#she framed it like it had been a decision she’d come to on her own

[tacosaysroar]

VICTORY IS MINE

[capseycartwright]

miss me, but let me go

“I have - I’ve carried this grief, for you, for so long, and I know I can’t let it all go, because a part of me is always going to grieve for you,” Eddie paused. “But I can’t feel like this forever, Shannon. I don’t think you’d want me to, either. So - I need to let some of it go. Okay? I need to - I need to be myself now. For me, and for Christopher. I want to be me."

On November 1, Eddie builds an altar for Shannon and finds a way to let her go.

ao3 link

November 1. The date is not one Eddie is likely to ever forget. Even before Shannon died, Dia de los Muertos wasn’t a holiday he ever missed - as a child, he would help his abuelo make their altar every year, a picture of his abuelo front-and-centre, Edmundo Diaz Senior, the man he’d been named for, looking sharp in his suit as he looked out from the glass picture frame where he’d lived all of Eddie’s life. He’d never met his grandfather - only carried his name. 

Over the years, more faces found a home on the altar - friends, and family, time a fickle thing and the only certainty about life that it ended. Death was familiar, a constant in a world Eddie felt like he could never quite figure out.

After Shannon died -

The first November 1 after she died, Eddie built his own altar for the first time, explaining the tradition to Christopher. They had done it every year since, Christopher’s face in a set line as he made sure everything was absolutely perfect. No less than his mother deserved, Eddie knew. 

Shannon hadn’t grown up with the traditions of All Saints and All Souls, but she’d embraced them wholly when she and Eddie had gotten married, making the altar herself when Eddie wasn’t there. It felt right to honour her with the traditions she had loved herself. That was why Eddie had taken to adding a picture of Shannon’s mother to the altar too, when she died the year after Shannon did. Breast cancer, they’d said, but Eddie knew heartbreak had been the thing that had pushed her over the edge.

Every year, Eddie celebrated Shannon, and her mother, his grandfather, the people he’d served with who had died - 

Except this year.

Eddie felt bad. Really, he did - he was going to build the altar himself, but when his dad had texted a picture of the Diaz family altar, Shannon front and centre, Eddie couldn’t quite bring himself to make his own. Shannon was being remembered - that was what mattered. He’d gone to her grave instead, only half listening as the priest had said mass over the graveyard, praying for the salvation of the souls who were buried there.

Grief was a funny old beast, Eddie knew. Grief had made him do crazy things - grief had driven his son to Texas, for crying out loud. The grief didn’t hit standing by her grave, but it did when dusk descended over Eddie’s house, and the absence of an altar began to feel like one of the worst things he’d done amongst a year of terrible decision-making.

Maybe he should have taken Buck up on his offer of coming over to make an altar with him, but Eddie had asked enough of his best friend in the last four months. Eddie knew Tommy had bought them tickets for some movie Buck was dying to see, and as much as Eddie was a near-professional third wheel now, he didn’t think he’d make a good addition to the back row of their local movie theatre.

Eddie winced as he looked at the candle he’d swiped from the dining table. “It’s cedarwood,” he said, apologetic as he lit it, setting the candle down in front of the framed picture of Shannon that lived on their fireplace. “I know you hated cedarwood, but I’m working with what I’ve got here, Shan.”

Eddie pressed his cheek against his folded arms, taking one, two, three shaky breaths. “I really struggled after you left, Shannon. I don’t think I really even realised how much until now - and it’s not just because you were gone, but you were gone and you wanted a divorce, and I - suddenly, I was never going to get answers.”

He’d been talking about Shannon a lot in therapy, lately, unpacking all his complicated feelings during his excruciating weekly hour with Frank. 

“I don’t know if I even wanted to stay married to you,” Eddie admitted, the candle flickering in the growing dark of his living room. That was terrifying to admit out loud - that even if she had stayed alive, he and Shannon wouldn’t have made it work. There were a thousand reasons why, and Eddie could sit, and list them all, but one was more important than the others. 

“I think I’m gay, Shannon,” Eddie had never said it out loud before, despite the thought never quite leaving his mind, Pandora’s box open, now. “If you were here, I bet you’d have such a laugh with that - not like, in a bad way. Just - I think you’d find it funny, that your mom’s gaydar was right after all.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought himself. Shannon’s mom had been the bitchiest woman he’d ever met, and Eddie loved her for it. 

“I’ve made such a mess of things,” Eddie paused. “But with you, most of all. I’m sorry - for my part in it all. I thought I was doing the right thing, joining the army. I just wanted to take care of you and Chris, and I didn’t see any other way out. I know it was the wrong choice - but I really thought it was the right one. You know?”

Shannon’s picture stayed silent. 

“I have - I’ve carried this grief, for you, for so long, and I know I can’t let it all go, because a part of me is always going to grieve for you,” Eddie paused. For the life she might have had, if not for the car crash - Eddie sometimes liked to indulge himself and think of an alternative life where Shannon had survived, where they got divorced, and learned how to co-parent, and maybe they found their way back to being friends. It was a nice thought.

Eddie wiped roughly at his eyes. “But I can’t feel like this forever, Shannon. I don��t think you’d want me to, either. So - I need to let some of it go. Okay? I need to - I need to be myself now. For me, and for Christopher. I want to be me.” 

With a shaky hand, Eddie pressed a kiss to the framed picture, setting Shannon back down with the candle. It was a half-assed altar, and somehow, that made Eddie feel worse. He scrambled to his feet, heading for his bedroom, and the box of Shannon’s belongings he knew was stashed at the back of his wardrobe. He hadn’t kept much for himself - most of it was for Christopher - but he had a few things. There was a necklace in there, he knew that Eddie had bought her for their first wedding anniversary. It was a cheap thing, because they were always broke, but it was something of hers - it would make it a more acceptable offering.

Eddie couldn’t help the breath that hitched in his throat as he spotted what was in his bedroom. A butterfly, resting on his pillowcase, on the side he always slept on. “Hey, little guy,” he whispered softly, not wanting to startle the tiny creature. His abuela loved butterflies - they were spirits of the people you loved, who had left, coming back to visit. Eddie felt slightly ridiculous, but he said it anyway. “Shannon?”

The butterfly didn’t move. 

“I’m so glad Christopher isn’t here, because he would really think I’ve lost it,” Eddie crouched by the side of his bed, holding out a finger. “Hey. Is this your way of telling me it’s okay to let you go? Did you hear all of that?” 

The butterfly moved, tiny wings fluttering as it came to land on Eddie’s outstretched finger. 

“I hope that’s a yes,” Eddie knew tears were streaming down his cheeks, now, but he didn’t want to freak the butterfly out by wiping them away. “How did you get in here, eh? None of the windows are open.”

If Eddie Diaz believed in a higher power, still, he’d blame God - or the universe. 

“Let’s get you outside,” Eddie said, and the butterfly flapped, a little, coming to land on the windowsill instead. “Yeah? You’re ready to go?”

The butterfly flapped in response again.

“I think I’m ready to let you go, this time,” Eddie admitted, carefully unlatching the window. “We’re going to be okay, me and Christopher. I promise. You can go. You don’t need to worry about us.” 

The butterfly seemed to pause, for a second, before it flew out the open window, disappearing into the beginnings of the evening. Eddie wasn’t sure how long he stood there, tears pouring down his cheeks, rolling off the curve of his chin and onto his shirt, but the next thing he knew, he could hear - 

“Buck?”

“Eddie! You’re a firefighter - how long have you left that candle unattended, huh? Eddie - Eddie, where are you, man?”

Buck appeared in the doorway of Eddie’s bedroom, a family-sized bag of sour patch kids tucked under one arm. “Do I need to teach you the basics of fire safety all over again?” he huffed, pausing as he noticed Eddie’s tears. “Eddie - you okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie offered his best friend a teary smile. For the first time, Eddie might actually mean that yes. “I’m okay. There - there was a butterfly,” he explained, gesturing at the window vaguely. “I had to let it out.”

“A butterfly?” Buck looked confused. 

“My abuela always said butterflies were the spirits of people who’ve died,” Eddie explained. “I lit a candle for Shannon, and there was a butterfly just sitting on my pillow, when I came in here. It’s…” he paused. “It’s stupid.”  

Buck’s face softened. ‘It’s not stupid,” he shook his head. “You think it was Shannon?”

Eddie glanced at the window again. “I hope it was,” he admitted, taking a deep breath before he closed the window. That in itself felt like symbolism, Eddie decided - a closing of a chapter he should have let go a long time ago. That’s what he needed it to be, at least. “Wait - aren’t you meant to be on a date?”

Bcuk shrugged. “We changed the tickets to tomorrow,” he explained, holding up the bag of candy. “You said you weren’t going to make an altar, and I didn’t want to let you skip out on it. These were her favourite, right?” 

Eddie could cry all over again. Buck, like Shannon, hadn’t grown up with Dia de los Muertos, but here he was, with a bag of Eddie’s dead wife’s favourite candy, ready to sit in Eddie’s grief with him. Eddie wasn’t sure what he’d done in a previous life to deserve a friend like Evan Buckley, but he thanked whatever God or universe was listening for giving him Buck anyway.

“She’d eat so many she’d give herself a stomach-ache,” Eddie grinned, and the memory didn’t hurt, the way it used to, the grief a dull ache that he could grow around, now. He leaned into the embrace Buck offered, breathing in the familiar cedarwood scent of Buck’s favourite cologne. “Thanks. For being here.”

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” Buck hummed, pressing a ridiculous, loud, smacking kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. Eddie loved him. “But I’m buying you one of those electric candle warmers if you’re going to keep leaving candles unattended, Eddie.” 

Eddie was mostly listening as he let Buck guide him back to the living room, the candle still flickering golden in front of Shannon’s picture. It was the same one he’d put on her memorial programme - bright, and beautiful, just like she’d always been when she was alive. 

Buck grinned, as he set a piece of candy in front of her picture. “Berry,” he explained. “My favourite,” he added, tossing a handful of the sour sweets into his own mouth. 

They sat, the television playing reruns of a procedural in the background, eating candy until their stomachs hurt, the candle burning all the way to the end. 

The butterfly didn’t come back.

Buck stayed.

Eddie was ready to move on.

(Buck stayed.)

[oosa3x]

secret moments (rd3)

prologue

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.˚✮˚.⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

pairing: ruben dias x f!celebrity!reader

warning(s): language, mentions of stalkers, anxiety + emotional stress, feelings of isolation word count: 3,038

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As the sleek, black SUV glided to a smooth stop, Y/N ran her fingers on the edge of her dress, the fabric soft to the touch. She glances quickly at her phone, right on time.

It’s always like this—the split second of calm that comes before the storm. The instant her head of security, Mark, opens the door, the world erupts into chaos. Cameras flash in rapid succession, each one capturing every single frame of her movements, from a hundred different angles. She steps out, a practiced smile tugging on her lips, not quite reaching her eyes.

She takes in a breath, letting the cool, Manchester night air fill her lungs as she straightens up, the clicking of her heels against the pavement blending in with the click, click, click of the cameras. The noise around her is deafening, a garbled mix of questions, calls of her name, and orders from her security asking everyone to take a step back. It’s overwhelming, yet achingly familiar—this is the life she once dreamed of, no, begged for. From the moment she pleaded with her parents to enroll her in that theater camp all those years ago, she knew she was destined for fame, craving the adoration of fans and the recognition that comes with being a household name. How could she not be famous? Every music teacher had told her she sang like an angel. 'With a voice like that,' they’d say, 'how could you not have a slew of adoring fans?’

And here it was, that fame, blinding her with camera flashes—the often harsh reality of never finding a moment of solitude or peace.

Yet even with its occasional dark underbelly, she loved the life fame had given her far more than she resented it. She loved the art, the work, the human connection. She cherished the way she made people feel—seen, understood, and less alone. How could she not love this job when she’d just been cast in her dream role? 

The stalkers, the threats on your life,  a voice whispered in her mind, the one she tried to silence every single day in her quest for some semblance of normalcy amidst her stratospheric amount of fame. 

She had everything she ever wanted—fame, fortune, admiration—but at what cost? The weight of the spotlight was suffocating, the constant scrutiny exhausting. The thrill of performing on stage, of becoming someone else on screen, was often overshadowed by the gnawing fear that her carefully constructed world could crumble with a single misstep. One slip, one unguarded moment, and the sense of security she clung to, could crack, leaving her vulnerable to the dangers that always seemed to lurk at the edge of her fame.

But she couldn't think about that now. Not tonight. Not when she’d just arrived to this new city, her new home for the next year. Not when she’d worked so hard to get to this point. She’d blistered her feet in character shoes, lost count of the times she’d cut her fingers changing guitar strings, and had done so many vocal warm-ups that they had become a language of their own in her vocabulary. She was thrust into the spotlight at 15, an age when most are just beginning to understand who they are and their place in the world. But while her childhood friends were navigating school and first loves, she was sacrificing sleep and missing important family milestones, trading school dances for long hours on set, in studios, and in board rooms with adults making decisions about her career. The normalcy and innocence of adolescence slipped away as she fiercely devoted herself to the relentless pursuit of perfection. She’d given up friendships that couldn’t withstand the demands of her career, missed countless holidays with loved ones, and shouldered the emotional burden of a life lived under constant scrutiny. 

So, she took the negatives of fame on the chin. She fell into her routine: “head held high, shoulders back, walk with purpose.” The dress she’s wearing—a custom piece, naturally—hugs her figure perfectly. The dress is the furthest thing from her mind, though, as she focused on putting one stilettoed foot in front of the other without losing her bearings due to the blinding glare of the camera flashes.

A few more steps and she’d be inside the up-scale restaurant having dinner with a powerful studio executive, his company footing a large part of the film’s budget. 

As the door closed behind them, sealing off the flashing lights and the relentless noise, she took in the setting of the restaurant. The quiet chatter, the dim lighting, the rich scent of polished wood and expensive food—it was almost enough to make her forget the chaos outside. Almost.

Mark stepped back, giving her space but staying within reach. He was a constant presence in her life, one of the few people she trusted wholeheartedly. "Do you need a minute alone? I could clear out that hallway over there, if you need me to." he asked, his voice low, just for her.

She shook her head. "No. I’m fine, but thank you. I kind of just want to get started." Her voice was steady, but she knew he could see through the mask. He always could. He’s been working for her pretty much from the moment she was thrust into the spotlight. Her rise to fame was as swift as it was overwhelming, making the need for security an immediate necessity. He nodded, respecting her need to push forward, but his eyes lingered on her a moment longer, silently conveying his concern.  She straightened up again, squaring her shoulders as if she could physically push the weight of the world off them.

Together, they walked further into the restaurant. As they moved through the main floor, the soft murmur of conversation began to die down, replaced by the subtle rustling of patrons shifting in their seats. Eyes followed her every step, awe flickering in their gazes. Some tried to be subtle, but she caught the movements from the corner of her eye—an instinct she’d honed over the last twelve years of being in the spotlight. Phones slowly lifted, camera apps discreetly launched, as they seized the opportunity to capture the moment.

Mark walked ahead, his broad frame cutting a path through the dimly lit space, while Eric, a second bodyguard, stayed a step behind her, his watchful eyes scanning the room, making sure no one got too close. The atmosphere buzzed with whispers, fragments of her name slipping through the hushed conversations.

The hostess—who looked about one breath away from hyperventilating, tears brimming her eyes—led them to a private dining room at the back. As the door closed behind them, sealing off the public’s eager eyes, the tension in her shoulders eased just slightly, but the weight of their expectations lingered in the air. Her publicist and manager were already seated at the table, deep in conversation with the studio executive. The moment she entered, all eyes turned to her.

Her publicist, Raquel, a woman with an impeccable sense of style, stood first. "There she is," she said with a warm smile, moving to greet her. "You look absolutely amazing, as always, my dear.”

Her manager, Claudia, a calm, steady presence who had guided her through everything, also stood up to give her a quick hug. "Right on time," she said, her tone as measured as ever. "Everything go smoothly outside?”

She returned the smiles, though hers was softer, more controlled. "As smoothly as it ever does." She accepted the brief hug from both her publicist and her manager before turning to the studio executive.

The executive stood as she approached, extending a hand with a smile that was all business. "Miss L/N, it’s a pleasure to see you again," he said smoothly. "Thank you for making the time."

"Of course," she replied, taking his hand and then sliding into the chair opposite him. "I’m looking forward to hearing more about the project."

The executive waved a hand, and the hostess quickly poured wine into the glasses before retreating, leaving them alone. He raised his glass in a small toast. "To what I’m sure will be an amazing collaboration."

She mirrored his action, the cool glass against her fingers grounding her slightly. "To new beginnings."

Her publicist and manager joined in the toast, their faces reflecting the mix of optimism and caution that came with every new project. The executive took a sip, then set his glass down, his demeanor shifting slightly as he leaned forward.

"We’re thrilled to have you on board. This role... it’s going to be a game-changer for you. The script is incredible, the director’s a genius, and we’re pulling out all the stops to promote this film."

She nodded, her face calm, but inside, her mind was already running through the list of demands this project would make of her. The hours on set, the press tours, the interviews—each one a small battle in the war to stay on top, to remain the ‘it girl’. "I’m excited to dive in. I’ve been waiting for a role like this."

Her manager, ever the practical one, leaned forward slightly. "We’ve reviewed the schedule, and it’s tight, but it’s manageable. We’ll need to coordinate closely, especially with the promotional commitments. Don’t worry, you’ll also get moments of peace in between."

Her publicist added, "There’s a lot of buzz already. We need to be strategic about your appearances, make sure we’re maximizing the exposure without burning you out."

The executive smiled, clearly pleased with their input. "We’re all on the same page here. This film is going to be huge."

She took another sip of wine, savoring the brief moment of silence. The praise was flattering, but it was also a reminder of the constant pressure to deliver, to be perfect.

The executive continued, his tone more serious now. "I won’t lie, though you’ll still have a few breaks in filming, this is going to be demanding. The director is known for pushing his actors to their limits, and we’ll need you fully committed. But if anyone can handle it, it’s you."

She met his gaze, the smile never leaving her face. "I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. I’m ready to give it everything I’ve got."

Her publicist glanced at her, then at the executive. "We’ll make sure she’s prepared. And of course, we’ll coordinate with your team to ensure everything goes smoothly."

Her manager nodded. "You all made the right choice choosing Y/N. She is more than ready for this."

The executive nodded, seemingly satisfied. "That’s exactly what I wanted to hear." He leaned back in his chair, a more relaxed smile crossing his face. "Let’s talk specifics, then. I want to make sure you have everything you need to succeed."

As they delved into the details of the project—locations, timelines, marketing strategies—she listened carefully, her mind a careful balance of focus and detachment. She knew this was important, that this film could be a turning point in her career, but she couldn’t help the small voice in the back of her mind that whispered of exhaustion, of the toll this life took on her.

But she silenced it, as she always did. She had worked too hard to let doubt creep in now. This was her dream, and she had worked incredibly hard to make it her reality.

Her publicist leaned in, breaking the flow of technical discussions with a smile. "You know, there’s something special about this project. I can feel it."

Her manager nodded, a rare sparkle of enthusiasm in his usually measured demeanor. "It’s the perfect blend—challenging but rewarding. I think you’re going to surprise even yourself with what you achieve here."

She let their words wash over her, allowing herself to believe them for a moment. Maybe they were right. Maybe this was the role that would not only challenge her but would elevate her to new heights. The thought sent a flicker of excitement through her, a reminder of why she had fought so hard to get here in the first place.

As the meeting wrapped up and they all stood to leave, she looked around at the faces of the people she trusted most. "We’re going to make this something unforgettable," she said, and this time, her smile wasn’t just for show.

But as they prepared to exit the private dining room, her eyes drifted across the restaurant. At a nearby table, she noticed a young couple sitting close, their hands intertwined, looking at each other like the other had hung the stars. The woman laughed softly, her partner brushing a lock of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that made her chest tighten.

She turned away quickly, focusing on the path ahead instead. The couple’s easy affection stirred something in her, a longing she rarely allowed herself to acknowledge. Despite all the success, all the admiration, there was a gnawing emptiness that no amount of fame or money could fill. The men she met were captivated by the image, the glamor, the persona she projected. But none of them really took the chance to know her—the real her, beyond the red carpets and the rehearsed smiles. 

For so long, she had been nothing more than arm candy, a trophy on the arm of powerful men who loved the idea of her but not the reality. They were enamored by her beauty, but quickly intimidated by her fame. Most of them were quick to back away when the cameras weren’t rolling, when they realized that the woman behind the flashing lights was more than just a pretty face. They were drawn to the allure of dating a superstar but recoiled when the reality of her life became too overwhelming.

And those who didn’t run? They were the ones who tried to diminish her, to make her feel small so they could feel bigger. The musicians who thought themselves superior because they didn’t make “pop music.” They treated her like a guilty pleasure, something to enjoy in private but never proudly claim. Their words, cloaked in playful jabs and condescension, had a way of cutting deep, making her feel inferior for the very thing that had brought her so much success in the first place.

She could still hear the echoes of their backhanded compliments, the subtle digs at her craft, and the way they’d say “pop star” sneeringly. They’d smile and tell her she was talented, but there was always that lingering undertone—that she wasn’t quite serious enough, not quite respectable enough to be considered their equal, despite her countless prestigious awards and record-breaking achievements. It left her questioning herself, wondering if the world saw her the same way they did.

The fame, the fortune—it was a double-edged sword. It brought her everything she thought she wanted but took away the one thing she needed most: genuine connection. She had grown tired of the men who saw her as a status symbol, who were either emasculated by her success or secretly resented it. None of them had ever seen her for who she really was, the woman beneath the glitz and the glamor, the one who craved love as deeply and earnestly as anyone else.

The woman who adored dad jokes and bad puns. The one who could watch Clue and The First Wives Club more times than she’d ever admit. They didn’t know about her love for the smell of rain on asphalt or the way she insisted on playing “Neon Moon” as her first song every time she took the stage at karaoke nights. They didn’t see how much joy she found in making children laugh or how deeply she cherished the “-ber” months. The woman whose parents nurtured her boundless curiosity, encouraging her to become a walking encyclopedia.

They couldn’t grasp how deeply her heart yearned for genuine connection, how she longed for someone to hold her—not for the image she projected to the world, but for the woman she was in those quiet moments alone at night. Beneath the polished exterior, she was kind, funny, and deeply compassionate, with a fierce love for her family and an unwavering determination to keep moving forward, despite the weight of the world on her shoulders. She was more than just a star—she was a person, craving something real.

And as she watched that couple, so lost in each other, a pang of longing struck her. She yearned for that kind of love—the kind that wasn’t tainted by envy or insecurity, the kind that didn’t wilt under the glare of her fame. A love that was simple and true, where she could just be herself, not the persona the world expected her to be.

She straightened her posture, pushing the thought away as they reached the door. She couldn’t afford to dwell on it, not tonight. But as she stepped back into the night, the brief glimpse of that couple lingered in her mind, a reminder that there were still parts of her life that even her relentless drive and success couldn’t fully satisfy.

Meanwhile, just a few blocks away from the city center, a Portuguese defender was winding down for the evening. After a light meal and some stretching exercises, he stood by the window of his apartment, looking out over the quiet city below. Tomorrow was match day, and his routine was precise—early to bed, clear-minded, focused. The game was his world, and it required everything from him.

As he set his alarm and turned off the lights, his thoughts were already on the pitch, on the plays he would execute, the goals he would defend. In the solitude of his room, there was no need for the public persona he wore so effortlessly. Here, he was just a man preparing to do what he did best.

Unbeknownst to both of them, their worlds, so different yet on a slow and steady path to intersection, would soon collide in ways neither could have predicted.

As the cameras flashed once more, she couldn’t help but wonder—would there ever be someone who could see past the spotlight to the person she really was?

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author's note: i am so excited for y'all to read "secret moments"

i've been wanting to write something like this since 2022.

also, i feel it’s worth mentioning that i am american. i only say this bc i might subconsciously use american sayings without realizing i am because that’s what i grew up saying lol. i also want to point out that because i am from california, i'm on a different timezone than most people that post on ruben's tag so i might answer things in my asks kinda late but i will always try my best to answer in a timely manner!

anyway, enough rambling! i really hope y'all like this ◡̈

-mars

[hbyrde36]

Chapter 1: Under My Skin

Written for the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Art (coming soon!) by @glitterfang

Beta'd by @penny00dreadful

Rating: E | WC: 5937 | Chapters: 1/2 | AO3 Link

Not for the first time, Eddie was really regretting his decision to book a client on a Friday night, and a new client at that. 

It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, exactly. There were no dates on his calendar, and going out to random bars and clubs on the weekends to look for quick hookups had begun losing its appeal lately.

But it’d been a long week, and he’d much rather have been getting ready to plop down on the couch with Chrissy to split a bottle of red wine while they watched Drag Race, than preparing to do a cover up for some idiot who’d gotten his girlfriend’s name tattooed on his body, only to fall victim to—The Curse. 

Ask any tattoo artist and they’d be the first to tell you, there was no surer way to guarantee a breakup than to ink your significant other’s name on your body forever. 

And yeah, it probably wasn’t fair to judge the guy before they’d even met, but there were only two kinds of people who tended to make that particular mistake—dumbasses, and hopeless romantics. He just kind of assumed his client fell into the former camp, rather than the latter.

Eddie had just started wiping down the front desk counter, which doubled as a display case for the various accessories and body jewelry they carried trying to kill some time between his last appointment and cover-up-guy, when Chrissy came walking out of her studio.

It was one of the biggest perks, in his opinion, of owning their own shop. Not only did each of them finally have their own work spaces—no more having to listen to other client conversations or fighting over a single bluetooth speaker—but being their own bosses also meant they could decorate and customize their own studios to their heart’s content. 

The main area of the shop was a bit of a catch-all, much like his and Chrissy’s shared apartment. It featured neutral walls lined with a mishmash of all the things they loved, sprinkled in and amongst odd antiques, knick-knacks, and various pieces of unique artwork. There was everything from vintage vinyl record jackets tacked to the wall, to faux taxidermy mountings of creatures that had never existed in real life. 

Entering Chrissy’s studio was a little like stepping inside a Lisa Frank notebook cover. All vibrant rainbow colors and aggressive animal print. Eddie had painted the walls himself, color matching the exact shade of fuchsia as the adjustable chair he’d custom ordered just for her. He was no interior designer so she’d taken it from there, and though the finished product was a little too bright for his tastes, even he had to admit it was still pretty fucking metal. 

Eddie’s space was the polar opposite, featuring dark stained wood furniture and a style of decor that could be best described as a slightly more grown up version of a teenage boy's bedroom. Band and movie posters lined three of the walls, but instead of being held up with thumbtacks, or scotch tape, they were neatly laid in matching frames with thick black edging. The remaining wall held a gallery of photos. Him and Wayne from their last fishing trip, one from when he and Chrissy had received the keys to the parlor unlocking its doors on the first day that it was theirs, and an old snap of him and his high school bandmates standing in front of their homemade banner, among many others.

It wasn’t until Chrissy came up to lean on the counter with her jacket zipped-up and her purse slung over her shoulder that he realized something was up.

“Don’t forget to lock up when you're done.” She said, tapping her nails on the glass. “Oh! And can you stop and pick up some oat milk on your way home? We’re out.” 

“Wait, where are you going? Didn’t you have a client booked tonight too? I thought we were in this together, Cunningham!”

“Not anymore.” She said cheerfully, leaning across the counter to rest her elbows on the glass, leaving an ink smudge on the exact spot he had just finished cleaning. He swatted at her with the damp rag and she jerked back with a giggling-gasp.

“Mine had to cancel.”

Eddie groaned. “I hate when clients do that.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. It’s like a free night off I wasn’t expecting.”

“Not exactly free, since canceling means not paying in full.” He grumbled.

“Oh lighten up! It’s not like we’re that behind on bills or anything.”

“Tell that to the electric company.” He said, mostly to tease her, though he couldn't help glancing up at the excessively large and kitschy skull chandelier he’d found on Amazon that definitely didn’t use high efficiency light bulbs, but he had sworn at the time was worth it for The Aesthetic™.

“Why are you always so grumpy?” Chrissy asked, jutting her lip out in a dramatic reenactment of him pouting. 

Not that he was one to pout. 

“I’m not!”

“Look at your face, you're grumpy right now!”

“That's because y- you’re…” He cut himself off with a sigh. 

He couldn't begrudge her the time off, he’d be hightailing it out of there just the same if it had been him. 

“Just get out of here.” He said, conceding defeat.

She beamed. “Okay! See you later!” She said, all but sprinting to the front doors. “Don’t forget about the milk!”

“Wait, why can’t you–” He started to ask, but she was on the other side of the door before he could get the words out.

“Oh forget it.” He mumbled, stashing the glass cleaner away where it belonged. 

About fifteen minutes later the bell above the door chimed, signaling the arrival of what Eddie assumed to be his last customer of the day. 

Except, it couldn't be.

It couldn’t possibly be because the Adonis that had just entered his humble tattoo parlor was, quite frankly, bonkers hot. There was no way, absolutely no way someone had this guy—this guy—so obsessed with them that he went and got their name tattooed on his perfect body and then just… let him go. 

It was unthinkable.

“Hi, you must be Eddie. I recognized you from your Instagram.” Pretty-boy said with a shy smile.

“Steve?” Eddie asked, blinking hard, completely unable to mask the tone of disbelief.

The other man nodded.

Shit, okay.

So this was him—Steeeeeeve Harrington. This was the guy. 

Maybe there was something wrong with him? There had to be a catch, a series of very red flags or something because all Eddie could think about at that moment was, if he ever got a chance with Steve? He’d never let him go. 

Get it together, Munson!

The bright side, of a sort, was that Steve smacked of straight guy energy, so it was unlikely Eddie would even be in the running for a chance anyway. Better to just put it out of his mind.

Though, he supposed he could still… look. It's not like looking ever hurt anyone. Not that he made a habit out of ogling the clientele. Of course, none of his other customers had ever come in wearing vintage Levi’s that fit their ass like a glove, not to mention the way they fit around his–

“Eddie?”

Fuck. 

Had Steve been talking this whole time while he’d been off daydreaming about what those sinfully tight jeans might look like on his bedroom floor?

“Yeah.” A soft chuckle fell from Eddie’s lips as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “S- sorry, man. Spaced out for a second there I guess.” 

What the fuck was wrong with him today?!

“It’s okay. I was just asking if the plan was still the same? In your last email you suggested we should do this over two appointments.”

Work question… yes, good. Focus on the job! 

“Right. With what we talked about I'd like to concentrate on just the outline today, maybe a little shading, and then in six weeks or so once that’s healed have you come back for the color. If you’re still alright with that?”

Eddie could do the whole thing in one shot if Steve really wanted to sit that long, but with something like this he didn't want to feel rushed. He’d done a few concept sketches after emailing back and forth with Steve about what he was looking for, and honestly what they’d come up with wasn’t really his usual style. He could do it, he was more than capable, but he had to wonder why Steve had picked him, out of all the tattoo artists in the city. He’d seen Eddie’s Instagram, so he knew the kind of work he usually churned out. Hell, Chrissy would have been the more obvious choice for this.

Of course, now that he’d gotten an eye-full of Steve in person he was glad he hadn’t tried to pawn him off on her. He was also really hoping Steve would agree to the split sessions, it would give them an excuse to see each other again.

“Whatever you think is best. I’m putting myself in your expert hands.” Steve said, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks.

That was… interesting. 

Maybe Eddie had been a little bit hasty in his initial straight assessment?

Steve’s deposit had been paid, and they’d already gone over pricing through email so there wasn't much to discuss as far as that was concerned, After signing some paperwork and getting the other man’s ID scanned into the system there was nothing left to do but walk Steve back to his studio and get this show on the road.

“You can go ahead and take your shirt off, get comfortable. I’ll show you the stencil I drew up and if it looks good we can put it on and get started.” Eddie said, gesturing to his client chair.

He leaned over his desk while Steve got situated, taking a second to gather his thoughts, as well as add a small finishing touch to the transfer sketch before turning back to his client. The sight made his throat go dry. 

