

No time for rest, Batman grabs his lapels and drags him over to where Barry stands still soulless. “ Fix him .”

“All right, mate, the hardest part’s over… Hand me his soul.” Batman carefully gives John Barry’s soul, his inner lighting snapping against the container. Holding it feels like being stung by a thousand loving jellyfish or covered in a large blanket that carries a fantastic amount of static cling. His skin puckers and hair stands on end. “Okay, love,” he whispers to the soul, “time to get you home…”

Muttering a quick spell, John cups the soul ever so daintily in his hand. Then he slams his fist into it, shattering the glass.

Batman jumps him, “What’re you -”

“Easy,” he says, pointing, “look!”

The soul flies around, a storm cloud pulsing with life. It zips between Batman and John - brushing affectionately against the former’s head for far too long - and circles Barry’s body. Growing in size, the soul obscures Barry leaving only a shadow. Glowing brightly, it seeps into his skin.

Barry gasps for breath, life returning to him. “God,” he sighs, collapsing to the ground, “what happened?”

“Wouldn’t bother asking Them, love,” John says, lighting his third cigarette of the hour, “They had nothing to do with where you were.”

Batman helps Barry to his feet, arms wrapped around his sides protectively. Barry leans into the embrace, resting against the brooding hero. John watches with interest as Gotham’s knight speaks in the softest of whispers against the shell of Barry’s ear, the speedster nodding every few seconds.

Feeling ignored, John clears his throat. Both of them turn to him. “Listen, Barry,” John starts, scratching his neck, “I want to apologize for what happened back there -”

“John…”

“If it weren’t for me, Blythe never have pinged you on her radar -”

“John -”

“And I’d understand if you’d never want to see me again -”

“ John .”

He casts a baleful gaze at the other man, shocked at the warmth coloring his features. “John,” he continues, “it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But, but…” the smoke drifts off his cigarette, “if we’d never… and I hadn’t… don’t you regret what we did?”

Barry shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

Their silence is charged with the infinite possibilities of what could have been. John’s heart fills with memories of when their ships passed each other all those nights ago. Docking briefly at the same port, tied to the same post.

Now Batman interrupts, glaring at John. “What are you talking about?” he asks, “Why did that demon want Barry?”

It’s an awkward and intimate conversation, to be handled delicately. John steams through it with his stubborn charm. Reveals how Barry and he first met when he followed a trail of bodies to Central City on the hunt for a demon. Guessed the next bar he would target for his next victim. Only the demon wasn’t all he found waiting there.

Barry escaped to this place, even though alcohol wouldn’t affect him, for peace of mind. Where John goes, peace never stays. John didn’t realize who he was at first, and chatted him up while waiting for the demon.

“I looked miserable.”

“And hot .”

While distracted, John missed the demon slither away with another villain. After figuring out who Barry was, he convinced Barry they should work together to take the monster down. It took all his best charms to win the argument.

“Ran out,” John shrugs, “Couldn’t even attempt to get him to carry me everywhere in his big, strong arms.”

Barry laughs, shoving him weakly. “Shove it.”

“Gladly.”

Throughout their investigation John continued flirting with Barry. Noticed with each new compliment the walls were crumbling. When he thought he had a chance, though, the demon appeared and grabbed Barry.

“Found him, though,” John says, “Wasn’t hard to track him… Got to him in good time, too. Not many people can resist the wiles of an incubus.”

When John found them, the incubus’s mirage had faded. Leaving the horned, crocodile-faced killer striking at places Barry stood. He joined the fray immediately, firing off a lightning spell that electrocuted the demon.

Together they sent the demon to Hell. “And without thought,” John tells Batman, “I asked if I could shower off the skunk of the demon’s final attack. Real stinker it was.”

Barry agreed, showing John where he lived. After a steamy shower and a low-slung towel, John tried one last flirting attempt.

“And the rest was history…”

Batman scowls, glaring at him. “You two slept together?”

“Only once,” Barry says, rubbing Batman’s wrist, “I was questioning a lot at the time… and he really helped me figure out exactly how I felt about... certain things .”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

“John…”

Batman’s expression twitches with the faintest traces of curiosity. “What?”

He grins, tapping the excess ashes off his cigarette. “Ol’ Barry was hung up on some daft loon he didn’t know he had feelings for. Wasn’t sure if what he felt was attraction or friendship and… what was it? Wanted to see if you could be attracted to another guy, yeah? I think I helped you sort through those things mighty well given the three orgasms you had.”

“Three,” Batman chokes, gaping at Barry, “you had… three ?”

Barry blushes under the scrutiny. “So?”

Delighting in the other man’s embarrassment, John continues poking. “And we cuddled. Little ol’ spoon, he is,” he winks, chuckling. With Barry’s face beet red, John lays off the nipple twisting. “In the end, though, he let me know where we stood. His heart belonged to some other luckybastard…” Smiling, he asks Barry. “Did you ever tell him how you felt?”

Nodding, Barry glances at Batman. His hand rubs his chin affectionately. “Yeah… he knows.”

John drops his cigarette, shocked. Batman’s face shifts into a smug mask as he tugs Barry closer to him, pressing their faces together. Presses his lips against Barry’s cheek as a claim. “Oh,” John says, “um… congratulations?”

“Thanks, John,” Barry says, pulling away from Batman. Stretching, he continues talking. “If you ever need me, feel free to reach out. Even if it’s just for coffee… I’m not going to hold this against you, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up about it.” Barry speeds over to Batman, scooping him in the blink of an eye. “Get home safely!”

They disappear, leaving a dust cloud to put out the smoldering embers of John’s cigarette.

As it clears, John feels a seed of happiness blossoming in his heart. Because while Barry might not be his, he has someone who can love him the way John can’t.

And that’s all that matters.

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “Find My Way Back to You”

(I started this one shot before the episode "A Wondrous Place" aired, and therefore it picks up right where "Page 23" (6x14) ended. It allows for Snow to do more what I would have loved to have seen from her in 6x15 – encourage Emma that there is no way her True Love would leave her, and take action to help her daughter find out what is wrong. In general, I wanted the Charmings to be more concerned about Killian and know that his just vanishing after a fight didn't add up, so I wrote it. Also, my first thought at Gideon not wanting Killian around was that he had a curse planned for Emma. I still wanted them have an actual, magical whoosh of air, rainbow-tinged TLK as well, so needless to say, this is what happened in response to all of that going on in my mind. When I saw the post about reviving Self-Promo Sunday going around, I went back through my old stories, looking for one I hadn’t enjoyed in a while or that I thought folks might have missed, and this is the one that grabbed me. Hope you enjoy and I’d love to know what you think!)

“Find My Way Back to You”

By: @snowbellewells (or TutorGirlml on ff.net)

Three a.m. and still no sign of her pirate. Their huge two story house feels as cold and empty in the silent dark of late night turned early morning as it had during those nightmarish days when she had ensconced herself in it as the Dark One in her solitary lair. Just as those ghastly memories have begun to vanish for good, the foreboding tendrils wind their way back in Killian's absence. She did this; her eyes close as she once more stares out the window into the dark, deserted yard, forehead resting against the frigid glass, chilling her skin along with the cold she feels spreading through her chest. Unbidden, Killian's pointed, angry words as the Dark One himself ring in her mind – cutting like tiny knives – "you push away anyone who gets close to you…that's why you'll always be an orphan…"

Knowing now that he does not truly feel that way, that he hates she had ever heard those words from his lips, does little to comfort her alone in the still watch of the night. The remembrance of cold winter nights curled up together under heaps of cozy blankets as he whispered and kissed the very opposite into her skin – how bloody brilliant she is, how she is his match, his other half, how they will always have each other and never be alone again, how he will never leave her – is cold comfort now that she fears she has driven him away.

Listlessness overtakes the Savior as she paces a sleepless route from window to sink to the living room couch and back again, peace and rest as far from her as they have ever been. At last, she curls into the oversized armchair in the corner, the one which has become Killian's favorite place to read the piles of books that both Belle and Henry recommend and loan him, her eyes glazing over until she barely notices the dark lightening to grey, then streaking the sky with pinks and golds as the sun rises again. The new day dawns with her True Love missing, and though she still believes in him and clings to her faith that he wouldn't desert her, he isn't here. She had been justified in what she'd said to him – he does have to trust her, just as she must have faith in him – but the fact that he is out there alone somewhere hurting and drowning in self-hatred, that he didn't feel welcome in their home, makes the words, warranted or not, feel hollow.

When the door creaks open and her mother enters, there to pick Emma up for their near-weekly breakfast at Granny's, Emma barely flinches or even looks up at Snow's chipper greeting. It doesn't take long for her mother to gather that something isn't right when Emma gives no answer, and when she rounds the corner into the living room to find her grown daughter curled up as small as she can make herself in the chair, arms around her legs and chin resting on her knees, Snow's happily excited face falls rapidly.

She comes to kneel in front of her child, resting her hands over Emma's clenched ones soothingly, and looking up into her blank, unfocused face. "Honey?... Emma?" She chafes her hands up and down her daughter's forearms until Emma finally startles slightly and seems to register her mother's presence. "What is it? Are you alright? …Where's Killian?"

It is this last question which finally seems to snap her daughter back into the present, and as she turns to really focus on Snow, her stoic façade truly crumbles. Shaking her head, she finally clasps her mother's hand in return, and whispers in as fragile a voice as her mother has ever heard her use, "I don't know, Mom… I don't know."

"Well, come then," Snow soothes, pulling Emma to her in a hug, and holding her as she rocks back and forth slightly, comforting her princess as she aches to have done all those missed years Emma had been growing up. When she sits back slightly, gently brushing back the loose strands of hair that have escaped Emma's braid with maternal tenderness, "We need to go find him," she urges. "The way that man loves you? Whatever happened with the two of you, you'll work it out. He's probably on his way to you as we speak."

Emma knows her mother doesn't have the whole story, but despite all that, Snow's patent hope and optimism bolster her spirits enough to urge her to her feet as her mother pulls her up and for her to soon be leading the way down to the docks in search of her pirate.

So it is a sleep-deprived, fuzzy and anxiety-distracted version of herself who stands on the wooden planks, frozen in unprepared surprise and vulnerability when Gideon materializes behind them, malicious grin on his face and a taunt on his cruelly curved lips. "Looking for someone, 'Savior'?"

Emma scowls, feeling the heat in her blood rising angrily at the look on his face – just knowing without a doubt that this freak has done something to keep Killian from her, to keep him from coming back home. "You know that I am. What have you done with him?" she growls.

"Nothing really," Gideon shrugs nonchalantly, gloating at his power over the situation, much in the way his father always has. "He'll be quite alright, I'm sure. He's just several thousand leagues under the sea – well away from here and unable to disrupt my plans."

"Your plans?!" Emma spits. "Just what are you planning anyway, you sick little – "

But before she can finish, Gideon flings out a glowing hand, magic shooting toward her from it at top speed. Emma is quick and reacts to throw up a defensive shield, but not quick enough. She has been fighting nonstop for so long, one villain, realm, and catastrophe after another, to save everyone but herself, and she is just too tired. Her sleepless night, distress, and the lackluster concern for her own safety all work against her to let Gideon gain the edge, and she freezes for a second as what he has thrown at her makes impact. Then, her eyes glass over, fall closed, and she crumples senseless to the wooden surface of the pier.

Snow is stock-still and speechless at her side, too shocked to move at their robed attacker's sudden appearance, until Emma falls. On her knees beside her daughter instantly, a cry of distress escapes the Enchanted Forest's monarch as she shakes Emma's shoulder in futile hope of rousing her.

"That won't work," Gideon intones confidently as he watches her efforts. "You of all people ought to recognize the spell, Snow White. But I've tweaked it a bit for my own purposes. Take it from someone who – like your daughter – grew up painfully without a mother, whatever the reasons, I'm not sure you could waken her, even without my refinements. All the same, I've guarded against it, just in case. You will keep her safe though, until I decide what to do with her, won't you?" And with a sickeningly self-satisfied smile, he vanishes in a red column of magical smoke.

~ CS ~ CS ~ CS ~

Killian Jones is beside himself as the Nautilus finally resurfaces in Storybrooke's harbor once more. If it weren't for Nemo, Liam, and the once again fortuitously met Ariel, he would probably have pulled all his hair out or maimed his one good hand from punching walls in frustration. As is, it has been nearly a week since their ship had been sent forcibly from the Land Without Magic. In every waking moment since – and they've all been waking; he cannot sleep, only pace his quarters, stomach churning at the thought that he will have appeared to abandon Emma like so many before him – he has been struggling, racing against time, desperate to get back to his Love. Not only can he not bear the thought of her hurting because of him, of it seeming for even a second that he would desert her, but the more time passes and the more complicated it has proved to get back home, the more frighteningly sure Killian has become that Gideon needed him specifically out of the picture. Whatever the Dark One's spawn has in mind, it means danger for Emma, and he isn't there to fight at her side.

With hardly a backward glance, he tears from the hold and clamors up onto the docks. Running toward their shared home as if that wretched hell hound from the Underworld is on his heels once more, Killian barely calls a 'thank you' over his shoulder to his comrades before he is halfway up the street.

Bursting through the front door after clattering up the steps of their porch, Killian calls out Emma's name, hoarse with panic, even as he can clearly see that the lights are dim and the place is eerily still. When searching every room on the first floor in rapid succession yields nothing, he bounds up the stairs to their bedroom, still crying out for his Swan; still hoping against hope that she will rise from their bed to welcome him, arms outstretched and both of their sins ready to be forgiven with love.

Finding that room empty and cold as well is the battering ram which almost breaks him. 'Where is she?' 'What's happened to her?' repeats round and round in his head, as his adrenaline flees and he sinks on suddenly weak, shaking legs to the edge of the bed, praying she is alright, that she hasn't given up on him and left this home they dreamed of for so long – that he isn't too late. For a moment, he buries his face in his hand, a few tears leaking from his eyes here in this dusky quiet where no one else can see.