It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. 

At Eddie's direction, in preparation, Steve had shaved his chest. More specifically, Steve had shaved half of his chest. The side Eddie would be working on, that sported the existing tattoo, was bare—smooth as a baby's bottom. The other side was… 

It was…

Jesus Christ.

It should have looked ridiculous actually, and it was a little funny, but honestly all Eddie could think when he stared at the untrimmed side of Steve's upper body, resplendent with the most glorious chest hair, was that it was a travesty, a crime even, that he’d never get to see the whole thing grown out in its full glory. 

The lack of a shirt also highlighted the fact that Steve was incredibly toned, much more so than he had initially appeared even through his slim fit henley. 

Eddie shook his head, praying it had suddenly become an etch-a-sketch and he could clear out his thoughts by sheer force. 

He truly didn’t know what had gotten into him. It was hardly the first time he’d worked on someone he found attractive, but usually he didn’t notice it quite this much. When you pierce and tattoo for a living you get used to seeing a lot of bare skin, including occasionally, areas typically reserved for romantic partners. Professional hazzard, but it’d never been a problem for him before. He was an artist, this was his craft, and bare skin was just another kind of canvas.

He blamed it on his current dry spell, self-imposed as it was. 

It was easy enough to go out on a Saturday and find a guy or girl to bring home for the night, but he was so tired of one night stands and meaningless hookups in bar bathrooms. Where was the substance? He wanted companionship. He wanted a partner. He wanted to fall in love. 

Eddie cleared his throat and crossed the room to hand Steve the stencil, busying himself with raising up his stool to the proper height and pulling on a pair of thick black neoprene gloves while the other man looked it over.  

“It’s great.” Steve said. 

“Good.” Eddie quietly let out the breath he’d been holding. “Alright I'm gonna put this on and have you take a look at the placement, make sure you like it, then we can get started.”

Eddie squeezed out a dime sized amount of the stencil gel and rubbed it into Steve’s chest, laying the transfer paper down in just the right way so that the final design would sufficiently cover what was underneath, assuming he had scaled it right. 

It was perfect. After a quick check in the mirror, Steve agreed. 

While they waited for it to dry Eddie double checked his set up to make sure he had everything he would need for the session.

“Ready to get started?”

Steve took a deep breath and blew it out slow. “Yeah. I am.”

His reply felt heavy, like maybe he was talking about more than just the tattoo. Had they known each other at all Eddie might have asked about it, but they were basically strangers, and it wasn’t his job to pry. 

With steady hands he set the needle to Steve's skin and got to work. 

They weren’t at it for very long before Steve started to squirm. 

Eddie ignored it at first, he could tell the guy was trying hard to keep himself still, and he wasn’t really moving enough to actually disturb the work. Sometimes it took a bit for clients to sink into the feeling, to let the pain fade to the background enough that they could relax a little bit or at least be able to keep their body from trying to react to the odd sensation. But then he noticed the light sheen of sweat spreading over Steve's upper body, and would have sworn he could somehow feel the other man’s pulse quickening beneath the hand he had pressed so closely to his heart, even over the vibration of the tattoo machine.

He should probably stop and do a check-in, suggest a breather or some water. It wouldn't be the first time a seemingly tough muscle-bound guy had struggled to sit for him. 

He opened his mouth to say something about it, lifting the needle as he took a quick glance up at Steve’s face, but what he saw had the words dying on his tongue. Steve was staring back at him, face flushed, breath coming quick and shallow, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

That… did not look like a face that was in pain—or rather—it didn’t seem like the pain was unpleasant. 

Fuck.

Eddie flicked his gaze quickly back down to his hands, the needle, fighting the urge to look lower. 

He shouldn’t. 

It wasn’t right.

The professional thing to do would be to ignore the reaction completely. 

But Eddie was a weak, weak man.

He looked. 

Just a quick peek, less than a half-second that his eyes wandered south, and immediately he regretted it. 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuck.

Suspicion confirmed. Steve was hard. He was also huge if the unmistakable outline was any indication. Eddie bit his tongue, fighting back the groan that was trying to fight its way out of his throat. 

Those jeans should be fucking illegal. The only thing worse would’ve been a pair of gray sweatpants. Now he was the one sweating.

“Sorry.” Steve said, voice strained.

Eddie stilled, lifting the machine away from Steve's chest again before looking back up to meet his eyes. 

“For?”

Steve raised an eyebrow, challenging him to continue to pretend he hadn’t noticed. 

“It’s fine, really. It… happens. Everyone reacts differently to the pain.”

Steve let out a high pitched and breathy huff of laughter. “It wasn’t like this last time.” He muttered under his breath.

Eddie tried hard not to read into that, not to think about what the difference might be.

“Do you need to take a break?” 

“No,” Steve swallowed hard. Eddie watched, momentarily mesmerized by the bob of his adams apple. “But, uh, can we talk or something? To distract me?”

He sounded so vulnerable, and a little embarrassed. It was enough to snap Eddie out of his daze. The last thing he wanted was for the person in his chair to feel uncomfortable. Talking he could do, it was one of his best things. 

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?” Eddie asked casually, getting right back into his line work.

“You.” Steve answered quickly, pausing to clear his throat. “Um, I mean, did you always want to be a tattoo artist?”

Eddie chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much. I used to spend all my time, including the time I should have been using to study or do my homework, drawing, sketching, painting, you name it, and it just kinda developed from there. I gave myself my first stick-and-poke when I was about 15. My uncle was pissed. Not about the tattoo exactly, but he was worried I wasn't being safe enough about it—sanitary and stuff. Of course, he wasn’t wrong. So, Wayne took me out the next day and we got a book about it, and he bought me all the right materials. Even let me practice on him when I graduated to a tattoo machine.”

“He sounds like a really great guy.” Steve said.

“Yeah, he is.” Eddie could feel the wistful smile spreading across his own face. “Not just anyone could step in and raise someone else’s kid like that. Just wish I got to see him more. I go back to Indiana to visit him a few times a year, but it’s not the same.”

“I don’t see my family very much either, but we’re not close.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My parents, they’re–” Steve trailed off as if looking for the right words. “Well, let's just say they're not as supportive of my—life choices, as your uncle was for you.”

“Oh?”

“I, uh, came out to them a while ago… as bisexual? They didn’t take it very well. Said I was just going through some kind of phase or crisis or something. Sorry, this is probably, like, way too much information to share with someone I just met.”

“No. it’s—Okay, maybe to a normal person it might be but I've never been what anyone would describe as normal. And… I get it.”

Eddie didn’t really have to say it. The outside of the shop sported every kind of pride flag you could think of. There were pictures right behind him on the wall of him and Chrissy at their first ever pride parade right here in the city. Not to mention his social media profiles, where he had a bi  flag right next to his age and pronouns in his bio. Steve knew, was the point, and Eddie was glad he’d felt safe enough in his shop—with him, to talk about it.

“Wayne was really good about that too.” Eddie said softly. “I’m sorry your parents weren’t.”

A comfortable silence settled between them after that and Eddie left it unbroken, better to let Steve decide which direction their conversation went from here—if he wanted to continue it. He seemed more relaxed already and his… predicament had mercifully gone down as they spoke. 

“When did you—how did you… know?“ Steve asked after a while.

“Junior High.” Eddie answered quickly, smiling to himself as he indulged in a little nostalgia. “Kinda the opposite of the usual story, I guess. I thought I was gay. I had such a crush on this boy a grade above me.  Nobody that would have given me the time of day mind you, I was a band geek and a huge nerd, but he was very nice to look at. Then he changed schools. I was heartbroken of course, which is my excuse for why I let this girl drag me under the bleachers during gym class. One second we were just sitting there talking and the next she was in my lap with her tongue down my throat.” 

“And?”

Eddie shrugged. “And I didn’t hate it. I reacted exactly the way a young boy reacts when a pretty girl is kissing them and grinding in their lap. Honestly, it blew my mind a little bit—had to reevaluate my whole world view.”

Steve hummed in understanding.

“It’s still mostly men for me but–” Eddie sighed wistfully, “Women.”

“Women,” Steve agreed reverently, letting out a soft laugh. “It was a bit more recent for me. A friend took me to a gay bar—dragged me there actually.” He started to shake his head, stopping instantly when he seemed to realize he might be moving too much.

Good boy.

Eddie smirked. “I bet you were popular.”

“You could say that. I’ve never had so many people offer to buy me a drink in my life.” As Steve went on he began to rub his hand along the chair's armrest, mindlessly drawing patterns into its surface with his long fingers.

“It’s funny, at 25 I didn’t think I had anything new to discover about myself, at least nothing big, but after that rather eye-opening evening I had to, like you said, reevaluate some things about myself. It wasn’t a huge shock I guess. Like, I had found guys attractive before—friends, celebrities, whatever, I just thought everyone felt that way.”

“Ah, the bisexual’s fallacy. Sure I think about other dudes sometimes, but only the normal amount.” Eddie said.

“How was I supposed to know it wasn’t!”

Eddie stopped tattooing as they held each other's gaze, both managing to keep a straight face for only a second before simultaneously dissolving into hysterical laughter. 

Figuring it was as good a time as any to take a short break, Eddie stripped his gloves off and slid across the room on his stool to a small mini-fridge he kept tucked under his desk, stocked with water and juice—something he always kept on hand in case a client got lightheaded.

As they sipped their drinks and both took an opportunity to stretch, Eddie decided it was finally time to put his foot in his mouth.

“So, how are you enjoying things on this side of the field? Someone as pretty as you, I'm sure you get asked out a lot.”

“No, uh, I don't know. I- I haven't really been out on any dates with guys.” Steve stuttered out nervously. “Kissed a few, but that’s all.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Eddie said. He meant it too. Not only was Steve something special to look at, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. He deserved to be taken out and shown a good time. Maybe he was shy.

Steve laid back in the chair, puffing his chest out as he got back into position while Eddie slipped a new pair of gloves on. 

“Why, you offering to show me the ropes?” Steve asked, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

Eddie’s mouth went dry. 

Okay, not that shy then. Surely it was just fun friendly flirting though, right?

“Don’t tempt me.” Eddie teased back. Two could play this game.

“Why not?”

“First rule of the trade, or at least the Munson doctrine, no dating the clients.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Steve said, and without even looking up Eddie could hear the smile in his voice, a hint of–challenge accepted–in his tone.

The next hour flew by as they continued to chat, both remarking on the differences between small town life and city life, as well as lamenting how expensive it was, and how neither of them thought they’d still be living with roommates in their mid-to-late-20's.

For a while Eddie waxed poetic about Chrissy, who of course filled the roles of bestie, roommate, and business partner, which tickled Steve to no end. 

He told the other man how they’d met, apprenticing at the same tattoo parlor at around the same time. and wound up bonding for life almost immediately. They were total opposites on the surface but deep down they were remarkably similar. Eddie didn’t go into too much detail, as it wasn’t his story to tell, but alluded to the fact that he and Chrissy had the shared experience of being born to shitty parents, only to be raised by another family member. A grandmother in Chrissy’s case.

It meant that they understood each other more than most, and yeah, being around one another 24/7 also meant they got on each other’s nerves a lot, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

At some point Steve’s cell phone began to ring from where it was shoved in his front pocket. He apologized profusely for forgetting to switch it on silent before they’d gotten started, but Eddie assured him it wasn’t a big deal. 

Or—it wouldn't have been, except either it was some kind of emergency, or someone who was intent on reaching Steve immediately, and continued trying to call three more times. 

“We can take a break if you need to get that.” Eddie offered.

Truth be told he could use a little breather himself. All this time of being essentially face down in Steve’s incredible chest was getting to him a little bit, not to mention the way his forearm lightly brushed along Steve's stomach whenever he braced himself across the man’s body. The feel of their bare skin touching was almost too much, and more than once Eddie felt himself breaking out in goosebumps. 

“Yeah, I think we’d better. It’s gotta be my little brother and knowing him he won’t stop calling until I answer.”

Eddie busied himself removing his gloves and taking a long drink from his water bottle while he flipped through a few drawings on his side table, trying to look like he wasn’t hearing every word of Steve's side of the conversation. 

“Hey buddy, I'm a little busy right now. What’s going on?” 

Steve paused, listening attentively to the voice on the other end of the call. 

“Dustin, he’s not abandoning you. Just because he wants–”

Sighing as he was abruptly interrupted, Steve somehow made the huff of breath sound both annoyed and fond.

“Well, did he actually say he didn’t want to play D&D with you anymore?” 

Eddie’s head snapped up of its own volition. Did the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen in real life just say D&D?

“That’s what I thought.” Steve said with a satisfied tone. “It's gonna be fine. I’ll come see you tomorrow, okay? Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Sorry about that.” Steve said, addressing Eddie this time, rolling his eyes as he ended the call. “Teenagers.”

“Pretty cool little brother if he plays Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Oh no.” Steve groaned. “Not you too! He and all his little friends are obsessed with it.”

“I used to play all the time with a group back in high school. We still try and get together for a one-shot at the holidays when we’re all back home visiting.” Eddie paused, concentrating for a second on wiggling his fingers into yet another set of gloves. There wasn’t really all that much left to do, another 20 minutes or so and he’d be done with the outline. “Was he alright, your brother?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” Steve replied as he sat back, getting into position. “We, uh, technically we’re not actually related—I'm an only child. But I used to babysit Dustin when he was younger and when he grew up I just sorta stuck around. It’s only him and his mom at home and I guess I thought… I dunno, like, maybe I could help? I drove him to his first school dance, taught him how to do his hair, shave, that kinda stuff.”

“That's… that’s really sweet, man. I’m sure he appreciates having you around.”

With every new thing he learned about Steve, Eddie felt like he was in deeper and deeper trouble. He’d been having a tough enough time keeping it together with simply lusting over a hot body, but now Steve was turning out to be this sweetheart of a guy and, client or not, Eddie thought he might just be worth breaking all the rules for. 

“He’s worried his friend group is falling apart because one of the guys is going out for the basketball team. He’s afraid if Lucas gets in good with the jocks he won’t want to play with them anymore.”

“As a former outcast and enemy to jocks everywhere, I can understand his concern.” 

“Are you saying we wouldn't have been friends in high school then?”

“Steve, Stevie, please. Please don’t tell me…” Eddie trailed off, stopping what he was doing and gasping for dramatic effect–hand over his heart. “Oh god, you were captain of the sportsball team weren’t you?” 

Steve giggled, his beautiful eyes sparkling with it. “Basketball, to be exact. I was the co-captain of the swim team too.”

“I knew it would never work between us.” Eddie tutted, shaking his head as he got back to tattooing. “Are you reformed, at least?”

“Once a jock, always a jock, I'm afraid. I’m a personal trainer now.”

It explained a lot, and the perks��pun absolutely intended—of Steve's day job were undeniable, but as hot as the mental image of him pumping iron was, the idea of Steve palling around with toxic gym bros all day was almost enough to have Eddie second guessing everything.

“Don’t worry though, I don’t like gym bros any more than the next guy.” Steve said conspiratorially. “My clients are mainly older women looking to maintain their strength and mobility as they age.”

Aaaaand Eddie stood corrected. “Lucky ladies.”

Jesus Christ, could this guy get any more perfect?

Steve shifted in his seat, starting to get antsy after keeeping still for so long. 

“Just a few more minutes, almost done.” Eddie murmured, tongue between his teeth as he concentrated on a spot near the curve of Steve’s collarbone.

“Do you do a lot of these? Cover-ups I mean?” Steve asked. “My roommate is the one who actually suggested it. For some reason I just never thought about it as an option.”

“I don’t know if i’d say a lot, but a fair few, yeah.”

“You, um. You can ask about it… If you want.”

Eddie glanced up in surprise. He would never have brought it up without being prompted, it just didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t deny he was curious, and if Steve was okay with it then–

“Okay, I'll bite. Who’s Nancy?”

“My fiance’. Well, ex-fiance’ now. We broke things off a little over a year ago.”

“That’s rough, I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, It’s… I should have probably seen it coming? We were high school sweethearts—got together before we really knew who we were on our own. But I was dumb and in love. I got the tattoo and proposed. I was so happy that day, but looking back it was so obvious that she’d only said yes out of pity or guilt, not because she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with me.”

The part of Eddie that believed in true love—and all that cheesy shit—was sad that a couple who had been together for so long, who had essentially grown up together, hadn’t been able to make it work. Selfishly though, a small piece of him was happy to learn that they’d been broken up for quite some time, lessening the chance that, if he did somehow gather the courage to ask Steve out when the tattoo was done, he wouldn’t be on the rebound.

“It was tough. I felt like a failure for a long time, like I was having to start my whole life over from scratch when I'd thought for so long that she was it for me, but it's actually been… good. We weren’t right for eachother, I can see that now. As much as it hurt, I'm grateful she had the courage to break things off when she did.”

“I’m glad you’ve been able to come to peace with it.”

“Getting this tattoo feels like the final step into letting that life go, y’know?”

Eddie nodded. Steve’s demeanor before they got started made so much sense now.

“Is there some significance to the design?” He asked, making his final line and setting the machine down. He wiped at the excess ink on Steve's skin, raising his head just in time to see the way the other man’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, Robin. She–she’s everything to me. Like a best friend, but more somehow. I don’t think I really knew what unconditional love was before her. She’s like, another piece of my soul or something. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

Eddie froze. 

The tattoo design was a bird—a robin.

A robin.

For, Robin.

How could he have been so stupid! 

Of course, Steve was getting one girl’s name covered up with something to represent the new one. 

Jesus Christ, they were both idiots.

Eddie for getting his hopes up, and Steve for making the same mistake—twice. At least this time it was a symbol and not a name, so if he and the latest potential Mrs. Harrington didn’t work out, at least he wouldn't have to worry about covering it up.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked.

The question spurred Eddie back into action. He spread the foam soap over Steve’s chest continuing to clean the finished tattoo while his heart crawled up into his throat. 

“Yup. All good.” Eddie forced the words out.

That's what Steve must have meant about not going on dates, he already had someone at home. Why hadn’t he just said that before though? And why had he flirted with him? 

Maybe he’d felt funny at first about admitting to being with a woman after all the talk about being bisexual. Not that Eddie would have judged, but he knew a lot of people did—bi erasure was so real. He understood that, but it didn’t make it hurt any less that Steve had, inadvertently or not, lead him on. 

Eddie gently patted the newly cleaned skin dry with a paper towel and carefully applied a square of Saniderm over the area, smoothing it out as he gave Steve his usual spiel, albeit a little robotically, about how to care for the tattoo over the coming days and weeks.

He quickly turned his back when he was done, telling Steve he could get dressed, and feeling stupid as all hell for being this upset about a guy he barely knew. He’d felt something though, potential—a spark. It was more than he’d felt for anyone in a long time.

Steve got quiet, looking a little confused with the sudden 180° Eddie’s mood had pulled. He felt a little bad about that as he brought the guy back out to the counter, but it wasn’t as though he’d suddenly become unprofessional. He was just… no longer being overly friendly.

After confirming the date for his second session, Steve paid his balance and Eddie walked him to the door.  

“Have a good night, Steve. Call the shop if you have any concerns or questions about aftercare.”

Steve bit his lip. “Oh, I… okay. See you in six weeks then.”

Eddie forced a smile, waiting until Steve was out of sight around the corner to lock up, and slunk back to his studio to disinfect it so he could finally go home and sulk.

Chapter 2

All my thanks to @penny00dreadful for all of your wonderful beta work, and cheerleading, and support, and just generally being THE BEST 💜

[msschemmenti]

girl next door 🏠

jemily x reader

summary: jj and emily play welcome committee

a/n: this is a part of this fic i’ve been writing with an oc as the reader. i just subbed y/n for the oc’s name :)

y/n sighed deeply, stepping out of the airport. The DC air was thick and her linen lounge set was the only thing saving her right about now. She gazed down at her phone, checking the status of her uber. The car inched through the line of vehicles and she leaned against her suitcase. This was it, a brand new start and she had a townhouse to unpack before her new job starts.

At twenty-six, y/n felt like she was finally making decisions of her own. An occupation change. A location change. And finally a relationship status change. A new life.The car slowed to a stop in front of a row of townhouses. y/n thanked the driver and slid out of the car. She looked over the yards, all filled with various bushes and toys . Lived in. She wheeled her suitcase up the walkway and rummaged through her purse for her keys. Once the door popped open, she stepped over the threshold. She sighed sweetly at all the boxes lining the house.

“Home, sweet home.”

-

It was well past eleven when Emily maneuvered the SUV into their driveway. The ride home had been a quiet one, but both she and JJ were honestly just ready to be home. Emily tossed JJ the keys and moved to grab both of their go-bags. As both women made their way toward their front door, they caught sight of the light shining two doors down. The bay window’s blinds were high and the light bathed a young woman in a shadow. She looked to be going through a box, leaning against a green couch. Emily was the first to stop and JJ was quick to follow. The house had been empty for about a year since their old neighbor got married. And with their jobs, they hadn’t even realized anyone was moving in.

“Huh, looks like we’ve got a new neighbor.” Emily mused.

“guess so.” JJ observed. She turned her gaze to Emily and nudged her toward the door. “Let’s wait until daylight. I’m exhausted and so are you.”

Emily rolled her eyes but allowed the blonde to push her toward the door. “At least we have the weekend off.”

“Thank god for rotation.”

-

y/n yawned behind her hand for the fourth time since waking up. She stood in front of the coffee machine waiting patiently as the warm liquid brewed. She had another day of unpacking and organizing ahead of her and she’d absolutely need some coffee to get her through it. She was clad in a pink cami and boy shorts and her hair was pulled high off of her neck. Her big framed black glasses rested on her nose and her feet sat snuggly in her fluffy slippers.

As her coffee finished brewing, y/n grabbed her mug and made her way over to the bay window. With the blinds open, she hummed contentedly as she watched the street come to life on a Saturday morning. She watched as everyone seemed to slowly join her in wakefulness. Cars driving by, dogs rushing owners, and a very distractingly attractive blonde running up the sidewalk that lined the townhouses. The ponytail bobbed as she bounded past y/n’s house. The coffee momentarily forgotten, she leaned closer to the window watching as the woman entered the house two doors down.

“Sexy neighbor. This place keeps getting better by the minute.”

-

JJ pulled her earbuds out of her ears as she walked through the house. She rounded a corner into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and found a sleepy Emily nursing a mug of coffee. She took a sip of her water before leveling the woman with a smirk.

“Guess who caught the new neighbor checking me out in her cute pajamas?”

“Oh that’s not fair! Of course you’d run right past her window looking like that. You’ve already established yourself as the hot neighbor.” Emily groaned.

“You should run more. Maybe you’d get checked out too.”

“What does she look like?” Emily asked.

“Rather adorable in the early morning. Can’t be more than twenty-five. Thick rimmed glasses, thick hair piled on top of her head, dressed in the cutest little pink boyshort set and slippers.” JJ recounted with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“How many times did you run by?” Emily whistled.

“I’m just observant. it’s my job. Are we gonna do the baked goods in a basket “Welcome to the neigborhood”? Or what?” JJ asked.

“We don’t bake.”

“Well yes that’s true. But we know someone who does…” JJ smiled already pulling her phone up to craft a message.

“Oh, tell her to bring some of those powdered strawberry eclairs she was mentioning yesterday too.” Emily nodded, taking her coffee upstairs to get dressed.

-

“Show me the house!” A voice floated through the laptop on the counter. “I really can’t believe you left me for DC. At least show me where I’ll be staying when I come to visit.” Grayson, y/n’s best co-worker/friend from Kentucky huffed.

“Alright, hold your horses. I’ll give you a tour.” y/n smiled and lifted her laptop to walk through the house. She showed Grayson the two-story home and everything she’d set up thus far. “Obviously the guest room is yours whenever you’d like it. Just let me know when because I’d like to actually have things prepared before then.”

“It’s so cute, gosh I can’t wait to come visit. How’s the neighborhood? Met anyone interesting yet?”

“Very homey for sure. Lots of families and stuff. I think it’ll be a good fit. I haven’t met anyone per say, but I can say there is a super hot blonde runner who lives two doors down.” y/n grinned taking a seat on one of her island stools.

“Hot blonde runner, oh you have to get all up in that. You need a new body to get under.”

“Oh my god shut up? I didn’t move to get involved with someone on my second day. But that doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy the view.”

“Is there an HOA meeting you can go to or something? You need to at least make some new hot friends to keep you company without me.”

y/n shook her head in disbelief and opened her mouth to reply when the doorbell interrupted her, “Gray, I’ll call you later. Someone is at the door.”

“Oh fingers-crossed, it's hot blonde. Bye love.”

y/n hung up and quickly made her way over to the door. She looked through the peephole cautiously and was shocked to see the hot blonde with two other women beside her. y/n fluffed her hair a bit and straightened her clothes out quickly before pulling the door open with a smile. “Um hi.”

All three women smiled and the colorfully dressed woman spoke first, “Hello sunshine! My name is Penelope Garcia and these lovely ladies are Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss. Your personal neighborhood welcome committee.” Penelope spoke, practically bouncing on her heels.

“Oh wow, hi!” y/n grinned letting her eyes roam the three women fully. Her eyes lingered on the blonde she now knew as Jennifer Jareau but as her eyes moved to Emily she was just as entranced by her beauty.

“Pen doesn’t actually live here, but Emily and I live two doors down.” Jennifer gestured toward the house she’d entered earlier that day.

“And we brought the typical baked goods basket.” Emily offered, extending the basket of pastries toward the younger woman.

“Well it’s lovely to meet y’all. Would you like to come in? I’m sure I’ve got something in here to go with these sweet treats.” y/n asked, gesturing over her shoulder.

“We’d love to!” Penelope jumped happily following the younger woman into her home. With JJ and Emily following closely behind. As they all settled in the kitchen at the island, y/n turned suddenly as if remembering something.

“Oh where are my manners, I’m y/n! Inviting guests into my home without even telling them my name, my mother would have my head.” The younger woman smiled sheepishly before grabbing plates and mugs for everyone.

“Oh your accent is just precious, where are you from sweetness?” Penelope asked eagerly.

“Haha, I’m originally from Georgia. But I relocated from Kentucky.”

“A true Southern Belle.” Emily mused, causing y/n to blush with a smile.

“Something like that. Thank you all for welcoming me to the neighborhood. My former co-worker Grayson was just saying I should get out and meet some people.”

“She worried about you?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, the move was pretty spontaneous. I know literally no one here and my closest relative or friend is in New York. Safe to say she’s a bit concerned.” y/n supplied, leaning against the counter to dig through the basket of baked goods.

“Well you can tell her you’ve met three awesome ladies who’d love to be your friend. Two of which live right on your street!” Garcia grinned and y/n reciprocated. y/n grabbed a few muffins from the basket and peeled the paper back to take a bite. The women watched as the younger woman’s eyes fell closed in pleasure.

“Oh wow, this might be the best muffin I’ve ever had in my life. Where did you get these?” y/n moaned, eyeing the three women. Both JJ and Emily seemed positively stunned by the sound and sight of y/n tasting the muffin. Penelope noticed almost instantly and jumped in to save them.

“I made them! I’ve spent quite a while perfecting my muffin recipe, so I’m so glad someone is appreciating my hard work.”

“Oh that’s amazing, you’ll have to show me how you’ve mastered it. I’ve always loved a sweet treat so I bake pretty often.”

“Oh that sounds great, these two are completely useless in the kitchen. I’m happy to know there’s someone on the street who’ll keep them fed. Isn’t that right Jayje?”

“We’re not that bad!” JJ whined.

“Emily is literally not allowed to stand near the kitchen.” Garcia deadpanned, causing y/n to giggle watching the women bicker.

“I’ll be happy to share, I’m still really bad about portions anyways. So you’d actually be saving me.” y/n said sweetly.

“We’ll definitely have to take you up on that.” Emily nodded.

“You all seem like really close friends, have you known each other long?” y/n asked curiously, offering the women some of the goods in the basket.

“We all work together, Pen and I for longer but all of us now.” JJ answered.

“Oh, what do you all do?” y/n asked curiously. “That’s a pretty low turnover rate, you must really like the job.”

“We’re all FBI Agents. Part of a Team called the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Emily supplies, watching the younger woman’s face frown in confusion.

“FBI, like the FBI?” y/n asked incredulously. All three women nodded. “Can’t say I was expecting that at all. So you like actually fight crime with your badge and gun and everything?”

“I don’t do the whole gun or fighting thing, but These two? Absolutely. The amount of doors they’ve collectively kicked down is crazy.” Penelope mused nudging JJ playfully.

“Well, that’s hot.” y/n mused nodding as her eyes glazed over a bit. “You’ll have to show me your badges one day, I’ve always wanted to see one in real life.”

The younger woman took a drag from her mug and turned to throw her muffin paper away. As soon as her back was to the three women, JJ’s eyes were wide and gazing at Emily. Garcia was poking JJ’s side conspiratorially, and Emily was trying not to give into either woman’s knowing looks. The younger woman turned back to them with a curious smile before asking another question.

“So what exactly does being an FBI agent look like? You said you all worked for a specific group. The Behavioral Analysis Unit? What does that team do?”

Emily cleared her throat and answered, “We’re a team of profilers who work with local law enforcement teams to locate and detain serial killers all over the US.”

“Oh wow! That’s got to be some heavy stuff—lots of traveling. Thank you for your service.” y/n said with a salute toward the women. They couldn’t fight the laughter that bubbled between them and Emilly and JJ watched as y/n’s cheeks reddened and she giggled.

“Enough about us, I have to know what an adorable southern woman like you does!” Garcia grinned resting her chin in her palms.

“I’m in education, not as lively as chasing serial killers.” y/n answered sheepishly.

“Oh are you a teacher?” JJ asked curiously.

“Professor actually. I’ll be starting at state school this coming academic school year.” y/n supplied with a smile.

“You’ve definitely piqued my interest, what are you teaching?” Penelope basically bounced.

“Vocal Performance with a concentration in Musical Theater and Jazz.”

“A singer? You’ll have to give us a little show sometime. Em loves Jazz.” JJ winked over at the brunette.

“I guess it’s only fair since I’ve asked to see your badges. I’m sure we can arrange something.” y/n smiled warmly at the two older women.

“A professor? Forgive me, but you seem far too young to be a professor. How old are you?” Emily asked skeptically.

“I’d normally take offense but you’re right, I just turned twenty-six earlier this year. I’ve always been the youngest in the room, but I kinda love it. At the last school I taught at, everyone in my department was well over 50, I found that students really enjoyed a younger perspective.” y/n explained with a shrug.

“Makes sense. So you’re some kind of musical prodigy? Zoom through high school, undergrad, and your masters?” Emily continued.

“No, no. I was in a dual Undergrad and Masters program for music education and vocal performance so I was able to fast-track my road to being a professor. As far being hired so early, I’ve been told I’m rather charming.” y/n shrugged with a grin and a wink.

“I definitely see the appeal. I can’t believe you guys got such a fun and cool neighbor. All I’ve got is that mean old lady. Best believe I’ll be visiting way more often.” Penelope said facing both Emily and JJ. She quickly turned back to the younger woman. “We need to be friends, what are your socials?”

y/n smiled brightly at the tech analyst, “Of course, I’m y/n on everything.”

Penelope frantically pulled the accounts up and was quick to follow on all platforms, “Got it! We’ll have to get together soon before the school year starts and you get busy. I love meeting new awesome people.”

It wasn’t long before the women brought their little impromptu brunch to a close. y/n walked the women to the door and smiled softly as they turned to wave goodbye. As soon as the door closed Penelope looked at the other two women unimpressed.

“Come on you guys, you’re lucky I was here.” She groaned.

“Hey, what does that mean?” Emily scoffed in offense.

“It means I’m starting to wonder how you brought so many women into your bed. That was terrible flirting.” Garcia reasoned as they walked up the steps to their house.

“I wasn’t even trying then, thank you very much. Plus there’s a lot of thought and conversation that goes into something like that. She only moved in yesterday. We don’t need to overwhelm her. Plus we don’t even know if she’s into women.” Emily reasoned.

“She literally called you both hot to your faces.”

“No, she called us kicking down doors hot. She could have a thing for demolition for all we know.”

“Semantic. I’m calling it now though, she’s more than interested in women. Especially women in the FBI who wield guns and kick down doors.”

“Let’s hope you're right.” JJ finally added in collapsing against the couch with a dreamy look on her face.

[natalievoncatte]

Nothing has ever hit Lena like this.

She’s been abducted by aliens. She was almost shotgun married to an alien. Her ex was eaten by nanobots in front of her. She’s been tried to a chair while her brother tried to murder the world’s most beloved hero, and nearly vaporized by a man with a radioactive chunk of another planet for a heart.

Not to mention the mundane stuff. The L-Corp logo in the lobby almost crushing her. Bombs, bullets, blades, being thrown off a balcony, thrown off a roof, left to die in a plane crash.

Almost killed when her brother sent drones to shoot down her helicopter and a golden vision of inhuman beauty came from the sky to save her life.

Of course, that golden vision had tarnished, turned brass. She could be bossy, sanctimonious, paranoid, prone to snapping at Lena one moment… then making her knees weak the next.

Because sometimes, Supergirl wasn’t bossy, sanctimonious, or paranoid. Sometimes she was all dashing grace, with a profoundly frustrating tendency to scoop Lena into her arms and carry her there with surpassing tenderness, as though she were the most precious treasure the alien had ever seen.

Poor Lena’s heart had suffered terribly through all that, yet never skipped a beat.

It skipped now.

Kara looked up from her burger, apropos of nothing. Or, that’s what Lena would have thought a moment ago, before she recognized that scar.

The world spun crazily. Lena grasped the sides of her seat for dear life while alarms and sirens blared in every direction. Smoke coughed noisily from the remains of the turbines that had powered her chopper’s rotor blades. As the world seemed to grow weightless, Lena finally accepted what was happening- the chopper was going to crash. She was going to die.

And then there was a wind.

No, not a wind. A blur of motion, a red and blue streak cutting through the brilliant afternoon light and then a stomach-churning lurch as the falling aircraft just stopped, gently floating to a safe landing on the roof.

With a squeak of tearing metal, she was there. A goddess in primary colors, soft waves of golden hair framing her devastatingly lovely face as she checked the pilot and then turned those arresting blue eyes to Lena and then asked-

“Are you okay? Lena?”

With trembling hands, Lena reached up. Kara froze, a thousand emotions flashing on her face, fear flickering in the oceans of her eyes. They both paused, testing the moment. This was it. They had their choices: Lena could stop, make some excuse. Kara could flinch and offer some gee golly shucks reason to move out of reach and dissemble her way out of it. They could decide not to do this.

Lena did not stop, and Kara did not move. The frames of Kara’s glasses were surprisingly heavy in her grasp as she softly tugged them free and set them aside. Lena raises a hand to Kara’s cheek, ever hesitant quiver of her palm a question. She closed the gap between them on the couch and brought her other arm back up, circling Kara in something that was somehow more intimate than a hug. He best friend sat stone still as Lena worked loose the band that held her hair.

Golden locks spilled about her shoulders, and Lena gasped. She caressed her hand up Kara’s shockingly soft cheek and touched the scar lightly with her thumb.

Lena felt the tears trembling in her own eyes as Kara’s welled with her own. The moment had come; the river was crossed, the decision made.

And yet in this moment there was another one, at once simpler and more profound. Lena’s lip trembled. Anger welled in her chest, burning hot and bright.

It’s not a great question for a Luthor to ask someone in my family.

It twisted in her like venom, burning at her insides, trying to eat through her from the inside out. The fury rose until she thought she’d be sick, and then…

Kara Danvers believes in you.

Take me instead!

I can’t hold both! You have to jump!

I will always protect you.

“It’s you,” Lena whispered. “It’s always been you.”

Before she knew what was happening, Kara drew her forward with surpassing tenderness. Hands that could crack marble gently guided Lena’s weight into Kara’s lap. What had not been meant as an embrace became one, and Lena made her choice.

It was her.

It had always been her.

Noticing small details about them (physically)

[momotarotea]

Sonic Big Bang 2024!

So part of why I've been quiet recently is that I've been working on my contribution for the @sthbigbang event!

Of course, I had to write a Shadamy fic. I also did an illustration for my fic, as did the immensely talented @waywardvessel

@sofibeth-arts

and @morefluid-thanwater!

Working with you three was a pleasure, and I hope you all enjoy the finished piece!

If you'd rather read this on AO3, here's the link!

Without further adieu, I hope you all enjoy ARK Angel :)

Summary: Life is a series of decisions, but what if one had gone differently? What if Amy’s pleas to Shadow on the ARK had fallen on deaf ears, and he hadn’t agreed to save the world? The only thing left to do would be to fight to save the world herself, wouldn’t it?

Discovering Shadow in an abandoned lab hadn’t been on Amy’s to-do list that day, but neither had heading into space, watching Sonic almost die, or anything else from the events of that day. With the Space Colony now plummeting headfirst towards the Earth, it seemed that she would be adding ‘begging Shadow to save the human race’ to her impromptu list of tasks, too.

She’d stopped in the corridor to give herself a pep talk when she’d spotted him - fear having gripped her momentarily at the sight of the pitch-furred hedgehog. After a deep inhale to steel herself, she darted over to him at the window, a fire in her stomach and determination on her face. Every step made her feel like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. He’d been nothing but trouble for her friends up to this point, and whether it had been intentional or not, she couldn’t help but hold it against him. He’d framed Sonic for his wrong-doings, tried to stop them at every turn, and now, he had refused to go with the others when they had rushed to the cannon’s core in an attempt to stop the ARK from destroying their world. She hated to admit it, but deep down, she knew he was the only hope. He was the only one who knew the space colony well enough to do anything meaningful in the time they had left - but getting his help would be no small feat.

“Shadow, we need you!” She yelled, practically tripping over her own feet to come to a halt next to him. She couldn’t back out on her plea now. He would either refuse, or save them all. There were no half measures here.

His eyes - the colour of blood, and just as spine-chilling - swept over the expanse of space before him, turning to her.  “It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, fixing her on the spot with a withering glare. “There is no reason for me to help them. Besides, there’s no way to save anyone.” 

He was so matter-of-fact. So cold and clinical about so many lives being taken away for a crime committed years ago, by a handful of people who may not even still be alive… Did he not see what he was doing? What he was allowing to unfold? His life so far hadn’t been easy, by any stretch of the imagination, but to destroy the Earth over it?

“There has to be!” She found herself blurting, her fists balled at her chest, “I know that people fight over the most trivial things,” she began, voice wavering and tentative, “Some people…” She continued, trying to pick her words carefully and think before she spoke, as she so often didn’t. Rage would not get the better of Amy Rose today. “…may be selfish like the professor said… But they’re basically good. If they try their best and never give up on their wishes… They always have a reason to be happy.”

The pink hedgehog paused for a moment, trying to gauge Shadow’s reaction to her words so far. His face was hard to read, stoic and brooding as he was, and with the whirlwind of emotions swirling in her head she was struggling to separate the facade of nonchalance from any underlying emotion or sign of doubt. She swallowed hard, brows furrowing, as she put the last pieces of her plea together. Her nails bit into the palms of her hands, a tentative step forward bringing her closer to him as she pleaded, “That’s why you should help them out! Saving them is a good thing! Shadow, I beg you, please do it for them. Give them a chance!”

The lab fell into near silence, the only sounds the beeping of long-abandoned equipment and echoes of Amy’s voice as it faded away in the enormity of the room.

His eyes hadn’t left hers, not for a moment, but now, they flickered over her, regarding her as if this was the first time he had seen her, and she had just asked the world of him. 

Now that she thought about it, that wasn’t far from the truth. 

He turned back to the window. She searched his face for an answer - for even an incline of what he may say - but he gave away nothing. Instead, Shadow closed his eyes.The air felt thin, time seeming to fray and threatening to snap. It couldn’t have been longer than a moment, but to Amy, it felt like eternity. 

Then, his face twisted in a sneer. 

“No.” 

Amy gasped as Shadow’s eyes opened. She could feel the hate wash over her. 

“You talk about what they want, their hopes and dreams and wishes - but what about mine? Am I supposed to give up, to pander to people who have sought to harm me? To use me?” His expression darkened, shifting to something that sent a chill down her spine. “Why should I?” 

He snarled, turning sharply to face her head on. “Why should I save them? These people who, by your own admission, are selfish?”

“That’s not what I-”

“I won’t help them. They can all go to hell!”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, welling and threatening to fall. She’d shrunk further away from him with each word, feeling less and less like she was capable of changing his mind, and more like she was being scolded for her naivety. Blood rushed in her ears, the pounding of her heart deafening her as the fire she had felt in her stomach was all but put out by his words raining down around her. 

She’d failed. Fallen short. 

But somehow… something told her she couldn’t just give in. Laying down and taking whatever she was given wasn’t her style. Maybe once upon a time, but not now. 

“But Shadow, I know that under all of the pain you're good! I know you-”

“You know nothing!” He spat, quills bristling as a sharp, derisive followed. “You want to save them? Do it yourself.” 

The fire roared. It licked against her insides, boiling her blood and building pressure in her system. It was like her veins were no longer for transporting oxygen - they were a part of a boiler system that was over pressurised, and the safety valve was ripped away. She was ready to blow, and unfortunately for Shadow, he’d blocked the last outlet for her steam. 

She realised what she’d done when the palm of her hand started stinging, and his face snapped towards the glass he stood in front of. She’d slapped him. Hard. So hard, in fact, that there was already a red handprint forming on the side of his muzzle. It looked sore, and any other time, she would have apologised profusely - but the rage that still simmered forbade her from showing remorse. Before he could retaliate, she found herself racing out of the lab and down the hallway in the direction her friends had taken, straight for the Cannon Core.

The soles of her boots on the sheet metal of the floor drummed in her head, seeming to sync with her thundering blood. Every second mattered. Gerald had given them twenty-seven minutes. Some of that time had already slipped through her fingers, so Chaos only knew how long she had now.

The walkway she was on came to a junction, causing her to slow and eventually stop. The corridor had split in two, open doorways yawning to the left and right with no clear indication as to which was the way to the cannon core. To the left, purple walls and strobing lights lit glass floors and moving platforms, while the right glowed an ominous red, the hexagonal pathway seeming to go on forever. 

“Red means danger,” she murmured to no one in particular, taking a tentative step towards the right-hand door. Rings of light seemed to race up the walls towards the entryway. It was almost as if they were trying to push her away and convince her to go down the other route, but that just served to convince Amy that this had to be the right way. Of course the mad scientist who had set the ARK on a crash course with the Earth would want to keep people away from the metaphorical off switch for his plan.

With a quick scan of the corridor she found a rail that ran along the roof, with a handle hanging from it. If it did what she thought it did, it could be a quicker way to traverse the tunnel before her. Manoeuvring herself to see further down the twists and turns and realising she couldn’t see the end, or even the light that might mark it, she concluded that any boost to speed she could give herself would be a welcome one. With that in mind, she backed up a few steps and ran, leaping for the handle. The jolt of inertia was enough to slide along the rail, and before long, she was travelling at a good pace.

The tunnel twisted, throwing her violently in one direction, and then the other, with lights flashing and dissipating all the while. It was making her feel queasy. In desperation, she shut her eyes tight in hopes of a temporary reprieve, but the lights came to a sudden stop. She cracked an eye open, squinting to get a better look at where the light ended, to see where the rail went once the transition to black was made, but with horror she realised it was the open expanse of a new room, cyan sparks of electricity punctuating the otherwise pitch black. The rail came to an abrupt halt, the handle hitting the stop plate at the end with a thunk, and she was flung forward into the empty air. 

Amy shrieked, the possibility that this was her end, not the collision with the Earth, briefly filling her head as she searched for something to grab or land on. Columns hung from the ceiling, too far away for her to use to stop her descent, and all around her was nothing but blackness. A void.

But, as her limbs wheeled, panic rising, she saw the familiar glow of the tunnel she had been launched from. Had she tipped forward? Rolled in the air somehow to look back at where she’d come from? No, she couldn’t have. The columns were still above her - this had to be new. That, and now that she was thinking more critically, this new light was more orange than red. That had to be the way forward.

Below her was a stone outcrop that stopped just before the orange room. That was her target but she was falling fast. Landing wouldn’t be as easy as it sounded. Not without an injury, anyway. 

She’d seen Sonic spindash his way out of situations like this before, but he normally had an enemy to aim for. Whoever had been here before had done a good job of clearing out any hostiles - too good a job. If she could just slow her fall somehow, then she could land without fear of breaking a leg - or worse. 

Then it hit her. Her hammer. She’d used it before to make a small wind tunnel. If she could just time it properly, she could decelerate just before she made contact with the ground. 

She held out her hands, her signature hammer appearing in her grip with a plume of smoke that was quickly whisked away as she gained speed. Once her vision cleared, she took stock again. She needed to act in five… four… three… two-

Panic struck her. She’d over estimated. The ground was approaching faster than she had expected. Eyes wide, veins icy with dread, she hefted the hammer, swinging it as hard and fast as she could in a circular motion.

A gust of air caught her. She slowed. And, with only a few quills windswept and out of place, she landed. With a deep exhale, shoulders dropping in relief, she allowed herself a moment to gather herself before taking on the next section of her journey.

Amy shook herself. She had to get moving again - the ARK was still plummeting. The Earth was still in danger. And, as much as she trusted and admired Sonic, she wasn’t sure  he could do it on his own this time. 

The path ahead was maybe ten feet long before it dropped into a chasm. Why there was such a large pit inside a space colony, she didn’t know, but it was going to be difficult to get over. A running start wouldn’t go amiss, but even an olympic long jumper would have trouble with a gap so wide. 

Absently, she hefted the hammer, flipping it in her hand as she puzzled over her dilemma. If only she could use something like an enemy as a stepping stone, or-

She paused, closely inspecting the hammer in her hand. An idea flickered in her mind like a lightbulb. That might just do it. 

She shook out her arms and hands, leaning forward and focusing on the glow of the next room. This jump had only two outcomes - suicide or success - and she had to have the confidence to make sure it was the latter. 

Rearing back and filling her lungs with the stagnant air of the chamber, Amy committed to her stunt, surging forward and charging at the crevasse. Her whole body felt like it was pulsing. Between her heartbeat, the cadence of her feet and adrenaline, she didn’t know which to blame.

As the end of the stone walkway approached, her mind’s eye replaced it with the white line of a long jump pit, and a yell tore from her throat. She threw herself into the abyss, leaping with all the strength she could in hopes that it would reduce how long she would have to spin her hammer. It was a new skill  after all, so the less she had to rely on it, the better.

She sailed through the air, the grip on her hammer turning her knuckles white; it would sting once she let go, but she was too terrified of dropping it. There was still so far to go, so much nothing to cross over, but she could feel that her fall had begun. 

With everything she had, Amy swung the hammer, letting herself twist with it in the air and hoping to land on solid ground. 

One, 

Two, 

Three full rotations, and she could feel herself getting dizzy. Keeping her eyes open had been a mistake for her stomach, which churned and protested, but she wouldn’t know when to stop otherwise. 

Four,

Five

Six rotations. The longer she spun, the more she felt like maybe she’d missed the edge, and was just spiralling into the void of nothing below, but something told her that she had to persevere. There seemed to be more and more orange in her blurry view of the world, which surely meant was at least close to the other side. 

One… 

More… 

Turn… 

She slowed, stopped, and staggered, the world still spinning even though she wasn’t. She’d made it. Her idea, insane as it was, had worked, and as her vision cleared the orange glow she had aimed for snapped into focus. What had once been an octagonal tunnel, now squared off with panels of glass, pulsed with amber light. 

Her heels clicked a staccato against the floor as she wobbled away from her landing spot, head swimming and hands shaky. Amy’s grip on her hammer faltered, the weapon slipping from her fingers and disappearing in a puff of smoke, and all she could do was watch. Much more effort might bring about another appearance of her breakfast, which wasn’t something she was keen to experience.

With each step, the haze of dizziness cleared. It was like she was wading through the last of a thick fog, finally emerging into the light of day. Unfortunate that the daylight in question was only the rest of the room, not the end of her journey, but at least the end was approaching. 

The back of the room split off into a T junction. To the right was a dead end, while the left path gave way to a room of shifting, spinning cubes and display panels that showed only the same amber light of the previous rooms swishing back and forth.

Now that her stomach had settled, Amy risked picking up the pace, following the corridor as it curved to the right. Cubes tumbled in the air, bathing her in their warm glow - but she had no time to enjoy it. Chaos only knew how long she had left before the ARK would collide with the Earth -or if she’d be able to stop the collision - but she had to try. Just because Shadow had refused to help, that didn’t mean she had to accept her fate. She could do this. She had to believe she could, because if she couldn’t, then-

The familiar sound of her heels on glass gave way to sloshing and a low buzzing sound. She’d been so preoccupied with her fate, so focused on her goal that she hadn’t realised she was in a new area. Three inches of fluid lapped against the soles of her shoes, the translucent amber liquid looking like it belonged in a reactor, not on the floor. The unnatural, tangerine hue almost gave her pause, but as she splashed through it she found herself having to think fast once more. 

Lazers and a metal barrier barred her way. She estimated that she would be able to slide under the barricade if she timed it right, and that the chance of getting the amber liquid on her skin - or worse, in her eyes or mouth - was worth the risk. She sped up, running until she was maybe two feet away from the lazer-wall and dropping into a slide.

Her nose grazed the metal, but she was under, and otherwise unharmed. Much to her relief, the liquid that coated the floor didn’t seem to be acidic, either, but for the time being that was the least of her concerns. 

Before her was a six foot wall, edged in the same metal as the barrier was made of, and no other direction to go. She knew she couldn’t jump that high. If she were lucky, and had a decent start, she might be able to get enough of a grip with her fingers to haul herself up. Possibles and maybes didn’t save the world, she knew, but neither did people who didn’t at least try against the odds. 

Backtracking as close to the lasers as she dared, she eyed the run-up she’d given herself. It should be enough.

Would be enough.

Had to be enough.

Filling her lungs, she rocked back. A fizzing sound and the smell of burning quills rolled over her. Too far. With a flinch and a quick pat of the affected area, she squared her shoulders, and took another deep breath…

Before running full speed at the wall. 

She charged, picking up as much speed as she dared before hurling herself upwards towards the ledge.

Her body slammed into the wall, chest and ribs screaming with the impact, but the tips of her fingers had caught on the ledge, holding her against the frigid surface. She wheezed in a breath, grimacing as she did, and walked the fingers of one hand onto the ledge until her palm sat against it. She repeated the process once she was sure her grip was sound, slowly grappling her way onto the surface until she was able to swing a leg up and roll onto the floor, panting with the exertion.  

Amy wanted to stay there. Sprawled on the floor, where the fate of the world wasn’t in her hands, and nothing more was needed of her, but she couldn’t do that. Even if Sonic could do this without her, she was sick of being the extra. The back up. The ‘just in case’. But not any more. That was going to change. 

She staggered to her feet, bathed in the crimson glow of the next corridor. It looked so similar to the first, but even though it had only been a few minutes since, that first rail ride felt a lifetime away. 

She crossed the threshold at a run, feeling the slope of the floor dip down towards the heart of the ARK. She was ready for this. She was going to make a difference.

The ground levelled out sharply, more of the amber swill from a few rooms ago coming into view in a roiling torrent past a sheer drop - one that she knew now that she could traverse with ease, thanks to her hammer. With a hop, skip, and a jump, she launched herself into the air, and realised just how far she would need to go.

From this angle, she saw that the orange flow rushed towards her, cascading down and away from where she assumed she needed to be. But, it plateaued - and presumably, flowed in the opposite direction on the other side. 

Smoke billowed around her as the hammer materialised, but quickly dispersed as she spun in the practised cyclone that had delivered her safely across the chasm before.

The world around her was a blur, flashes of colour and light that only made sense when she broke from the tornado she had created and let herself take it all in. She could see now that she had been right about the flow of water. It did flow the other way, with an equally steep slope that flowed into a pipe. That had to be it. The inlet to the canon core. 

Her trajectory landed her just past the section of level ground, a few paces into the decline, and the flow swept her off her feet with a splash. Control would be hard won, she realised, as her form took the path of least resistance, swerving from left to right at an increasingly alarming pace. When her body started to rotate, threatening to have her careen down the space-age log flume head first, she felt her heart skip a beat. Relinquishing the control of her direction was one thing, but her orientation was something that wasn’t up for debate. 

Small adjustments to compensate for the swivel seemed to keep her facing the right direction, much to her relief. “Thank Gaia,” she found herself whispering, hoping that her small praise would be enough to convince any higher power that she was grateful for this mercy, and to continue sending it her way. 

A crackle filled the air, the sound of an intercom creaking to life. Amy glanced around to find the speaker, even though she knew it would be of no use to her to know where it was. She was left only with the sound of a vaguely familiar voice echoing around the pipe she was stuck in.

“All of you ungrateful humans,” it began, tone foreboding and morose. Was that… the scientist? The one who had made Shadow? “Who took everything from me…” It was! A recording of him couldn’t mean anything good. She found herself searching frantically for an exit; Something in her chest told her she needed to get out of this tunnel. “Will feel my loss, and despair!”

As the last of Gerald's announcement ricocheted around her, her body was thrown around the curve of the pipe and light winked into existence in front of her. It was the end of the water way, she realised, but not quickly enough to avoid being dumped onto the floor unceremoniously.

She groaned, checking where her limbs had contacted the ground for any signs of damage - it was mostly small cuts and scrapes, but she had the feeling there would be bruises in more places tomorrow - and dusted herself down, rising to her feet cautiously.

There it was. The cannon core. And between her and it were Sonic, Knuckles, and- 

“What in Chaos’ name is that!?” Amy shrieked. She had seen some sights in her time, but this? It was grotesque. Calling it anything else fell short of the true horror of the lumbering beast that shook the ground with each step. Its skin seemed to pool around its joints and feet, like it had an excess of it that refused to slough off despite its best efforts. Tubes protruded from all over its body at odd angles, leaving wounds that looked jagged and inflamed, ready to rupture at any moment. 

The least offensive part of this behemoth was the canister on its back full of fluorescent green liquid that sloshed with every movement, the glow it provided highlighting the folds and wrinkles of the too-loose skin that covered its body.

Between the disgusting lifeform in front of her and the fear writhing like a snake in her stomach, retaining her lunch had become no easy feat. But, she was convinced that adrenaline was the only thing keeping her from vomiting.

“Amy!? What are you doing here!?” Sonic yelled, incredulity and fear clear in the crack of his voice.

“I asked Shadow to help us, and he refused,” she proffered, holding her hands out and summoning her Piko Piko hammer. “So I came to help instead.”

“No, no way,” the blue hedgehog said, shaking his head. “You need to go back and-” 

A roar interrupted him, the beast clearly annoyed that it was being ignored.

“We don’t have time to argue!” She spat back, hefting the hammer and looking to Knuckles for back up. If anyone would understand, it would be him.

The echidna looked between his friends, knowing that by supporting Amy, he would put her in harm’s way, but by supporting Sonic, he would give Amy the impression he didn’t believe she was capable of helping them. He gave an irritated sigh, and turned to Sonic. “She’s right, we have to get the Master Emerald into that shrine now or we’re all toast! Amy,” he turned to her, violet eyes burning, “You need to keep that thing busy while Sonic and I get to the shrine - think you can do that?”

She nodded curtly, her expression settling into one of conviction as she focused on the monster that lumbered towards them now, trying to decide if she was insane for agreeing to this, or brave for even trying. For now, she would go with the latter.

As her friends raced for the shrine, a heaviness settled on her chest. Her blood felt cold, like she'd had a bucket of water dumped over her and the raging inferno she had stoked when she began this journey had been drowned. This thing was horrifying. Even its movements seemed unnatural, like its muscles weren't intended for its skeleton, and every stuttering step made the loose skin of its joints undulate sickeningly.

She choked back the bile that rose in her throat, refusing to take her eyes off it on principle alone. It probably already knew she was terrified, already knew that she wanted to turn tail and run until her lungs screamed for her to stop - but she wouldn’t. Not today. 

Her hammer felt leaden in her grip. The weight of the world, of her friends lives, of her own future - they all seemed present in its heft. She took a shaky step forward, feeling the fear rise but knowing she couldn't let it overwhelm her. Another step followed the first, the façade of confidence settling over her like a warm, comforting blanket. 

This was it. Her chance to prove herself. “Never fear,” she began, swiping the hammer to her side and shifting her weight to run. “Amy Rose is here!”

The biolizard lunged for her, snapping its toothless maw. If she were any slower, it would have crushed her arm.

She ran to the right, hoping for an opening where she could hit it hard enough to at least give it pause. But the beast lumbered after her, pivoting in the shallow puddle of water it wallowed in and sending ripples over the lip with each thunderous step. 

Keeping a distance between her and its mouth was Amy's top priority. Visions of what would become of her if she didn't played in her mind, and she had to physically shake her head to banish the thoughts. She needed adrenaline. Optimism. Not fear.

Amy stole a glance over her shoulder. She hadn't covered much ground, but already the monster seemed to be tiring. Its breathing was heavy. Laboured. Ragged. 

How was it so tired after barely moving? 

That was exactly it, it turned out. The thing barely could move, and so what little it had already managed was a gargantuan task for its body. If she could exhaust it - however briefly - that would be an advantage, one that was sorely needed.

With that in mind, Amy re-doubled her efforts, antagonising the beast by shouting over her shoulder at it. The lumbering started to slow, and it wasn't long before the biolizard came to a halt. 

Steam seemed to billow from its mouth with each exhale, and each inhale seemed hard won. There it was. The opening she needed.

Skidding almost to a stop, she pivoted on a heel and ran at its side, torn for a moment on where to hit it. The side was easily accessible, fleshy, and likely to do some internal damage if she could hit it hard enough, but the pipes that wound around its form gave her pause. They had to have a purpose. Transporting something, most likely - something that it needed, or else its creator wouldn't have left them there. 

Those pipes all seemed to converge on its back. Whatever they held was either flowing to or from there.

Hoping her guess was correct, Amy leapt. Her mind flashed back to her leap of faith across the chasm. But she had overcome that, just like she would overcome this. 

She crested the mass of crimson flesh, her boot slipping on loose skin as she landed. The shaky breaths beneath her shifted the pipes she'd followed. Just as she thought, they all appeared to connect to a device on its back.

That had to be it. 

A yellow glow pulsated atop the machine, growing brighter with each inhale, and dimming with each exhale. Surely, that wasn't a coincidence? It had to be a life support - or have at least some impact on the biolizard's continued life.

Having convinced herself, she did what she always did when all that stood between her and victory was a metal box. 

She swung her hammer at it.

The familiar crunch of her hammer connecting with metal brought a smile to her lips. The device crackled with electricity, pops and fizzes an audible indicator of broken connections. 

Beneath her, the biolizard screamed, its cry akin to a yowling cat, and shook itself violently enough to throw her to the ground. 

She skidded across the paved pathway, scraping her shoulder in the process. But as pain pulsed through her, she couldn't help but wonder how it had been so easy to defeat something that had been touted as the ultimate life form.

And then it moved. 

Toothless jaws snapped at her, missing by mere inches. She flinched away, scrambling to her feet and bolting away. 

This time, the biolizard didn't make a move towards her though. It's feet were planted firmly in the murky orange pool, and no sloshing could be heard.

What she did hear, though, was scarier than any eerie silence. It was like a blockage being cleared from a pipe at high velocity, a resounding poh noise, followed by stone crunching and skittering away.

It took every ounce of courage she had to turn and look behind her. 

A ball of what she could only describe as shadows tore towards her, purple energy crackling across its surface like lightning. 

she threw herself out of the way, keeping her eyes trained on the monster. Its maw opened again, energy swelling in its throat, and another popping sound exploded from it, firing the orb at her.

There would be no more wearing it out. The shadows seemed capable of following her, this new ball proved, as it swerved towards her at frightening speed. Dodging was the only option.‘Think, Amy! Think, think, think!’ She chastised, eyes darting across the beast in hopes of finding an answer.

To her surprise, she found it - a cord that ran from its mouth to its back. If she was fast, and careful, she could get to its back from there to do some more damage, and avoid the shadows at the same time.

There was no time to second guess herself. Raising her hammer again, she charged, side-stepping the second orb in the nick of time. A yell tore from her throat, half from terror and half from the rising sensation in her chest that goaded her to do better, to be better - to be a hero. 

She reached the cable just as a third ball started forming. With precision achieved by pure adrenaline, she made her first step onto the tube, following quickly by her second. It felt surreal. The narrowing of her focus to include only the pound of her veins, her boots on the wire as she barrelled up to its back. Her foot had been on its back for hardly a heartbeat when she slammed her hammer into the side of the still crackling unit. 

The casing cracked open, chips of metal spraying from the gash. She hefted the hammer back over her head, slamming it down onto the orange dome.

Glass shattered, spraying her with shards that sliced at her arms and cheeks. She hissed, the tiny cuts stinging individually and as one, the sensation overwhelming. 

A familiar rage built. One she’d experienced a thousand times before but never quite this intensely. She swung again, and again, the crumpling sound mixing with the yowling to create a truly ear-splitting cacophony. But in her rage, everything had quieted. 

When the world pitched, it took a moment for her to realise why. The biolizard was shaking, trying to throw her off, but as she fell, her hammer caught on one of the pipes, jolting her to a stop.

Another yowl, the tugging clearly causing it at least some discomfort. She could feel the noise in her bones, the vibrations rattling her. But this could be worse. In fact, this could be a fantastic opportunity to end this whole thing, here and now. 

Bracing her feet against its side, boots sliding on skin too big for its frame, she pulled.

The cable popped out of the socket, spraying amber ichor as it flailed, and for what she hoped was the last time today, she hit the ground. 

She rolled away, knowing that she needed to dissipate the inertia if she wanted to walk away from this encounter rather than limp. Now that her hearing had returned, she could tell just how distressed it really was. The screaming and sloshing as it thrashed in what she assumed was agony was deafening - but it seemed like her ordeal was over. Now she just needed Sonic and Knuckles to get the chaos emerald back out of the shrine and-

Cobalt lightning crackled around the shrine, the master emerald pulsing with power and spinning in place. A flash of blinding light painted the chamber white and Amy threw up her arms to shield her eyes.

Before she risked opening them again, though, a roar shook her to the bone. It was the same sound as the Biolizard had made when she’d damaged it, only lower pitched. 

She whirled, hammer in hand ready to deal what she hoped was the killing blow, and was met not with the defeated form she had left, but one that had reared back to let out one last yell. With the beast on its back legs the looseness of its skin was more prominent, the disproportionate nature of its form more obvious. The pressure it was exerting on its stubby legs made them shake, the open wounds all over its body weeping, blood and pus running over the ripples and folds of its body. 

Her stomach churned, but before her mind could comprehend the truely sickening parts of its visage, a flash of blue enveloped it, and it was gone.

Turning back to the shrine, she took the steps two at a time, reaching Sonic and Knuckles at the Master Emerald’s plinth. “What was that?”

Sonic opened his mouth to speak, but the answer never came. The ARK pitched to the side, the artificial gravity of the ship momentarily failing, suspending them above the ground. “Since we’ve stopped the Chaos Emeralds… why is the space colony still on a crash course to Earth?” Knuckles managed before gravity kicked back in, throwing him, Sonic, and Amy to the ground.

“The prototype is still alive, and he’s controlling the space colony as its falling to Earth!” Eggman announced through the ARK’s communication system. This new information settled like a brick in Amy’s stomach as the trio staggered to their feet. She’d failed to kill the biolizard, and now, it was going to destroy the Earth anyway. All that she’d been through, all that she’d done… It was all for nothing, after all. “He’s become one with the space colony, and is determined to keep it on its collision course!”