His despair does not last though – whether it is the small kernel of undefeatable hope, purpose, love for Emma – for his family – or just plain stubbornness; whatever it is that has kept him pressing on throughout lonely centuries, it pulls Killian Jones to his feet again. Soon he is back down the stairs, across the porch and moving down the street, instinct and his heart guiding him where he needs to go, and urging him forward as quickly as he can get there.

At Emma's parents' loft apartment, he hesitates only briefly, steeling himself with a deep breath for the anger and betrayal he may face, and the fist to the nose Dave may greet him with. But he doesn't have time to waste; he has already been gone too long. With every moment he is apart from his Swan, his desperation and fear for her grows, and he cannot help imagining worse and worse reasons why Gideon might have wanted him far away.

Knocking on the door, mouth dry, heart pounding, Killian only has moments to contemplate what to say, if he will have to push them aside to gain entrance, if he will be able to stand the harsh words he is bound to hear and the disappointment in eyes that had finally begun to regard him as a part of their family, when he hears the lock turn and then it swings open to reveal a rumpled-looking and red-eyed Snow White. To his shock, and throwing him completely off balance, Snow reaches for his arm and pulls him into the apartment, hugging him tightly with her voice muffled against his jacket as she says, "Thank goodness you're here, Killian! It was starting to look like something awful had happened to you…"

Killian sputters disbelievingly even as Snow pulls away, wiping her cheeks and sniffling a bit, and allows her to drag him further into the main room, even as he stumbles over his own feet. "But…I…You are? Did Emma not tell you what I've done?"

Snow shakes her head, dithering and waving her hand as if to bat his qualms away. "She didn't explain…just that she didn't know where you were." And here the rightful ruler of the Enchanted Forest gives him the smallest of sad little smiles, "None of that matters right now. We need you… Emma needs you."

"Doesn't matter?" Killian repeats, blinking and completely nonplussed.

Snow dips her head, hiding her expression from him as she leads him on by the hand, up the steps to the room Killian knows was Emma's for a short time.

However, if he had thought himself confused and troubled already, it is nothing compared to the sight which overwhelms him upon entering Emma's small boudoir. There, lying as if in peaceful, permanent slumber, is his Emma, stretched out upon the bed, eyes closed in seeming rest with her golden hair arrayed across the pillow in a spill of light and hands folded over each other on her stomach. Yet, having felt her curled against him many times in the tiniest possible ball, as if protecting herself even in sleep, and knowing how often she tosses and turns tangling her long legs in the sheets, Killian realizes immediately something is not right – Emma is never so still.

Even if that had not alerted him, the appearance of David, Henry, and Belle around the bed would have, Dave slumped in a chair by the nightstand, looking devastated and lost as he watches over his daughter, and Henry, head bowed and silent, seated on the bed by his mother's feet, while Belle stands near him, worried and torn, her hand on her grandson's shoulder. It flashes through his head that they resemble the mournful tableau around a glass coffin in the cartoon Emma and Henry had gleefully shown him some weeks ago, the one that supposedly told her parents' story. Except these were not somewhat cutesy hand drawn dwarves; these were the members of his family, and he had no such illusions that things could be righted as instantaneously. Surely if the immediately obvious solution could work, they would have done it already?

Slow, hesitant steps bring him closer to the bed where his princess, his True Love, lies. And though he wants to fall to his knees, rail and scream at the universe and the unfairness of her loss, he finds that he can only stare dazedly until he finally reaches her other side, and runs a tender, aching finger along a strand of her hair.

David looks up at his entrance, and though his mouth tightens in a hard, thin line, he says nothing, spews none of the accusations Killian had expected from him, nor does he order the pirate from his home.

"Dave…I…" Killian starts, swallowing hard and trying to offer any kind of apology that could possibly seem like enough. Even if the other man doesn't know the horrible discovery about his father's long ago murder, Prince Charming may well believe that Killian left his daughter without a word when she was in grave danger and needing his support.

But the prince shakes his head slowly, dismissing the need. "All of that can wait for later," he sighs, voice low and ragged. "I know something wasn't right with your disappearance anyway. Just… please … wake my daughter."

Killian is taken aback, jerking upright in surprise. "How can I?" he asks, reaching to twine his fingers with Emma's limp, cool ones, needing the contact whether she can press his in return or no. "If you or Henry couldn't wake her, why would I be able to, after how I've ruined what was between us?'

Belle speaks up then, her voice shaky with a clear mix of concern and guilt. "The best we can figure is that G-Gideon altered the Sleeping Curse. Possibly because Henry has shared a True Love's Kiss with her before, he is unable to repeat the action? And…" she trails off hesitantly, and David picks up the explanation.

"…And because Snow and I weren't there for her all those years, despite my best intentions, in some way I did fail her. At any rate, what we have with our own daughter must not be strong enough to be True Love either." His head bows again to rest on Emma's shoulder, the agonized emotion in her father's voice and the defeated curve of his strong shoulders unravels Killian that much more.

Then Snow speaks up just behind him, her voice soft yet full of hope as she prods him with a hand at his back. "You're the only one who can bring her back, Killian. I know it! I've never seen her look at anyone else the way she does at you. She wasn't herself without you, even before Gideon did this, and she needs to know you're here."

Shaking his head, Killian licks his lips nervously, going down on one knees at Emma's side, pulling her hand to his chest and looking at her son. Henry meets his gaze and gives his mom's other True Love a nod of urging encouragement, a tiny, watery grin lifting one corner of his mouth.

Bending his head to the pillow beside hers, Killian closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage and praying that the bond they have shared is still alive; for she does not deserve this fate. "Swan, I love you… more than I can ever express, despite how I must have hurt you unwillingly. Please… come back to us. Come back to me."

Then, with infinite adoration he leans forward, pressing his lips to hers once more in a sweet kiss. He has missed her so much in the past day and night that it feels instantly as if he is once more whole – like he has finally, truly come home. In the following second, a whoosh of air and light sweeps through the room, ruffling their hair and clothes, sweeping up and invigorating them all. Rainbow color seems to radiate out in a wave of electric power from where their lips meet, and it steals Killian's breath. His heart near ceases to beat as he stares in awe at his princess' face.

Emma's lashes flutter, then she blinks rapidly, sucking in a huge gasp of air as she stirs, and finally Killian feels as if he can breathe again. She sits up quickly, a smile lighting her face as she reaches out for him and pulls him close desperately. "Killian," she exclaims, "you came back!"

Tears threaten, and he has to swallow several times to answer in a rough murmur, "Emma…Love…of course, I did. I never wanted to leave you."

She nods against his shoulder, burrowing closer in his embrace, and neither of them even budge when first Henry, and then the rest pile on in relief and joy, making it a chaotic, clumsy six-person hug. The warmth and belonging spread through his veins and push out the chill loneliness Killian had feared taking over him once more. Laughing and breathing in the warm cinnamon scent of her, he buries his nose in Emma's hair, feels Henry and Belle at his back, and lets Snow's hope fill the last empty cracks hidden away in his soul. No more fear of being lost at sea. He has his harbor, and he means to stay.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @let-it-raines @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @aloha-4-ever @whimsicallyenchantedrose @searchingwardrobes @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814 @linda8084 @branlovestowrite @effulgentcolors @kymbersmith-90 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @hookedonapirate @bmbbcs4evr

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis: Chapter 19. The Search.

HUZZAH!! The next chapter of Metamorphosis is HERE!!

Extra special thanks to @thefraserwitch for making sense of my nonsensical ramblings and @diversemediums for being my spectacular mama resource. I couldn’t do this without you guys, you’re the best and my saving grace.

You can find previous chapters here on my master list, or over here on AO3.

Mid November, 1743; Lallybroch.

“What are ye doin’, lass?”

Murtagh’s voice held more concern than consternation as he made his way towards me in the dim stable. I didn’t — couldn’t — look at him as I hoisted the saddle blanket onto the mare’s back, knowing that if I did, if I saw the fear he was trying to hide in his eyes, I would cry… or worse, lose my resolve.

“What does it look like?” I huffed as I turned my attention to the heavy saddle, “I’m coming with you.”

He was at my side before I managed to get it anywhere near the horse. A guttural Gaelic expletive left his lips and I forfeited the heavy tack to him, but made no move to surrender my position near the mare’s flank. I crossed my arms against chest, my gaze withering as he set down the saddle and turned to back me.

“Ye’ll no’ be riding with me,” he insisted with a dismissive shake of his head.

I knew better than to ask him why not, for there were a thousand and one reasons for me to stay behind while he forged ahead. I’d thought of each and every one, every horrible scenario playing out in my mind since he’d arrived with battered Ian in tow and still came to the same conclusion.

I was going to find my husband... with or without Murtagh’s approval.

My chest heaved as I stared him down. He met my gaze without so much as a twitch, but the crack and timbre of his voice betrayed his true feelings.

“Ye’ll stay here… where Jenny can tend to ye, where ye are safe,” his shoulders hunched with huge weight of the situation, his breathing labored as he tried to talk me down. “Wha’ happens to the bairns if ye fall, lass? ‘Tis a long way down and no guarantee of a bush or heather to land on.”

“I won’t fall.”

He snorted, “And if ye do?”

“I’ve fallen a good deal farther and they’re still here,” I grimly stated and shivered slightly, for the chilling nightmare I’d had while within the depths of the Thieves Hole had become a frequent visitor in the weeks since my imprisonment, each repetition more frightening than the last.

My comment tore down Murtagh’s mask of resolute strength and his hands shot out, gripping my upper arms as moisture sprang to his eyes, “I canna risk it, a nighean. Please… will ye no’ stay here?”

I shook my head, opening my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.

“I give you my word, Claire,” he vowed, desperate for me to stay behind. “I will find him and bring him back to you.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment, but in what condition?” I spat, even as my voice cracked. “They flogged Jamie within an inch of his life the last time you broke him out of prison and I can’t imagine they’ll do anything less to him this time!”

The image of a hangman’s noose around my husband’s neck knocked the air from my lungs and I felt very much like I was going to be sick. My head spun as I lifted my hands to my face. A shudder ran through me in a desperate attempt rid myself of the sudden vision of Jamie swinging from the scaffold at Fort William. I felt my legs give way beneath me and my crippling fears swallowed me whole as the floodgates opened, a sob bursting forth from my lips unchecked.

Murtagh caught me just before I hit the ground, pulling me to him in an awkward embrace as my tears flowed freely. I’d been bolstered by Jenny’s strength and carried by my own stubborn determination, but the quiet darkness of the stable had been my undoing. I knew that, on their own, my tears would solve nothing… but I also knew that I wouldn’t solve anything if I didn’t allow myself to cry… here in the stillness, protected by the arms of the man my husband trusted above all others.

Working together, we could -- and would -- save Jamie.

We had to.

..

Two weeks later; Somewhere in the Highlands.

“Thank ye, Mistress,” the young boy nodded to me, going so far as to bend forward from the waist in a slight bow.

While I understood their appreciation, the almost reverence the village folk gave in the last few hamlets we’d traveled through was beginning to grow wearisome. I hadn’t even treated the lad’s wound yet and here he was acting as though I’d cured him of leprosy with a touch of my hand. Most of this was Murtaugh’s doing, I knew, and yet if it meant word spread more quickly or even made me more identifiable to Jamie, I would go along with the harmless charade.

Placebo pebbles, I’d mentally dubbed them when Murtagh explained his idea at the start of our journey. Highlanders were equal parts superstitious and religious and Murtaugh's plan was to capitalize on both. He told me of a folkloric woman, a sort of witch who was able to see the motivations of men and women alike, who could strike an evil-doer down with a single look. He thought he could use the structure of La Dame Blanche, as she was called, to create a Holy Mother-like figure who could see the future and give protection or healing with the aid of a stone. The rumors of a pregnant Sassenach wandering about the countryside telling fortunes and healing the sick using magic rocks was sure to make it to Jamie, wherever he was hiding. I only hoped he’d hear of us before they tried me for witchcraft a second time or even for heresy.

I offered the boy my best attempt at a smile, gesturing him to come closer as I placed the small pouch of stones into a more visible part of my work space.

“Does it hurt much?” I nodded to the bandage on his right hand.

“Och, nae,” he bluffed as he extended it to me. “Jus’ it gets in the way a wee bit, now an’ then.”

I carefully unwrapped it and noticed a little girl standing near a tree about fifty yards from us. She had her eyes trained on the boy, yet made no move to come any closer as I examined him. The two shared similar cheekbone structures, a smattering of freckles, and glittering brown eyes.   

“Your sister?” I inclined my head, trying to distract him as the last layer of his bandage slowly peeled away. He nodded bravely, but I caught the wince he tried to hide as he averted his gaze to where she stood.

“What’s her name?”

“Flora, Mistress.” His voice changed, rising in timbre as his discomfort grew and I began to examine what revealed to be a minor burn.

It had already begun to heal and was relatively clean, needing only minimal cleaning before my application of a basic salve and a fresh bandage, but I took my time with him. For once, there wasn’t a flock of people hovering about my skirts waiting to be treated, and I made the effort to do the extra things Murtagh had suggested.

Use just enough Gaidhlig to make them think ye have it.

Give them every reason to believe ye can do a great deal more than what yer doin’...  an’ tha’ the wee stones will do the rest o’ the healin’ for ye.

I kept my eyes on my work, but watched the boy out the corner of my eye as I began to slip in the phrases I’d been carefully taught, “And yours, a bhalaich?”

His head lifted in surprise to look at me, eyes wide with reverent awe and answered softly, “Michael.”

I nodded and reached for my medicine box, taking out the vial of salve I needed and a roll of fresh bandage. I set both down beside the small, leather pouch of stones before I looked at him again and found him unabashedly staring at me. My cheeks warmed, but I didn’t shirk from his gaze as I began to clean the wound.

Michael flinched as I cleared a bit of debris and dropped his eyes, staring the items table. I could see his mind working, but he didn’t speak. The cogs and wheels of his brain turned over each one until he came to the leather pouch. His mouth dropped open in excitement, then shut just as quickly as he tried to contain himself. He shifted from foot to foot uneasily and I knew this was the very result Murtagh had hoped for.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, here we go again.

“Would you like one, Michael?” I coaxed.