Dumbfounded, she looked to Knuckles. He was the guardian of the Master Emerald - surely, there was something he could do? But the echidna wasted no time in turning to Sonic. The blue blur stared his friend down for a beat, his grass-green eyes flickering to Amy and back, as if considering something but discounting it before it had even had time to gestate. “I need to go super,” the hedgehog announced, taking a step towards the master Emerald. “But I don’t know if I can do this on my own.”

Her body moved before her mind could catch it. The pink hedgehog stepped forward, hammer evaporating into smoke, hands balling to fists. “Let me try, too!” There was no room for argument in her tone, but that didn’t stop her blue beau from trying.

“Ames, no, you can’t-”

“You don’t know that! Just because I haven’t before doesn’t mean I can’t!” His eyes were wide with shock, and something else. Awe, she hoped, but equally it could have been disbelief. When he sighed and held his hand out for her to take, though, she knew it didn’t matter. He was going to let her try, and that meant that at the very least, he believed there was a chance.

She took it, the pair raising their hands above their heads and studying the ceiling of the shrine. Like icicles forming on a window sill, their energy seeped from the stonework, forming the seven gems that had started this mess, and would give them the power to end it.

The emeralds descended, hovering for a moment before spinning faster and faster around them.

She could feel it. The tumultuous power, crashing into her like waves. The eddies lapped at her, like ice water around her ankles, and rose steadily until she thought she might drown. The emeralds were moving so fast now that they were a blur. It was impossible to tell one from another. Another wave of chaos energy crashed into her, almost knocking her to her knees - but she stood strong in its onslaught, feeling the cold sink past her skin, chill her blood and freeze her bones. 

White light flashed from between them, hands separating as the power split. Sonic glowed with the golden light of his super form, and Amy too shone, but with a rose-tinted gold of her own. The frigid chill of chaos energy was nothing like her own rage. So alien, so… different. So… other. It was somehow both exhilarating and terrifying. 

Sonic seemed to take it all in his stride - but then, he had been super before, hadn’t he? She’d always wondered what it felt like, and now that she had experienced it, she could understand how he used this power to save the world all those times before.  

Sonic shot her his signature cocky grin, pointing to the roof. Up and out. She nodded, and the duo crouched in unison, extending their legs as if to jump, but instead shooting clean through the walls of the cannon core. 

When Eggman had informed them that the biolizard had ‘become one’ with the ARK, Amy had been sure that he was exaggerating. The truth, however, was much more horrifying than she’d imagined.

Its flesh had wrapped itself around the muzzle of the eclipse cannon, the once loose folds of skin stretching and contorting to accommodate its new metal appendage. It was dragging the space colony with it, under what steam she didn’t know, and was headed straight for the planet she called home. 

“Sonic, Amy! Can you hear me?” Eggman’s voice boomed. “He’s very weak without his life support system. Aim for the red swellings to damage him! You’re our last hope!”

Weak without his life support… Her hunch had been right! The device was keeping it alive, and now, with the machine broken, they at least had a chance of winning. 

The hedgehogs shared a knowing look - one that held the promise to win, or die trying - and shared a definitive nod. 

Sonic blasted off, a trail of light marking his path as he weaved towards the monster. It was slow, cumbersome, but even so, if one of its limbs connected… she dreaded to think what the damage could be. 

They had to do this quickly.

As Sonic ploughed into the first of the swellings, bursting through the thin layer of skin, Amy realised that she hadn’t moved. She’d been staring, horrified at what was in front of her. 

She shook herself, furrowing her brows. She couldn’t just float here and do nothing. 

It didn’t take long to find another of the sores Eggman had mentioned - the thing was riddled with them - but before she pushed off to make her first attack, something caught her eye. 

Beneath its mass, a glow was building. Amethyst and ruby and aquamarine. It was mesmerising, and as it roiled and grew, she wondered what is was. 

Her question was answered as the orb grew and stretched out towards her, a beam of searing energy missing her by mere inches. It was danger. It was pain. It was certain death. 

A fire having been lit under her, she flew in a wide arc towards the pustule she was now aiming for, careful to keep an eye out for the beam of energy now that she knew it was capable of such a feat. The closer she got, though, the more its flailing limbs and snapping jaws made her hesitate. Even with her super form, the hurdle of failure loomed large above her, every time she hadn’t been strong enough, or fast enough playing on repeat in her mind. 

She rolled out of the way as one of its arms thrashed at her, the disorientation of unfamiliar momentum causing her to bounce off its scaly hide and careen down its spine to float to a halt only a meter or so before it merged with the ARK. 

Silently, she cursed herself. How could she help Sonic to kill this thing if she couldn’t even get close enough to its weak spots to do anything? 

It was then that she spotted it - the blistered skin just past the curve of its side. A glance to its head confirmed that the beast was preoccupied with Sonic, and from this angle, it wouldn’t be able to get her with the beam until it was too late - for it, at least. 

With speed she hadn’t possessed before the boost of the Chaos Emeralds, she launched herself around and ploughed into the thin, inflamed skin. It burst with enough force to fire her towards its head, her inert body tumbling head over heels at speed. In space, there was no friction to slow her, no end in sight to the vomit-inducing spinning. Not, at least, without some intervention.

From seemingly no where, its huge head swung towards her faster than it had any right to be capable of. She lifted her arms to cross over her face defensively knowing that she hadn’t the time to move, and was launched by the force of its nose connecting with her ribs.

She was like a pinball in a machine  - moving at blinding speed with a trajectory that would inevitably result in collision.

And collide she did.

The ARK loomed large as she careened towards it, her form tumbling in the vast emptiness of space. Dizziness crept in on her, but before it could take hold, pain blossomed across her back and shoulder.

She’d slammed into the ARK, and from the crunching and crackling coming from behind her, she’d likely hit a window. That, or she’d done more damage to herself than she thought.

“Ouch,” she whimpered. The sound was half-reflexive, half-genuine, as she cradled the shoulder that had taken the brunt of the hit. “That thing really packs a punch…”

With a groan, she propped herself up on her elbows, watching as Sonic ploughed into the beast that had just thrown her like a ragdoll. She felt so useless. Managing to absorb enough Chaos energy to transform had been a shock, as had defending herself against the prototype of Shadow before it had teleported outside, but even now, after all of those achievements she was starting to feel like she wasn’t enough to fix this. 

Her nails bit into her palms even through the padding of her gloves. Giving up was the easy route, the one she’d sworn she’d abandoned back when she’d helped Gamma fight its programming. She had to keep trying, or else what had all of this been for? 

She took a long, slow inhale, filling her lungs to the brim and holding the breath for a second to centre herself, then released it in a steady, foggy stream. The world needed saving, and while she trusted that Sonic would do his best, she didn’t want him falling short because she’d thrown in the towel.

Gingerly, she rolled onto her stomach, aware of every slight movement as pinpricks of pain rolled through her. Were it not for the lack of gravity, she wondered if she would even have managed that, let alone bring her knees up to kneel on the observation deck window.Now that she’d been given the chance to stop, the adrenaline that had brought her this far was waning and the exhaustion was starting to creep in. Maintaining a super form was so tiring… how did Sonic do this?

Knowing that she couldn’t let herself be swept to shore, that she had to stay in the sea of energy until the danger had passed, she forced herself to open her eyes. At first, all she saw was her own reflection staring back at her through a spiderweb of cracks in the glass. But, as her eyes adjusted, she saw something else. Someone else. 

Shadow. And he was staring back at her, looking like he’d seen a ghost.

He’d underestimated her ability, just like everyone else did, and had expected her to perish long before this point. That had to be it.

One, last act of defiance, then. Before she ended this fight and did what so many thought was impossible for her. 

She pushed herself off the window of the lab, threw her arms behind her, and stuck her tongue out at the ultimate lifeform with gusto, before turning and flying back to where Sonic was fighting the biolizard.

 It was childish, she knew, but his perception of her was the last thing she was worried about right now.

More of the pustules that covered the lizard had been ruptured, she noted, which felt like it would at least help. If this behemoth was capable of feeling pain, it had to be in agony by now. Wounds wept, blood and pus and chaos energy oozing from each and every one. This thing, relentless as it was, had to be put out of its misery.

She balled her fists, ready to weave her way towards the monster and hit more of its sores. Sonic had managed to destroy so many of them, and she didn’t want to end up as just the distraction again. She’d done so much today, been through so much. Now wasn’t the time to trip over the hurdle.

She flew towards the beast, feeling every injury she’d sustained so far screaming at her to stop, that she’d done enough, and she could call herself a hero now. But heroes didn’t give up just because they had a few bruises and cuts, or because they’d been thrown around like a rag doll. Heroes kept going. 

With the lack of resistance from the expanse of space, she gained speed quickly, tearing through the chasm between her and her target, but in her periphery, something caught her attention. A white-gold glow - not Sonic’s gold, nor her own rose-gold, but a new one. 

It was Shadow, and he was in his super form. 

“What- what are you-”

“This thing is my prototype,” he began, his blood-red eyes focused on the biolizard. “It’s time I prove my superiority.”

He burst forward, leaving her to trail behind as he slammed into one of the sores at speed she struggled to see, let alone emulate, and when he was thrown backwards by the force of its skin splitting, he didn’t pause to look for another. He used the arc of his trajectory to fly around it, looking for another spot to damage.

This was the difference between her and real fighters, she thought to herself. For all she knew, this was Shadow’s first time in a super form too. And he was dealing with it so much better than she was. Granted, he didn’t need to fight so hard to change the direction he moved in with the help of his air shoes, but something about the ease with which he moved, the confidence… she was jealous. 

“Can both of you hear me!?” Eggman yelled. There was panic in his voice, and Amy couldn’t in good conscious say she blamed him for it. “Atmosphere entry in about 4 minutes! Hurry!”

There it was. Four minutes. 240 seconds. Barely any time left to save the world. 

She summoned her hammer, determined not to fall behind. It felt so light to her now, with chaos energy coursing through her veins, but that just meant she could put more of her strength into the swing.

There was a pustule where its skin met the ARK that Sonic and Shadow seemed to have missed. She pivoted towards it, swinging her hammer above her head ready to deal her first blow. As soon as she was close enough, the hammer smashed into the skin, eliciting a screech of pain from the beast as it thrashed in agony. It swung its clawed hands at Sonic, missing by at least three feet, and did the same to Shadow, failing to catch him with its claws. 

Its head whipped around, more sluggish than it had been when it had thrown her into the observation deck window, and the motion tore its skin.

Now that she looked more closely, the movement of its arms had torn the skin at its shoulders, too.

It was falling apart, right in front of their eyes. 

Sonic and Shadow looked frantically for another swelling to hit, another weak point to attack, but their lack of movement told her they found nothing. The end was nigh.

Amy floated to the broken device on its back, seeing that it still crackled and fizzed with electricity even now. The wires that remained attached still trailed its body, inert and empty of life-giving energy. She jammed the handle of her hammer under the unit, using the head as a lever, and separated the metal oval from the biolizard with a crunch. She reeled back.

The hammer connected with the unit, sending it careening towards the biolizard’s head, tearing the wires out of itself, or out of the biolizards skin. 

The explosions from it started small. The size of a basketball, perhaps, or a little larger, but they seemed to set off a chain reaction.

The three hedgehogs dispersed, re-convening to watch as the monster went up in flames.

It was dead. The Earth was safe.

They’d done what had felt impossible just fifteen minutes ago.

As the three of them regarded each other, Sonic and Amy looking battered, bruised, and exhausted, they couldn’t help but smile. “We did it…” Amy breathed, releasing her hammer for it to disperse into smoke.

“We did,” Sonic beamed. There was something in his smile - relief, maybe, and pride - that she hadn’t expected. She’d thought he was so sure they could do this. He’d given no reason for her to think otherwise. But it seemed as though he hadn’t been as confident as she’d thought.

Shadow huffed, crossing his arms and turning his gaze to Amy. “Was that outcome in doubt?” To him, it seemed as though it wasn’t. Like the moment he was involved in something, it would go exactly as he planned.

“Heh, maybe not,” Sonic said. His smile grew wider, another small laugh escaping him, before he pointed to the ARK with his thumb. “We’d best get back, or the others will wonder what happened!”

He was gone before either of them could speak. Amy turned to Shadow, ready to chastise Sonic in his absence, but found that the surly being was staring intently at her. She couldn’t meet his eyes, instead looking away and scratching at the side of her head.

She’d slapped him, made faces at him, and now, it seemed, she owed him an apology. But first, she had to ask him something.

“What made you decide to help?” She blurted, chancing a glance at him and finding that he was still staring. His eyes flickered away from her then, though - the smallest hint of embarrassment on his face.

“I… I don’t know.” He said, but with the way his eyes searched the speckled sky, she wasn’t so sure that was the whole truth. “Maybe your words just needed time to sink in.”

All she could muster was a tired smile. She wished she could be more energetic, her usual enthusiastic self, about this change of heart. But everything was taking its toll. She was exhausted. She could feel her eyes fluttering, and she ached everywhere. “Well, I’m glad you came to your senses, Shadow,” she managed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We couldn’t have done it… without… you…”

The world seemed to blur. The stars that had been so sharp, so defined, only moments ago. Now, they looked like street lamps through a rainy window, particles dancing in ways she knew couldn’t be real, but they mesmerised her all the same. It made her realise just how tired she was. How leaden her limbs felt. If she could just… close… her eyes…

They closed for a moment, the white-gold of Shadow’s super form disappearing and reappearing further away. But he didn’t seem to be moving. He was facing the ARK, but the jets of his shoes were off, and his posture hadn’t changed from when she had last seen him.

Ah. She was the one moving. She could see it now. Her own glow was gone, and the stars were getting smaller. She was falling. Falling towards the Earth. And worst of all, she didn’t even had the energy to panic. The bliss of exhaustion had fogged her mind, and falling felt like the rest she needed.

She blinked again. The white-gold of Shadow’s form was closer now. Had she stopped falling? No, something told her that she was still plummeting. Maybe it was the angle he was at? She wasn’t sure.

The only thing she knew for certain was that he looked terrified. Ruby eyes were wide, mouth open in a yell, gloved hand outstretched as if he were begging for her to take it. But she couldn’t. It was too much. She was too tired. 

The world went dark.

Everything ached. Her back, her shoulder, her legs. Everything. Even her eyelids seemed to ache, but she needed to open them. The murmuring around her was deafeningly loud and too quiet for her to understand all at once, with a peal of piercing ringing permeating both. Would the light of the world be that bit too much? The thing that overwhelmed her senses? She hoped not. She needed to know if they’d succeeded - if the biolizard was dead. Somewhere in the soupyness of her waking mind, she thought they had - but everything was fuzzy from the point she’d hit the ARK.

Cautiously, she cracked an eyelid open slowly, testing her surroundings in the smallest increment possible. Once one eye was fully open, she chanced the other. Everything was so blurry. The blobs of colour that crowded around her reminded her of her friends. Blue, yellow, red… and white, too. The bat that had helped them was that shade of white, she recalled. Rouge, was it? That sounded right. 

Her head lolled towards the blue smear, each blink sharpening her unfocused gaze. 

“Did… we win?” She croaked, voice hoarse. 

“Ames! You’re awake!” Sonic rushed to kneel beside her, brows drawn in concern and worry in his eyes as they came into view. “How you feelin’?”

This was the most attentive he’d ever been, she thought to herself. It was… nice. The attention from her crush. But something about it didn’t feel as good as she always thought it would. She must have hit her head harder than she thought. 

“I’m fine.” She sounded so weak. “I guess I have you to thank for that, though.” She managed a smile as he helped her to her feet, almost falling when her knee gave way and he caught her. The worry seemed to spread on his features, but he was trying to mask it. She could tell, from the way he tried to force his face back into the cocky grin he usually sported. 

“Nah, Ames,” he breathed. “We were almost beat, but then Shadow showed up and finished the thing off. I started back to the ship, and then…” the words died in his throat, his green eyes shifting guiltily before he turned to look to his left, away from the observation deck windows and towards the shadows that enveloped the entrance to the room. “You… you passed out. And Shadow saved you. He caught you before you - before you fell.”

It was all coming back to her now. His face as he hurtled towards her, eyes wide and full of fear. 

She followed Sonic’s gaze, her own settling on the hedgehog who was mostly obfuscated by the dark. Shadow. He’d saved her life, even after what she’d said, what she’d done - oh, Gaia, she’d slapped him, hadn’t she? 

Her legs felt like jelly again. Of all the individuals to piss off, she’d chosen Shadow, and not only that, but it seemed like he’d forgiven her too. You didn’t save someone you disliked, did you? But then, he had saved the humans, or at least helped to, and he claimed to hate them. 

“I- I see.” She choked out. She swallowed hard and chewed nervously on her lip. She had to apologise. That had to be the first thing she said to him. But how do you do that? Maybe ‘sorry for slapping you for trying to blow up the Earth’ was enough, she wondered, but shook the thought from her head. As soon as she could stand on her own, she needed to have an answer. 

“Yeah, it was weird,” Sonic mused, bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the real world. “By the time I realised, he was already half way to you, and he looked-”

“Worried,” Amy said, and he nodded in agreement.

Amy sighed. Of all the things she’d had to do today, of all the fears she’d faced… Apologising to, and thanking, the one who’d saved her seemed to be the hardest one. 

She tested putting her weight on her legs. A part of her was pleased that any damage wasn’t permanent, but a small part of her still dreaded the conversation she was about to have. With a weak smile to Sonic, she limped over to her saviour. 

He was sat against a wall, seeming to be fixated on a spot in the middle of the floor with a barely perceptible frown on his brows.

“Hey.”

He startled, and jerked his head up to meet her eyes.

“Hello.” His gaze was… intense. A vermillion blaze that felt like it would burn her where she stood. But this time, the heat was… comforting. Like a blanket on a cold night, or… like her own, well restrained rage that burned below the surface. He was like her, she realised. Someone who held part of themselves at bay for fear it would be too much. 

He motioned to the ground next to him. She swallowed hard again, hurrying to settle against the wall and almost forgetting to tuck her dress under her. As she settled, glancing over to her friends who hurried to pretend they hadn’t been staring, her usually steady hands shook.

She didn’t look at him initially. She was too ashamed of herself, and it seemed like he had no desire to break the silence either. 

“I’m sorry I-”

“I shouldn’t have-” 

They spoke in unison, stopping as soon as they realised they were talking over each other. Silence fell again. After a few moments, he waved her on. 

Her throat felt dry. She knew that he didn’t hold her actions against her. He wouldn’t have saved her if he really disliked her. But navigating this conversation would be difficult regardless. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “What made you do it?” She began, chancing a look at him. Those eyes were upon her again, those eyes that simmered with an anger that she now understood was not for her. “I mean- what… Why did you come and help me and Sonic? I thought that you… that you wanted the Earth to be destroyed?”

His gaze lingered for a moment, shifting from one eye to the other and then cutting away to look back at the floor. “Humans are awful.” The silence that dragged out made her think that perhaps he wanted her to say something, but she didn’t know what. “I would have had no remorse if they had all met their end today. I wanted it, even, and you know that, but…” his voice petered out, as if he didn’t want to verbalise what he was about to say. He let out an exasperated sigh. “But you… you were ready to die for them. For people you don’t know, for people who don’t know you and don’t care about you.”

He turned back to her, eyes searching her face, as if he would find something written there that would put his mind at ease.

 A smile spread across her face, a tiny laugh whispering past her lips. “Thank you, Shadow. That… that means a lot.”

He gave a kurt nod, moving to stand, but she caught his arm and his attention again. As he looked back to her, something pressed against his cheek. Something soft. Something soothing. 

It was her lips, pressed delicately against the cheek she had slapped only hours before. 

She sank back to sit against the wall, a self-satisfied smile still on her lips, as his own face started to burn. 

She’d kissed him. This girl, who he’d snarled at and insulted. Who had stung his face with her palm. Had kissed him. 

And, stranger still, it had left him wondering what the sensation would feel like had she caught his lips rather than his cheek, as his face began to burn.

Thanks for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed this fic :)

[aneurinallday]

Green Eyes

Chapter 8: Monaghan Boy

When Thomas opened his eyes again, dawn was peeking through the curtains and he was alone in the bed. Alec was no longer at his side.

His weary brain accepted the situation with no surprise. Perhaps Alec had already got what he’d wanted - the wallet and gold pocket-watch from Thomas’s coat and the jewellery from Grace’s vanity table - and fled into the night. Perhaps this whole thing had been one long, elaborate trick to worm his way into Thomas Shelby’s trust. Or perhaps he was just an early bird.

Thomas rose and, in his underwear, crossed the landing to the guest bedroom. Knocking on the door, he received no answer. Upon opening it, he was greeted by the sight of Alec’s bed stripped bare. Linen was such an odd thing to steal, that for a moment Thomas simply stood there and stared at the naked bed.

Was the baby still here? Or had Alec left her behind, now that she’d served her purpose of gaining Thomas’s sympathy?

Heading to the nursery, he found Alec curled up on the floor, at the foot of the crib where Clara still slumbered. He’d piled the pillows and duvet into a cosy nest, and was fast asleep.

Then Thomas’s brain fully awoke, and he realised the pointlessness of his own cynicism. It had been Alec’s first night in an unfamiliar house, in a strange bed, in the care of a powerful man whose intentions he couldn’t be sure of - all while worrying about the safety of his six-month-old daughter. A little restlessness was inevitable.

Thomas heard the distant sounds of the servants beginning their morning routine, starting with cleaning the downstairs fireplaces. Soon they would be preparing breakfast.

Sighing, he reached down to adjust the duvet over Alec’s shoulders. The young man stirred and mumbled, but didn’t wake. Thomas drew the sheer curtains closed around the crib, and left.

Come breakfast time, Thomas was sitting at the head of the table, staring at Grace’s empty seat while the servants bustled about. A hearty breakfast was being laid out: honeyed porridge, fried bacon, butterflied kippers, poached eggs, rich Ethiopian coffee, and crispy toast with butter, marmalade, and jam. Thomas touched none of it.

Alec entered, carrying Clara in his arms, both of them freshly bathed and dressed.

“Morning, Mister Shelby,” he said brightly.

Thomas didn’t answer. Behind him loomed an ostentatiously large painting, framed in gold, of him posing with a pale grey horse on a grassy hilltop. In the background stood Arrow House in all its splendour. Alec gazed up at it but didn’t comment upon it.

“Where should I sit?”

“Wherever the food is.”

Alec dropped into the nearest seat, his eyes already devouring breakfast. Bouncing Clara with his right arm, he grabbed a rasher of bacon with his left hand and ate it in two bites.

“Are you doing anything today?” he asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“You’re not heading into Birmingham for work?”

“I like to work from home.”

“Maybe we can do something together.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Alec sipped his coffee and grimaced - it was unsweetened. He used a tiny pair of tongs to pick up a sugar cube and carefully drop it in the cup. “It’s your decision. What do you enjoy?”

“I enjoy the uninterrupted thoughts that come with sitting alone.”

The servants quietly filed out of the room, until only one remained: a rather severe-looking middle-aged woman who regarded Alec with an odd mixture of pity and distrust.

“Alec, this is Frances, the housekeeper. She runs this whole fucking place, and she’s going to keep running it long after we’re all dead. Frances, this is Alec. He’s my...guest.”

“Good morning, Mister…?” Frances questioned.

“Oh, just Alec. Just Alec will do.” The young man offered Clara a spoonful of porridge, which she refused.

“I can take the little one, Mister Alec,” Frances offered.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s no bother - I’ve had four kids and I just had a grandkid, so I’m well-practiced. You don’t mind me sitting down, do you, Mister Shelby?”

Thomas shrugged with complete indifference.

Somewhat reluctantly, Alec handed the baby over. His eyes followed Frances as she perched on a chair a respectful distance away, murmuring affectionately as she coaxed the porridge into Clara.

Then Alec remembered his own hunger. With his arms now free, he began to eat hungrily, helping himself to a portion of everything.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” he asked as he served himself poached eggs.

“No.” Thomas lit a cigarette.

For a time, the pair sat in silence. Thomas smoked while Alec ate. Finally, Alec spoke.

“Will I meet your son today?”

“No.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No. He’s away.”

“Where?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m just curious,” Alec said, alternating salty bites of kipper with sweet bites of jam-laden toast. “You’ve never really talked about him.”

“He’s staying with his aunt and cousins.”

“Why? Does he not like being here?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?”

“Well, if there are other people living here, I can’t avoid them forever, can I? I need to be prepared so I know how to behave.”

Thomas considered him for a moment longer, then looked away, taking another puff of his cigarette.

“You won’t meet Charlie,” he said without making eye contact. His tone was noticeably colder than before. “He’s had a hard enough time adjusting to his mother’s death without knowing there’s a whore sleeping in his father’s bed. And a whore with a kid, to boot.”

“You think he’ll be jealous of Clara?”

“Jealous, no. Confused, yes. Bringing another child into a household...It sends out a certain signal.”

“So you’re ashamed of us?” Alec’s words were at odds with his smile, “You really didn’t think this through, did you?”

Mercifully, they were interrupted by Frances returning, holding a happy and well-fed baby.

“She’s missing you, Mister Alec.”

“Is that right? Are you missing me, Clara? Come here, my little one,” Alec cooed, his arms outstretched to receive her, “You’re my sweet little one, aren’t you?”

Thomas couldn’t remember the last time his son had greeted him with affection.

“Right,” he said, dousing his cigarette in his untouched coffee. “I’m going to get some fresh air. Go play the piano or whatever the fuck you want to do.”

Donning his coat, cap, and black leather gloves, Thomas headed out to the stables and paddocks. After checking on the new colt, he took Grace’s Secret out for a ride around the estate. Outdoors was where he felt the most awake, the most alive - the trees and grass and breeze seemed to sharpen his senses, and for a while, the horse underneath him was the only thing that mattered - not money, not business, not the Shelby name, not Alec, not any of them.

“Good girl,” he murmured as he patted her grey neck. “You’re my best girl.”

As he dismounted and led her back to her stall, he heard Alec’s voice calling from the direction of the house.

“Mister Shelby?”

Thomas glanced around to see the young man approaching, wearing a slim waistcoat over his white shirt. He looked under-dressed for the outdoors. “I wanted to say sorry for speaking to you that way. I didn’t mean to offend you. I talk too - ”

“Talk too much. I know. You said it before, back at the club. Where’s the kid?”

“She’s taking a nap. The maids are watching her - they love her already.”

Alec reached his side and leaned against the wooden door-frame of the stall.

“I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful -  I’m not,” said Alec, “I am very grateful. It’s just…a lot’s happened. Last week I was turning tricks, wondering if I was going to make rent, and now I’m living with one of the richest businessmen in the country. It’s a lot to take in, you know?”

“I know.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I’m scared.”

“You’ve got nothing to be scared of.”

“I do, though. If you offend me, I can grin and bear it. If I offend you, you can put me back on the street. I don’t hold any of the cards here.”

“There are no cards.”

“You only say that because you’re the one holding them.”

“Alec,” Thomas sighed, “I’m not as changeable as you seem to think I am. I told you I’d look after you, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not going to go back on my word.”

“Even if we quarrel?”

“Even if we quarrel.”

Alec smiled for a moment, then turned his gaze to the pale horse that Thomas was stabling.

“Is that the horse from the painting?”

“Yes.”

“It must be your favourite then.”

“She is.” Thomas patted the horse’s pale flank. “She’s a fine animal.”

“Can I pet her?”

“So that’s the real reason why you came out here, eh? Go ahead.”

Alec reached out and, with uncertain fingertips, gently stroked the mare’s head.

“She’s not a little sparrow. You can scratch her harder. Do it behind the ears, she likes that.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Grace’s Secret.”

“Will you take me riding on her?”

“No.”

Disappointment crossed Alec’s face.

“But that one - ” Thomas pointed to a black stallion in the neighbouring stall. “I’ll take you out on that one. Bear with me.”

Thomas fetched the horse’s tack from where it hung on the wall, and began to saddle him while Alec stood back and watched.

“What’s his name?” the singer asked.

“Monaghan Boy.”

“That sounds Irish. Is he from Ireland?”

“No, but my father’s side of the family was. They were Travellers.”

“And your mother’s side?”

“Romani.”

“Did you grow up in a caravan?”

“I grew up everywhere. Caravans, boats, the back-streets of Birmingham.”

“Why did your family stop travelling?”

“Because we wanted to be rich,” said Thomas honestly, “And you can’t get rich from the back of a caravan. If you don’t own properties, people think you don’t exist.”

He finished fastening the horse’s bridle, making sure the buckles were secure but not tight.

“Right. Hop on.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Come here.” Thomas beckoned him nearer.

Alec approached the horse. He looked eager at first, but once he was up-close, he seemed to realise how huge the stallion was - its head the size of his torso, its hooves the diameter of dinner plates. He hesitated and took a half-step back.

“Don’t be nervous,” said Thomas, “Stand here, where I’m standing. One foot in the stirrup, swing the other leg over.”

“What if he throws me?”

“He won’t move, don’t worry.”

Alec obeyed. When the time came to take his other foot off the ground, he faltered, as if fearing that the horse might collapse under his weight. Then he took a deep breath and hoisted himself into the saddle.

“There we go. Shift up a bit,” Thomas instructed, “You’re too far forward.”

“What do I hold onto?”

“The saddle. You can hold his mane, but don’t pull it hard.” He glanced down at Alec’s shoes. “Do you own a pair of boots?”

“No.”

“I’ll have to buy you some if you’re going to be spending time outdoors. Those aren’t fit for the fields. Ready?”

Alec found his balance and nodded.

“I’m ready.”

Thomas clicked his tongue in command. When the animal began to move, Alec instinctively tightened his legs for purchase.

“No need to squeeze,” said Thomas, “Relax. You’ll put him on edge.”

Guiding the horse by the reins, Thomas led him out of the stables and around the perimeter of the paddock. He could almost feel Alec’s nervousness ebbing away, his body slowly relaxing as he acclimated to horseback. The happiness on his face was a precious thing.

“He’s my lucky horse, you know,” said Thomas. “He can’t ever lose a race.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. He got a spell put on him by a Chinese witch. She blew her magic red powder on him and everything.”

“And that made him lucky?” said the young man sceptically.

“No,” Thomas replied, “But it made everyone else think he was. And that’s the important thing. If you make people think you have fate on your side, they start doubting themselves. Because how can they win if you can’t lose?”

“So you just trick people? That’s how you win all your races?”

“Not exactly. Every good lie needs a bit of truth to keep it from falling apart. He might not be a magic horse, but he’s fucking fast. Aren’t you, Boy?”

Monaghan Boy snorted and flicked his black mane. Alec stroked him hesitantly.

“Sit up straight,” Thomas reminded him. “Eyes forward.”

Alec did so and looked around, enjoying the view from atop the animal.

“Can we go out on the fields?” he asked.

“No. You’re not ready for the terrain. We’ll stick to flat ground for now.”

The implication of future lessons put a grin on Alec’s face. After a full circle around the paddock, they arrived back at the stable.

“Not bad,” said Thomas, “You managed not to fall.”

“How do I get off?” Alec laughed.

“Turn your back to me.”

Rather awkwardly, Alec swung his right leg up and over the horse’s back so that he was balancing on only the left stirrup, clinging onto the saddle for purchase. Thomas supported him from behind, clasping him firmly by the waist and guiding him to the ground. With both feet safely on the earth, Alec turned to face him.

“Thank you for the lesson, Mister Shelby,” he said.

Before Thomas’s gloved hands could withdraw, Alec caught them, keeping them on his waist.

“You don’t need to be ashamed of me,” he said, “I can turn into something to be proud of. I can and I will.”

“I’m not asha - ” Thomas began, but then Alec’s mouth was on his, silencing him with a kiss.

He’d forgotten how sweet Alec tasted, how soft yet commanding his lips were, and how much he’d missed them on his skin. He stood motionless, as if spellbound, as the rosy glow of the Arcadia came flooding back to envelop him.

Monaghan Boy waited patiently, his long black tail swatting away the occasional fly that buzzed on his flanks.

All too soon, Alec released him from the kiss, green eyes soaking in Thomas’s expression.

“I can be very good for you,” he said. “All you have to do is be good for me too.”

Stifling a laugh, he darted out of the stable and hurried back to the house. Thomas watched him go, still arrested by the taste, still unmoving, as if by remaining in place he could somehow keep the ghost of Alec’s kiss from dissipating.

Looking out across the fields and gardens with a newfound clarity, he saw how happy Alec would be here - how happy both of them would be together. He realised he hadn’t made a mistake at all, but one of the best decisions of his life.

[sarahowritesostucky]

Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 2

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas are intersex (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist 2. Jerrica

Steve's newest patient takes an unexpected turn for the worse when he hits heat

Omegas are people just like anyone else, but they have to fight so much harder just to have basic things, just to build lives for themselves that they can be happy with.

Steve’s seen how hard the world and their own biology come down on them time and again, no more so than in his own family. His mother had been a single omega parent and Steve spent his entire childhood watching her struggle to scrape together a good life for herself and her young son. The system wasn’t fair to people like his mother, and Steve is a firm believer that if you can help, you should.

That’s why he carries groceries up three flights for the single father who lives in 4b. It’s why he volunteers at the local shelter for battered and abused omegas, and helps at an organization for disabled omega mothers. It’s why he always makes an extra effort to be kind to his omega coworkers when he sees them struggling in an already demanding field. And it’s why, when Steve was seventeen and watched his mother die from a very preventable gynecological cancer, he made the decision to become an omega sexual and reproductive health practitioner.

There’s a poster Steve has in his living room; vintage, framed, cheerful advertising from a 1940’s housing company. “Give her the home she deserves to make,” it reads, showing a tall, strong alpha in his World War 2 dress uniform. He’s holding the hand of a smaller omega woman, the two of them smiling and walking towards a sparkling new house in the suburbs.

Steve’s mother always taught him that as an Alpha, he had a duty to take care of those weaker and more vulnerable than himself. He promised her that he’d always look out for the little guy. Then she’d died. He’d registered for college the following spring, beginning what would turn into almost a decade of education and training on how to help omegas who were experiencing trauma.

He’s never regretted any of it, because it allows him to help people. People like Bucky, and his neighbor in 4b, and the woman in 416 who doesn’t want the hysterectomy that she desperately needs. People like Amy Lewis.

Steve trails slowly through the store, carrying the shopping basket for the woman in front of him as she finds things off her list that she needs for her upcoming birth. They’re at Twig & Tuft, a store that caters to nesting, expectant and new mothers. Steve is helping Amy to do her shopping. Amy is omega, single, eight months pregnant, and she has an intellectual disability.

Steve feels guilty because even though it’s his second day off and all he’s supposed to be focused on is his weekend volunteer gig, he can’t help how his thoughts keep drifting back to the new patient in his ward: Bucky.

Steve can’t be at the hospital every day. Logically he knows this. He’d go insane or die from exhaustion if he did. But this is the first time in a while that he’s had two days off in a row and it’s the first time in even longer where he received a critical care patient on his last shift of the week. Steve had left detailed instructions with the ward staff, and he knows his team of nurses, therapists, techs and PAs (and hey, even sometimes the doctors, too) are very capable people. They can take care of Bucky. It’ll be fine.

He’s still found himself thinking about it almost all weekend though.

Amy stops halfway down the aisle, looking up at the shelves that are full of different baby formulas and feeding accessories. “Baby bottle,” she mumbles to herself, frowning as she sees the choices. There are all sorts of bottles in various materials, shapes and colors, all with different packaging proclaiming them: easy! clean! ergonomic! Preemie! or Silicone! Natural! or BPA-free!

“Oh man,” Amy says, flustering. “There’s too many.” She holds her list closer to her face, tongue working around in her mouth as she puzzles it out. “I dunno which one.”

Steve waits patiently as she figures it out. He’s only supposed to step in to help when she asks him, since it’s important that Amy be allowed to practice her decision making skills and build her self esteem. Steve’s biggest job being here is to intimidate anybody who might try to take advantage of her; financially, sexually, or otherwise.

He just wishes he’d been there to beat the ever loving crap out of the man responsible for getting her pregnant in the first place. All the caretakers at Amy’s group home know that it was someone employed at her old vocational school. Apparently the issue’s been “handled.” They won’t tell Steve the guy’s name. Probably smart.

Amy is a twenty-four year old woman who has Down syndrome. Steve first met her when her mother dragged her into the hospital’s free clinic, demanding an abortion. Amy hadn’t wanted it, and even when Steve explained the difficulties that would lie ahead for her, she’d been adamant: she wanted to keep her baby.

It’d caused quite the uproar amongst the clinic staff and OmCare social workers. Everybody had an opinion on it. The police couldn’t do anything without a statement from Amy, and all Amy did when asked who the father was, was cry. Amy’s mother hated Steve’s guts for giving her daughter’s wishes priority over her own.

ASHDOM, or alpha supports helping disabled omega mothers, is the charity that Steve got involved with after meeting Amy. They provide her with housing and anything else she needs to achieve her dream of being a parent.

Another visibly pregnant shopper approaches from the other end of the aisle, though it’s a male and he’s not as far along as Amy is. The man pauses and stares for a second when he spots them. Steve catches his eye and the man flushes and looks away, continuing down the aisle in their direction. He scans the shelves and quickly spots the items he needs—right in front of where Amy is looking.

Amy misses social cues that would have other shoppers smiling apologetically and stepping out of the way, so the man is forced to reach around her awkwardly to grab the items he wants. “Excuse me,” he says, sighing rudely when it becomes an effort. He puts the items in his basket and tries to move on past her, but Amy is distracted by her list and when she doesn’t move out of his way fast enough, he huffs and pointedly squeezes by, so close that their clothes brush together. “I said excuse me,” he grunts, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry!” Amy says, smiling because she’s friendly and hasn’t picked up on the man’s attitude.

“Hey.” Steve glares at the guy as he passes. He turns and speaks quietly so that Amy can’t hear. “You don’t have to be so impatient. Not everybody is as fortunate as you.”

The man tenses at being called out on his rudeness. He keeps walking but looks back over his shoulder at them. His eyes flick from Steve to Amy and back to Steve, disapproving. Steve grinds his teeth together at the assumptions he can see the guy making. The man rounds the end of the aisle and walks out of sight, and Steve sighs.

“Steve?”

“Mm?” Steve makes sure to get the scowl off his face by the time he turns back around.

Amy is holding out a three pack of basic baby bottles and looking expectantly at him. “This one is good for my baby, right?”

Steve smiles and praises, “Yeah Ames. That’s a good pick.” He holds the basket out so she can drop them in. “What’s next on the list?”

She looks carefully at her paper. “Um, dipe … diapers!”

They move on to the diapers section.

Some days, Steve thinks he must take more showers than any other human being alive.

He works out, so that usually accounts for one of them per day, but then there’s his before shift shower, after shift shower, and usually one or two others between certain patients. Because he’s not just a nurse practitioner. Before he completed the schooling necessary for that, he’d gotten his certification as a registered therapeutic heat support, and then as a registered medical heat technician. It’d helped him pay for college, and most hospitals wanted at least one of the two additional certifications if they were going to pay for an alpha’s salary on the OOBGYN ward.

Steve still takes on the occasional heat partner. But it’s less common now that Mercy General upped their staffing budget and hired more dedicated heat specialists. Hell, with Odinson on staff, the patients who need partnered usually request him, once they get a look at his picture in the profile binder (there’s a running joke on the ward that Thor used to work as a romance novel cover model).

So yeah, Steve doesn’t get intimate with as many patients as he used to. But when you spend your days around (and sometimes inside of) sick, pregnant, birthing and/or heat-ripe omegas, you tend to develop a funk. And if there’s one thing you don’t want to do to upset a vulnerable omega patient, it’s to come into their room reeking of a different omega’s pheromones.

So Steve showers a lot.

He’s just finished drying his hair when he leaves the staff locker room and hears a commotion from down the hall. He’s come up to the OOBGYN ward to shower, but he’s actually scheduled for clinic duty downstairs. He just wanted to check on Bucky before the start of his shift.

He doesn’t get too alarmed at the yelling until he gets down the hall a bit and realizes where it’s coming from. He sees a male orderly rushing into Bucky’s room. He hurries after him and sees the orderly moving for the bed, Bucky cowering away, and a female nurse standing back with a sedative prepared. The room reeks of Bucky’s fear.

The orderly grabs for Bucky and Bucky yelps and scrambles out of the bed, crying out loudly in pain when his IV stand gets dragged along and scurrying backwards into the corner of the room with it. The orderly moves after him.

“Stop!” Steve yells, rushing forward. “Stop, stop it. Now just hold on!”

Bucky is crying, cowering in the corner, and when he sees Steve he practically throws himself at him. “Steve!”

“Whoa, hang on Honey.” Steve catches him. “Sh sh. Calm down, it’s okay.” He can’t do anything but hold him and pet his back to try and calm him down enough to make sense of the situation. “What the hell is going on?!” he demands angrily from the nurse.

Like most staff on ward, she’s beta, and she looks fed up with Bucky. “He won’t calm down.” She holds up the sedative meaningfully, and Steve smells another wave of acrid fear coming off the omega who’s clinging to him. “Omcare was just here, explaining his custody arrangement. He freaked out when we tried to go over his care plan.”

“You need to back off,” Steve growls at the nurse. He tells her and the orderly to clear the room while he gets Bucky back into his bed. The poor kid is clearly in pain as he climbs onto the bed and lies down. “What hurts?” Steve asks, and Bucky puts his hand on his lower belly. Steve instructs him to lie still for the moment. “Bucky,” he says, careful to keep his voice quiet and soothing. “Talk to me. What happened? What got you so scared?”

The omega won’t look Steve in the eye when he says, “The social worker guy came. He told me about … about what I’m gonna have to do.” He peeks up at Steve but quickly averts his eyes again, face pinched. “They said I don’t have a choice, cause the hospital has custody of me now. Is that true?”

“Yeah, Honey. It’s for your safety. So that you don’t have to go back to … to where you were living before.”

“They said I have to have a heat.” He says it like it’s the worst possible thing ever. “I don’t want to!”

Steve inhales and lets it out slowly. “I was hoping to get in here before they told you. So I could explain it to you.”

Bucky scoffs. “Oh they explained it. Every shitty detail.”

Steve gently takes Bucky’s arm and examines the IV port for any damage. It looks fine, but the tape is all warped so he fetches another Tegaderm and tells the kid to hold still while he sterilizes the site and replaces the bandage. “I’m sorry they treated you like that,” he says quietly as he works. “I’ll talk to them, and I’ll make sure you’re assigned different nurses who won’t behave that way.” Bucky seems reassured by his promise, and his scent, while still upset, has at least calmed down from the panicked tone it'd had when Steve came in. “Tell me about your pain,” he says as he finishes up the IV. “Where is it and what number is it one through ten, one being none at all and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

Bucky shrugs, tears in his eyes. He looks miserable. He points to his belly and pelvis, quickly removing his hand. “There and there. And I dunno. A five I guess. Sometimes a seven or eight when it gets really bad—Ah!” he gasps and grabs Steve’s wrist, grimacing for a second. “That,” he sighs, the pain obviously passing. “Like that.”

Steve pats his hand. “You said it’s a sharp pain?”

Bucky nods. “That time it was. It’ll be achy, usually, and then get real sharp for a second or two.”

Steve nods. “You’re cramping. We gave you a temporary heat suppressant to prevent you from withdrawing too quickly when you got here.” He hesitates, then says, “And an emergency contraceptive. Your body might be reacting to that.” He watches as Bucky pales and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh god,” he whispers. “I hadn’t … I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You shouldn't worry though. Your IUD was placed correctly so there's little chance anything would've implanted anyway.”

Bucky sniffles, looking sour. "This really sucks."

Steve knows what the nurses and social workers told Bucky to get him so upset. Before Steve’s shower in the locker room, he’d stopped by the nurses’ station and read over the treatment plan that’d been handed down by the OmCare custody team over the weekend. Steve recommended half of it, but he’s still nervous about Bucky having to endure it all when he knows the boy was just raped.

He holds Bucky’s hand and says, “You’ve been through something really awful, Honey. And it honestly sucks, but I promise that they wouldn’t write your treatment plan this way if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Your body is really—”

“Screwed up,” Bucky says despondently.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. We really need to make sure that you don’t slip back into a dangerous place like you were when they brought you into the ER.”

Bucky looks up at him fearfully. “The nurse said that I could’ve died. Is that true?”

Steve grits his teeth and thinks about how he’s going to have to seriously lay out the new hire who obviously hasn’t finished her sensitivity training. “Yeah honey,” he tells Bucky gently. “We got you stabilized, but you were in pretty bad shape.” He feels Bucky’s hand shudder in his, and presses it back down on the bed. “I promise we’re not gonna let it get that bad again, okay? We’ll get you healthy. I’ve already seen your weekend test results and it looks like the antibiotics we’ve got you on are helping the infection to clear up fast. So that’s good news.”

Bucky makes a quiet whining sound in his chest. “But the things they said I have to do … Dr. Steve—”

“Just Steve,” Steve reminds gently. “I’m not a doctor.”

“Steve. Please. I don’t want to do it. I’m scared and … and embarrassed.” The tears that’ve been swimming in his eyes for so long finally break, rolling down each of his cheeks. He sniffles and hurriedly wipes them away. “I’m so fucking embarrassed, I can’t stand it.”

Steve’s heart is breaking all over again for this kid. It’s not often that he's presented with an omega who isn’t comfortable with their designation. Bucky really is an unfortunate combination of circumstances. “I know, Honey,” he tells him. “I understand. Some of the treatments you’re going to have to go through involve a lot of intimate touching and I know you’re embarrassed. But I just want you to remember that everybody who works here is very used to it all. It’s routine for us, and nobody is gonna judge you or think bad things about you. We just want to help you get healthy, okay?”

Bucky nods, but Steve can still smell his distress, can see the tension pulled throughout his body. “I have to have a heat,” he says—very quietly, like he doesn’t even want to say the words out loud.

“Yes,” Steve nods. “We’ll bring you into it slowly though, I promise. We’ll keep you very comfortable.” Bucky snorts derisively, like he doesn’t think the words ‘heat’ and ‘comfortable’ should go in a sentence together. “Hey,” Steve says softly. “Hey, so when we know that a patient’s been … hurt, like you have, we have special procedures in place. To try and make it easier on you.”

“... What are they?”

“We can assign you a support alpha,” he says. “Someone who’s trained for these situations. You’ll get a private room where you can nest and have all the things you want that make you feel safe, and nobody but you and your support will be allowed in there. The support will conduct all the procedures you need, so that they’ll be the only person who touches you.” Steve watches as Bucky takes that information in. He looks mortified, and Steve’s chest aches in sympathy for the kid. “It’ll make it all a lot more private for you,” he says softly, giving Bucky’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Does that sound good?”

“No,” Bucky says glumly, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

Steve chews his lip, knowing that he can’t do any better for him. It’s a shit situation, but when you specialize in trauma OOBGYN, you wind up dealing with shit situations more often than not. It’s kind of in the job description. Steve just hates this case more than most. “We can also give you a counselor,” he offers gently. “Somebody who you can talk to.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Mm mn. No.”

“I really, really think you should have somebody to confide in,” Steve says. “We have all sorts of counselors. All designations, male and female, young and old. You can choose who you want.”

Bucky appears to be thinking about it at least, his face still pinked up in discomfort. “... Omega,” he decides quietly. “A guy, please. Somebody … I dunno. Not an old person.”

Steve nods, relieved that the kid is taking his advice. “Okay, good. I’ll make sure that’s what you get. They can come and talk to you today, and everything you talk about is completely private between the two of you.”

“Everything?” Bucky checks, peeking up warily at Steve.

“Unless you say you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, then yes.” Steve watches as Bucky takes that in, and is pleased when he doesn’t see any reaction that would indicate the omega had been thinking of self harm. “Okay,” he says, patting Bucky’s hand and standing. He’s probably going to be late for clinic duty now. “I’m gonna go yell at the nurse and orderly for you.” He sees Bucky’s lips quirk the barest bit, and feels about a hundred feet tall for it. “That won’t happen again. I’ll personally assign your new nurses and I’ll put in for a counselor to come in and see you this afternoon.”

“You’re still gonna be my doctor though, right?” Bucky asks, looking hopeful.

Steve nods kindly. “Yeah, Honey. Not a doctor though, just an NP. I’m your attending.”

“Attending. Right.”

He heads for the hallway but looks back when he's at the door. “Watch some tv and try to relax, okay? I’ll make sure nobody tries to implement anything until I’m back on shift up here.”

Bucky looks so vulnerable and sad sitting in the bed by himself, but Steve can see how he tries to put on a brave face. He nods. “Okay. Thanks Steve.”

“You’re welcome. Bucky.”

He finds the orderly and nurse at the nurses’ station. “You two,” he says sternly, pointing at the two betas who already look wary of him. “Grab his chart and walk with me down to clinic. We need to chat.”

Even though he just showered, Steve has to grab a bunch of scent wipes from the dispenser and wipe himself down after being in Bucky’s room when the kid was so upset, and he spends the whole time plus the trip downstairs chewing the two betas out. Thoroughly. He has the nurse scribble down the changes he wants made to Bucky’s chart, and warns her that she’s got sensitivity training in her near future. He makes it very clear that neither of them are to deal with Bucky again, and makes sure that a younger, male omega counselor familiar with rape cases and gender dysphoria will be in that afternoon to talk to him. “Go back to work,” he tells them once they reach the hallway outside the clinic. “I’ll be up later for my second shift.”

They both hightail it away from him and back toward the elevators. Steve sighs, then pushes in through the double glass doors to the hospital’s community clinic.

Steve has just managed to get two seconds to himself to take a piss and then try to shovel some food down. He’s crouched in front of the minifridge behind the clinic desk, half a burrito stuffed in his mouth, when a pair of electric blue Danskos step into view.

“Wow Rogers. You know some people’d consider that a marketable skill.”

Steve glares up at her. He rises to his full height. But she’s never intimidated by him. “Nebula,” he grumbles once he’s swallowed. She’s not one of his nurses, thank God. He only ever sees her in clinic. “What do you want?”

She shoves the chart she’s holding into his chest and he’s forced to grapple for it, his burrito smearing on the back of the clipboard. “Exam four,” she says, then goes to sit in front of one of the receptionists' computers.

Steve makes a face at her back, taking one more huge bite of his burrito before sticking the sad remainder back in the fridge. He glances at the clock: 4:10, Less than an hour to go with clinic duty, then he’s got a break for dinner, then he’s on the ward for first night shift. He glances down at the clipboard Neb had handed him. Intake apt. : Termination of pregnancy. He winces and goes to wash the smell of chorizo off his hands.

“Hi.” He’s still facing the door as he starts speaking in his overly friendly doctor’s voice. He can already smell pregnant omega, which means it’s not a first trimester abortion. Great. “I’m Steve, I’m an NP here at Mercy General. What’s brought you into the clinic today?” He turns around and sees who he’s dealing with, and forces himself not to visibly react.

A girl who can’t be older than fourteen years old is sitting on the exam table, in an examination gown and socks. A woman whom Steve assumes is her mother stands beside her, looking impatient. “We’ve been waiting for almost an hour,” she complains.

“I’m sorry.” Steve goes and sits on the rolling stool, already knowing that this is going to be the low point of his shift. “It’s an open clinic, ma’am. Waits can be long, but we do our best.” He turns his attention to the girl. She’s got brown hair and a ruddy complexion and looks anything but happy to be there. “Hi,” he says gently, holding out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Steve. What’s your name?”

“Jerrica,” she says.

“Hi Jerrica. It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to tell me why you’re here today?”

“I’m sure that’s obvious,” her mother snaps, impatient and nodding at the clipboard Steve’s holding. “She’s hid it till now. I found the test in her bathroom trash.”

“Uh huh.” Steve can see how uncomfortable the daughter is as her mother angrily tells Steve about her personal business.

“She won’t tell us who did it. We think it was one of the construction workers.” When Steve raises an eyebrow, the mother explains, “We’ve been having the basement renovated. Her stupid father hired a bunch of college kids to do the work.”

Steve inhales deeply. ‘College kids’ means over eighteen, which means he has to notify OmCare. “Have the police gotten involved?” he asks.

“Of course. But there’s nothing they can do if she doesn’t tell them who it was.” She glares at her daughter, making it obvious they’ve already gone over this multiple times.

“Mom,” Jerrica complains. “Nobody raped me. I told you.”

“You are too young to be having sex, Jer! It’s called statutory rape.”

Steve gives the girl his attention. “Jerrica?” he says. “Would you like your mother to be here for this appointment?”

“Excuse me,” the mom says, angry. “I am her mother.”

“And this is a very sensitive situation where I want to make sure Jerrica feels heard,” Steve says pointedly. Normally he’d make more of an effort to be in everybody’s good graces, but he’s not very pleased with how the woman seems to be walking all over her daughter from the get-go. He looks to Jerrica for an answer, and she straightens up stubbornly.

“She can wait outside,” she says.

“Well I don’t care what you want. You’re not even in high school yet and look what you’ve gotten yourself into!”

It’s obvious the woman isn’t planning on respecting her daughter’s wishes, so Steve stands up and guides her to the door, using his size to intimidate her. “Ma’am. I’ll send the nurse out for you to re-join the discussion in a little bit.”

The mother turns when she’s just outside the door and whispers harshly at him, “She needs an abortion! You know that.”

Steve smiles tightly and sees Nebula walking by. “Nurse, please show this lady back to the waiting room while I talk with her daughter.” Nebula purses her lips at him, and Steve doesn’t wait to watch her deal with that. He closes the door and turns back to Jerrica with an apologetic wince. “Your mom seems very concerned,” he says, and Jerrica rolls her eyes.

“She’s a bitch.”

Steve sits back down on the rolling stool and nods at the girl’s stomach, sobering. “So, you’re pregnant.”

Jerrica nods, hands going to her stomach. “I don’t want an abortion,” she says. “I already thought about it. My friend Stacy was gonna take me to planned parenthood. But I changed my mind.”

“Okay.” Steve is already having an unpleasant flashback to the time Amy's mother dragged her into the clinic, demanding the same exact thing. To focus himself, he glances down at his clipboard. It looks like the mother filled out the intake form. “Do you know who the father of the baby is?”

Jerrica huffs. “Yes. I’m not telling her though. She’ll just get him arrested.”

“Were you forced to have sex against your will?” Steve asks. He knows the law on statutory rape backwards and forwards, and this girl is practically a baby, but he’ll be much more concerned if anything was forced. “Jerrica? Were you raped?”

“No!” She scowls at him. “I wanted to have sex. It was my idea.”

Steve inwardly cringes. “Okay. Let’s talk about this baby then. Do you know how far along you are?”

Surprisingly, she nods. “We only did it one time. It was right after Thanksgiving. Like two days after or something. So that’s like three months ago.”

“About fourteen weeks, actually,” Steve says, marking it down on the chart. “I’ll do an exam to confirm. Abortion is only legal in New York up until twelve weeks.”

Jerrica starts to look gleeful.

“Unless there’s a medical need for termination. A concern for the mother’s health.”

“But I’m healthy. And I want to keep it.”

“I know, I know,” Steve tells her. “But I just want to give you all the facts, all of your options. If you did want an abortion at this time or later, I would consider you a medical risk due to your age. I’d approve the procedure for you.” When she just gapes at him, he explains, “Your body isn’t developed enough yet for childbearing. I can tell by looking at you. A woman’s pelvis has to widen and shift before a baby can safely pass through the birth canal.” She squirms and blushes at Steve discussing her anatomy, which is just another indicator of how horribly young she is. “How old are you, Honey?” he asks her.

“Thirteen.” She juts her chin out. “Almost fourteen.”

“Have you ever had a pap smear?” he asks her, rolling his stool over to the counter so that he can grab some gloves.

“A what?”

He sighs to himself. Fuck. “A pap smear,” he repeats, making sure to give her a friendly, neutral expression. “It’s when the doctor checks your vagina for irregularities.”

Her face goes bright red. “No,” she mumbles, tangling her hands in her lap. “Do I have to do that?”

“You don’t ‘have’ to do anything,” Steve tells her. “But it’s normal to do a prenatal exam when a patient is pregnant. And at this stage that would involve a pap smear and a transvaginal ultrasound.”

Jerrica won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t want to do that,” she says quietly. She shakes her head and crosses her socked feet over each other. “I don’t want to.”

“It’s for the baby’s and your health. It’s important, but I’m not going to make you.”

“You can’t make me get an abortion either,” she asserts. “I Googled it.”

“That’s correct,” Steve says. “But Jerrica, can I level with you?” She nods cautiously at him and Steve says, “I can tell that your mom is bossy and that you two probably don’t always get along. Me? I’m just a nurse practitioner. I don’t know you and I don’t have any stake in what you decide to do or not do with your body, okay?” He waits for her to nod, then adds, “You are very young to have had sex with someone, especially someone who’s over the age of eighteen. Your mother’s right when she says that’s illegal.”

“But I wanted to!”

Steve shakes his head. “Even if you wanted to, it’s still legally considered rape on his part. Now, I’m not going to force you to tell me the father’s name, but I’m required to report this to our social services department.” When he sees Jerrica’s face fall in panic, he hurriedly adds, “You don’t have to tell them who the father is, either. You're not in trouble. But you will have to speak with a counselor and a social worker. My advice for you would be to take advantage of that. Talk it out with the counselor and really think hard about if you’re actually ready to have a baby. If you decide at any time that you do want to terminate, I’ll approve the procedure. And if you keep the pregnancy, then you’ll need to see a doctor at some point to be examined.”

Jerrica looks tense, but she doesn’t shake her head again or insist that she wants to keep the baby. She shrinks into herself, looking even smaller and younger than before. “... Do you think I should do it?” she asks, voice wavering.

Steve decides to be honest. “Personally? I think you should consider termination. You’re very young and the birth could be dangerous for you. You’d still have your whole life ahead of you to have a baby one day if you want, when you’re ready for one.”

Jerrica nods tearfully and scoots off the table. She hurriedly pulls on her jeans and then turns her back to Steve as she drops the hospital gown and yanks her shirt back on. She doesn’t look at him again as she turns for the door. “I’m gonna go find my mom,” she mumbles, and leaves the room.

Steve sighs, feeling wrong for having given her his opinion on what she should do. He’s really not supposed to do that, but this girl is so young. He wanted to at least give her some perspective. Figuring that his shift is pretty much over and he’ll soon be on break for dinner, he chucks the exam gloves in the trash and grabs the clipboard with Jerrica’s paperwork on it, heading out to go file the OmCare report.

He spends his break eating dinner in the cafeteria and then napping on an empty bed. His phone alarm wakes him up and he heads to the ward for his second shift. Clint’s walking down the hall in his civvies, backpack slung over his shoulder, and he greets Steve with a small wave. “I put my case notes in,” he says. “Sorry, Phil’s waiting in the car. We’ve got reservations for seven, otherwise I’d stay to go over—”

“I’ve got it,” Steve says, tossing his head in the direction of the elevators. “Go on. Have dinner with your husband, for once.”

Clint smiles tiredly, grateful as he continues on down the hall. “Thanks man.”

Sharon and Hope are on for the night. Steve has a quick meeting with them where they review ongoing cases and he gives them the run down on their newest patients. Hope agrees to spend some extra time with the woman in 416 who’s still refusing to have the hysterectomy that she definitely needs, Sharon makes the rounds with meds, and Steve grabs Bucky’s chart and heads to his room.

“Knock knock,” he says from the doorway, seeing the omega awake and sitting up in his bed. When Bucky sees him, he grabs the remote and mutes the room’s tv. Steve smiles and walks in. “How’re you doing?”

Bucky shrugs. “The counselor came. He was nice.”

“Who’d you get?” Steve knows just about everybody in OmCare, but turnover is high. “Clint?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s really good.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “He listens.”

Steve walks over and stands next to the bed. He sees the tray of food sitting on the bedside table: meatloaf and veggies that are barely touched, a half full glass of water, and an empty jello cup. “You didn’t eat much of your dinner,” he comments lightly.

Bucky glances over at the tray. “I haven’t been very hungry.”

Steve checks the kid’s chart, sees the notes that the day nurse wrote down in a messy scrawl:

Intravenous suppressants titrated down to 40mg/4 hrs at 12:00pm OmCare counseled patient 1:45pm–2:30pm 3:00pm–antibiotics dose administered Titrated intravenous suppressants down to 20mg/4 hrs at 4:00pm

Preheat symptoms observed. Agitation, low appetite, bellyache, cramps, elevated temperature. Patient reports mild vaginal bleeding but no pain, breast tenderness. Refuses exam. Patient has pain upon bearing down on pelvic floor. Ultrasound shows slick glands impacted with no improvement. Request form for on-ward heat suite submitted. Patient is resistant, refusing to select a support.

Steve finishes reviewing the notes and sets the clipboard aside so that he can take Bucky’s hand when he sits down on the side of the bed. “Bucky,” he says, keeping his voice coaxing and soft. “You’re getting close to your heat. Remember how we talked about getting you a support alpha?” Bucky shakes his head and tries to pull his hand back, but Steve holds fast. “It’s important, Honey. Come on now. Do you think you’d prefer a male or a female support?”

“Male,” Bucky says automatically, but he’s still shaking his head in denial. “But I don’t want one. I don’t.”

“It’ll be much better for you if you go through this with a support,” Steve says. He’s got no intention of forcing Bucky to utilize the service, but he knows that in a case like this, it’ll be borderline dangerous not to bring an alpha in. “We’ve got a binder full of choices. Here, let me go grab it for you.” He hurries out to the nurses’ station and gets the binder. When he sits back on the bed, he opens it to the first profile and hands it to Bucky. “You can look through and pick someone you’re comfortable with,” he says kindly, though he can see the dubious look on Bucky’s face as the kid flips through a few of the pages.

“I’m not gonna be comfortable with anybody.”

“I know it’s hard, Buck. I promise we’ll do our best to get you whoever you want to—” Steve pauses when Bucky gives a little gasp and freezes in place. “What?”

“You,” Bucky says, staring at the page.

“Me?”

“It’s you.” He points at the page, and Steve looks over to see his own profile picture. Shit.

“Um, I can’t—”

“I want you,” Bucky says firmly, looking up with large, hopeful eyes. His mind is made up. “You. It has to be you.”

“I wish I could, Sweetheart, but that’s not how it works. I’m your attending, so I’ll still be watching over you, but your alpha support has to be someone else.” He sees how devastated Bucky is at this and he absolutely hates being the cause of it, so he quickly takes the binder and flips through the pages to try and find a profile that might tempt Bucky. “Um, let’s see here. We’ve got a guy named Thor who’s really nice, and—”

“No!” Bucky throws himself forward, hugging onto Steve and shaking his head in refusal. “No I don’t want anybody else. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me!” He begins keening, distressed and grasping onto Steve desperately, rubbing his face against his wrist. Steve stares, dismayed by this turn of events. He tries to calm him down, but each time he goes to pull away the boy cries out and tries to bite him.

“Bucky, stop! Stop it. You need to calm down.”

He doesn’t stop and he doesn’t calm down. He just gets less verbal and more frantic, shoving himself into Steve and scenting stronger and stronger, until it fills Steve’s nostrils and consumes his senses. He grabs Bucky’s shoulders to try and push him off, but the omega fights back with an unnatural strength and gets his face in Steve’s neck, and that puts Steve’s face in his neck, and—oh no.

Steve is instantly hard underneath his scrubs. He’d neglected to wear any blockers before starting his shift. He’s getting the full force of Bucky’s scent, the scent of a young omega on the cusp of heat, and now Bucky is surely smelling him, a fully–aroused alpha. It all comes to a head when Steve loses his composure for the barest of seconds, and a low growl starts up in his chest.

Bucky hears it and stiffens, and then he bursts out in tears, frantic, crying and moaning and scraping his teeth over Steve’s neck. He’s humping Steve’s leg and Steve gasps when he feels a gush of slick leak onto his scrub pants. “Nnnn!"