Murtagh would chuffed to know that I hadn’t needed to explain the purpose of the stones with this patient. The rumors had reached this village far ahead of us and done the work for me.

My patient’s brows drew together in concern, “I dinna have anything to give ye... and ye’ve already mended my arm. I canna ask for a wee stone besides.”

“Then a gift for your sister, perhaps?”

Michael’s smile threatened to stretch right off his face as he nodded, turning to beckon the child to his side. I caught the little girl’s nervous glance between her brother and I and smiled at her in encouragement. With a final look to Michael, she stepped out from behind the tree and ran to his side, burying her face in the back of his green coat.

“Hallo, a nighean,” I murmured and finished off applying the salve, wiping my hands on my apron.

The little girl’s arms wrapped around her brother’s waist and held on for dear life. He coaxed her in Gaelic, resulting in her peering around him, but not budging so much as an inch. Michael’s tone changed and she reluctantly let go, sidestepping to reveal a dirty blue dress and smudged face. My heart melted as she grabbed for her brother’s free hand, anchoring herself to him as she tried to decide if I was friend or foe.

I reached for the pouch and loosened the drawstring. Not looking at Flora as she studied me, I, in turn, examined its contents and made a great show of selecting which one I wanted to give her. I did have quite a few options thanks to a good deal of forethought, but it really made no matter which I chose, for they were all plain, benign, everyday rocks.

I eventually selected a small, white pebble that was near the top as I tried to focus on the task before me, but — as if the brother and sister’s presence called out in greeting to them — the lives within me stirred. They turned and prodded until I, in turn, had to move to appease them. I shifted uncomfortably on my hard, wooden seat and tried to nudge one, encouraging them to remove their heel from between my ribs.

Would they be brother and sister like these cherubs? Would I have a daughter and a son? One to favor me and the other Jamie?

A small, warm hand gently covered mine and I looked up in surprise to see Flora lean in towards me, a quiet lullaby tumbling from her lips. I couldn’t understand the words, but I didn’t need to. Her soft melody possessed an almost hypnotic charm, an intonation of the purest intent, a blessing from one child’s heart to another. The baby moved their foot and the both of them stilled, as if they could hear her song and were listening intently.

I held my breath as she finished, giving my hand a pat with her final, sustained note. My throat constricted as her wide, innocent eyes met mine and she gave me a shy smile. Tears burned at the back of my eyes as I gave her one in return, lifting my right hand to cup her face. I tucked a tangled strand of hair behind her ear and her smile grew, making her brown eyes dance.

“May our Heavenly Father keep you safe, my child.”

This time I truly meant the phrase Murtaugh had taught me, though I’d uttered them to nearly every patient I had treated, and my spirit echoed it, petitioning for the both of them to be safe and well in the name of our Lord.

Flora turned her face into my palm and kissed it, then moved my hand to rest where it had been on top of the curve of my abdomen. I opened my left hand and offered her the stone, adding my own hasty benediction, my brain scrambling for the words.

“May Christ Our Lord be your solid rock and cornerstone… May He cradle you in the palm of His hand and shelter you under His feathers… from this day on and forever more.”

The sweet child accepted my token and then crossed herself before stepping back to her brother’s side. I blinked rapidly in a vain attempt to keep my tears at bay as my mind scrambled to remember what the hell I was doing before I had descended into complete sentimentality.

Bandage him, you bloody sot, I chastised myself and reached for the roll of cloth.

My fingers set about their business, pure reputation having made them deft and capable of doing the work without a connected or coherent mental direction. My tongue was thick in my mouth, my lips suddenly felt clumsy as I tried to spit out the basic care instructions that he would need.

“Keep it dry,” I muttered, adding, “and change the bandage daily.”

Michael’s head bobbed enthusiastically, “Aye, Màthair. I will.”

The bandage now fastened off and talisman administered, the children simply stood and beamed at me, waiting for dismissal or further instruction.

“Right then,” I swallowed hard. “Off you go.”

With a parting wave, they flounced off and disappeared into the village’s market.

God go with you, dear ones.

…

Another week later.

The chill from the cave’s damp, stone floor was beginning to seep through the sheepskin beneath me. I shifted, pulling my woolen blanket up and over my shoulders, but it didn’t help… the cold and dark disquiet of the night still found me. My eyelids and every muscle in my body burned with fatigue, yet my mind refused to stop churning. It’s machinations kept me forever suspended in wakeful agony.

“Canna sleep?”

A short puff of air left my nose in frustration as I tried to ease the ache in my hip and lower back, as well as in response to Murtagh’s observation.

“Of course not,” I muttered in answer.

How could I sleep when I knew we’d been unsuccessful?

When we’d paraded through every village, hamlet, and croft and had no more information on Jamie’s whereabouts than when we’d left Lallybroch over three weeks ago?

I felt Murtagh’s gaze upon me and looked across the fire to find him studying me intently.

“What is it?” I raised a brow in slight annoyance

He’d grown more accustomed to my condition as both our journey and I progressed, but he was still more than a bit tongue tied about the whole matter. I didn’t know if it was due to the century and culture in which he lived, or if it was simply from lack of exposure, having never had a wife of his own. Either way, the fact that he had questions was evident and I often had to drag them out of him.

“Are the bairns troublin’ ye?” His brows furrowed in concern as he added, “Wi’ their movin’?”

I shook my head, “I think they’re asleep.”

This surprised the Scot and he absently stroked his chin in thought, a motion that amused me as I realized my hand closely echoed his, although it was hidden from his sight beneath my blanket.

“They don't always sleep when I do,” I explained, even while wishing they did, “but they do sleep.”

“When they wake…” he searched for the right words, “a bit like ye’ve swallowed fish, aye?”

“More like a small hippo,” I grumbled, wistfully remembering the days when the movements within me could have been something akin to the brush of a fish’s tail, instead of the hooves on fire they resembled of late.

“A wha’?”

“It’s a… it looks something like a pig,” I started, my gaze lifting to the dark, stone ceiling above me as I tried to conjure up the image of the beast. One had nearly capsized our boat when I was in Cairo with Uncle Lamb and — though I’d only been eleven or twelve at the time — it was certainly an experience that stuck with me.

I heard his astonished murmured acknowledgement as he shifted his mental image from something the size of a loaf of bread to a decent sized farm animal and grinned to myself as I added, “Except it’s bigger than a horse.”

His guttural reaction was incoherent to my Sassenach ears, but the shock, disbelief, and then reverent awe was crystal clear. Murtagh didn’t quite know how to change the subject and we both let a heavy silence fall.

It was now well into December, making me officially in my sixth month of pregnancy. The babies were growing rapidly and so, in turn, was I. It felt as though they were already running out of room… though I knew we still had a long three months to go.

The blessing of living on the road was that I hadn’t seen my reflection since we’d left Lallybroch. I firmly held onto that mental image of my figure, not wanting to think of what I looked like now, nor how big I’d be come the month of March. The fit of my skirts was evidence enough of how I was changing on an almost daily basis and I half wondered if the age old tradition of confinement was so that heavily expectant mothers could get away with wearing nothing but their shift all day… but come to that, I wasn’t sure if even my shift would fit for much longer.

“Ye’ll return to Lallybroch in the morn,” my companion’s command interrupted my wandering thoughts.

I stiffened, my head snapping to the side to search for him in the dark.

“No,” I responded simply.

I hadn’t the energy or the words to plead my case just now, but giving up on my husband was not an option and neither was returning home to Jenny empty handed. I would not go back to Lallybroch without Jamie at my side.

The dim light of the fire threw deep shadows across Murtagh’s face as he insisted again, “Ye’ll go, Claire.”

“I won’t,’ I countered, my temper flaring and swallowing my fatigue as I pushed myself up onto one elbow. “He is my husband.”

He rose one brow as if taunting me, his silent ‘do ye no’ think I ken that’ ringing loud and clear in my ears and I swallowed hard in a desperate attempt to keep my tears at bay.

“You can’t possibly know how it feels!”

Murtagh rose suddenly and strode to the mouth of the cave as he burst, “An’ ye’re the only one to lose someone ye loved, then?!”

The sky was clear and the moon shone bright tonight, silhouetting his hunched shoulders, usually so proud and stalwart.  

“I lost someone too,” he murmured, his voice betraying the deep, churning waters that flowed beneath an always unbroken surface.

“‘Twas at a MacKenzie gathering, many years ago… she was a canty lassie, bonnie as the day is long… but she had another suitor. So, I thought to prove myself to her, to be the kind of man she desired… During the hunt, I alone killed the wounded boar with nothing but my dagger… The MacKenzie was so impressed by the deed, he gave me the tusks… I had them made into bracelets… and gave them to her as a wedding gift.”

The bracelets.

Jenny had given them to me the morning Murtagh and Ian had returned and they’d been in my pocket ever since, a talisman of my own to keep Jamie’s presence with me. I pushed myself the rest of the way up, my hands patting at my skirts to find them.

“It was you,” I whispered as my fingers wrapped around the curved ivory, warm from being against my body.

Murtagh turned and I staggered to my feet, closing the distance between us as I held them out to him. He was at my side long before I made it to where he’d been standing and his hands shook as he took the bracelets, bringing them to his lips as his eyes slid shut. He swayed slightly and it was my turn to place a steadying hand on his arm, .

“Ye think ye’re the only one who loves Jamie?” Murtagh murmured after a moment, the silver light of the moon making his damp cheeks shine bright as he finally looked at me. I found my own pain echoed in his eyes, multiplied tenfold.

“He is a son to me, a nighean.”

I nodded, knowing that I couldn’t possibly form accurate words to convey the acheings of my heart… the overwhelming and soul crushing realization that he did, indeed, know how I felt and he’d been carrying the weight of it around for decades.

My hand gripped his arm and he pulled me to him, supporting me as I cried. His hand lifted to gently cradle the back of my head as I sobbed into his shoulder, my tears flowing free for the first time since we’d left Lallybroch.

The doubt crept in as I let go of my facade, making me ask, “What’s going to happen to me… to us, if he’s… if Jamie is...”

“If the lad is truly gone,” Murtagh choked out, his embrace tightening, “I vow to protect ye and the bairns for the rest of my life… just as I swore to Ellen to protect Jamie.”

[uglypastels]

When You Say Nothing At All - Tom Holland movie AU (1/3)

(a/n) First story on the new blog!! I’m scared. 

This story is a Notting Hill AU. I have always loved this movie and when I recently rewatched it, I really realized how cheezy and pretty fanfic-y the plot it...so I decided to actually write a fanfic. The story is in a movie-turned-into-book format, so it is literally inspired by the movie. So, I do not own, nor claim any of this story as my own. Already putting it out there.

Alrighty then, here is part 1. I am not sure if I will actually post the other parts, because I’m not so sure if this is really that good. I also haven’t exactly finished the rest and it takes a loooooong time to do so. Tell me if you want to read the rest.

This is a re-post, because I am an idiot with anxiety and deleted the first one accidentally

word count: 10,281

warning: swearing, sexual themes, SPOILERS for NOTTING HILL

part 2

Tom’s POV - 1999 - London - Characters are in their late 20′s 

Of course, I have seen her films and always thought she was, well, gorgeous, but, you know, a million and million miles from the world I live in.

The world he lives in, which was here, Notting Hill. His favorite part of London.

Just as he did every day before going to work, Tom took a morning walk to enjoy the bizarre atmosphere that this region had. Like any other weekday, the market was spinning with people, where every fruit and vegetable known to man was sold and men were yelling: “Rock hard bananas, five for a pound!” To his right was the tattoo parlor, where a  man stepped through the door, looking rather confused at the new addition to his body. He looked as if he had just woken up on the couch that was inside and Tom wondered if he remembered why he had gotten “I love Ken” tattooed on his arm. He also wondered who Ken was and if he knew that his name was now permanently written on this blokes’ arm. Opposite the tattoo shop was the radical hairdressers, where everyone came out looking like the Cookie Monster, whether they wanted to or not. Just like the poor girl in the purple denim jacket.

Even though it was early in the morning, there were people everywhere. Tom was glad it wasn’t the weekend where from the break of day hundreds of stalls appear out of nowhere, filling Portobello Road, right up to Notting Hill Gate and wherever you look thousands of people are buying millions of antiques, some genuine, and some not quite so genuine.

Lots of friends have ended up in this part of London. For example Tony, who Tom could see talking to some delivery men, a bundle of fish in his hands. Tony looked rather happy with his new buy. Tom waved at him, hello, but his friend didn’t see it.  The architect turned chef had been busy for months with his new restaurant, which he invested in with all the money he ever earned.

That was pretty much all of Notting Hill, where Tom spend his days and years. In the small village in the middle of the city, in a house with a blue door that he had bought together with his wife who had left him after four years for a man who looked exactly like Harrison Ford. Which was ironic, because this was where he now lead a strange half-life with a lodger called:

“Harrison!” he yelled as he opened the blue door and almost immediately fell over a bike. Harrison ran down the stairs into the kitchen which was at the end of the corridor in which Tom stood right now. As usual, he wasn’t wearing anything but some khaki colored underwear. He didn’t want to think about if that was the original color.

“You couldn’t help me with an incredibly important decision, could you?” he said in his thick accent.  

“Is this important in comparison to, let’s say…” Tom started thinking as he walked to the kitchen to put down the loaf of bread that he had bought earlier. “Whether they should cancel Third World debt?”

“That’s right. I’m at last going out on a date with the great Janine and I just wanna be sure I’ve picked the right T-shirt.” He started explaining. Tom was turned with his back to him and couldn’t help but smile at the difference in their priorities.

“What are the choices?”

“Well, wait for it,” he said and ran back upstairs to his room. Tom waited as he put the bread in the toaster, taking his time. By the time he was done and in front of the stairs, Harrison was already running back down, pulling down the shirt. It was a slightly too big white t-shirt. It would have been fine if it wasn’t for the huge text that said: “I LOVE BLOOD” and the actual sticking out fish head in the middle of his torso in the pool of red.

“First, there’s this one,” He flicked the fish head, making it bounce back and forth, and made a little growl, “Cool, huh?” Tom stared at the shirt for a little bit, trying to figure out the right words to say to his flatmate. “Yeah, it might make it hard to strike a really romantic note,” he suggested.