"Bucky,"

"Nuh! need it, you. Please, Alpha, it hurts. Steve, Steve, Alpha please!”

Steve realizes that he’s been backed into a corner. Refusing the kid now will only cause more harm than good. So, holding onto Bucky with one arm, he reaches for the call button with the other and presses it. “Nurse, I need a heat suite prepped now.” He gasps and jerks in pain as he feels Bucky bite into his neck, hard. “Fuck!” He grabs the back of Bucky’s neck and squeezes into his glands, forcing him into submission long enough to reach the call button again and bark out, “And bring a sedative!”

Art: @hopelessartgeek

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[sequinsmile-x]

Fire & Ice

The case was over, the danger was gone and they could go home and finally celebrate Christmas.

The case was over, so she'd let her defences down, not knowing that the worst was to come.

-x-

Hi friends,

I actually have no idea where this idea came from. It was meant to only be one part, but me being me I got carried away and it is now two parts. Second part will be up in the next couple of days!

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: Canon Typical Injury, Aaron Hotchner Whump

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She had felt nothing short of an exhibit in a zoo for days. 

Every interaction she had with Aaron, no matter how small, was observed carefully by their friends. The two of them watched by everyone in the team with a critical eye, the news of their relationship still fresh to the people they considered their family.

It had ultimately been her decision to tell them. Keeping it a secret had been practical at first, it helped them navigate the journey from friends to more, but then they realised they liked it. Both she and Aaron had enjoyed the peace that had come with the secrecy of the first 6 months of their relationship, the lack of involvement from anyone other than Jack and Jessica something they had both treasured. 

She knew Aaron had wanted to tell their friends sooner than she had, his desire to share his love for her with the world clear in his eyes whenever he looked at her, but she’d been hesitant. It had taken a long time to feel like she was on even footing again after Paris, something she’s sure she would have never found if it wasn’t for Aaron, for his gentle but strong love as she came back to herself, and she didn’t want to shake the foundations again, to change the dynamic of the team once more. 

In the end, it was the idea of not being able to spend Christmas with him and Jack without it raising suspicion that had pushed her towards telling their friends. She’d always loved the holidays, a fact that had surprised Aaron when she’d talked him into decorating his apartment much earlier than he usually would, her knowledge of him and the fact he could never say no to her, especially when she was naked, something she had used in her favour. 

They told the team a few days ago, using the annual party that Dave threw as the perfect opportunity. It had gone exactly how she thought it would. 

Dave had insisted he’d known for months, JJ had smiled knowingly, Penelope had asked intrusive questions and Spencer had avoided eye contact with both of them. It was Derek whom Emily had been most worried about, his dislike of any major change and desire for the truth were two things that made her nervous.

He’d been standoffish, a tension in his frame that she’d expected but had still hurt. He’d barely spoken to her since and it made her ache. 

Ultimately, it had been for nothing anyway. They’d got a call for an urgent case on December 23rd, pulling them all out of their homes and the holiday atmosphere they’d fallen into, and they found themselves hundreds of miles away, helping a team of local detectives hunt down a serial killer who was haunting a town. The unsub was devolving at speed, which meant they knew it couldn’t wait until after the holidays. 

She was furious about it, wanting nothing more than to wake up on Christmas morning with Aaron, snuggled up against his side as Jack burst into the room, his excitement forcing him out of bed earlier than normal. Instead, they’d spent the day in a cold police station in the mid-west, sneaking away to speak to Jack on the phone instead, once again promising him they’d have Christmas when they got home. 

As annoyed as Emily was about the disruption to her plans, she knew Aaron was more upset. He always worried he was letting down his son, that Jack would look back at moments like this and feel like he’d come second to everything else. So she’d pushed her own feelings down, let them roll in her stomach, and tried to help him instead, making a point of making him smile whenever she could, of encouraging him back to their hotel room with the lumpy bed every night so they could have some time together. One advantage of everyone knowing they were together now was that they could share a room officially. He no longer had to sneak back to his room at dawn, and she could take advantage of every possible moment in his arms. 

She groans as the alarm goes off, and she screws her eyes shut, desperate to steal a few more moments of sleep. Aaron chuckles from behind her and presses a kiss to the back of her head as he leans over her to turn off the alarm.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, his voice thick and raspy with sleep. She loved how he sounded first thing in the morning, it was a part of him that was just for her, a part of her Aaron that she could have before he slipped on his Hotch mask for the day. 

“Let’s just stay in bed,” she replies, turning in his arms and pressing her face into his chest, hiding her smile when she feels his laugh more than she hears it, the rumble of it passing from his chest into hers, “No more work.” 

“I wish we could, Em,” he says, kissing her head before he encourages her back to look at him, his fingers tangled in her hair, “But the sooner we finish this case, the sooner we can go home and have our Christmas.” 

She hums and smiles sleepily as she looks up at him, “True,” she says, placing her hand on his cheek and tugging him in for a kiss. She sighs as she pulls back, her forehead against his as she thinks about leaving this room, the strange sanctuary they’d found between over-starched sheets and faded art on the walls. The second they were with the team again they’d be under the microscope, every little thing they did or said around each other scrutinised, “Think you can yell at the others for staring at us?” 

He laughs and kisses her nose, his smile only getting wider as she scrunches it up at him, “I think that might be an abuse of my power,” he says, stamping a kiss against her lips.

She rolls her eyes playfully, “What is the point of sleeping with the boss if he won’t yell at your colleagues for you?” She says, the end of her sentence lost to a yelp as he rolls them on the bed, his body over hers as he presses her into the mattress. 

He kisses her fiercely, his hands sneaking under her, slipping under her t-shirt that used to belong to him, his hands on her as he pulls her closer, his palms warm against her lower back, his touch something she now couldn’t live without. She kisses him back, her fingers tangling in his hair as she wraps a leg around his waist, her heel against his ass as he pulls back. She hums thoughtfully, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. 

“I guess you have your uses,” she says playfully, pushing his hair out of his face, and he shakes his head at her. 

“They aren’t that bad, Em,” he replies, his smile crooked as he looks down at her, and she raises an eyebrow. 

“That’s easy for you to say, you aren’t the one Pen sends a daily sex update request to.” 

His eyes go comically wide, “She does what?” 

She chuckles and stamps a kiss against his lips as he pulls away, sitting up next to her as she sits up too, yawning as she rolls her neck. 

“I wish I could say I’m joking,” she says as she stands up, stretching her arms over her head, smiling to herself as he watches her walk to the bathroom, his eyes fixed on her thighs, on the soft skin he’d sucked a bruise into the night before. She turns to look at him and winks as she switches on the bathroom light, “If it helps, I’m always incredibly complimentary.” 

She closes the door before he can reply, his words muffled slightly when he responds. 

“I think you know that does not help.” 

___

She’s sure she’s never seen the team quite so relieved to catch an unsub. There’s a collective sigh of relief when they get a confession, all of the work of the last few days, the time they’d all lost with their families, had at least led to something. 

She sighs as she starts to take pictures down from the board, carefully piling them in a file so they can be handed over to the prosecutor. She smiles as JJ walks over and joins her, the tension that had been in her friend's shoulders since they’d arrived nowhere to be seen. 

“What did Will say when you called?” Emily asks, her smile getting wider as JJ’s does. 

“Henry was already in bed,” JJ says, looking at her friend, “But Will said he was going to make cookies so we could ‘have a proper Christmas’ the moment I get home,” she chuckles and tilts her head at Emily, curiosity shining in her eyes, “How about Jack? Has Hotch called him?”

Emily nods, “He’s speaking to him now,” she smiles as she thinks of the little boy, her love for him nothing short of overwhelming, “I have a feeling I’ll also be talked into making cookies,” she rolls her eyes when JJ raises an eyebrow, “Fine, I’ll watch them make cookies and be the test taster.” 

JJ laughs and looks past Emily, nodding when a uniformed officer they’d been working with beckons her over. She pauses briefly next to her friend and places her hand on Emily’s shoulder. 

“You both seem really happy, Em,” she says, squeezing her shoulder, “If there’s any two people who deserve that it’s the pair of you.” 

Emily presses her lips together, a failed attempt to hide her smile, and she places her hand over JJ’s, briefly squeezing it, “Thanks JJ, that means a lot.” 

She was happy. Happier than she had ever been in her life. There were moments when it didn’t feel real, when the simplicity of the life she’d found herself felt like it was too much, like it would be snatched from her the moment the universe realised she didn’t deserve it. Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d watch Aaron sleep, her eyes fixed on the peaceful expression on his face, another part of him just for her, and she’d feel nothing short of unworthy. 

She’d told him that once, her insecurities catching up to her and forcing her to start an argument with him that she’d regretted immediately, her instincts to ruin something before it could be ruined for her still going strong. When she’d admitted that to him, tears she’d refused to shed shining in her eyes as she told him she felt like she didn’t deserve him, all the fight had drained out of him. He’d pulled her into a hug before he cupped her cheeks and held her in place as he told her in no uncertain terms how wrong she was, how much he and his son loved her, how she had been the missing puzzle piece they’d been looking for. 

She was still learning to trust being this happy, to allow herself to feel it, but day by day it was getting easier. She saw everything with him. A house. Marriage. More kids. 

She wanted it all. 

She continues packing away all of the casework and she looks up from the board when she hears footsteps, her smile turning tight when Derek joins her, the tension immediately palpable. 

“Hi,” she says, clearing her throat as she looks back down at the papers in her hands. 

“Hi,” he replies, barely looking at her as he helps her break everything down. She sighs and shakes her head, her patience with her friend, one of her best friends, fraying after days of him barely speaking to her over nothing more than the fact she’d fallen in love. 

“Look, Derek-”

“Morgan, Prentiss,” Aaron says as he walks over, his hands on his hips as he blows out a breath, “I’ve got to go with them to book the unsub at the county jail.” 

Emily frowns as she crosses her arms over her chest, “But that’s an hour away,” she says, sighing as she steps closer to him, unable to stop herself even though they were working, “Why can’t Detective Rooney do it himself?” 

Aaron’s jaw tightens at the mention of the lead detective they’d been working with since they arrived. He was a good man, but in over his head, the serial killer that had torn through his hometown at Christmas the biggest case he’d ever handled. 

“He’s asked for my support,” he says, a wry smile flashing across his face. She sighs, the thought of being here, of delaying going home for any reason, enough to make her chest feel tight again. Aaron notices, because he always noticed everything about her, determined never to let anything slip by him again, her fake death something that still weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he steps forward. He doesn’t touch her, won’t cross that line here, but he does get close enough that she can smell him, his presence enough to ease some of the tension that had started to build back up. He smiles at her, a soft thing reserved for her and Jack, “It’s only another couple of hours,” he says, “Then we’ll be on our way home, I promise.” 

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek as she fights a smile, “Yeah,” she replies, tightening her hold on her triceps so she doesn’t reach out and touch him, “We’ll be home soon,” she says, smiling at him before she steps back, “Be careful, the roads will be icy.” 

“I’m always careful,” he replies, winking at her before he turns away and she shakes her head at him. 

She only looks away when he’s out of her sight and she freezes when she sees Derek staring at them, a stern expression painted across his face. She shakes her head and clenches her teeth as she steps towards him, avoiding eye contact as she goes back to her task. 

“I get it was a shock,” she says, not looking at him as she finishes up packing the first of the boxes, “And I’ve put up with you being standoff-ish for days,” she looks at him, her eyes fierce “But I’d like it if you could get your head out of your ass soon, and just be pleased that your friends have finally found happiness after everything,” she lifts the box off of the table between them, “This isn’t some fling, I love him. He loves me, so get over yourself.”

She walks away, and she makes a point of not looking back.

___

Aaron sighs as he checks his watch, any hope of getting home before the sun rises fading with each passing second. They were on their way back from the county jail, the unsub successfully handed over, and the drive home was dragging out longer than the drive out there had. 

“Keen to get home?” 

He smiles tightly as he turns to look at Detective Rooney and then nods as he looks back at the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel, the bad weather making it harder to drive than usual.

“Yeah,” Aaron replies, a smile flicking onto his face as he thinks of his son, “My son, Jack, said he’d wait to open all his presents until we got home, he’ll be so excited he’ll be bouncing off the walls.” 

“We?” Detective Rooney asks, his eyebrow raised, and Aaron fumbles for a second, realising he’d slipped up, before the other man laughs, “We all knew you were with Agent Prentiss the moment you scowled at one of my men for flirting with her.” 

Aaron clears his throat, trying to push his embarrassment back down, “Well, I appreciate you not saying anything when we were working the case, we try our best to be professional,” he says, his smile tight as he tries to change the subject, “Do you have a family?” 

Detective Rooney smiles widely, “A wife and three girls,” he says, patting his pockets to try and pull out his wallet, “I have photos somewhere, our youngest is only just a year old so this was her first Christmas,” he looks in the back seat and sees where he’d thrown his wallet when they got back in the car, “There it is,” he says, unhooking his seatbelt as he leans back to get it, “My wife was furious I was working, but I told her this is the kind of case that makes or breaks a career-”

His words are cut off by the screech of the tires, the car moving of its own accord as they hit a patch of ice. 

It takes a matter of seconds, but it feels like an eternity, everything slowing down around them as Aaron does his best to gain control of the car again. It feels like it’s floating, any grip the tires may have had long gone as the car spins out of control. 

The car leaves the road and goes down a hill, time only speeding back up as it hits a tree, the bonnet crumbling around wood as if it was made of paper. 

Aaron hits his head hard on the steering wheel, his world narrowing down to the pain in his forehead, the way he feels immediately dazed.  His last conscious thought is of Emily and Jack, and of the promises he might not be able to keep. 

-x-

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[waytooinvested]

i must say your take on Non Nocere was genius thank you so much for it!

It truly makes so much more sense for the characters! I would love to hear some more of your ideas!

What would be another part of the story that you would change if given the opportunity?

HI! This is my first Supergirl ask, I am honoured and excited :D (apparently a little TOO excited because this got kind of long and rambly, but I'm going to post it all anyway because you've started me off now. I am however resisting the urge to add yet more 'and another things', which I absolutely could).

Thank you so much! I feel like there were so many ways they could have taken Lena’s post-reveal arc that would have made more sense than Non Nocere. I think it would also have been interesting to have something with more genuine moral ambiguity than ‘brainwash the entire world’ which, while framed in a way that had clearly good intentions is still… brainwashing the entire world. Lena just seems too much in favour of personal autonomy/individual rights to make that decision for the entire planet (and frankly too smart not to see the glaring flaws with that plan?). I *could* see her inventing a device that does what Non Nocere does, but on an individual scale. Ie you can put this thing on and be freed from your worst impulses.

Her fear of her own darkness and her struggle not to be like the rest of her family would tie in well, and could even help justify the decision to work with Lex again if he claimed to want to wear one when it was done. It would be a way for her to (think she could) have her family back but to get it RIGHT this time, and Lena craves affection so desperately, whatever she claims, Lex would be able to feed her the spin she needed to believe it (but unbeknownst to Lena would find a way to make a fake that gave off an apparently genuine reading but doesn’t do anything, so he could use it to manipulate her into believing his intentions were genuinely good and get her to help him with something that turned out to be Extremely Nefarious). The wearing of the device would be like a badge of trustworthiness to let her mark out people she could get close to without fear of betrayal.

She’d make them a requirement for her staff. Her friends. Anyone who wanted to be in her life. It’s something that could be horribly abused and no doubt would be in all sorts of ways that would make Supergirl & friends oppose it, but that would bring in the conflict, and the resulting fight would make more sense to me.

You could even have a scene where Lena goes to Kara all tentatively excited and hopeful and says that she has found a way to forgive her and they can be friends again! She just has to wear this, because then Lena will know she can trust her. And Kara refuses. Of course she has good reason to refuse – Supergirl can hardly wear something that won’t allow her to lie or hurt anyone when she has a secret identity and her whole thing is beating up villains… but Lena takes it as an admission that their whole friendship really was a lie and spirals further into heartbreak/anger/despair/Lex’s clutches (because HE wore one for her. Her murderous, Superman obsessed, apparently irredeemable brother did this for her and yet her paragon of hope shining example of integrity and goodness supposed best friend refused. And now Lena is questioning everything she thought she knew about who is really on her side).

ANYWAY you asked what other part of the story I would change and I just gave you a really long splurge of a DIFFERENT change for the SAME part of the story. Sorry!!

Honestly there are so many bits I would change...

The very first one that comes to mind is Kara’s big identity reveal at the end, because what WAS that? After they repeatedly hammered home how dangerous it would be and how it would inevitably lead to everyone she loved being targeted, suddenly all of that is just… fine? No need to address it at all? Even though there is now a small child involved who just got kidnapped and used against them REALLY recently?

I would have loved to see her embracing her Kryptonian heritage and living much more authentically with the people who are important to her instead of making a big public announcement. Like actually talking about where she came from and teaching her friends/family her language and culture so she can participate in things that are important to her with people she cares about, which feels far more genuinely meaningful than having strangers recognise her as Supergirl in the street (for example, trying to replicate food she misses from home - food is Kara's love language, this is something that could be such a wonderful way for her to reconnect with her past and have fun introducing her new family to it. Teaching them Kryptonian songs and getting them all to try them out at karaoke night! Hilarity and mispronunciations and a blending of all the things that have come to make her who she is ensue. Telling Esme bedtime stories and teaching her games she remembers from her own childhood, so she feels less like those family traditions are lost, because they don’t HAVE to be. And also Lena being super interested in learning about Kryptonian courtship rituals for... no particular reason...)

I could even see her coming out more generally as an alien, but she could do that without coming out *as Supergirl*. If nothing else, I feel like she would really struggle with having that much fame in her day to day life, because rather than letting her just live freely as her authentic self, announcing herself as Supergirl would put her under a microscope. Every single aspect of her life would be open for public scrutiny and judgement, and she’d find herself with far less freedom than she has as just Kara Danvers. It would be devastating to her life. It would put her and her loved ones in danger. It would be a really, really bad idea.

(also the fact that Cat made her editor in chief when before that she was probably one of the least experienced reporters who was hardly ever even at work because she was constantly nipping off to save the city, citing herself as a source etc… but that’s a whole other issue and is at least something she could have got to in time, after actually doing the work).

This is getting long now, so… probably enough for now? Thank you so much for the ask!!

[thelaughtercafe]

Intervention

Tea Type: Milk Tea

Potential Triggers: 

Pairing: Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu/F! Reader

Length: 700

Summary: Your constant interference in Fuyuhiko's job makes him come to a difficult decision.

To say Fuyuhiko was pissed was an understatement. He’d tried so hard to keep this mission under wraps so you wouldn’t do something stupid again but here he was, nervously pacing a hole in the floor of your room as the best medic he knew looked over you. 

The second the girl stood up straight Fuyuhiko barked at her, making her squeak. 

“She’d better be okay!" 

His former classmate knew him well enough to know his threats were out of fear and worry and she turned to smile patiently at him. 

"She’ll be just fine. It was only a surface level bullet would. It didn’t hit any organs thankfully. She should be waking up soon, but still don’t push her too hard, okay? Her body is going to want to rest to heal itself." 

Mikan placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder in support and then departed. 

You groaned as you came to a few moments later, looking around groggily. Fuyuhiko frowned deeply at your side but you smiled and your eyes lit up at the sight of your boyfriend. 

"Fuyuhiko! Thank God you’re okay I’m so-”

“We need to break up.”

“…What?”

Your smile fell instantly to one of worry as his frown never faltered though his eyes did drop and he shuffled his feet nervously. His face hardened suddenly and he met your gaze coldly. 

“I’m done dragging you into this life. I’m not going to be responsible for you dying to protect me. I’m no good for you.”

You cried out as he went to stand, lunging forward to grab his hand and wincing as you jostled the wound in your side. 

“Fuyu-ow!”

Worry flashed in his eyes and he rushed to push you down a little roughly as he put all his weight on your shoulders.

“Ok ok I won’t leave! The Hell are you doing, trying to reopen the wound!?" 

You glared up at him suddenly passionate and he flushed as your hands moved to frame his cheeks so he’d maintain eye contact with you.  

"Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, I love you.  More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Just like you don’t want me to die; I’m not just going to stand on the sidelines while you put yourself at risk either! If you want to be a coward and run away from this relationship; make no mistake; you’re not doing it for me. You’re doing it for yourself you selfish jerk!”

His eyes narrowed as he growled down at you. 

“Did you just call me a coward?!”

Of course he’d focus on that. Despite his apparent anger you could see he was flustered and his grip on your shoulders had softened. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. 

You smirked. 

“I sure did! And unless you make the right decision and let me help you’ll always be one. So…the obvious solution I’ve been asking for for ages is…”

You trailed off, looking up at him expectantly and he sighed in defeat gently pulling your hands away with his own and cradling them as he leaned down to press his lips to your fingertips, never looking away from your eyes the whole while. 

He felt satisfaction go through him as you were the one looking flustered and sheepish this time. 

“These hands are gonna cause me a lot more trouble…and maybe you’re right; I am a coward. A better Yakuza than me would have the strength to let you go. But…well.”

He chuckled and leaned down to seal your lips with his, only pulling back when you were both out of breath. His smirk was comfortingly familiar as he trailed his fingers through your hair. 

“I am also selfish. I want you by my side for as long as we both live. You win you ballsy motherfucker… I’ll train you.  But don’t expect it to be easy!”

The grin that broke out across your lips was legendary and Mikan had to tell Fuyuhiko to leave as you got too excited to sleep. 

Maybe he had changed you…but you’d changed him just as much. Now he was hopeless without you.  

Whoops. 

Oh well. Guess it couldn’t be helped.

He was stuck with you.

[mighty-ant]

Shadow's Bane, Chapter Twelve

ao3

Chapter 11

Lena’s knee bounced as she stared down the clock in the center of the station. 

There were still twenty-one minutes until her bus was scheduled to arrive. How was that even possible? She had to have been waiting an hour already, each second scraping by like Sisyphus’ stone inching uphill. 

Was Father Time a real person? Lena wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe her dad had bribed (or threatened) him into slowing the Earth’s rotation, to make it impossible for her to leave before they tracked her down. 

Lena tangled her sweating, shaking fingers in her frayed sleeves and choked down her pounding heart, pushing it out of her throat and back into her chest where it belonged. She dreaded discovery. Months of planning, of building her courage, could be undone in seconds if Beakley used her super-spy brain to find her. 

What would she do if she looked up and actually saw Beakley’s broad frame coming toward her through the crowd? Or Launchpad, stumbling and panicked? Would she be able to stand her ground, look them in the eye, and tell them she made her decision? That she was leaving and they couldn’t stop her? 

Lena wanted to say yes. She wanted to be resolute, unwavering. Of course, she also had a half-baked plan to hide in the nearest restroom and lock the door behind her. 

The daughter of the world’s greatest adventurer, afraid to stand up to her old nanny and her dad’s driver. What a joke.

“Are you okay?”

The gentle voice startled Lena out of her mental spiral, and she jerked back to meet the wide, worried eyes of the duck beside her. 

Right. How could she have forgotten about her benchmate? 

Lena hadn’t really expected to have an interaction with the girl whose doll she rescued beyond a thanks, see you never. But Webby, ‘technically Webbigail but nobody calls me that,’ defied expectation. 

After introducing herself, she rambled about the aunt who was going to pick her up, but hadn’t arrived yet. Visibly anxious over her aunt’s lateness and doing a poor job of hiding it, she’d craned her head back and forth like that would make her magically appear. 

“First time traveling alone?” Lena had asked. 

Webby smiled weakly, twisting the straps of her dirty, heavy-duty backpack. Seriously, what was she carrying in there, bricks? “Am I that obvious?” 

Lena shrugged. Thanks to her dad, she had years of practical experience.

She’d long since gotten over the fear of being alone, but Lena would never forget that first trip, the first school, all the way out in desolate Maine. And in a move that would’ve stunned five boarding schools worth of girls and administrators who accused her of being an antisocial, spoiled brat, she jerked her head at the stretch of open bench beside her.

“You can wait here, if you want.” 

But now Lena was starting to regret her spontaneous moment of female solidarity. Are you okay? What kind of question was that? She was unraveling at the seams and this girl acted like it was any of her business? 

Eying Webby’s own disheveled appearance only a little (or a lot) meanly, Lena couldn't help but snark, “Not to be rude, but you’re one to talk.”

Webby blinked, her haggard face blank with confusion. Once she followed Lena’s line of sight and glanced down at her dingy hoodie, she actually laughed instead of taking offense. “Oh! Yeah, sorry. I’ve been on buses for the last twelve hours and during my transfer in Mouseton they lost my luggage with all my clothes inside.”

She only sounded a little put out, but Lena winced all the same, shame burning the back of her neck in a hot rush. She probably wouldn’t be complaining about her cushy six a.m. flights anymore. 

“If only you’d lost that instead,” she tried to joke, nodding at Webby’s hoodie again. 

Webby plucked at one threadbare sleeve. “Oh, this isn’t mine!” she said, only to hesitate. “I mean, it’s mine now I guess.” 

“You stole it?” Lena would almost be impressed if the hoodie wasn’t objectively ugly. It looked old, and not the high end ‘distressed’ kind that the richie rich kids went for. 

“No!” Webby gasped. “It found it in–I mean, next to–next to the trash.”

“What?” Lena squawked, shrill in a way that would usually mortify her. “That’s nasty! Take it off, throw it back in the trash.”

Webby’s expression fell, which Lena shouldn’t feel guilty for but did anyway. She clutched at her trash hoodie. “I-I know it’s gross, but it’s all I have right now.”

“Here.” Without a second thought, Lena started shrugging off her leather jacket. 

Webby’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. “What? No!” She frantically waved Lena back. “No! I-I can’t take that from you!”

Lena rolled her eyes, shoving her jacket into Webby’s hands. “I got it for ten bucks at a yard sale. I’ll live.” 

It was the least Lena owed her, after making fun of her clothes like a complete tool. The last five years of fending off preppy snobs clearly hadn’t done anything for her social skills, especially when it came to perfectly normal, nice people. Webby might be the first person she’d ever had a real conversation with who didn’t know who her father was. She couldn’t screw it up more than she already had.

Webby hesitantly accepted the jacket, eyes flitting between it and Lena’s face, like she was waiting for Lena to say gotcha and snatch it back. Lena’s stifling embarrassment eased some when Webby finally pulled off her gross hoodie. She was wearing some sort of camo top underneath. 

“How’s that? Better?” Webby asked shyly once she had the leather jacket on, raising her arms out at her sides. Like Lena, it fit loose on her, but not in a I-stole-this-outta-my dad’s-closet sort of way. But Webby was lacking a few extra inches that Lena possessed, so if she were to stand up the jacket would probably reach down to her knees.  

Lena nodded approvingly. “Much better. You look badass. Like you could beat up half the people in here.”

Webby giggled, clutching the lapels of her jacket tight. Lena couldn’t imagine her beating a stuffed animal in a fight, but the smile on her face was a welcome relief. 

“I’ve always thought leather jackets looked cool, but I was never allowed to have one,” she whispered, as if worried the bored hipster sitting on the bench across from them might overhear (or care). “Not-not that I’m keeping it!” she insisted quickly. “I promise I’ll give it back to you. My aunt said she’d buy me some replacements if the bus company doesn’t find my luggage. When will you be back in Duckburg?”

Lena faltered, the clamorous buzz of the train station rushing back in around her. A glance at the clock. 

Ten minutes to go. 

“N-never,” she said, like a revelation. “That’s the plan.” 

She’d forgotten. For a split second, she’d forgotten why she was here. 

Webby deflated with a sad little, “Oh.” She raised her head after a moment, glancing around in mild confusion. “But…what about your family?” 

Lena swallowed thickly. Her hand shook, and she tightened it into a fist. 

“They’re staying here,” she said, as matter-of-factly as she was able. 

Webby eyes went wide, then wider. “Oh. Oh .” She leaned forward, speaking in a whisper again. This time with good reason. “Are you running away?”

Lena set her jaw, straightening her shoulders like she was going into battle. It felt necessary when she was up against Webby’s big, beseeching eyes. They should slap a warning on those. 

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” she bit out. 

A flare of guilt scorched her insides when Webby flinched at her tone.

“Well, I was hoping you’d be my first friend. I-in Duckburg,” she said quietly, hunching back against the bench seat and rubbing her arm. 

Lena herself leaned back, floored by Webby’s unfiltered honesty. Her friend. It was almost laughable. A joke played by any number of hateful girls in any number of hateful schools. But Lena didn't need friends. She liked being alone, she liked the quiet, and the freedom to work and plan and save her meager paychecks and imagine a place where she might finally be happy again. 

She smiled at Webby, a thin, scornful thing. No need to get the kid’s hopes up. “Sorry. Guess it wasn’t meant to be,” she said as dispassionately as she could. “Not sure you’d even want me as a friend, anyway.”

That… wasn’t supposed to slip out. 

Webby stared at Lena like she was the crazy one. “Why not? You saved my Quacky Patch doll, you’re giving me your jacket. Those all seem like really friendly things to do!”

“I-well—why do you care?” Lena sputtered defensively. She barely heard herself over the blood starting to rush in her ears. “Aren’t you just visiting Duckburg anyway?

“Huh?” Webby blinked. “No. I'm moving here to live with my aunt.” 

“Your aunt? Well, what about your parents?” Lena demanded before she could think better of it. 

Webby shrugged. “I don't have parents,” she said gently, breaking the news like she was more worried about Lena’s reaction than her being an orphan. 

Lena choked on her next breath, horror wrapping around her throat and squeezing. Of all the ways to get this perfectly nice, normal girl to hate her guts, and without even trying, too. Truly an all-timer in the Lena record book. She didn’t know when to quit, did she?

“Oh. God. I’m—sorry. Sorry about that,” she stammered and stuttered like an idiot. And instead of throwing her jacket in her face and rightfully storming off, Webby just kept staring at her with this stupid sympathetic expression. 

“It’s okay. I was little when they died, I don’t even remember them,” she said softly, like that was somehow less terrible, not worse. “I couldn’t live with my aunt cuz she wasn’t, uh…financially stable. So I've been in foster care until now.”

Poor little rich girl, Lena thought scathingly. Daddy not paying enough attention to you. At least you have a dad. 

“What about you?”

Lena startled, gawking at Webby’s politely curious face, as if Lena hadn’t just made her feel obligated to share her entire tragic backstory with an ungrateful, near stranger. No way Lena could keep up her jerky, mysterious loner schtick anymore. As long as she didn’t name drop anything McDuck-related, she’d be fine. 

“Me? Uhh…it’s just me and my dad. Sort of,” she said haltingly. 

“Sort of?” 

Lena waved a hand flippantly. “I don’t really live with him. He’s, uh, he’s pretty rich, and he only cares about his work, so he’s been sending me to boarding schools since I was like, ten. It stopped feeling like he cared a long time ago. So I figured I would just…leave. Live on my own. Make it official, y’know?” Lena admitted with less and less conviction. She dropped her head into her hands. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud,” she warbled against her palms, desperation spiking inside her. 

“No, no!” Webby exclaimed at once, reaching out with cold, careful fingers to brush against Lena’s arm. “I get it,” she said, hesitating. In a whisper so hushed, Lena had to strain to hear it, Webby murmured, “I’ve…I’ve thought about…running away before, too.”

Lena dropped her hands to gape at her. “You? Seriously?”

Webby nodded, the slightest movement of her head. Her eyes darted all over the place, barely lingering on Lena for more than a second, like she was on the lookout for eavesdroppers. 

“When I was living in…in my foster home,” she explained, even quieter than before. Lena had to scoot closer to her to even have a hope of hearing. “They were…pretty strict. I was alone a lot. Sometimes I thought about running out the door and never stopping. Or jumping out an open window. Going somewhere they’d never find me, where I could go on all the adventures I’d always read about.” 

Webby’s racing eyes stilled, and she looked down at her Quackypatch doll instead, pulling it out of her backpack to fiddle with the dingy, little pink skirt. Even then, her wide eyes were far away, longing and luminous. 