“Point taken. Don’t despair.” Harrison ran back up the stairs, still talking: “if it’s romance we’re looking for, I believe I have just the thing.” Tom highly doubted it. He looked for some yogurt in the fridge while waiting for Harrison to get back.

He came back, with a now much tighter fitted shirt. The message was very simple: “GET IT HERE” together with a big black arrow pointed at his crotch.

“Yeah, well, there again, she might not think you had true love on your mind.”

“Right.” He seemed to understand but clearly didn’t have the same feeling about it as Tom did. “Just one more.” He ran away once again. Tom smiled to himself and walked back to the kitchen, grabbed something extra for his yogurt and then heard it was time again to take those three steps back to the stairs: “True love, here I come.” Harrison sang happily. Tom watched him run down those stairs for the tenth time and pulling down, another, white shirt over his upper body. Tom put a hand over his mouth at the sight of it. It was better than the last two options. Still not good, but better. The words “You’re the most beautiful woman in the WORLD” were surrounded by big red hearts. Harrison looked at him, awaiting an answer.

“Well, yeah. Yeah. that’s, that’s perfect.” he managed to say without laughing.

“Great. Thanks. Wish me luck.” Haz still looked at him waiting.

“Good luck.” He walked back upstairs with big steps of pride. When he had turned around Tom could see the message written on his back. “FANCY A FUCK?” He wanted to say something but thought better of it. He had to get to work.

It was just another hopeless Wednesday, as he walked a thousand yards through the market to work. Work, by the way, was the little travel bookshop “The Travel Book Co.”  which, well, sold travel books and to be frank, didn’t always sell many of those.

The store, just like the door of his house, was blue. The big window displayed a number of books that were for sale and two globes, in case it wasn’t clear to anyone that it was travel books that they could find here. In front of the window, outside, stood a small table on which more books were displayed.

“Morning, Martin” the small bell above the door rang as he pushed it open. The smell of old books was immediately present.

“Morning, Monseigneur,” said Martin as he was looking through some papers. He handed Tom the post and bills of the day. He knew what awaited them next. It was time to count up the sales. He walked up to the desk and pulled out the rest of the papers and a calculator. He dreaded this part of the day, that is why he had early on decided with Martin to do it in the morning. This way it would be over quickly, at least.

“Classic,” he sighed as the last numbers popped up on the small screen. “Profit from major sales push, minus £347.” He shared a look of disappointment with Martin and then wrote the sad number down in the notebook in front of him.

“Shall I go and get you a cappuccino?” Martin suggested. “You know, ease the pain a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Better make it a half. All I can afford.” his friend and employee laughed awkwardly. He just smiled, both of them were trying to ease the pain currently with some horrible humor.

“Get your logic. Demi-cappu coming right up.” He glanced at Tom and then walked to the door. The bell rang again as he pulled the door towards him. His green cardigan disappearing behind the corner as he walked to the small coffee house a few doors away. Tom wondered what he had done to deserve him in his life. Such a good person. Martin could easily find another job, a better job, but he didn’t want to leave his friend.

The moment he left, someone walked in. Tom barely glanced. The only thing he saw was a blur of black and white. The person carefully closed the door behind them. He looked again, feeling something familiar about them as he looked more properly. He couldn’t exactly place it, but it felt like he had seen the stranger before. Maybe she had visited the store earlier this week? Or the week before?

She was wearing a black, leather jacket over a plain white shirt. On her head, a black hat, with brown hair under it, and her eyes were covered by dark glasses. She walked over to the first bookcase and started to look around, every now and then pulling out a book and paging through it. From the position Tom was in, he could only see her shoulder properly, moving as she placed a book back in its original place.  

“Uhm, can I help you at all?” he asked. The woman peaked out her head from behind the shelves, looking a bit startled. At least he assumed so, as her eyes weren’t visible through the glasses.

“No, thanks, I’ll just look around.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. The American accent clear. He knew that this was a bookstore and people often tried to be quiet. But there was literally nobody else there except for them.

“Fine,” he said a bit dazed off. He still couldn’t place that face or that voice for that matter. He was sure he had at least heard her before but much louder. Not in the bookstore, then. She walked to the other side of the shelf, facing away from him. Now he could have a little more proper look at her…  or at least her back. Her shoulders were small, in a cute way. Her jacket oversized. From the way the top of her head reached a certain height of the shelves, he could assume that she wasn’t much shorter than him. He could also see a bag hanging off of her other shoulder. As she was looking through the books, she momentarily put her shopping bags on the ground.

She pulled out a book from the shelf, Tom could read the title, the Turkish Delights, from where he was standing behind the desk.  He had a great urge to say something to her, only he didn’t know what. As he looked at her go through the book, he blurted out: “That book’s really not great.”  She turned her head in his direction. “Er - just in case browsing turned to buying, you’d be wasting your money.”  he laughed nervously as he was clearly rambling on. She just smiled weakly. Letting him dig himself deeper into embarrassment. “But if it’s Turkey you’re interested in, this one,” Tom picked up a copy of a book that lay next to him on the desk, “on the other hand, is very good. Uhm...” he had no idea what to say, but she kept looking at him and he felt the need to keep talking. Her stare was getting a bit too much for him so he looked down at the book. “I think the man who wrote it has actually been to Turkey, which helps. Uhm, there’s also a very amusing incident with a kebab… which is one of many amusing incidents.”

The beautiful stranger (because she was definitely beautiful, there was no denying that) smiled and said: “Thanks, I’ll think about it.” She already looked away, putting her attention back to the book she was holding, but his tongue slipped up again and the rambling continued.

“Or, in the bigger hard-back variety, there’s…”  He looked at the bookcase behind him. While he did, his eyes slipped down to the small tv screen next to it, where he could see a man putting a book down his trousers. “I’m sorry, can you just give me a second?” He put the book down and walked to the back corner of the store, that was separated by a wall and slightly bigger shelves.

“Excuse me,” he said. The man popped up from behind the books. His eyes were wide, his hair all over the place and the shirt untucked messily.  “Yes?” he asked.

“Bad news.” Tom crossed his arms and looked at him.

“What?” The man looked very confused and startled. Tom pointed at the corner of the ceiling. “Er -We’ve got uhm, a security camera in this bit of the shop.” The man still didn’t seem to understand as he asked: “So?”

“So, I saw you put that book down your trousers.”

“What book?” He was changing his weight from one leg to the other, making it even more obvious that he was anxious. Tom sighed, pointing at his crotch and saying: “The one down your trousers.”

“I don’t have a book down my trousers.” His words were slightly slurred, making Tom worried that he could be drunk or high. He looked away from him in frustration.

“Right, I tell you what,  uhm, I’ll call the police and uhm, what can I say, if I’m wrong about the whole book-down-the-trousers scenario, I really apologize.”  Tom was not sure if it had been possible, but the stranger’ eyes widened even more.  

“Okay. What if I did have a book down my trousers?” Tom couldn’t believe this guy. Was he so drunk, or actually just that big of a moron?

“Well, ideally, when I went back to the desk you’d remove the Cadogan Guide to Bali from your trousers and either wipe it and put it back, or buy it.” He smiled at the drunk idiot. “I’ll see you in a sec.” he left him back there and walked back to the desk. The girl in the leather jacket was now standing there too. Tom had heard footsteps so he already expected it. “I’m sorry about that.” he walked behind the small piece of furniture. She was looking down at her book.

“No, it’s fine. I was gonna steal one but now I’ve changed my mind.” She smiled and Tom couldn’t help but laugh slightly. He glanced back at the tv screen to check up on the weirdo.

“Oh, signed by the author, I see.” she glanced at the front pages of the book. It made him look up from the screen.

“Uhmm, yeah, couldn’t stop him. If you can find an unsigned one, it’s worth an absolute fortune.” She puffed out a laugh. Right then the man from the back of the shop walked up. Tom was about to send him off when he approached his other customer. “Excuse me.”

“Yes?” she looked a bit uncomfortable at him.

“Can I have your autograph?” he handed her a piece of paper. The girl looked unsure at him and then around for something to write with. Tom gave her the pen he had in your hand: “Here.”

“What’s your name?” She asked. Her tone was very monotone and he knew that, really, she didn’t want to do it.  

“Rufus.” He rolled on the back of his feet like a child, scratching his patchy beard. Tom watched the girl in the leather jacket scribble down a few words on the paper. It took him some time to figure out the words as he had been looking at it from upside down, but once he had it, he let out a little snort. She handed the paper back to Rufus. He, apparently, still couldn’t read it because he asked: “What does it say?”

“That’s my signature, and above it,” she pointed at the top of the old paper, “it says, Dear Rufus, you belong in jail.” Rufus clearly didn’t seem to get it because he smiled and said: “Good one.” The girl gave him a smile that was the equivalent of an eye roll and turned to you. Rufus asked again: “Do you want my phone number?”

“Tempting, but no.” there was a silence. Rufus started walking away. Tom just stood there, trying to comprehend what had just happened. This girl was famous, he knew that. He had seen her before somewhere, but where?

“I will take this one.” she pushed the book a bit towards him and that got Tom out of his frozen state.

“Oh, right, right.” He opened the book to check the price, “So, well, on second thoughts maybe it’s not that bad after all.” He ticked in the numbers into the machine, the paper started printing. “Actually, it’s sort of a classic, really. None of those childish kebab stories you find in so many books these days.” He tried to joke. It didn’t work as she handed him a banknote without a reaction except for a polite smile. It was more than the prize, so he started to look for the correct coins to give as change.

“You know what, I’ll throw in one of these for free.” He showed her a book that just happened to lay nearby. He wished he could sink underground, or at least that she would say something back. Still, he couldn’t manage to close his own mouth: “Useful for, you know, lighting fires, wrapping fish, that sort of thing.” She finally managed to break out a smile. He packed the two books in the basic orange-brown bag and handed it back to her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Pleasure,” he replied. Both of them smiled politely and she started to walk away. Soon that bell rang again and she was gone. Tom was alone in the store. The confusion now spread over his features. Who was she? Why did she feel so familiar? Should he have asked her for a signature too?

His legs moved him towards the table in the big space at the front of the shop. He wasn’t sure why he walked there. Maybe to get another glimpse of her? But by the time he got to the window, she was already gone. There was another movement on the street, though. The green cardigan and brown tie flopped around Martin as he walked back. Two cups of coffee balanced on top of each other in one hand as he tried to open the door with the other.

“Here we are. Cappuccino, as ordered.” he put one cup in front of Tom, who still looked out the window in a daydreaming kind of way. Only he wasn’t daydreaming. He knew that the girl was actually real. Only, who was she?

“Thanks,” Tom said as he watched the other man sip from his hot drink. Still, the thought of the girl was in his mind. Was it her? But what would she be doing in Notting Hill? Still, it couldn’t be... “I don’t think you’ll believe who was just in here.” Martin looked up from his cup, eyes full of excitement, but the excitement that could also be anxiety.

“Who?” His head shot towards the window and then back. “Was it someone famous?” Now that Martin had said it out loud, the idea seemed too crazy to be real.

“No, no, no,” Tom changed his mind.

“Would be exciting though, wouldn’t it, if someone famous came into the shop?” He was about to put the cup back up to his lips when another sentence formed: “Do you know, this is - this is pretty amazing, but I once saw Ringo Starr.”

“Where was that?” Tom asked curiously.

“Kensington High Street.” there was a scratch in his excitement. ‘At least I think it was Ringo. It might have been that man from Fiddler On The Roof. You know, Toppy.” He scratched his nose.

“Top-ol,” Tom corrected his friend. The story seemed more and more unlikely to have happened, but it was still rather enjoyable to listen.

“Yes, that’s right. Topol.” Martin drank some more of his coffee. The small amount of it was already mostly gone as he had to work for it to get into his mouth, Tom started thinking.

“Actually, Ringo Starr doesn’t look at all like Topol.”

“Yeah, but he was quite a long way away from me.”  

“So actually it could’ve been neither of them,” Tom suggested. There was a silence.

“Yes, I suppose so, yes.” Another silence between the two men.

“It’s not a classical anecdote, is it?”

“Not a classic, no. No.” They both agreed on it and once again, another silence fell as they both sipped from their incredibly small coffees. It was gone in less than two sips.

“Another one?”  Tom asked once they were both finished. Martin sighed deeply, looking down at his paper cup. Then, a spark lit up in him as he changed his mind: “No! Let’s go crazy. I’ll have an orange juice.”

As Martin was the one who had gotten the coffee the first time, it was only right if Tom bought the juice now. He stepped outside and started walking right. Behind him, there were two men trying to lift up a big painting that would be sold in the new Panton Gallery that would open soon opposite of the bookshop.

Once in the small coffee shop, which was really a sandwich shop, Tom ordered the orange juice and a something more for a second breakfast. He hadn’t gotten to eat as much as he had liked since Harrison kept on nagging about his upcoming date with Janine. While he waited for his order, he looked around at the already well-known to him purple walls and the new advertisements that were stuck to the notice board. There didn’t seem to be anything interesting.

“Okay, thanks. Bye-bye.” The clerk gave him his drink and sandwich.

“See you later,” Tom said and made his way back outside. It was crowded in the sandwich shop, with people sitting at all the tables, of which a few barely fit in the space by itself already. Outside, there were also some people sitting and enjoying their food and drinks.

The sun hit Tom in the eyes as he got out. He followed the collection of small trees that stood in front of the unused garages all the way to the corner of the street. The sun was even brighter, making Tom look away.

Suddenly he felt something solid against him, scaring him a bit and spilling the orange juice in his hand everywhere, including on himself and the girl he had just bumped into. They both exclaimed in shock. The girl, unfortunately, had caught most of the blow of the cold beverage. Her white shirt now mostly bright orange.

“Shit! Bugger!” Tom threw the cup and his forgotten sandwich on the floor.