Lena swallowed thickly, the sincerity of Webby’s admission leaving her short of breath. Her perception of this girl kept getting turned on its head, challenging and humbling her, and now something heavy settled over them both, a shared desire, born of different fears. Their motivations were nothing alike, and yet…

“Do you…still wanna do that?” Lena asked quietly. 

Webby lowered her head and her grip on the doll in her hands tightened. “A little bit. Every day.” 

Lena floundered. “What about your aunt? Wouldn’t she miss you?” she said, like a hypocrite, thinking of Beakley’s guilt, Launchpad’s heartbreak. Even her dad would worry a little, wouldn’t he? 

“Nobody thinks about me that way,” Webby said simply, shaking her head. “She wouldn’t miss me. No one ever does. Even you’ll forget about me eventually.”

Pain tightened in Lena’s chest, a great big fist of grief burying past her guts and squeezing. Webby’s words struck home with precision, painful in their familiarity. She’d thought the same, told herself the same, too many times to count. With every boarding school, the faces of her peers blurring in her mind, every quiet, lonely visit home spent wondering who would leave her next, abandoning her to be swallowed by empty halls. 

Did anyone out there even remember Lena McDuck for more than her name?

Right now, she found herself already missing Webby’s smile, so she reached out and playfully punched her shoulder. 

“Nah, how could I? I’ll be thinking about how you still owe me a jacket.” 

Webby snorted, raising her hand over her beak, but her laughter all but transformed her face, erasing the distant grief from her eyes, the weight of downtrodden acceptance from her shoulders that made her look even smaller than she actually was. 

“If-if you don’t leave, maybe we can go shopping together?” Webby offered shyly, and Lena surprised herself by not immediately shooting down the overture. 

This was maybe the longest conversation she’d had with anyone in almost a year. They hadn’t even bothered sticking her with a roommate at her last school, so even her downtime was spent in silence, the only company provided by the noise filtering through her laptop headphones. 

Talking to Webby was…nice. Webby was nice. She didn’t have any distorted notions about Lena, hadn’t known her since infancy, didn’t think about McDuck first and Lena never, so it wasn’t hard to be honest with her. 

It was… nice to confide in someone. 

But if Lena did go through with this, board that bus (six minutes and counting…), and disappear into Cape Suzette, would she ever find someone like Webby again? Would she find Webby again? Sure they could exchange phone numbers, emails, whatever, but would that be enough? 

Lena never thought she’d inherited her father’s greed, but she was already eager, impatient , to see Webby again, to take up her hours with shopping, show her Lena’s favorite bad horror movies, explore Duckburg together. Nobody was ever happy to see Lena but she had made Webby laugh when her spirits were at their lowest. Webby wanted her to stay so that they could see each other again. 

Webby…was looking at something over her shoulder. 

Lena blinked, coming back to herself. “What is it?” 

Webby seemed to falter, but only for a second. 

“Do you know a big scary purple lady?” she asked quietly. 

Lena’s heart stopped dead. “Why?”  

Webby pointed behind Lena. “Cuz she’s heading right toward us.”

Though dread wanted to keep her frozen in place, Lena forced herself to look over her shoulder. Sure enough, a broad form was easily parting the bustling crowds, standing a good head above most of the passerby. And like a shark scenting blood, dark eyes locked onto her own behind thin cat’s eye glasses. 

Beakley had found her. 

“Lena?” she heard Webby ask, but distantly, like she’d been dunked several feet underwater. “What’s wrong?”

Lena stood up in a panic, only to freeze in place again. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and no time. 

She swirled her head anyway, gaze tearing over the station walls. Hiding in the bathroom was out, and the ticket booth was shuttered. Should she make a break for the trains, and get on the first one departing? Was she that desperate? 

But then she saw it. 

“There!” she shouted. Without a second thought, she grabbed Webby by the hand before dashing forward. Webby didn’t offer a word of protest, matching her desperate speed at once. 

Lena’s eyes were locked on a wooden door she’d never noticed before, tucked behind a pillar. It was painted bright red, perfectly smooth, and unlabeled. Maybe a broom closet, or some sort of security office. It wouldn’t hide her from Beakley for long but it was better than nothing. 

“Open it, quick!”

Webby didn’t even hesitate before grabbing the black door knob and twisting, opening the door an inch. Lena dove forward, shoving her way through and dragging Webby behind her. As soon as Webby’s ridiculously huge backpack cleared the edge of the doorframe, Lena slammed it shut behind them. 

“There’s no lock!” she hissed, sweaty palms overlapping around the doorknob, as if her weak grip would do anything to keep Beakley out if she was determined to enter. 

“Lena,” Webby whispered from beside her, facing inside the broom closet. 

“She’s gonna break down this door any second…” Lena muttered, hopelessness surging alongside her crackling adrenaline. 

“Lena!” Webby hissed frantically. 

“What!” she snapped, whirling around. Lena glanced at Webby for a second before looking past her. And her jaw dropped. 

This was no broom closet. 

Instead of linoleum, the floor was paneled with black wood that was almost hidden beneath faded, intricately woven rugs of all sizes and shapes. The walls were equally obscured by teetering towers of books, faded scrolls, feathered quills, and bottles, among what Lena could recognize in the dim lighting, stacked vertically atop each other. Many of them almost touched the vaulted ceiling, which swirled with faintly glowing constellations as if they’d been plucked straight from the night sky. 

High on the walls, framing the room on the right and left, were windows , each pane decorated in prism shapes, letting in pale blue rays that alighted on the stacks and on the winding path that was cleared among them. 

Even with the windows, the hustle of the train station at their backs had vanished entirely, as if they’d been transported somewhere else. Somewhere distant, cool and quiet. 

“Holy crap,” Lena muttered. 

“I think we’ll have plenty of room to hide in here,” Webby said, hushed. 

A creaking voice rose from the depths of the room, beyond the towering stacks, making them both jump. 

“Come forward, please. It is impolite to linger in doorways.”

Lena and Webby exchanged an uncertain glance. 

Do as the old, spooky voice asked or run back out into the train station, where Beakley was definitely waiting to drag her back to the mansion?

Lena stepped forward. 

Webby grabbed her sleeve in a flash, halting her in place. “Lena, what’re you doing?” she whispered, eyes wide. “We don’t know who that is. We don’t even know where we are.”

“It-it’s gotta be some kinda office, or something,” Lena tried to rationalize. “Besides, they already know we’re in here. No use hiding.”

“But we are hiding,” Webby insisted. “Who was that? The lady chasing you.”

Lena groaned. “That was Beakley. My dad’s housekeeper. He must’ve sent her to track me down.”

“Oh,” Webby said quietly. “To keep you from running away. Will you…will you be in trouble if she catches you?”

“I’ll probably be grounded for the next fourteen years,” Lena muttered. “And my dad might forget about it but Beakley won’t. She’ll have me sent to military school this time.”

Webby looked relieved, which, ouch? 

“Oh, okay,” she whispered. “I was worried that they might punish you.”

Lena’s blood chilled at Webby’s phrasing and the fear in her voice. Why would her mind jump to that? 

“Oh. Uh. No. Is that…something you had to worry about?” 

Webby shrugged. “The matron at my foster home could be pretty strict. It…should be better with my aunt.

The old creaky voice snapped between them like a whip crack. “I’m waiting, young ladies.”

Without further debate, the two of them scurried forward. 

Carefully following the path between the teetering towers of junk, Lena started to wonder if this was some sort of secret antique shop being run out of an unused wing of the station. It was the only thing she could come up with that explained the sheer oddity of the place, and the even stranger stuff within: a silver globe, mirrors in varying sizes, cauldrons . 

Finally, the piles shrank until there were none left to navigate around. The smell of incense, something warm and spicy, wafted under her nose. And it was there that they found the source of the voice. 

Situated in an alcove beneath a massive triangular window, bathed in pale blue light, was an old crow. 

She sat hunched in her ornately carved black chair, nearly blending in with her feathers if it weren’t for the gray around her eyes and of her long, coiled hair draping over her shoulders. Bundled in shawls and skirts of red in various shades, she scrutinized them with sharp, impossibly green eyes, brighter than the emeralds Lena recalled littering the Money Bin. A pair of wire frame glasses sat atop her dark, cracked, wickedly curved beak, which curled in a smile as they approached the circle of light around her table. 

“I’m so sorry, ma’am!” Webby blurted at once. “We didn’t mean to intrude, but we’re-we’re—”

“We won’t tell anyone you’re squatting in here if you let us hide out for five minutes,” Lena demanded briskly, to which Webby grabbed her arm and shook it furiously. 

“Lena! Don’t be rude!” 

The old crone appeared unruffled by their disruption. She raised one gnarled, feathered hand, covered in enough rings to make a mob boss jealous, and crooked her fingers at them. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be, children. Step forward, so I may see you better.”

Lena exchanged another dubious glance with Webby. 

Idly, she thought of all the fairytales her dad used to tell her, the old women who were not what they seemed, wolves in sheep’s clothing. She thought of the children in those stories, who fell for the witches’ trickery so easily. 

They moved a few inches closer, stepping into the triangle of light cast upon the crow. 

She tilted her head in consideration. “Hm. You seem awfully young to be wandering on your own.” 

“We’re not alone,” Webby bit out, letting go of Lena’s arm. But instead of hiding behind Lena, like she might’ve expected, Webby actually stepped in front of her. A whole head shorter and Webby was trying to protect her. Lena might’ve laughed if it hadn’t sparked a stuttering warmth in her chest, surprise warring with hesitant fondness. 

 “The shadow and the simulacrum.” The crow hummed, her song creaking in her throat with a sound like aged wood. “An unexpected friendship, but already its power grows strong.”

Lena thought that pointing out she and Webby had only met twenty minutes ago would be a little mean, and besides, didn’t she just admit that she didn’t want to lose Webby at the end of all this? It didn’t seem like the old lady was even talking to them just now anyway. 

“Who are you?” Lena asked, hopefully a little less rudely. But knowing her, probably not. 

The old crow refocused on them with a gleam in her emerald eyes. “I am known by many names,” she croaked. “But I am a wise woman by trade. I offer insight to those who request it.”

Well, that didn’t sound super shady or anything. Maybe Dad had been right about not trusting spooky old ladies with vaguely supernatural inclinations. 

“We didn’t request anything,” Lena said at once, her stomach going tight with a shot of nerves. 

The crow shook her head. “You must have. Or my door would not have appeared to you.”

“What kind of insight do you offer?” Webby asked carefully. 

“Today? Insight into the present and the future. Its obstacles and potential outcomes.” The crow waved her hand over her table, and a row of playing cards fluttered into existence, appearing in an arc across the surface. The backs of the cards were black, but intricately designed with gold filigree. Another flutter of the crone’s hand and all the cards flipped over, revealing they weren’t playing cards at all. They were tarot cards. 

Lena clapped her hands together briskly. “Okay, thanks but no thanks. I think we’ll be going now. Let’s bounce, Webby.”

The crow bowed her head. “If that is your wish,” she said calmly. 

Lena paused midstep, walking backwards so as to not lose sight of the crow. In front of her, Webby had her dukes up, like she was prepared to fistfight the old lady if need be. 

“What, you’re not some freaky witch trying to trap our souls in your deck of cards?” Lena demanded hotly. 

Her memories of childhood weren't the best, but she did still faintly remember the child-appropriate (and not) stories her Uncle Donald and Aunt Della would tell of their adventures, harrowing tales of cursed pirate ships, possessed idols, immortal gods. She used to dream of joining them, of training alongside Aunt Della, always knowing Uncle Donald would be there to catch her if she fell, trusting Dad to want her around. Those dreams had since turned to nightmares, their adventures little more than forgotten bedtime stories featuring someone else’s family. 

Lena never imagined that she’d find herself in the middle of one of those stories. Not now. Not anymore, when ‘adventure’ was all but a forbidden word. 

The crow just smiled at Lena’s accusation of sinister witchcraft. “My door is unlocked, if you’ll recall. There is no way for me to lock it, especially from all the way over here.”

Oh, Lena definitely believed that. About as much as she believed this lady definitely wasn’t a witch. Though, if the crow meant to trap them, she could’ve just locked the door as soon as Lena slammed it shut. There was no point in biding her time unless she just wanted to mess with them before enacting her evil plan. 

“Lena,” Webby whispered. “We should go. If she’s telling the truth, let’s just leave—”

“You may leave. Or, you may remain long enough for me to give you a reading,” the crow said, spreading her hands over the table. “The one you are hiding from will not find you as long as you are behind my door.” 

Lena’s eyes snapped back up to the crow and the old woman met her gaze evenly, green eyes placid. It didn’t feel like a threat, for all Lena’s suspicion. And if she could put off confronting Beakley long enough, maybe she’d leave the train station altogether thinking Lena had gotten away. 

And Lena knew that she was more afraid of facing Beakley than having a curse put on her. 

She crossed her arms, tilting her jaw up defiantly. “Fine. Tell me my future.” 

“Lena!” Webby gasped. 

Lena turned to her, trying to gentle her voice. She was the reason poor Webby got dragged into this, after all. “It’s okay, you can go. You don’t have to stay in here.”

“I can’t just leave you here alone!” Webby retorted with a seriously impressive scowl. “If-if you’re staying to have your fortune told, then so am I.”

“I am no fortune teller,” the crow interrupted, her gnarled voice quieting them without effort. “I am an observer of possibilities. Pathways. What is, and what could be.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” Lena said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s get this over with.” 

The crow gathered the cards together, a sizable pile of them, and shuffled them with a flick of her wrist before spreading them before Lena, facedown. “Pick your cards. One at a time.”

Lena blinked. “I pick?”

“It’s your future, isn’t it?” the crow raised one white-feathered brow. 

“Har har…” Lena stepped forward, already reaching out, but hesitated just short of touching the cards. “How many should I grab?”

“At least three.”

Lena followed her directions, placing each card in a row in front of the crow, face side down. But as she pulled out her third random card, a fourth accidentally came free alongside it.  

“Whoops.” Lena went to push it back into the pack.

“Leave it be,” the crow said. 

Lena added the fourth card on top of the third. 

The old crow folded the remaining cards back together with a snap and set them to the side. She waved a hand over Lena’s cards, spread out in front of her. 

“Past, present, and potential future,” the crow intoned. “We begin at the beginning.” She flipped over the leftmost card, revealing an upside down illustration of a cloaked figure, brandishing a lantern against a starless sky. 

“The Hermit, reversed,” she explained gravely. “You isolate yourself, never allowing anyone to know you. You have lost your way in the world.”

“That’s the typical teenage experience for you,” Lena snarked as something inside her twinged at the crow’s wording. She hadn’t lost her way. The world lost her. 

“We enter the present.” The crow flipped over the next card. Lena stared down at the four long staffs, sprouting leaves, erected in pairs in front of a castle. “Four of Wands. You are at a crossroads, between choosing home or a life of uncertainty. Of transience.” 

Lena winced, but didn’t comment this time. Even if her desperation to run away wasn’t obvious to anyone with eyes in their head, having it laid out for her so plainly was jarring. 

After so long, giving up and abandoning her family to start over somewhere new, with no guarantee of success or safety, hadn’t even felt like a choice. Just a natural conclusion. Her dad had left home hadn’t he? Set sail from Scotland on his own to find his fortune, his future. Really, what was holding her back from doing the same?

The crow flipped over the third card. 

“The first of our future readings. Ten of Cups.” Like the name implied, there were ten cups on this card, displayed in an arc, almost like a rainbow, high above a happy family standing in a grassy field, with a little red farmhouse in the distance. “This speaks of home and satisfaction. If you choose to stay, you will know true happiness again.”

Lena scoffed quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. Sure. And maybe Uncle Donald would walk through the front door tomorrow, and her dad would remember she existed. 

The crow flipped over the last, fourth card. 

Almost immediately, Lena knew something was wrong. 

The crow looked down at her fourth card and faltered, something like trepidation flickering over her features. The card was another upside down one, this one featuring a young fox in medieval garb brandishing a sword. 

“Page of Swords, reversed,” the crow eventually explained, raising a weathered, ring-laden hand to her beak as her brow furrowed. “This…is strange. This card means to say that the same path that will lead you to fulfillment will also be paved with deception. An unseen force looms in your future. Favorable or foul, that I cannot determine.” 

Lena chuckled weakly, doing little to dispel the flutter of anxiety that the crow’s reading had created. There was a reason her dad disavowed street magic, after all. If it wasn't complete nonsense, it just filled you with existential dread. 

“Love it. Just as ominous as I expected,” she drawled.

“Our reflection can often appear warped when presented in an unfamiliar mirror.” The crow shuffled Lena’s cards back into their neat pile before offering it to Webby. 

“As for you...”

Webby’s eyes went wide and she backed away for the first time, waving her hands in front of her. “I-I’m fine, I don’t need–I mean, I don’t believe—”

“C’mon, don’t let me be the only one creeped out here,” Lena joked weakly, giving her a nudge. 

Webby looked up at Lena for a long moment, searching her face for…something. She must’ve found it, as she swallowed and turned back to the crow with a more resolute expression, though the corners of her beak were still tight with uncertainty. “I, um…okay.” 

She reached out and chose her three cards with careful precision, not accidentally pulling out a fourth like Lena had done. The whole time, the crow watched her with a strange sort of scrutiny she hadn’t shown Lena. 

Once all three cards were placed on the table, the crow placed her hand on the leftmost one again. 

“We look to the past,” she said, flipping it over to reveal an upside down image of a duck carrying a bindle over their shoulder, standing at the edge of a cliff but looking ahead instead of acknowledging the drop before them. “The Fool, reversed. This card speaks of innocence, born of ignorance. Like the youth depicted in the card, you don't realize how dangerous of a position you find yourself in.”

Lena looked worriedly over at Webby but the girl gave no reaction other than to cross her arms. None of this is real, Lena reminded herself. Webby knows that.   

The crow moved onto the next card when the silence on the other side of her table didn’t break. “Present.” This card was of a young woman gently prying open the jaws of a lion, with flowers in her hair and threaded over her white dress. 

“Strength. A promising card. This speaks of your will and compassion, challenging those that would take advantage of you.” 

She flipped over the final card, and Lena’s stomach swooped pendulously. 

“As for your outcome…” 

A woman, tied up and blindfolded, with swords stabbed into the ground around her, caging her in. Of course . 

“Eight of Swords,” the crow croaked gravely. “If your inner strength fails, I see a prison of your own making, chains that you bind to yourself. In this, you would remain a pawn until the end.”

Lena swallowed against the flutter of nerves climbing up her throat, frustrated with herself for letting herself get spooked by this haunted house junk. A glance at Webby revealed a startlingly intense scowl on the younger girl’s face. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said sharply, her hands balled at her side. 

The crow spread her hands calmly. “I do not control the cards.”

“Sure you don’t,” Webby scoffed. “Spoken like a true charlatan.”

“Believe what you like.”

Lena barked a startled laugh. “Dang, Webby. Take it easy!”

Webby glanced up at her and a small smile broke through her scowl. “Sorry. Can we go now?”

Beakley had to have moved on by now, right? They couldn’t hide in this weird old lady’s closet forever. 

“Yeah. Let’s get outta here.”

They’d barely taken a step, Lena hadn’t even turned her back, when the crow spoke again. 

“Take heed. You may not believe, but your fates are intertwined as of this meeting. Keep your readings in mind, and be wary of those that would manipulate you for their own ill intent.” 

“Lena, let’s go,” Webby whispered, tugging on Lena’s sleeve. Suddenly, the leather jacket that had only fit a bit loose on her seemed to swallow her as she buried herself in the collar. That made Lena’s decision for her. 

“Bye, lady. It’s been weird.”

She turned around, nearly tripping on one of the rugs beneath them in her haste. Webby stayed at her elbow, keeping pace as they hit the winding maze of book towers. A wordless, unexplainable sense of urgency propelled Lena forward, the crow’s warnings echoing in her head as the darkness behind them deepened and leeched forward with clawing fingers. 

They reached the red door and Lena grabbed at the doorknob. Dozens of late night horror movie binges had her half-convinced that the door wouldn’t open, trapping them inside.

But no. To her relief, the doorknob turned under her palm. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Webby cried. 

They shoved their way forward, practically falling through the doorway and bursting out onto the other side. 

Lena flinched back as she was immediately blinded by the fluorescents of the train station. At the same time, she was hit by the rush and chatter of the crowds with such force it was as though the chaos had physical weight, so jarring was it after the tranquility behind the red door. 

The sensory overload left Lena blinking dumbly at her new old surroundings, and a glance at Webby’s expression proved the younger girl was in a similar boat. She laughed breathlessly, sweeping her bangs out of her eye. 

A shadow fell over Lena just as she was beginning to get her bearings. 

“Lena Downy McDuck!”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach, falling far past her heels, until it hit the molten center of the Earth. Ice flooded her veins as if it had been injected with a needle, freezing her in place despite the adrenaline making her heart pound against her skull. 

Lena turned to face her fate, moving with exaggerated slowness, like that might do anything to save her. 

She found Beakley looming over her, just like she knew she would, fury written across every line of her face. But so was a fearful sort of confusion which knit her brows, and left a few hairs of her smooth, military regulation bun hanging out of place. 

“Heyyyy, Mrs. B–”

“Where on earth have you been?” Beakley demanded, ruthlessly cutting her off. Whereas Lena expected a tongue-lashing, Beakley’s voice was tight with worry and she knelt in front of Lena, wrapping a hand around her shoulder as she scanned her up and down. “You vanished from my sight for almost a full minute, Lena! I feared the worst.”

A minute? Their fortune readings had easily lasted ten minutes. 

Feeling plenty bewildered herself, Lena tried to explain, gesturing behind her. “We-we went through the door—”

“What door?”

Lena and Webby whirled around in sync, which would have almost been funny if the extremely conspicuous red door they’d just burst through hadn’t blipped out of existence. The wall behind them was blank, solid, as if the door and the expansive, cool, cluttered room beyond and the old crow within had never existed in the first place. 

“Ummm,” Lena said, blinking hard. 

“And who are you, young lady?” Beakley was squinting suspiciously at Webby now. Whatever confidence Webby’d had in facing down the old crow was nonexistent now as she shrunk beneath Beakley’s glare.

She waved feebly. “Oh, uh, I’m Webby! I just…I was looking for my aunt, because I’m moving in with her today, but I dropped my Quacky Patch doll and Lena found her and she let me sit with her which was really nice of her, but then she lended me her jacket because my old one smelled like garbage and that was even nicer of her to do–”

Lena cut off Webby’s rambling before she could mention the witch behind the disappearing door. “Hey, lay off her! Webby was just keeping me company.” 

Beakley looked taken aback by Lena’s ardent defense of a near stranger, but only for a moment. Her superspy hackles dropped and she smiled at Webby much more pleasantly. 

“I apologize, dear. What did you say your name was again?”

Webby stood eagerly at attention. “Webbigail Vanderquack, ma’am,” she said, before stepping back more shyly. “But I-I prefer Webby.”

“Webby, dear, would you give Lena and I a moment of privacy?” Beakley asked politely, with an undercurrent of uncompromising steel that had Lena swallowing nervously and eyeballing potential exits (of which there were none). 

Webby nodded so vigorously Lena was surprised her head didn’t pop off. “Oh! Y-yes, of course.” Before stepping away, she looked over at Lena hesitantly. “I’ll…I’ll see you in a bit?”

Lena rolled her eyes with a heavy dose of teenage sarcasm, even for her. “Well I missed my bus, so I’m not going anywhere.”

It made Webby giggle, which Lena appreciated. But with that, she crossed over to a nearby bench, her giant backpack somehow still in tow, where she sat down out of earshot. And more importantly, leaving Lena to the tender mercies of the world’s most dangerous housekeeper. 

Beakley stood back up, rising to her full height and folding her arms across her chest. The overhead fluorescents cast a brilliant glare over her glasses, hiding her eyes and making her expression unreadable.

“I see you made a friend,” she said plainly. 

Lena scowled, crossing her own arms. “So?”

Beakley tilted her head down enough for an arched brow to become visible. “In the last five years, I don’t believe I have ever heard you make mention of a schoolmate without enough vitriol to kill a man. What is so different about this child?”

Lena shrugged. “There’s no big mystery. Webby’s just… nice. ” Nice like her classmates weren’t, like Lena wasn’t. The world didn’t stop for nice people, it chewed them up and spat them back out. Like it had to Webby. And Lena, once upon a time. 

She meant to stop there, really she did. Lena was a bird of few words, no matter the circumstance. But she thought of the stupid witch and her predictions, that ‘true happiness’ would come at the cost of staying home, in Duckburg, in the mansion, when she’d been so close to turning her back on all of it…

“Shouldn’t you be happy for me, or something?” Lena snapped, glaring up at Beakley. “She’s probably the reason I’m not on a bus halfway to Cape Suzette right now.”

Even before the words left her beak, Lena knew she’d made a mistake. She could feel the air getting sucked out of their shared corner of the station, the hubbub beyond them deadening. 

Feeling Beakley’s eyes on her like a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders. Lena dropped her gaze. She turned away from Beakley as her skin burned under her feathers, and vulnerable, hateful anxiety seared a hole in her gut.

Above her, Beakley sighed. Lena tried not to flinch. 

“What were you thinking?” Beakley asked quietly, her hand coming down to wrap around Lena’s shoulder again and turn her back to face her. “What could have possessed you into thinking this was a good idea? You know better. I know you know better.”

Lena worked her jaw, staring hard at Beakley’s collar rather than meeting her eyes. 

“You scared us all half to death, Lena,” Beakley went on, despite Lena’s continued silence. “I have half a mind to lock you in your rooms and throw away the key.”

That got a laugh out of Lena, albeit stilted. “Pretty sure there’s laws against that in this century.”

Beakley barrelled on like she hadn’t heard her. “Not to mention Launchpad, who’s so terrified he’s obeying traffic laws for once. And your father— ”

“What, did he run back to the Money Bin?” Lena interrupted, unable to help herself. “Another important meeting?”

“He’s the one who found your letter.” Beakley’s tone was sharp, the verbal equivalent of a slap. 

Lena faltered, trying to recall what she’d scribbled down in her haste, eyes blurring with hot tears as fury and grief tore at her chest.

sorry for running away, but I thought it would be easier this way

“I’ve never seen your father in such a state.” Beakley shook her head, grave. “I had to wrestle the landline away from him before he could order the governor to mobilize the National Guard. The only reason he isn’t here now is that I managed to convince him to stay in the mansion, in case you came back home on your own. You’re welcome for that, by the way.

“Now,” Beakley said, inhaling deeply to collect herself. She shifted, hands going to her hips as she loomed over Lena, radiating disappointment. “I’ll ask again. What were you thinking?”

Lingering guilt and resentment roiled inside Lena, turning explosive. “I was thinking that I wasn’t gonna wait to be sent away again. I’ve basically lived on my own for the last five years, so I know how to take care of myself! I was just gonna make it official.” 

The frown on Beakley’s face turned pitying. “Lena, despite what you might believe, you are still a child. I cannot allow you to do this,” she said gently. 

It just infuriated Lena further, her hands trembling in fists at her sides. 

“Why not! What difference does it make? The mansion is barely even home anymore, and my schools definitely weren’t. Why not start fresh? Isn’t that the ‘McDuck’ way?”

“It isn’t your way,” Beakley said firmly. She knelt to meet Lena at eye level, though she didn’t try to reach for her again. “I know things have been difficult since…” 

Even here, now, nowhere near Dad or the mansion, Lena watched Beakley still hesitate to say it aloud. Names that had become taboo, their owners’ presence all but erased, not helped by her own faded memories of family who shattered her home with their parting. 

Beakley shook her head, a self-admonishing gesture. “Since your aunt and uncle, and even…Duckworth. But your father has been trying to…he’s trying his best. And I know it may not seem like it now, but things will turn out for the better.”

Lena rolled her eyes so hard she was surprised they didn’t get stuck in the back of her head, like Duckworth always warned her. “I thought you were a realist, Mrs. B.”

Beakley chuckled. “I am. And you know that I’m no liar.”

Lena huffed, wrapping her arms around herself and looking away to hide the increasingly wet shine of her eyes. 

Beakley nudged the underside of her beak to regain her attention. She smiled sadly when Lena looked at her out of the corner of her eye. “Your father made a mistake, Lena. He mixed up his dates. You know how he can be, so fixated on one thing he completely botches another. He had every intention of being at the airport.”  

Lena believed her. How could she not? 

Beakley wasn’t Duckworth, hadn’t been there for her since the beginning, but she’d become a new constant, a confidant. Beakley challenged her dad in ways that Lena couldn’t, and she would never lie for him. 

But was the truth enough? 

Lena wasn’t sure. But she knew that she was tired. 

Movement nearby drew her attention. 

She watched a middle-aged duck with a cloud of curly red hair approach Webby, still perched on the bench, calling out to her with a smile. On spotting her, Webby brightened, a grin breaking out across her beak. She dashed over to the lady who had to be her aunt, and she caught her in a hug, lifting Webby off her feet with a cry of laughter. 

Her aunt put her down and Webby immediately turned around, seeking out Lena this time. When their eyes met, Webby waved frantically at her. 

Lena smiled, waving back. 

It was like people always said, girls who meet creepy fortune-telling witches together, stay together. Or something like that. 

Beside her, Beakley had stood back up and she waved to Webby as well. That same hand fell to Lena’s shoulder, a gentle but uncompromising presence, much like Beakley herself. 

Time to go home, then. 

Beakley spoke quietly as they headed for the station entrance. “He called you. Your father. Won’t you at least listen to his message?”

Lena wondered if Beakley thought she hadn’t been scolded enough. She couldn’t imagine there was anything on that voicemail but increasingly incomprehensible Scottish gibberish and a promise to ground her until she was somehow older than her dad.

Controversy, the idea that he might’ve called, begging her to come home, was laughable. Scrooge McDuck didn’t beg. He didn’t barter or bargain. 

“Maybe later,” Lena muttered, as freedom slipped through her fingers. 

For now. 

[sixbynine-da]

I did the omegaverse thing! :D My @goodomensafterdark Pride exchange gift fic for @mageofthepeople finished just in time! 

And sneaking in to post just before pride weekend is over 😀

They have the full piece as their gift you all can wait for me to slowly post it over the next few weeks 😛

This is particularly special to me because this pride has been the first one I’ve really felt able to honestly participate in even if it is just in this small way.

In part my confidence to do so is down to the @goodomensafterdark community, in general, but also to the many many queer folk I found there who were not only incredibly welcoming but very forthcoming and informative in a way that simply wasn’t an option open to me when I was younger. It’s taken me a pretty long time to find my part of the rainbow but I’m getting there!

<3 ANYWAY. MOVING ON. FIC and stuff.

Summary: 

Aziraphale has finally come of age and is being presented to society to find a suitable alpha to provide children and carry on the Easterling legacy.

To bad she has no interest in any of that, and is more than capable of letting that opinion be known.

At least until she crosses paths with a mysterious stranger who has secrets of his own.

Beta’d by @fuzzygoblin and @onedappercat 

Whom i lured in under the false pretence of it not being that long then spat out almost 30k. Soz. my bad. thankyouthankyouthankyou

Excerpt:

Aziraphale eyed up the window; they were on the second floor, but it would hardly be the first time she’d climbed out a second or third floor window. She looked out of it and down below: gravel and bushes. There was a ledge underneath she could hang off to lower the drop. It probably wouldn’t be very dignified, but there was no one around to see her. Once out, it wouldn’t take her long to walk home. Mama and Michaela would be furious once they came home and found her, but at least she’d be free of this corset and any more banal chit chat from dull boys with dull interests. 

Decision made, she looked down at the long skirt and train of the dress. Tearing it was unthinkable; it was a family heirloom and every Easterling girl had worn it. Muriel was eagerly awaiting her turn. Mama would likely be far more furious over that than anything else. Aziraphale unwound the length of golden ribbon in her hair, letting her curls fall loosely over her shoulders as it came undone. She tied it around her waist firmly and gathered her skirts between her legs, hauling the weight of fabric up and tucking it through the ribbon until her feet were free and her dress resembled very loose breeches. 