“Oh my god!” The girl from the bookshop was still in shock from the sudden cold that hit her in the chest.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeated himself. He had a tissue in his pocket and took it out to wipe off the possible. “Here let me…”

“Get your hands off!’ She shrieked. There was a little laugh hidden in there. Tom understood that the move wasn’t very appropriate. He could see a few people around them give him a few strange looks.

“I’m really sorry. I… live just over the street.” He pointed out front of himself, in the general direction of his house. The girl was trying to get any juice she could, off of herself and her bags. “I uhm, have water and soap. You can get cleaned up.” She didn’t seem to be very enthusiastic about the idea.

“No thank you. I just need to get my car back.” She shook off some last drops from her hands and started to walk away, looking around for (probably) her car. Annoyance was very clear in her tone.

“I also have a phone. I’m confident that in five minutes we can have you spick and span and back on the street again.” He realized quickly how that sounded. The girl had turned around to look at him. “In the non-prostitute sense, obviously.” She was still mad and didn’t want to laugh, but when she had turned her head away, he could see the corner of her lips go up just a little. She brushed off some hair that had stuck to her cheek.

“All right,” She gave in, but not completely yet, “Well, what do you mean “just over the street”? Give it to me in yards.” Tom wasn’t sure how many yards exactly it would be to his blue door, but he gave it a shot: “Uhm, eighteen yards. That’s my house there with the blue front door.” He pointed again to his door The girl turned around to look for herself. She looked very hesitant but agreed to it in the end. Probably because the now sticky shirt was getting uncomfortable.

They walked in silence to his house. Tom prayed that Harrison had cleaned up at least a bit before he left to go see Janine. That was not the case.

“Come on in. I’ll just, I’ll just…” he ran in front of her into the corridor to clean up as much as he could before she could see the mess that the house actually was. There were old pizza boxes everywhere, shoes lying around in the middle of the floor. On the table lay plates from yesterday's breakfast. He didn’t know where to put them as the sink had been full for over four days already.

“Uhm, right. Right.” The girl was still at the door. “Come in. It’s not quite as tidy as it normally is, I fear.” He hoped she would believe him. “But the bathroom’s on the top floor. And the telephone’s just up here.” he showed her up the stairs and behind the wall. Even with a gigantic orange stain on her shirt, she still looked very well put together. She looked down at her bags, not sure what to do with them.

“Here, let me…” he took them from her and put them next to the stairs. She slowly walked up, not sure where to go next.

“Round the corner, straight on - straight on up.” She disappeared on the second part of the staircase. The time she was gone, Tom took to tidy up a bit more. He cursed Harrison for leaving it such a mess. He had clearly left him a message to clean up this morning. He started to gather around plates and cups and threw them next to the sink. There stood an old pan of baked beans too, he tried to throw it out, but the beans had gotten cold and hard and wouldn’t budge from their container.

He was about done swiping clean the table when he heard footsteps upstairs. He looked up. The girl looked stunning. She had exchanged her simple black pants - white shirt combo with a two-piece black sparkling ensemble… was he using that word correctly, he didn’t know for sure. The crop top and knee-length skirt showed her midriff perfectly. She was still wearing her oversized leather jacket and her beret and glasses were now gone. Tom could finally see her face properly. He couldn’t believe it. It was actually her!

They shared an awkward smile and Tom felt again the need to say something: “Er -” She let out a small sigh, looking a bit annoyed. It threw him off a bit. “Would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Coffee?”

“No.”

“Orange juice?” She gave him one of those are-you-kidding-me looks. “Probably not.” He felt like he owed her something. “Uhm, something else cold?” He went over to the fridge to look inside. She was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Coke? Water?” He looked around some more. There wasn’t much else in the fridge that he could give her. “Some disgusting sugary drink pretending to have something to do with fruits of the forest?”

“No,” her voice came out as a whisper.

“Would you like something to eat? Something to nibble?” What was wrong with him? Those were not words you should say to strangers. “Apricots soaked in honey? Quite why, no one knows, because it stops them tasting of apricots and makes them taste like honey, and if you wanted honey you’d just buy honey instead of apricots.” He pulled the glass jar out of the fridge. He needed to have something in his hands or at least something else to look at except for her.

“But nevertheless, there we go, they’re yours if you want them.” He showed her the jar full of honey covered apricots.

“No.” It was the millionth time he heard her say it.

“Do you always say “no” to everything?” He was thinking out loud. She looked around, thinking about her answer and then said, with half a smile: “No.”  Tom closed the fridge. “I’d better be going. Thanks for your, uh,” She was looking for a word, “help.”

Tom leaned against the fridge. “You’re welcome. And may I also say, um, heavenly. I’ll just take my one chance to say it. After you’ve read that terrible book you’re certainly not gonna be coming back to the shop.” He looked down at the ground.

“Thank you.” She actually smiled.

“Yeah, well, my pleasure.” He smiled back. The girl now turned around and made her way through the tight corridor towards the door. Tom followed her.

“So… “ They stood next to the door now. “It was nice to meet you.” Looking at her, he had no idea what he was doing. He could feel his hand run through his hair as he said: “Surreal, but nice.” She just smiled, glancing at the door. Tom pulled at the lock and opened the door for her, saying a quick “sorry” for making her wait. She walked out without saying a word and he closed the door behind her.

“Surreal, but nice? What was I thinking?” he whispered to himself, in case she could still hear him through the heavy door. He was already walking back to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. He didn’t want the person to wait, so he jogged back to the door and opened it. There she was again. Her sunglasses back on her face. She smiled widely and said: “Hi.”

“Hi,” Tom replied, not expecting to see her again.

“I forgot my other bag,” she explained.

“Oh, right. Right.” A part of Tom was happy that he could see her again, but another was disappointed that she only rang the doorbell to get her bag. He let her back in. He walked to the chair he had put the bag on before and could hear the sound of the door closing. When he got back to her, she stood next to Harrison’s old bike. He handed her the bag and she mumbled “thanks”.  

Now they stood in silence again. She smiled and Tom could see her eyes glance down at his lips. So, he did too. Her lips were getting bigger, no closer. He wasn’t sure how that was possible. And then, he could feel them on his own. She put an arm around his neck to be even closer to him.

Tom couldn't move. His arms were on his side. It was a very simple kiss, but it lasted ages. Only when they needed to breathe, did she pull away. Very slowly. She took a step back. Tom didn’t know what to do. He had never been in a situation like this before. To be kissed by a girl he had just met? It was surreal! Surreal.

“I’m very sorry about the surreal, but nice comment. Disaster.” She kept looking back between his lips and his eyes.

“That’s okay.” She focused on his eyes. “I thought the apricot and honey thing was the real low point.” Tom laughed. They looked into each other's eyes in silence until the clattering of the doorknob broke the moment apart. She turned to look what it was, and so did he. Tom knew what was next to come.

“Oh, my god! My flatmate. I’m sorry. There is no excuse for him.” he quickly apologized for Harrison’s sake before the blond opened the door. The two watched the door open and Harrison walked in. Half a smoked cigarette still in his mouth. He was wearing a brown shirt, probably from the female section, that was two sizes too small and blue jogging pants, which were so low that half his ass was falling out. He walked past them, not even acknowledging their company.  Even though they exchanged “hi”s.

“I’m just going into the kitchen to get some food.” He shouted through the house as he walked. “Then I’m gonna tell you a story that will make your balls shrink to the size of raisins.” He heard the fridge door open.

“Probably best not to tell anyone about this.” She raised her eyebrows, implicating what they had just done.

“Right. Right, no one… I mean, I’ll tell myself sometimes, but, don’t worry, I won’t believe it.” She smiled and the two of them walked to the door. He opened it for her one more time and she walked through.

“Goodbye,” she smiled. Tom could only make out a small “Bye.” before the door was closed.  He leaned his arm against the lock and, just, stood there for a moment. Trying to comprehend what just happened. He had kissed (Y/F/N)! The (Y/F/N). The biggest up-and-coming actress Hollywood had to offer. How? What had he done to be able to say he kissed… no, she kissed him.

“There’s something wrong with this yogurt.” Harrison shook Tom out of his own thoughts. Tom looked at the small container. “It’s not yogurt. It’s mayonnaise.”

“Oh, right. There we are, then.” and he took another full spoon of the condiment into his mouth. “On for a video fest tonight?” he suggested with his mouth full. Tom was barely listening. The kiss still fresh in his memory. “I got some absolute classics.”

Tom wasn’t sure if Harrison was joking him, because the first movie he picked was one of hers. Gramercy Park, it was called. Her face was on the cover of the movie, together with some bloke named Matthew Modine. It didn’t look great, but Tom didn’t have anything else to do, so he agreed on watching it.

“Smile,” Modine’s character begged hers in an art gallery. For some artistic decisions, the movie was black and white. Tom couldn’t understand why. The two characters walked around, looking at the paintings in the room. He couldn’t remember why they were there, he wasn’t really paying attention to the movie itself, honestly. Just her. He still couldn’t believe it that he had met the beautiful girl on the screen. Of course, her hair was different, but for the rest, it was definitely her!

“No.,” she said.  

“Smile,” Modine repeated himself. He had done it already four times. Each time as annoying to watch.

“I’ve got nothing to smile about.” the two sat down on a bench that just happened to be in the otherwise, furniture free, gallery.

“Okay, in about seven seconds, I’m going to ask you to marry me.” the two characters shared a look. Then, (Y/N) started smiling.

“Imagine,” Harrison spoke up. In his hand a piece of pizza that had been hanging there since three scenes ago. “Somewhere in the world, there’s a man who’s allowed to kiss her.”

“Yeah, she is…” Tom couldn’t look away from the small tv screen, “fairly fabulous.”

____________________

Tom stood in his bookshop. As usual, it was empty, except for one man.  He had been standing around for a few minutes already. In the middle of the shop, just looking around himself. “Do you have any books by Dickens?” he finally asked. Tom looked up from his inventory.

“No. No, I’m afraid we’re a travel bookshop. We only sell travel books.” The man didn’t seem to understand. He didn’t look exactly to be well. A bit pale and dried up. His suit also looked slightly too big for him.

“Oh, right. How about the new John Grisham thriller?”

“Well, no, because that’s a novel, too, isn’t it?”

“Oh right.” His eyes looked a  bit glassy as he continued to gaze around the room, nowhere in particular. The man sighed deeply. “Have you got Winnie-the-Pooh?” Tom was officially done with this individual. The knew that Martin should be there somewhere, so he called out: “Martin, your customer.” Martin, this time wearing a big red cardigan, purple shirt, and a blue tie, popped up from behind a wall. He definitely had not heard the conversation Tom had with the man because he pleasantly asked: “Can I help you?”

A ring of the bell above the entrance made Tom turn around. It was probably just the strong wind that had been roaming around the street the whole day because there was nobody there when he looked. What he did see, was a double-decker bus driving in front of them right then. On there, the advertisement for the movie HELIX. He knew it would be coming out in cinemas soon, but that was about it. As the bus moved along, he saw her face. Of course, she would be the star of it. There almost hasn’t been a movie without her for the last two years.

It had been two days since the orange juice incident, Tom felt like he couldn’t avoid (Y/N). Her perfect face was everywhere. It was sad because he knew that in reality, he would never see her again.

The next morning Tom was making his way up the stairs, to the bathroom, when Harrison came walking downstairs. For some unknown reason, he was wearing Tom’s red scuba gear. His flatmate walked past him with a nonchalant “Hey” and left Tom confused on the stairs.

“Just, incidentally, why are you wearing that?” Tom asked at the breakfast table. He was looking at Harrison who stood by the (still very full) sink eating a bowl of cereal, a cigarette between the same fingers in which he held the spoon...

“Combination of factors really,” he said as he ate. “Uhm, no clean clothes…”

“There never will be, you know, unless you actually clean your clothes.”

“Right,” he nodded, “Vicious circle.”

“Yeah.” Tom agreed.

“And I was, like, rooting round in your things and I found this and I thought: Cool.” Tom looked at Harrison properly. Cool, was not a word he would use. The scuba-suit was definitely one of the less extravagant pieces of wardrobe Harrison has ever worn, but it was still a scuba-suit.

“Kinda spacey,” he added.

It was a Saturday, so the two men decided to do what they usually did when they didn’t have plans. They went up to the roof. It was a very pleasant spot where you could look out on the city, without the city looking back at you.

Tom sat down on a chair, under a parasol, while Harrison lounged himself on a slightly higher bit of the roof, next to the flower pots of which the residents had died many moons ago. He lay down on his side.

“There’s something wrong with the goggles, though.” Harrison tried to adjust them to his face.

“No, they were prescription,” Tom explained, not looking up from whatever article he was reading.

“Groovy.” Harrison sat up.

“So I could see all the fishes properly.”

“You should do more of this stuff.” He adjusted the goggles again. Tom doubted if his friend over there could actually see anything through them whether or not he moved them around in some way.

“So, look, any messages today?”  He put down his article on the small table next to him.

“Yeah, I wrote a couple down. Harrison got up and walked over to another piece of the roof, where his own set of table and garden chairs stood. It was fully in the sun and Harrison often, unfortunately, lay there naked. Hoping to get a tan someday.

“So, there were two, there were two messages? Right?”  He watched as Harrison walked over to the other chairs and sat down, putting his feet up on another chair in front of him. He pulled down the goggles so they would hang around his neck. “You want me to write down all your messages?” He waved with his cigarette as he talked.

Tom didn’t understand how he managed to live with this idiot for this long. He also didn’t understand how he had not yet bought an answering machine. Massaging his temple, he asked: “Okay, Who are the ones that you didn’t write down from?” Harrison took a swing from his cigarette and thought for a moment.

“No, gone completely.” But immediately after that, he remembered again: “Oh, no, there was one from your mum. She said: don’t forget lunch, and her leg’s hurting again.”

“No one else?”

“Absolutely no one else.” Tom looked at Harrison for a moment, ready for him to add something to his sentence. But he only leaned back relaxed in his chair. After six seconds, Tom gave up and went back to the article he was reading. Of course, right at that moment, Harrison started talking again. “Though if we’re going for this obsessive writing-down-all-the-message thing, some American girl called (Y/N) called a few days ago.” Tom’s head shot back up. She called? How was that even possible?  He wanted to play it a bit cool.  “What did she say?” he asked.

“Well, it was genuinely bizarre. She said: Hi, it’s (Y/N). Then she said, Call me at The Ritz. And then gave herself a completely different name.”

“Which was?” Tom dragged him on.

“Absolutely no idea.” He took another breath of his cigarette. “Remembering one name’s hard enough.” Tom groaned in frustration and got up from his slightly uncomfortable chair. He made his way downstairs, to the living room-study where the phone was located. He had to look for the telephone book to find the number for the Ritz. Of course, it was hidden underneath a pile of Harrison’s dirty clothes.

Once he had the number for the hotel, he ticked it into the machine and waited for the other line to answer. It soon did. A man asked him who he wanted to speak to. Tom knew that it probably wouldn’t be (Y/F/N). It was probably the name that she had left with Harrison… which he forgot. He tried anyway. The man said that there was nobody staying here under this name.

“No, I know that. She said that. I know she’s using another name. The problem is she left the message with my flatmate,” Tom looked at Harrison who very calmly and casually sat down on the couch in front of him and opened up the newspaper. A new cigarette in his mouth. “Which was a very serious mistake. Uhm…” he didn’t know how to explain it to the man on the other line. “Imagine, if you will, the stupidest person you’ve ever met. Are you doing that?”

“Yes, sir, I have him in my mind.” he heard.

“And now double it. And that is the, what can I say, the git that I am living with. And he can’t remember this other…”

“Try Flintstone,” Harrison said. His voice sounded very nasally because he was wearing those goggles again. Tom looked up at him in complete disbelief.

“Sorry,” he said to the man from the hotel. “What?”  

“I think she said her name was Flintstone.” Tom rolled his eyes. A cartoon character? Really? But he had no other options, so he took his shot in the dark: “I don’t suppose Flintstone rings any bells, does it?’ He was expecting the man to laugh at him, but instead, the man said: ‘Well, I’ll put you right through, sir.”  He couldn’t believe it. While the line was being switched he tried to think of what he should say. That was cut short when her voice was heard. “Hello.” He put the phone back to his ear.

“Hi. Sorry. Uhm…It’s Tom, Holland.” He wasn’t sure she would know who he was.

“Yes?”

“We… I work in a bookshop.” He sat down, not sure his legs could hold him up during this conversation. He wasn’t very hopeful that she remembered who he was. But she did. “You played it pretty cool there, waiting for three days to call.”

“Oh, no, I promise you I’ve never played anything cool in my entire life. My flatmate, who I’ll stab to death later, never gave me the message.” he tried to explain himself. She didn’t say anything. This was his chance. “I don’t know, perhaps… uhm, I could drop round for tea later or something?” She didn’t say anything for a while.

‘Things are pretty busy here. I might be free at around 4:00.”

“Right. Right. Great.” They said their bye’s and he could hear the other line hang up. He held the phone in his hand for a second or nine before putting it down. He looked at Harrison, who had put down his paper and took a long swing from his cigarette. Before blowing out the smoke that had built up in his lungs, he put the goggles back over his eyes. Tom could suddenly see smoke coming out from underneath the goggles.

At around 3:30, Tom decided to leave the house. Not only have at least ten minutes to spare in case any traffic came up but also because he was starting to get tired of Harrison blowing smoke in his goggles and then yelling that his eyes burned.

He took the bus. Getting out as quickly as possible. He crossed the street and looked at the entrance of the Ritz. He had never even been close to the building. With his lower than low income, he didn’t exactly feel worthy to be around it.

Walking in, a whiff of richness could be felt. It wasn’t very pleasant. He had walked to the front desk and asked in which room “Miss Flintstone” was staying and then headed to the elevators. The man had said to go to the fortepiano and to the right. So that is what he did.

A man in a black suit walked in with him. In one hand he was holding a briefcase and in the other a cup of coffee.

“Which floor?” Tom asked.

“Three, please.” That just so happened to be the same as his. The doors closed and they were ascending. Not much later the elevator stopped and they got out. Tom glanced at the little navigation sign on which it stated which rooms were on each side of the corridor and made his way to the right. The man took a bit more time doing so but followed him in the same direction. He walked behind him until the very end of the corridor, all the way up to room number 38, the Trafalgar Suite. Before Tom knocked he turned around to the man. “Are you… sure?”  Was he here too to see (Y/N).

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, Sure.” He smiled. Tom knocked on the door. They waited for the door to be opened. Even though the other man stood a good distance away from him, Tom still had the feeling he could feel his breath on his neck. He felt very uncomfortable. Who was he? What was he doing here?

The door suddenly opened, revealing a woman around his (and maybe also the other man’s) age. Tom had never seen her before. She was barely looking at them, too occupied by whatever it was in her hands.

“Hi. Hi. I’m Karen.” Karen handed him a booklet, on which a the same picture was that he had been seeing all over town recently. It was (Y/N), in her futuristic bob-cut, from her new movie HELIX. “I’m sorry, things are running a little bit late. Here’s the uhm, thing. Do you wanna come this way?” She went back inside.”Through here.” Not knowing what to do, Tom just followed and so did the ginger man. There were many other people in the room. All looking like they have been waiting for a while, all holding the same booklet that Karen had given to him. Tom finally understood what was going on. This was a press conference.

“So what did you think of the film?” Karen clicked her pen, ready to write down their words.

“Yeah, I thought it was fantastic. I thought it was Close Encounters meets Jean de Florette.” the ginger man said. Karen smiled satisfied. Then the two of them looked at Tom, expecting him to add to it. He did not know what he thought of the movie as he had not seen it, nor - honestly - was he actually planning on seeing it. Because he had to say something, he choked out: “I agree.” The man nodded approvingly and swung his coffee cup back to drink the last bit of his drink.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get down what magazines you’re from.”

“Time Out.” the man said.

“Great,” she noted the name, then looked up at Tom, “and you’re from?” Tom was very much freaking out. He was definitely not from any magazine. He can’t even remember the last time he read one. He tried to look around unnoticed for some inspiration. Thankfully, on a small table nearby, there was a whole pile of magazines. Hidden behind a vase of flowers. It was the only option he got.

“Er- Horse & Hound.” The man next to him smiled impressed. Tom smirked back. Karen wrote down the name too. As (Y/N) had said that they could meet up today, he assumed that she was expecting him.

He cleared his throat: “The name’s Tom Holland. Actually, she might be expecting me.”

“Oh, okay.” She didn’t sound very impressed but went along with it. “Take a seat and I’ll go check.” Karen smiled and walked away. The ginger man still stood by him. He pointed at a small couch and asked if they should sit down. They did so. As they walked over to it, the man started a conversation: “I see you’ve… I see you’ve brought her some flowers.” he pointed at the small bouquet. Tom had completely forgotten about them. It was rather pathetic now that he thought about it. He started laughing: “No. These are.. for my… grandmother. She’s in a hospital down the road. Thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, you know.” The man nodded.

“Sure, right. Absolutely, yeah.” Tom turned around slightly, hoping the conversation was now over. Unfortunately, for him, it was not. “Which hospitals that?” Tom wanted to tell the man to mind his own business but thought it would be quite rude to do so.

“Do you mind me not saying? It’s a rather distressing thing, isn’t it?” he was impressed by himself, really. “The name of the hospital kind of gives it away.”

“Absolutely. Sure.” the man agreed. Tom thanked him with a “Cheers.” There was a very awkward silence between them. Tom did not know if this was much better than the conversation.

“Right, Mr. Holland,” Karen popped up through the crowd of journalists from a different corridor than into which one she had disappeared, “If you come this way.”

“Right.” Tom got up. He walked over to Karen who showed him towards a room a bit away from where everyone was standing and waiting. “You’ve got five minutes.” She opened a door for him and walked away. The room was oval shaped. Very roomy and very classy. The beige color of the walls was repeated in the furniture, ceiling, drapes, and carpet. Parallel to the door was a big window looking out on the city. In front of it stood (Y/N). she had her back facing him but turned around the moment he walked in. Just like the last time he saw her, she was beautiful. Even with the light making her only a silhouette. She walked away from the window with a big smile. Tom could now see her more properly. Yes, she was beautiful. Dressed in a full suit, including a tie, she showed all the power in her that the world needed to see. Her hair was tied back in a slick ponytail.

“Hi.” He said. She responded with a simple “Hello.”

“Uhm, I brought these, but clearly…” he looked around the room, where gigantic bushes of flowers stood in every spot that fit.

“No, they’re great. They’re great.” She smiled and took them from him. Tom didn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry about not ringing back.” he apologized when she put down the flowers on the table in front of them. “The whole two-names concept was totally too much for my flatmate’s pea-sized intellect.”

“No, it’s a stupid privacy thing. I always pick a cartoon character.”  thankfully she didn’t seem to be very angry at him, technically, ignoring her for three days. “Last time I was Mrs. Bmbi.” she laughed at her own choice. The door of the room closed as a man stepped in, making them both look away from each other. The man was older, already at the point where his barely-there hair was completely white. He was wearing all black, so Tom assumed it was some type of security.

“Everything all right?”  he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” (Y/N) smiled at the man, who brought his attention to Tom.

“And you’re from Horse & Hound?” Tom just nodded. “Good.” Then he turned around and started going through some papers.

“Is that so?” (Y/N) smiled, probably holding in a bigger one underneath it, and sat down on the big couch. Not wanting to be inappropriate, Tom sat down in a chair next to it. His eyes were still on the man. He couldn’t have the conversation he wanted to have, while he was there. They would have him kicked out before he actually asked anything.

“So..uhm, I’ll just fire away, then, shall I?” he looked unsure at (Y/N), who glanced at the man in the round corner of the room and smirked. She waited for his first question.

“Right...er- The film’s great.” Always a good way to start, he thought. “And I just was wondering whether you ever thought of having more, uh, horses in it?” The man cleared his throat. It was unsure if it was towards Tom and his ridiculously idiotic question, or it was actually needed. Especially, that he didn’t even seem to be paying attention, as he was checking her mail. (Y/N) answered as she glanced over at him: “Well, we would have like to, but it was difficult, obviously, being set in space.” Tom seemed to blank out for a minute. At this moment he felt like a bigger idiot than Harrison.

“Space, right, yeah. Yeah, obviously very difficult.” The door opened again and the man left. Tom didn’t even wait to make sure he couldn’t hear them. “I’m so sorry. I arrived outside, they thrust this into my hand.” he showed her the movie booklet that he had earlier on put down.

“No, it’s my fault. I thought this would all be over by now.” she sighed. “I just wanted to sort of apologizing for the kissing thing. I seriously don’t know what came over me.” Tom could feel the smile on his face slowly lower itself. He didn’t know what he had expected from this conversation, but this somehow was not it. “I just wanted to make sure that you were fine about it.”

Tom froze for a moment. Of course, he was fine about it. The kiss was amazing. He knew that he probably should say it out loud too. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Absolutely fine.” He had to play it cool, though. Once again, the heavy door opened and closed. The bold man came in again.

“Do remember that Miss (Y/L/N) is also keen to talk about her next project which she is shooting later in the summer.” He walked over to them to pour a glass of water for (Y/N). Tom was sure she could perfectly well do it herself and that there was no particular reason for the man to be there now.

“Yes, excellent. Excellent.” He did not want to talk about her next project, but since the man was still there, he had no other choice. “Any horses in that one?” She looked at him with a sad smile. He knew very well that this attempt at an interview was not going great at all. “Or hounds for that matter?” he added quickly. “Our readers are equally intrigued by both species.”

“It takes place on a submarine,” she explained disappointedly.

“Oh, well, bad luck.” he glanced over at the man, who did not seem to be very keen on leaving. “But if there were horses in it, would you be riding them, or would you be getting a stunt-horse-double-man-thing?” he could hear the man walk away with a sigh, opening the door, and closing it behind him.

“I’m a complete moron, I apologize.” he took a deep breath. “This is very weird. It’s the sort of thing that happens in dreams, not in real life. I mean, good dreams. It’s a dream, in fact, to see you again.” He looked away, not believing what he had just said. Her next words were soft, almost a whisper: “What happens next in the dream?”

Her smile took his breath away for a moment there. Once he managed to talk, he thought for a moment. “I suppose that in the uhm, dream, dream scenario, I just change my personality,” he wished he was more confident around her, less of a bumbling idiot. “Because you can do that in dreams and uhm... “ They were looking into each other's eyes. Tom was not sure if she was actually moving closer to him or he was just imagining it. “And walk over and kiss the girl. But…” they both started to lean in. This was happening. Now he was prepared. He could do it.

The only problem was, it was not happening. The old security man came in through the door, making Tom and (Y/N) sit up and look away from each other. Breaking any tension there was between them.

“Time’s up, I’m afraid. Did you get what you wanted?” Tom wanted to punch the stupid grin off of his face. Of course, he didn’t get what he wanted. But he had to keep calm.

“Nearly. Nearly,” he said, fidgeting in his chair a bit.

“Well, maybe just one last question,” he smirked towards (Y/N). It was very unnerving to look at. She smiled and said: “sure, sure.” The man left again. It was all very annoying.

“Are you busy tonight?” Tom asked when the door clicked in the lock.

“Yes.” She simply stated.

“Right. Right.” He understood. Of course, the biggest movie star in Hollywood would be busy. She doesn’t have time for him. What was he thinking? There was a silence between them. Very awkward.

“Come in,” The man walked in, This time followed by a Clark Kent looking type. (Y/N) got up, so Tom assumed it was really time to go for him. They politely shook hands and she said: “Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“Yes, and you.”

“Surreal, but nice.” She smirked. Tom laughed at the comment. It will haunt him for the rest of his life, probably.

“Thank you,” he said, “You are Horse & Hound’s favorite actress.” the comment made her laugh out loud a little. “You and Black Beauty tied.” He wished he could kiss her, but the men next to them made it impossible. So, he walked away. Not looking back. He was not exactly pleasantly surprised to see the ginger man standing outside. When he saw Tom, he told whoever he was talking to on the phone, to hang on.

“How was she?” He asked interestedly.

“Oh, um…” the question threw him off a bit. “Fabulous.”

“Excellent.” they were about to part, but the man stopped him again. “Wait a minute, she took your grandmother’s flowers?” he looked confused. So did Tom. Grandmother’s flowers? What was he on about? Then he remembered his poor excuse.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s right. Bitch.”

“Mr. Holland.” It was Karen, coming out of a corridor. What was it now? Couldn’t he just leave? He was fine, honestly. “If you’d like to come with me, we can just rush you through the others.”

“The others?” Karen walked away, but Tom stood still in his spot. What others?  There weren’t any others for him. Just (Y/N). Karen didn’t stop or respond, so he had to follow her. The woman leads him into another room, where a gentleman was seated.

“Mr. Holland is from Horse & Hound,” she told him and walked away, but not before gesturing to Tom to sit down.

“How ’s it going?” the man asked. They shook hands.

“Very well. Thank you.” Tom was going to pass out. He couldn’t interview him! And Karen had talked about others. That was definitely plural. Was he expected to talk to the whole cast? He couldn’t.

“Have a seat.” They sat down. Tom was ready for the next hour of torture to begin.

-------

Should I write and post more of this story? Do you want to be tagged? Any other request or comment?

[stillebesat]

In the Rubble (6/6)

Blurb: After a bomb collapses a building on both Conan and Kogoro, Conan is faced with a difficult decision regarding the Famous Sleeping Detective. Story: Detective Conan Characters: Edogawa Conan/Kudo Shinichi, Mouri Kogoro TW: Claustrophobia/Trapped

Previous chapters can be found here: https://stillebesat.tumblr.com/FanFics

Chapter 6: Dignify

"Oh, Kogoro!" Yoko gracefully spun around to face him, holding what appeared to be a mouth watering piece of heaven. Cake. Delicately covered in white icing swirls with deep red strawberries decorating the top like a crown. "Your cake is ready!" She smiled at him and angels seemed to sing.

"Yoko!" His throat closed off the rest of his words and he swallowed hard. This was, he hadn't expected her to be so sweet and actually make him a cake! "Thank you."

Her smile only got brighter, dazzling him. "Of course my dearest Kogoro, you know I only make the best for you." She set the dessert on the table and patted the chair. "Come! Come. You have to tell me what you think." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaving a trace of powdered sugar on her cheek.

He grinned. Well there was no way he was going to say no to that! He eagerly sat at the table as she cut out a large slice and placed it on a plate in front of him. She leaned in, her eyes anxious as he took his first bite.

Kogoro closed his eyes, unable to properly vocalize how decadent the taste was. Sweet, savory, like eating food created by a Goddess. He swallowed, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. How could he have gotten so lucky? "Yoko-chan, this is beyond heavenly." He managed to say, lightly touching her hand.

Her smile of delight had his heart fluttering in his chest. She clapped her hands together. "You really think so-"

"Ojisan."

She asked, eyes lighting up. "-Should I get you another slice?"

Kogoro twitched in confusion. Ojisan? Why would Yoko-chan be calling him Ojisan? He looked down, surprised to find his cake was already gone. When had he eaten the rest of it? He shrugged, patting his stomach, and grinned. "I will always have room for another slice of your divine cooking, Yoko."

She laughed in delight and leaned in brushing his cheek with her lips. But instead of being a soft warmth, the touch radiated like a burning coal. Kogoro jerked away with a startled cry, rubbing at his cheek as the sensation of liquid fire seemed to radiate all the way down to his toes.

Yoko twirled away from him, seeming to not notice his reaction.

"Ojisan!"

"I'll just grab more from the oven!" she said.

There it was again. Ojisan. Why would Yoko be calling him that? Weren't they on a first name basis now? Even if they weren't, she'd never called him Ojisan. It had always been Mouri-san before. "But...you just set the cake on the table...” 

"No, silly, that one's the entertainment!" She said giggling, her back to him as she bent down to look in the oven.

He blinked and looked to the dessert, and sure enough, the cake was moving of it's own accord, alternating between spinning like a top and rocking back and forth like a seesaw. Huh, that was...weird. How had Yoko managed to-- He jerked backwards with a startled curse as the strawberries on top suddenly spewed a shower of golden sparks right at him. The embers burning his clothes and his skin as they landed. He cried out, trying to pat out the burning flames, but his hands were slow to respond. "Yoko!" He called out to her.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Mouri-san!"

"What's the matter, dearest?"

"The cake!" Kogoro tried to explain, but got no further as the strawberries on top of it took off like little mini rockets, zooming around the room before targeting his face. Kogoro yelled, ducking under the table to avoid the mini missiles, his cheek scraping against the rough gravel floor.

Where had the tile gone?

"Mouri-san please! Get up!"

Yoko's voice pleaded with him, and he looked up to see her suddenly kneeling in front of him, gripping his shoulders. Tears running down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." she apologized. She tugged at him roughly, and he winced as his burning skin caught on the pieces of rock. "The cake wasn't supposed to do that!"

No it wasn't. But that wasn't her fault. How could Yoko have known?

"Otosan, Please! Wake up. I can't carry you like this!"

Her voice cracked as she reached out for him. She sounded so young now. Not quite herself. Again she tugged at his shoulders, trying to get him to move.

He frowned, not budging. Yoko shouldn't sound so young, the voice wasn't hers. He blinked and she'd shrunk in size. A child, bright blue eyes wide with fear as she reached out for him. For her father.

"Mmmmfine." he mumbled in response to her pleading tone. He had to help her. She didn't need to carry him. He would be fine. She was the one upset. He needed to comfort her. Save her from the exploding flying strawberries. "Don'na cry." He didn't like seeing her so sad, so helpless. He tried to grab her hands, but his own weren't responding. "It's not your fault that the strawberries were miniature rocket bombs."

Bombs? Why was that...

She bit her lip, blue eyes shimmering with tears.

"OTOSAN, WAKE UP!"

Yoko-chan vanished, the kitchen exploding in a series of golden red fireworks that blinded him.

NO! YOKO! Kogoro wordlessly yelled in the darkness, his eyelids feeling like anvils were attached to them as he struggled to get them open. Yoko. He had to save her! He thrashed, cutting off another scream as the rest of his body cried out all at once, different parts suddenly competing for the prize of most injured. No, he would have to face that pain later. He couldn't succumb to it. He needed to help-

Kogoro reached out blindly, knowing he was supposed to be holding something...someone...protecting...who? Someone was in danger...him...and Yoko...no...Ko...ko...co...Conan! Kogoro inhaled sharply, forcing his eyes open just as his hand encountered another on his shoulder. "Conan?" He whispered hoarsely, struggling to get his eyes to focus on the face swimming above him.

Conan scrubbed at his cheeks, damp with tears and fresh blood, his hand covered by an oversized jacket sleeve. "Oto-" His voice cracked on the word as he tugged forcefully at Kogoro's shoulders, moving him half an inch if that. "We have to move. Now. Please!"

Kogoro stared at him uncomprehending. Why did they have to move? Why was Conan bleeding? There were no exploding strawberry rockets here. His eyes roved past Conan's trying to piece it together. Behind the boy was a large column of fire. It's crackling edges giving off heat. It was a bit large for a campfire. Those flames...flames...Wait, explosion. Explosion! That wasn't just a dream!

Kogoro jerked upright as memory returned, yelping as he jarred his legs, the pain sending him back to the ground again, struggling to breathe. His broken legs. Bomb, explosion, Shinichi, Conan. It all rushed back.

"Ojisan!"

The crack of another explosion shook the ground as a fresh column of black smoke climbed into the sky. Kogoro inhaled sharply. They had to move! Get away from the mansion!

He rolled onto his stomach, the sting of a thousand torrid cactus needles in his legs confirming that there was no way he would be able to walk again today. "I'm fine." He said, his throat feeling like sandpaper as Conan knelt in front of him, the jacket swamping his child's body.

Conan raised an eyebrow and Kogoro grimaced at using Shinichi's favorite turn of phrase. It was obvious he was not fine. "I'll manage." he corrected quickly. "Move, boy." His words were punctuated by another explosion behind them.

Conan flinched. "This way." He urged, tugging Kogoro's sleeve. "To the tree over there."

Kogoro looked up long enough to see which direction the boy was pointing before he pulled himself forward, once again army crawling through the grass. "Got it. Go brat, I'll meet you there."

Kogoro turned his attention to the large tree about twenty yards away from the mansion. He could do this. He'd crawled through a hole in the ground easily enough, this would be a walk-crawl in the park in comparison. Nice big open spaces, soft grass. But the tree only seemed to get further away whenever he looked up. Kogoro's lungs heaved for air, his arms shaking from the strain of dragging his body along the lawn. Come on. He could do this, Conan was probably already there, waiting impatiently for him to reach the tree as well. He looked up again, squinting to see the boy, but frowned, pausing in his own trek to the tree as his searching gaze couldn't locate him. Shouldn't the boy have gotten to there already? Where was he?

Kogoro whipped his head around, his heart in the throat, searching for the boy. There! A yard and a half behind him was Conan on hands and his knees, struggling to crawl in the oversized jacket. Well one hand and knees. Conan had one arm up to his chest holding it there, to keep from jarring his injured shoulder.

Kogoro mentally hit himself on the head. Why hadn't he remembered sooner! Shinichi had torn his feet walking barefoot in that debris field. The boy probably could walk about as well as Kogoro could at the moment and it was obvious the boy was worst off with crawling, with how he inched along, sweat dripping down his face..

"Here, boya." He reached out a hand to Conan. "I can carry you on my back." That would save the boy from having to struggle with the jacket.

Conan looked up, eyes glinting stubbornly. "I can manage just fine, Ojisan." He said jutting out his chin, edging past Kogoro.

Kogoro dragged himself in front of the boy. Oh no, not this time. He wasn't going to let Conan have his way. "Doesn't look like fine if you're behind me. Come on, I can carry you." He reached out again, but Conan leaned just out of his reach.

"You'd probably collapse if I sat on you." Conan retorted. "Your arms are hardly holding you up now."

Kogoro grimaced. Well that was true, but that wasn't going to stop him. "Brat, you don't have a choice. Come here."

Conan shook his head, trying to crawl faster, but the jacket was hindering his limbs. "I got this."

They both didn't have this. "Don't make me ground you from the next twelve murder cases, boya."

Conan hesitated, narrowing his eyes at Kogoro. "You can't keep using that against me."

Kogoro growled, using a surge of energy to lunge at the brat, grabbing him by the jacket. "I can if it works to get you to do what I want." He really doubted he could prevent the boy from getting into crime scenes, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try. "Get over here son, and let me help you for once."

Conan stiffened, his soot streaked hair hiding his face. "I'm fine." he mumbled, reluctantly allowing Kogoro to pull him closer. "Better off than you."

Kogoro snorted. "With how much you've yo-yoed in height today, I highly doubt that."

Conan choked off a laugh. "Maybe you're right." He conceded, finally relenting, getting onto Kogoro's back. The boy's good arm wrapped around his neck, while his other hand gripped the back of Kogoro's shirt.

Kogoro reached back to adjust him so that Conan was more centered on his back so he wouldn't fall off. "Good, if I wasn't, I'd consider throwing you across the lawn. That's much quicker than you crawling at a snail's pace." Speaking of pace. Kogoro heaved himself into motion, working to move faster than that too. It wasn't easy. Conan, while usually light enough to pick up with one hand, had become heavy enough to make Kogoro feel like he was trapped under the rubble again. Kogoro gritted his teeth, forcing that memory away and concentrating on placing one shaking arm in front of the other. Nearly there. Nearly there. "Still hanging in there, Conan?" He gasped out.

Conan tightened his grip on Kogoro in response. "Yes."

"Good," Kogoro groaned, collapsing underneath the shade of the tree. "You're heavy, get off."

"I'm not that heavy!" Conan denied, quickly slipping off of him. "It was your idea in the first place for me to get on, Ojisan!"

Kogoro rolled onto his back, painfully pushing himself up into a sitting position to lean against the trunk of the tree. "If I hadn't you'd still be at the base of those stairs."

They both froze as a loud groan met the ears, the scream of metal shearing in half growing louder as the whole front wall of the mansion seemed to shift forward, it's blackened frame teetering in place before it fell outwards like a performer taking their last bow, plummeting onto the stairs with a crash that shook the earth.

Kogoro had Conan in his arms before he realized he'd grabbed the boy. "Oh, Kami." He whispered, wide-eyed staring at the huge cloud of dust the wall had kicked up. "We could have been under that." If Conan hadn't woken him up, if they'd decided to wait within.

Conan trembled in his grip, not protesting the tight hold. "You could have been on those stairs if I hadn't pulled you down them." He said, voice wavering. "If you hadn't woken up in time."

They both cringed as the other three walls followed the first in collapsing. The back wall falling into the burning remains of the mansion, while the two side walls fell outwards smashing bushes, decorative fountains and...

"There goes the car." Conan mumbled.

Kogoro stiffened and let out a groan. Why had he parked the car so close to the house! Though it wasn't like he could have driven them away from here in his current state. "The rental place is not going to like that." He ran a hand over his eyes. They'd already been barred from half a dozen other rental places in the city because of events like this.

"That's what? The seventh car we've damaged so far this year from them?"

"Something like that." Kogoro exhaled, wrapping the jacket tighter around the boy, ensuring he was protected. Hopefully the manager would be understanding...again. "At least we're alive to explain things to them, though." Kogoro leaned back against the tree, resting his head there. "Thanks to you, Conan."

Conan shifted in his grip, finding a comfortable position resting against Kogoro's chest. Snuggled up in the jacket as he was with his eyes nearly closed, he almost looked like he was peacefully sleeping. Almost. "It wasn't...I'm just glad you woke up." He whispered.

Kogoro smiled fondly at the boy, ruffling his hair again to Conan's mumbled protest. "Only because you called me Otosan." How could he refuse a child's call for father? "I never expected you to think of me that way, boya. Yusaku-san may not like that." He teased through a tightening throat. It was probably a slip of the tongue really, but thanks to that slip, he'd woken up in time.

Conan stiffened, and Kogoro nearly thought he could feel heat coming off of the boy as he ducked his head, hiding his face. "Yusaku-san is Shinichi-niichan's dad, not Conan's." he mumbled.

Kogoro raised his eyebrows, warmth rising in his chest. "I see..."

"And...I...I...I think...as Conan..." his hands gripped Kogoro's shirt, as sirens sounded in the distance. "You're an alright father to have...Otosan."

Kogoro blinked rapidly, fighting at the warmth that seemed to be filling him. Gently, Kogoro squeezed the boy as the first of multiple firetrucks roared onto the scene, screeching to a stop in front of to the burning remains of the mansion. "You're an alright son to have, Conan." He managed to say over the lump in his throat as he rocked the boy. He cleared his throat. "Just stop messing with my crime scenes and you might graduate to a good son."

Conan cut off a laugh, relaxing. "Guess, I'm stuck being an alright son then."

Kogoro smiled. With all that Conan had done to get the two of them out alive, he wouldn't have it any other way.

This Fic was Inspired by: "Snuggling with my jacket, peacefully asleep." Part of an 'I Found You' writing prompt list on AngelicSentinel's Tumblr blog.

Stillebesat Speaks:

I just want to take a moment to thank you all for joining me in this fic experience! You reading, favoriting, following, and/or commenting on this fic has been such a delightful highlight to my days! Thank you all for taking the time to do so. I really appreciate it. :D And if you have any questions, comments, or just really want to chat, feel free to message me! I'm totally game for conversations. :)

Until next fic everyone!

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Twenty: Join Me in Heaven and Sorrow No More

Summary Aurora deals with the aftermath of rejecting Ser Barris.

Notes I highly recommend you listen to this music. It could almost be considered required listening - that's how much I hope you play it while you read. <3

"The Living Sculptures Of Pemberly" Spotify Link Here -or- Youtube Link Here

[Read Chapter 20 on AO3]  or [Start from the Beginning]

-Aurora-

He is so beautiful…

Aurora feels the pressure of unspent tears behind her eyes, but she refuses to let the pressure out. She will not let any more salty tears stream down her face. A dehydration headache pounds between her eyes from her already spent tears. She needs a break from crying, if only for a few hours.

Aurora’s roommate Helisma, thankfully, has not given her a second look in the past few days. No acknowledgement for when she sees Aurora quietly sobbing on her bed. Clutching at a pillow so tightly that her knuckles turn stark white. Clutching it against her chest, as she tries to comfort the inner turmoil within her core. Rocking herself gently back and forth, feeling as though her heart has been ripped from her chest,  for it is now a raw…excruciating…searing void within her.

However, Pippa, her other roommate, has tried to approach her in these moments. Moments that have encompassed Aurora’s evenings since she last saw Delrin. Pippa has tried to console her, unknowing of the cause for her affliction. Aurora ignores her. She has not spoken a word since Delrin was holding her in his arms.

During her days, Aurora stares blankly into tomes, her bloodshot, swollen eyes pretending to read. She is most likely failing miserably with her farce, given the looks her coworkers give her. She tries her best to save face, but it has been impossible. How can she save face when her chest has been ripped open? Her ribs broken. Her lungs battered and bruised from screaming into her pillow. Her heart torn out and ripped into a thousand, tiny shreds of what was once so guarded… so protected.

Her chest is just an empty cavity now. The walls once expertly constructed to defend it, demolished. The person who once fearlessly shielded it, abandoned.

No. Aurora cannot save face, as much as she may want to. She cannot hide the fact that she is a husk of what she once was.

The pain in her head from her lack of fluids… lack of sleep… lack of food… is beginning to feel second nature. However, Pippa had gently urged Aurora to take one evening to care of herself. “Please, Aurora, go put some food in your stomach, maybe visit the bath house. Try to tend to yourself for one evening,” she said to her, looking at Aurora as if she was dying in front of her. If that is how she looks, it is because that is how she feels. Aurora silently rose from her bed and exited their quarters.

Naturally, she went to the tavern. Here, she can at least try to drown the screaming inside her. She can give her tear ducts respite for one evening, and make herself numb.

Probably not what Pippa had in mind, but it is what Aurora is doing nonetheless.

Slumped in a seat, over a small wooden table, she sits alone in the upper level of the tavern. Her body too exhausted to support her head, her chin rests on her folded arm. Her other is occupied by holding and rocking a tankard. Slowly, she rolls the tankard on its bottom edges back and forth on the old wood table. Roll…clunk…roll…clunk…

She sits in the darkness of the upper level, staring down into the atrium, watching Delrin fraternize below.

He has not approached her since the evening in the gardens. The evening where he poured his heart to her… and she did nothing. Aurora let his heart sit there, exposed, and untouched. He had tried to gift it to her and she refused him. He was so sure of himself, so sure that she was someone he could trust to treasure his bared heart. And she just let it sit there, too afraid to pick it up. Too weak to stand with him and proclaim her feelings, to dare to find happiness. Allow herself a chance.

He now sits with a small gathering of Templars, listening as they regale in their stories. His smile is not as bright as it once was. Often he looks downcast and fidgets with his mug. Perhaps he is attempting to save face, as well. If that is the case, it is because of her. Aurora is to blame for the despair in his eyes, his sullen movements, his despondent smile. Because of this, she feels even more the failure, even more the wretch. She caused that beautiful, kind man pain.

You are worthless.

I know.

“I see you also prefer the company of no one… here in the darkness,” she hears a voice say. Aurora slowly rolls her head to bring her gaze to the person now standing beside her. Alistair. The warden stands there looking at her with saddened compassion. “Mind if I join your solitude?” His eyes are heavy, but the corner of his mouth slightly twitches as he shrugs, “I have cheese...” He presents a small plate in his hand with and equally small pile of cheese upon it.

Aurora’s eyes travel along his body, up and down, judging for anything unwanted in his presence. She comes up empty. He seems as though he is also a lost soul in desolation. Who is she to tell him he cannot sit quietly in the dark? Aurora rocks the crown of her head toward a chair to her right, a small gesture for him to sit. He does and they sit in silence, watching the other patron’s jubilee below.

It is akin to watching another world. She is so detached from the emotions that run through the rest of the tavern. Most of its inhabitants smile with ease. Most of them. Her eyes are drawn back to the handsome Knight-Commander. If only she would just let herself… let herself take the risk…perhaps she could be down there with him right now, and they could both be smiling and enjoying the company of jovial people around them. Enjoying the company of each other.

How can she take that risk when the future is so uncertain? She lifts her head long enough to swipe a cube of cheese from Alistair’s plate. She rests head head down again with a sigh, staring longingly at Barris. Her mind wanders to her compatriot beside her. He met Lymeria during the 5thblight. How was it that they dealt with uncertainty, she wonders.

Her voice is soft and ragged. She’s not spoken to anyone in days, the only sounds to leave her throat where that of frustration and grief. She manages, however, to croak his name, “Alistair?”

“Hmm?” He responds softly, the sound of which seems as if she was calling him back from somewhere distant.

“How did you do it?” Aurora asks as she watches Delrin rise and slowly pace across the room to Cabot. His face drops when his companions are no longer in view, an appearance that causes her gut to pinch and ache.

Alistair sighs. She sees his boots appear on the top of the railing in front of her, as he stretches out. “How did I do what, Aurora?”

“How did you and Lymeria find happiness in each other, when you didn’t know if there would even be a tomorrow?” Delrin has ordered a drink. He leans on his hands at the counter, head hanging down, while Cabot has his back turned to retrieve the Templar’s ale. He covertly raises his head again before Cabot turns back. She thinks she can see a faint smile on his face as he thanks the dwarf.

If my heart was still intact, it would ache.

Calloused fingers appear in her view as Alistair takes a piece of cheese from the plate between them. He speaks through the sounds of chewing, “I’ll be honest… After the battle at Ostagar, I was feeling pretty low. In one night, Ferelden lost its King, most of its army, and all of its grey wardens – save for Mira and me. Mira had only just finished the joining ritual, and I had only been a grey warden for six months. And then suddenly, the dark spawn killed all of it. We had no support, we didn’t know anything. Mira had to rely entirely on my knowledge of what it meant to be a grey warden, and that was basically nothing.

We didn’t even have families to turn to. I was a bastard who grew up living in the stables. Mira had recently witnessed her entire family murdered… yeah… it was pretty dismal.” He takes another piece of cheese and silently chews it.

Aurora turns her head on its side, against her arm, and looks up at the man beside her. His eyes have a thousand-yard stare. The corners of his lips are turned down. He wears years of hardship in the small wrinkles on his skin and the silver strands in his otherwise strawberry blonde hair. So far he is only reaffirming her decision to distance herself from Delrin. He certainly doesn’t sound or appear to be happy.

He catches her eyes as she stares him, and he gives Aurora a soft smile. The low and flickering light from the room below gives his eyes a delicate shine. “But then everything changed…” he whispers. “We went to Lothering after we escaped Ostagar. I was in such a state. But then I noticed a rose… one single rose in a town over run with misery. The darkspawn were coming, people were fleeing their homes, lives were lost, families shattered. I saw that rose and I thought, ‘How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?’ I should have left it alone, but I couldn’t. I knew that if I did, the dark spawn would come and just destroy it.”

Aurora smiles at the warden. She hadn’t realized how sentimental he was. His voice warmed as he spoke, and his cheeks spread a soft pink. “There was something else I noticed in Lothering…” He continues, looking far away and smiling. “Mira. In a lot of ways, I thought the same way when I looked at her. As we continued on our quest, I only became more crazed by her. We had only known each other for a short time, but when around her I couldn’t think straight. I cared for her a great deal. I couldn’t imagine myself without her…not ever.

We sort of… stumbled into each other, and despite it being the least opportune time, I fell for her. Eventually, after setting up camp for an evening, I gave her that rose. And I told her what a rare and beautiful thing she was.”

“That is really sweet, Alistair.” She lifts her head from the table and rests her chin in her hand. His story making her feel lighter, she almost forgets the storm raging in her chest.

He lets out a low chuckle. “We had so much uncertainty ahead of us. We didn’t know what the next day would bring, let alone if we had a chance to stop the blight. But I know that I could have never done it alone. I thank the Maker every day, if He listens, for bringing Mira into my life. She changed everything.” He drops his eyes with a sigh, “I just wish I could be with her right now. But I will tell you this much, when I do see her again… I am never letting go.”

A tear falls down Aurora’s cheek. She turns to look at Delrin. He is sitting with his men… but he is looking up at her. Her breath hitches in her throat, a tingle of panic races down her spine. He sees her… how long has he known that she is up here? No matter how long, their eyes are locked now. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, she cannot move. Fear drips inside her, but she cannot look away. Aurora wants to look into those eyes for eternity.

“You should go to him,” Alistair delicately suggests. “Life is too short… too ugly… to go through it alone. Whatever is stopping you, that is what you should ignore. Not him. You two will be able to get through this, if you do it together.”

Aurora turns to peer at Alistair with concern furrowed in her brow, “But I am a mage…what if…” her voice breaks and she cannot find the strength to make it work again.

“He is the Knight-Commander of the new Templar order in all of southern Thedas. No matter what happens when this is all over, I am confident that he will do whatever he can to protect you and all other mages in his charge.” Alistair states plainly, but not apathetic. He looks at Aurora with encouragement and she can’t help but feel empowered by his story and his reassurance.

Is Alistair right? Has she been acting a fool? Her mind is racing. A few tears stream down Aurora’s face, but they are not the tears of anguish, they are tears born of courage. Honestly, what is she protecting herself from when she has been a wretched, miserable wreck ever since she left Delrin’s side? She had wanted to protect herself from the possibility of being hurt in the future, but she has slowly been losing her will to even survive since that night in the garden. At this rate there will be nothing left of her to even consider protecting.

Maybe the warden is right. It was his love of Lymeria that gave him the strength to fight for Thedas, and they prevailed together. Perhaps she has been thinking about this all wrong. Perhaps together, Delrin and Aurora can ensure change and peace between mages and the rest of the world. Together they can be strong. Divided… divided they fail. Their hope and passion individually slaughtered because of Aurora’s senselessness. But the union of their hearts and their minds, they could bring the change Thedas desperately needs, and the serenity they desperately seek.

Alistair smiles at her and nods his head toward Delrin, “Go to him…” he urges.

Yes.

Yes, she will go to him. A smile blossoms across her face as she sniffles and wipes away the tears on her cheeks. Her eyes are wide with fear and hope. She darts her head back to look down in the atrium. Delrin is still there, looking up at them. He is peering with bewilderment. She smiles warmly at him and rises from her seat.

Nodding with a curtsey, Aurora thanks the warden for his story and his words of encouragement. She will no longer be a shameful fool. She will go to him. She quickly descends the staircases that take her to the lower level of the Tavern, watching the steps carefully as to not trip and stumble in her hurried pace. When she nears the bottom of the final staircase, she looks up from the steps and stops in her tracks.

Delrin is standing at the base, staring up at Aurora. Still a look of confusion, marked with worry, displayed across his beautiful face.

As she comes to a halt, her breath catches. “Delrin,” a breathless whisper, her voice is swallowed up by the intensely loud gayety of tavern. She stands there astonished, for he is stunning. There is nothing in this world right now, beyond Derlin and Aurora. A large and blissful smile consumes her face and joyful tears flow freely from her eyes. Aurora’s body floats down the last few steps as she pours her arms around his shoulders. He catches her, shocked at first, but then she feels the tenderness of his embrace as he relaxes.

Pulling back from him, just enough to see his lovely face, Aurora looks into his peridot eyes. Tears continue to trickle from her as she shamefully smiles, she had been so stupid. “Delrin, I am so sorry…I was…I was…”

“Shhh,” he hushes her tenderly. His eyes are bright and gleaming, his face is warm and loving. He looks at Aurora in a way no man has ever looked at her before. She feels precious… treasured… special. She feels as if nothing could ever be wrong again.

Aurora rests her head on his shoulder and smiles to herself. Her heart is beating with such strength and vigor, that she is sure he can feel it through his breastplate. Aurora no longer feels as empty as the void. She feels warm… complete.

Home.