Aziraphale put her hands on the side of the window frame and lifted a leg.

“Going somewhere?”

Continue on AO3!

[from-memphis-with-love]

Gambling on Your Love - Ch. 7

Summary: Francesca Ferrara grapples with the fallout of her breakup with Elvis Presley. As she decides to prioritize her aspirations and move away, their complex relationship faces its ultimate test. Elvis, heartbroken but respecting her decision, finds himself lost in his career and memories of what could have been.

Word count: 8,000 Warnings: Mature subject matter; abortion. Want to catch up on our babies? Start with these first: Chapter one, two, three, four, five, and six.

Francesca knew not where to be. She couldn’t find comfort anywhere. Her apartment didn’t feel like her own any longer. She didn’t have any friends in the city. Elvis wouldn’t stop calling her, so now her home had gone from ringing silence to ceaseless ringing in a frustrated snap. She just couldn’t take it anymore.

She answered his first call, without saying a word, and listened to him breathlessly plead with her to say something to him, to say anything to him. He didn’t understand. He was sorry. It was a horrible, sickly feeling she wanted to separate from so badly it made her insides twist. She held tightly onto a throw pillow and dreaded each moment that passed, knowing any moment he could come knocking at her door again.

It's been a week since she’d suddenly called things off with them. Whatever “them” had been. She sighed, burying her face in her bunched knees. How unsightly. She hadn’t left the house in days.

Her suspicions had just grown and grown and grown. She thought how easily he could be playing her. How blindsided she could be by her affections. Why wouldn’t he use her as a stepping stone? Wouldn’t putting her out see him in more pictures? His career had everything to gain by snuffing hers out. They were both triple threats in the same genre. Maybe the great Elvis Presley couldn’t bear to share the spotlight—even for a moment—even for a woman he…

Did he love her?

Gray morning sunlight filtered in, her cat chasing the fat beams on the floor. The churning within her stomach became too much. Her palms dewed with sweat, tingling when she tightened her robe. She swallowed thickly, the motion making her swoon. Slowly, she stood up from the couch. The room was spinning and her face felt hot while her body ran cold. Quickly, she fretted to the bathroom, going to her knees and desperately bracing her quivering frame against her commode.

No, no, no. She hated getting sick. Vomiting was damn near terrifying. Her eyes watered and she hurled into the porcelain. Again and again until she was heaving dry, just gasping for a breath. She crawled towards the shower, undressing as she let steam waft. She adjusted the water, lukewarm to ease her burning, shuddering, distressed body. Her stomach was empty and yet her head still spun. She’d never felt such distinct dizziness before. It rocked her for a long moment, where all she could do was brace against the porcelain and watch through slitted eyes as water circled the drain. It just felt good to have the water on her skin, pattering her like a lover's fingers.

Francesca didn’t know why, but tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the water as she blinked them away. It felt cathartic to weep, to release herself to an almost soothing sense of sadness that felt better than the nausea. 

I miss him…

After what felt like an hour, Francesca was finally stable enough to stand up and cut the faucet off. That had been awful. Like the worst bout of acid reflux she’d ever experienced. She eased back onto the couch, still wrapped in a damp towel as she breathed. Normalcy was over her in a thin, wavering grain, not entirely rooted. If she moved too quickly, she’d spiral back into bleak dizziness. But if she remained still and slowed her breathing… Everything was alright.

Just when she thought she’d capture a comforting morning recovery nap with her kitty curled up in her lap— there was a heavy knock at her door. It wasn’t Elvis’s frantic rapping, her intuition confirmed when her courteous agent called her name from the other side.

“Francesca? I couldn’t reach you on the phone. I hope you don’t mind. My visit wasn’t totally unannounced, but I can see you haven’t checked your mail either.”

Frannie glanced over to a pile of letters sitting unread in a basket by the entrance. More still were caught in the letter slot, haphazardly spilling in. Cautiously, she rose up to unlock the door, sliding on her robe to undo the chain and let him in. His hair had grown a bit since she’d last seen him and he brought her flowers, gesturing a bouquet of tiger lilies at her.

“Did you sleep a wink last night? You look awfully pale. Running a fever?”

“I’m fine, just a bit of a stomach bug is all.”

He raised a brow at that but didn’t say anything as he stepped inside. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to swing by for a visit to check on her, but she wasn’t oblivious to the concern wrought on his face.

Francesca put her bouquet in a crystal vase, cutting the stems and submerging them in cool fresh water. She couldn’t help but feel like them. Sustained with the bare minimum, looking pretty until she wilted.

“Nick,” she began, turning towards him, slowly so that her head didn’t start swimming again. She still felt so floaty. Her throat burned. She was hungry but had no appetite. Ugh… “Thank you for the flowers and for stopping by.”

“I’m not here to fuss at you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Though, I will say,” he stopped, glancing at her pink rotary phone. Following the cord with his eyes, he slipped it back in with a finger wag. “Don’t do that to me. It’s one thing if I can’t get in touch with you, you’re a tough, independent girlie, I know you’re fine. But it’s something else to send Elvis Presley on a wild goose chase with me right in the middle of it. You know how many times that man called me looking for you? He thinks I’m the one who’s put ideas in your head about quitting.”

She scoffed. “He’s certainly committed to his bit. Tell him to… tell him to kick rocks!” On one hand, Elvis Presley was one of the most considerate, generous, thoughtful men she’d ever met. He gave her everything and more. But on the other, Francesca knew no man who was as steadfast at achieving his goals. He and his shifty little manager had gotten under her skin. It was exasperating, exhausting to constantly deal with. The reshoots had been another drop in the bucket. But that interview, that’d been the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

It would have been so easy to attribute it to tabloid fakery that an opportunistic reporter just fubbed up to make a paycheck. But there had been intimate details in the paper. Things only Elvis should know. 

“And the rumors about your and Ms. Ferrara’s on-screen relationship being more than just fictional?”

“Let’s just say, we like to do a little method acting. No runaway horse rides.”

“Oh, maybe runaway motorcycle rides then? Ladies, take note, this is how you can find an excuse to put your arms around that man you’ve been eyeing. Ask him for a ride on his motorcycle.”

Elvis laughs, looking coyly to the side before back at our mic. “Actually, Frannie has her own.”

“No kidding! Francesca Ferrara on a cycle?”

“She’s better at it than me. We made it all the way to Mt. Charleston Village together on iced over roads.”

“That’s dangerous, no? Driving in the mountains with all that ice?”

Elvis grins. “Well, we might have gotten snowed in.”

Francesca was equal parts furious and betrayed, that he would feel so careless to share her heart with him. Just when she thought she’d found the one that she might be able to spend the rest of her life with. It was like he understood her, would fly with her instead of trying to cage her down like many a man had seemed intent to do. 

She yearned for the chance to talk to him again just as much as she braced for it. As soon as Dominick plugged her phone back in, it began to ring. He looked at her before they both glanced at the phone, anxiously calling out to her. The answering machine picked up and she could see the tape was almost full of unanswered messages Elvis had inadvertently left behind.

“Frannie. If you’d just talk to me. If you’d just tell me anything, I’d give it up. But I can’t stop thinking about you. You know I’m crazy about you. It feels like you took a piece of me with you when you left. Just talk to me. Call me. We don’t have to talk about the movie. Just… please, Chess.”

Oh, the longing. The pleading in his voice. It got to her. Her knuckles were pressed to her mouth, pursing the words back, holding the desire to pick up. Maybe she did owe it to them both to explain why she was so worked up. It wasn’t just that awful article… it was everything on set. The movie might not be cursed, but maybe she was. It felt like a specter had been looming over her entire presence on set, sabotaging everything. Things went missing from her purse. Objects in perfect condition were found broken. Her hospital visit, her dress, the film itself being cut—it all seemed too convenient that so many awful things happened to her and only her.

Elvis on the other hand, had only improved. Word was it that he had a three-picture-deal lined up whether Gambling on Your Love took off or not. At this point, Francesca worried if the film would ever be released. Her part in it had been so crucial. The reshoots had been sloppy, comparatively. She couldn’t get out of her own head. Cassandra might have been pacified, but Francesca wasn’t. That just wasn’t her best work. And there was still the final duet that needed refilming. It’d taken them just a few clean takes the first go around, Cassandra wanted the shot to be continuous and three solid minutes of song and dance under hot casino lights without breaking a sweat in high heels was easier said than done. 

Francesca had been flawless. The first time. Elvis was with her step for step. He’d been practicing, not neglecting his vocals and his choreography recitals, even after their forays together.

How she missed him. 

“You know I always want what’s best for you.” He patted his coat pocket, checking to make sure his cigarettes were there. He knew she didn’t allow smoking in her apartment. “I’ve got a few scripts we can go over. One of these is out there. It’s a macabre, black comedy thriller about a female doctor moonlighting for the mob. Another is a Bond-Type, special agent. You’ll be in a group with two other actresses and the director let me know personally that you were his first pick for the leading lady.” His voice was slightly upturned, like he had a few more.

It was nice to get her mind off of things and focus on her future. This was just a stumble.

“Anything else?” She grinned insinuatingly.

Dominick crossed his arms, his head leaning side to side like he mulled over whether to tell her or not. Chewing over it, he finally spat, “And lastly, I’ve got a screenplay and a hungry director asking for you again. It’s about a single mom whose husband dies in a factory fire and she makes ends meet as a dancer.”

At first, Frannie winced. “What type of dancer?”

“Eh…” Dominick was like a father figure. He didn’t like discussing relationship matters (other than his warnings about their effect on her public image), and he most certainly didn’t like discussing the racy and the tawdry. He nervously prattled his fingers on his knees. “A gentleman’s club. There wouldn’t be any topless scenes. Only implications. The offer is pretty good Frannie, the director in charge is Billy Wilder.”

Director of The Apartment. It was a pretty successful romantic comedy-drama. She wasn’t entirely certain that was on brand for her though. He could sense her hesitation.

“You'd be surprised how much classier the script is on paper. The female lead meets a rich client that wants to take care of her and her son. Only a few scenes are supposed to take place in the club.”

“How much?”

“More than Gambling.”

She inhaled. “Alright. Just, say yes to it all. Not all at once. I can’t be everywhere at once. And I need some time off in between... I’ve been writing some new songs.”

“You’ll definitely have to relocate for the first one though.”

“Oh?”

“The director doesn’t want to travel to Mexico for some shots, so Phoenix will have to do.”

Phoenix, Arizona? She was sunburnt just thinking about it. But at the same time, a change of scenery seemed exactly like what she needed. Maybe some sun would do her good, lots of it. 

Dominick hugged her tight, ruffling her hair like one of his kids. Left alone again, her thoughts came rushing back as did the rings on the telephone. This time, she picked up the phone and Elvis must have been so surprised by an answer that he didn’t speak, he just waited on another ring to check if this was happening.

“Frannie? Frannie. What’s this about you leaving the movie? Talk to me… you know that interview is all bogus. You can’t really believe it! Anyone could have said those things!”

“And our trip?!”

“Maybe we were being followed! You have to believe me. I’d never do that to you. You know how private I like to keep my business...”

“I can’t believe you! I just can’t! It all just seems too convenient to me that—that you never wound up in the hospital with an allergic reaction to the makeup on set. Your clothes never tore, your shoes never broke. Your home was never ransacked. Your most private memories weren’t trampled through and sold to the highest bidder—still out there waiting to be drip-fed to the press. I—Elvis, I can’t even remember everything I’ve written in my diary over the years.” She inhaled sharply; she couldn’t get enough air.

“Frannie, take a breath. You need to calm down. You’re not thinking about things clearly. Why would I do anything to sabotage you? This is our movie. We’re in this together. Do you know how many strings I had to pull just so I could get on camera with you? Colonel Parker wouldn’t budge until I gave him a bigger cut.”

“Your nasty Colonel is the same man who gave me the newspaper with that… awful article. Elvis, I don’t want to lose faith in you. I want to trust you, but I simply can’t. There’s too much that’s happened and it’s making me sick the more I think about it.”

The room was starting to spin again. Her heartbeat was like a strobe, making the lights brighter with each pulse. She leaned against the arm of her settee. It was nothing like her other. So many things were changing, even her body felt different.

“So, what’s there left for me to say? Is there nothing I can do to make you change your mind?” She could hear him switch the phone to his other ear. “Because if you won’t talk to me, I’m coming down there. This isn’t right, Frannie. You know how I feel about you. You know I love you, Goddamnit.”

“Don't say that!” She gasped, like he’d struck her. “Don’t say that to me!” He was pure evil, holding those words until the last possible second. When he felt most afraid of losing his grip on her. That’s what this had all been about. His control over her, on set and in real life. If he got close to her off camera, there was nothing she could hide from him. She wouldn’t be his friendly competition anymore, she would be another one of his playthings, another woman tamed, another notch in his belt. She wondered how many other girls he’d confessed his undying love for, just to get them to stay another night.

“Why don’t you want to hear me say that, Francesca? Do you really hate me that much now?” The anguish in his voice was enough to make her second guess her words. It cut like a knife, the blade twisting when his pitiful voice would crack. “Fine. Have it your way. You have my number. You have a whole lot of me, Frannie.”

She listened to the static of silence on the receiver, threading between their ears like spider silk, ready to write her words.

“You have a whole lot of me, too, Elvis Presley.”

*

Their parting was tender enough, but that’s what frustrated Elvis the most about it. She wouldn’t answer most of his calls. She wouldn’t open the door. When he tried throwing pebbles at her window again, she didn’t come to meet him. She’d almost entirely cut him out of her life and perhaps the most painful part was how easy it seemed for her to do it.

It was going on nearly two weeks and each day trudged slower than the last. He went to the studio a few times, but the only thing left to film was an impossible scene. They might have a movie without that final duet, but it wouldn’t have half the heart, and Cassandra was devastated at the suggestion of trimming anymore fat. Elvis ached for her too, she was carrying a silent burden, trying to keep everyone on set smiling. She still had a payroll to make.

“You know, I’ve always been able to tell when to back down. I think that’s a good quality for someone to have. Does that make sense? Or does that just make me a quitter?” Cassandra was talking more to herself than him as she slowly drug a virginia slim down to the filter, tamping it out on the galvanized metal siding, dotted black with countless butts.

“I didn’t stop believing in her. Or you,” Elvis admitted. 

Back home, he didn’t try calling her again. Well, for about half an hour before he couldn’t stand it anymore, but this time, he got nothing like what he expected.

Frannie picked up, but she didn’t say anything for a long moment. He heard her inhale and he savored that sound, like she was in his ear for real and not just miles away, avoiding him.

“Elvis, I can’t talk right now. I’m about to step out, can’t you call another time?”

“Why won’t you at least let me see you one more time? I can’t stand feeling so disconnected from you.” It was impossible for them to communicate solely like this, unable to see each other face to face, even if he could perfectly envision her sultry eyes and her red lips, the dark whirls of her hair framing her beguiling smile. 

“I’m leaving, Elvis. I’m hanging up now.” But she paused again. He could hear her tighten her grip on the phone.

“Then why did you even answer me in the first place?”

Static. She hadn’t hung up. Her lips parted, he heard her take another breath. “Elvis, I feel like I should tell you something.”

He slumped into the couch, his heart racing. Say it, tell me. “I’m listening, Frannie. You can tell me anything.” He needed to hear her say it, that she loved him, too. That she was sorry for how she was trying to end things. He knew his persistence would pay off, and that was before the opal necklace he’d had made for her— sitting close to his chest in his breastcoat. 

“Elvis, I’m… I don’t feel really well.”

"Well, we've had a rough time. I'm not feeling well either--"

“I might be… oh, I’ll just come out with it. There’s a chance that I could be pregnant.”

The emphasis on that last word struck him like a hammer. Recognition struck. Flashes of images arose in his mind of cold snowy mornings by the fire. Where they’d made love in primal, abandon fashion. 

A wash of unfamiliar warmth, of stirring potential glinted in his eyes. He was speechless. The thought of Francesca, swelling with his child, was enough to make him swoon. She was going to have his child. He—

“Elvis. Did you hear me?”

“Yes! Yes. My God, Frannie. I’m on the way now. You can’t do this by yourself.”

“No, no, no. See, you’re—you’re getting… carried away. Just, listen to me for a moment, please. My monthly is late, and my mornings are horrible. I’m going to see a doctor now just to be sure.”

“Of course! Do you want me to meet you there?” He was overflowing with a frightening sense of giddiness. All at once, his future seemed more unsure and more hopeful than it’d ever been. It was like he could reach out and grasp it, a purpose that finally grounded him, fulfilled him. 

Ah, but Frannie’s voice, the things she was saying, there was no elation. There was only a quivering fear. He could hear the tinny pitch of her voice when she swallowed. He could see the tears streaming on her beautiful face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m nervous enough about taking myself. It’d be over if we were seen together.”

“What will be over?”

“My career.”

To him, that seemed like a small price to pay.

Her apartment it was then. He waited out on the street for her to pull up, he wasn’t sure what to expect her in. With the evening sky darkening overhead, a few plips of rain stained the asphalt, precursors before the clouds dropped and curtains fell. He could barely see down the street past sheets of rain. Oncoming headlights, each pair, he hoped they were her. After another hour, maybe more of listening to the radio, intermittently cranking the car on to use the wipers—Frannie pulled up in a little yellow taxi.

She was dressed in all black, unassuming and dour but undeniably classy. Her pencil skirt flourished around her ankles, her small feet perfect in glossy black flats. She was quite obscured from the public eye. Any unassuming fan glancing her way wouldn’t be able to recognize her beneath her cat’s eye sunglasses and wide brimmed hat.

Elvis couldn’t get to her fast enough. He cut the car off and jogged across the street, dodging traffic as he made his way to her. Shucking off his jacket and holding it over their heads, Frannie glanced casually at him before fanning open a clear umbrella for them both.

She smiled at him and stepped closer. His arms were around her before he could think, before she could protest, before he could be bothered to worry about any onlookers. Her body was warm, trembling. In that instant, he felt inexplicably drawn to her—more so than ever before. But when he went to kiss her, she let him land only briefly before motioning quickly for him to follow.

“Good heaven, just get inside, dummy,” she laughed, sprinting across puddling cement to the revolving doors. Bennington greeted them with a tip of his dewed hat.

He was soaked to the bone, she, just so. But the dampness made her already bespoke clothing cling lovingly to her curves. His gaze was rapt, he wondered briefly if he was in a dream as she led them into the newly repaired elevator. 

The tension between them was buzzing and he couldn’t stop looking at her. She was beautiful, her hair clinging to her face from the rain. 

“I miss you so much,” he respired, turning towards her, just barely resisting pinning her against the wall. With his hand clasping her stubborn little chin, he turned her face towards him, dipping his head in for a kiss. But the elevator lurched to a stop and Elvis composed himself swiftly as a duo of retired elderly ladies stepped in, blinking wearily but amicably at the two of them.

The polite greetings passed as the ladies exited at the next floor and Frannie snickered, rubbing her face in her palm, like she savored her first laugh of the day.

“I missed you, too,” she admitted as the doors opened.

“Not enough to return my calls.” He pouted, only slightly playing it up. She still had a vice grip around his heart. It was a dangerous position to be in, a high that kept climbing and he didn’t know when it was going to end.

“I answered some of them,” she retorted, turning the key in her door. He watched as she winced before opening inside. Preparing for the worst. But relief washed over her features and she scooped up her cat who greeted her loudly (or begged for a refill on the kibble).

Her apartment had changed, most notably… There were moving boxes. Decorations had been taken off the wall. Most of her furniture was gone.

“Where are you going, Frannie?” He asked point blank, leaving her no room to dodge. But she didn’t squirm as she took off her glasses and hung up her hat, kicking off her shoes to sit beside him on the couch. She relaxed against him, like he hadn’t asked her anything—and with how sweetly she was curled against him right now, he was second guessing repeating himself.

“Frannie.” He brushed back her stray bangs, watching the corners of her mouth turn in.

“Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?” He asked. She settled deeper against him, her hand across his chest. She was relaxed, breathing slowly, like she could fall asleep at any second. “Is it for a movie?”

“Mmmhm.” She nodded, sitting up suddenly, her lovely eyes level with his. “I think it would be good for me to get out of this city for a while. Filming doesn’t start until May, but I found this beautiful townhouse in the suburbs to lease for a bit.”

Elvis could appreciate how easily she talked to him, but her lack of restraint was cutting him.

“What did the doctor say today?” He was dying to know. If she was carrying his child, he was going to need to make several sudden changes. But if it was for his family, he’d happily do it.

Frannie clearly didn’t want to talk about her potential pregnancy. Maybe it scared her, maybe she thought childbirth was painful. But he would see her through every bit of it. She wouldn’t ever be alone.

Although, Colonel Parker might have a few things to say about Elvis and Francesca’s situation at hand. He decided then and there not to tell him, not until the time was right.

Frannie nodded, with her hand bundled tightly in her lap and her face downward. He could see tears gathering at the corner of her eye. His heart ached to see her in distress. Arms winding around her, he pulled her close against his chest. 

“I’m pregnant,” she breathed. Biting her lip so hard it whitened, she shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t be pregnant, Elvis!”

But he was already happily embracing her, thinking about the family they were going to start together!

“It’s alright! We can make it through this. You know I can support you and our little one,” he assured her. But the moment those affirming words left his mouth, he knew he’d regret them by the callous look she whipped at him.

“Support me?” Frannie reiterated. “Me? Elvis. I can support myself just fine. And you and I both know there… that there’s no way for a baby. Not right now.”

His brows knitted together. Confusion struck him. “Well, what do you mean there’s no way? If you’re worried about me being there, I’ll be the best dad a kid could ask for. I’ll marry you.”

Frannie threw her hands up, her face was burnt red. Tears streamed. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. She pointed at him. Lowered her hand. Opened her mouth. A small sound escaped and she buried her face in her palms.

“Elvis, we can’t do this!” She wailed.

“Frannie, Francesca, please, look at me. Talk to me. We can. We can.”

“I don’t want to!” She gasped. Like the words hadn’t meant to slip. “I can’t just put my career on hold. I’m just getting started, Elvis. I can’t stop now to raise a family and keep a home. I want to–”

“So, what are you saying? What do you think we should do about this then?”

Frannie’s frustration built to the point that she looked ready to scream. He’d never seen her so upset before and all he wanted to do was say the right thing to help make it better. But everything he did seemed to just be making things worse and worse.

He gathered her in his arms. He could almost feel the pieces of her shaking apart, like if he didn’t hold her close enough that she’d crumble. She turned into him. He could smell nothing but her intoxicating perfume. Her dark hair fell like waves over her shoulders.

“I just want you to hold me for right now,” Frannie whispered, burying her face in his neck. 

“I can do that.” He could do anything for her, all she needed to do was ask. “You’re shaking like a leaf, Frannie…” He stroked her back, her tightly bound muscles cleaving against his gentle touch. 

She melted into him and he wanted to rejoice. He praised her with his love. Lightly at first, like the rain that’d softened outside. 

Elvis kissed her forehead, inhaled her feminine scent with his eyes squeezed shut. Thunder rumbled outside. There wasn’t any space between them anymore. It was electric, feeling her so close once again. He had been spoiled by her, he craved only her. His dreams were haunted by a dark haired goddess.

When he was aroused, he desired her—thought of her. She was the pinnacle of desire in his mind. He didn’t know why she didn’t believe him, but he truly did love her. The depth of his feelings could only be conveyed in the same way he’d always done so, with his touch and with his giving.

Frannie unbundled beneath him, breathing in his air. He kissed the fine bridge of her nose. Her eyes fanned shut and she tilted her head up to receive the next one. When his lips made contact with hers, it was crushing. He couldn’t get close enough. He slanted his lips against hers, fed his tongue into her mouth, felt her hesitant reciprocity.

She gasped, her hands clinging to him while he kissed her. His hands wove through her wild tresses, freeing it from the shiny little pins. He glanced down at her graceful neckline, and saw the pearl necklace he’d bought her months ago. She wore him over her heart still, even while she supposedly couldn’t stand to see him.

Here, she was fawning for more, reaching up for him passionately while he laid her back on the couch. Lightning flashed outside and they were caught staring at each other, just breathing.

He wanted her. He needed her. And every bit of Frannie said she needed him too. 

Her knees parted just slightly, letting him slip in between her thighs. He settled against that softness and groaned, his arms shaking while propping himself upright. How he’d missed this. Frannie had inadvertently lowered his tolerance, heightening the experience even more. Had she planned to rile him up like this? Was she scared that he might abandon her? Maybe this was her way of playing hard to get— albeit later in the game than most women would dare.

“Frannie…” He purred, cradling her face in his hands and melding his mouth against hers. She tasted like cinnamon. Her cheeks were flushed pink still from her tears. 

“Elvis— we shouldn’t,” she bit out, that protest prancing away when he lowered his attention to her sensitive nape. Instinctively, she turned her head to the side to give him better access to her neck. She adored when he painted his kisses here, or the occasional love bite. His mark was already thoroughly on her.

“Why not? Tell me that you want me to stop and I might.” He wouldn’t. He continued his path, pawing at the neckline of her dainty black top. Peeling it down with his greedy hands and with his teeth, he freed her lush breasts. He wanted to whip her into a frenzy. How could she be so cold towards him when all he felt for her was molten heat burning him up from the inside?

Elvis was crazy about her. He just wanted her crazy for him, too. He really thought she was. But somehow, he’d messed things up royally along the way. If she would just give him a chance to make it up to her—he would spend all of his time making it right. Making her happy.

But Frannie was pulling away from him, at first physically, but he could see her withdrawing from him entirely, even while she was still panting from his attention. She scooted up and at a distance from him, leaving him feeling cold in her absence.

He reached for her, stroking her arm. He couldn’t bear to have her pull entirely away. 

“Elvis, you know I can’t have this baby.”

“No, I don’t know that.”

Francesca looked at him, her eyes pleading for him to understand, for him to listen. And he knew. He knew exactly what she meant, what she wanted. What he should say. But he just couldn’t bring himself to agree. It felt like the moment he cleaved, she’d be gone. The thread cut and Frannie would dance out of his life, merrily wagging her finger and leaving him a broken hearted mess while she went on to fame and stardom— all things that she deserved. But didn’t his happiness matter, too?

“I hate that I’m having to even make this decision. I can’t believe we were so careless. I… I just can’t help but feel that we met each other at the wrong time. We met too soon.”

As much as those words cut, they also rang true. He understood her. He felt an undeniable draw to her. Francesca Ferrara was his soulmate, but perhaps they had met too soon.

“So, what do you think we should do?” He asked. He wanted to hear her say it. The decision was ultimately hers. Try as he might, he couldn’t force her to do anything that she didn’t want. Not that he desired to. Elvis wanted Frannie as his wife because she wanted to be, not because she had to be out of societal pressure.

“God, I really don’t want to say it. The word, but… I’ll get… I’ll go to the doctor to have it taken care of. I can’t be that far along, maybe I can just take the pill...”

Elvis blinked. She’d been thinking this over. How long had she’d known? And sat alone in this emptying apartment with that heavy burden all solely placed on her shoulders. It broke his heart to picture her, with her knees drawn up to her chest. 

“Frannie, is this really our only choice?”

“And my other option is what, exactly, Elvis? Who is going to hire a pregnant actress? The moment I start showing, it’s curtains for me. Even if I try to hide it—someone will find out. Someone always finds out! You can’t have these kinds of secrets. You have to know how relentless they are for any crumb of something. I’ll be plastered all over the papers, slandered, rumors—oh, God, the rumors. Is the baby actually Elvis Presley’s?” She shuddered. “I want to see just how far I can go. Is that so selfish of me?”

Elvis had so much left in him to push for it. He wanted to argue that it was better—it was right—for her to take her place in the homestead and help raise this baby, but… he would be lying if he said he didn’t see the logic in her decision. Maybe it was selfish of him to try and tie her down. But it made him panic to see her ready to take flight and leave him on the wire, watching after her as she soared.

“I know that you don’t want to hear any of this,” Frannie laughed bitterly, sniffling as she absently looked at the backs of her hands. “But you’re the only one I can talk to. I haven’t even told Dominick. Not that I plan to. I think it would be for the best if we went our separate ways after this.”

Neither of them spoke for a long pause. He nodded, understanding and respecting her intent, her decision, even while it burned him to agree. But loosening his grip might be the only chance he had at keeping her in his life. He was watching her slip through his fingers in real time.

“There’s really nothing I can say, is there?”

“I don’t really think you’re going to talk your way out of this one,” she smiled wryly, sympathetically. It apologized when she couldn’t bring herself to yet. “I’m sorry, Elvis. I am. Right now isn’t the right time for either of us to settle down. We’ve got so much left to do before we get married. I don’t want to be a wife yet, Elvis. I want–God, it sounds so stupid. I want to be a star.”

To him, she already was. She always would be. Brighter than them all, outshining her peers. Even him. 

*

Colonel Parker was over the moon to have Elvis back almost entirely within his clutches. And with him more sad and more down and out than ever before with Frannie in Phoenix, his kniving agent found the perfect opportunity to deepen his influence.

The start was an influx up upper and downers just to help him get through the day. The boys were a marvelous help. Especially Red and Joe who were constantly by Elvis’s heartbroken side. He still tried to call her, even when the phone line went dead. He tried her number, thinking maybe it could be a trick and she was just waiting for him to call her bluff. She wasn’t really moving, but…

Elvis went to her apartment days later. She’d called him once more, only to tell him that the procedure had been a success and that he’d lost almost every piece of her. It gutted him to hear the pain in her voice when she told him that the ultrasound showed there was nothing. She was free to do as she pleased with her life. 

Without him. 

He remained in town for just another few weeks before it became too much for him and he too needed a complete change of scenery. He was still compensated for his time on the set of Gambling on Your Love and as far as the press knew, the movie was just stuck in development hell, which wasn’t entirely a lie. It was still possible for the film to find its footing—it just needed one more duet.

But Frannie would have none of it. No one could get in touch with her. Even Dominick didn’t return any of his calls, and he was always the staunch connection between Francesca and the vying directors and big wigs.

Time passed slowly and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She always occupied his mind. He wondered where she was in Phoenix. Did she like the warm air? Was she enjoying the view? What did her tastefully decorated townhouse look like now? Her outfit today? Was she trying a new perfume? If he could figure out her address, he could send her something. A letter. A gift. That necklace he never gave her.

But maybe, he could simply give her peace of mind. Frannie had run away from him, but she’d also taken on a new role. He couldn’t be happier for her. Well—he could, but it pained him to stay angry at her. He was usually really good at holding a grudge, but it frazzled him, tore at his mind. Was she thinking about him just as much, or was he just going insane?

*

“Love me Tender, Love me Alien,” Colonel Parker proudly proclaimed, slapping down a script that was too fat for its own good.

Elvis looked up from a bowl of butter pecan ice cream, blinking sleepily at his shrew faced manager. 

“Is that a command or a movie?” Elvis picked up the pamphlet, riffling through the schlocky pages of self insistence and ill timed crude humor. Tasteless romance. Derivative plot. Predictable twist. And a C-grade actress he’d never even heard of. Now this felt like the type of movie that Elvis was used to.

“Chateau Marmont is calling your name. Because right after that wraps up, we’ve got,” he slapped down another two scripts. “Heartbreak Hotel of Horrors! Oh, and Curse of the Mummy’s Shaking Hips.”

Each subsequent title made Elvis want to sink deeper into his couch. “Is there anything else floating around?” But the punishing pace Parker set took its toll rather quickly. As long as he could keep payroll going with pictures, he’d star in as many films as it took. He missed touring, but that would have to be shelved for now. 

He had to learn to let go of the hard work he’d put into Gambling on Your Love and accept that he’d learned. Working with Frannie had instilled in him a stronger work ethic. He’d practiced, honed his choreography just right, so that his every step would be in sync with hers, nothing calling attention to himself. They’d been perfectly in sync together on screen, it was exhilarating. Beat for beat, Frannie matched him and more.

Elvis shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

The Colonel pumped his fist, clearly having won. It seemed like ever since Francesca moved out of his life, his agent was more jovial. It was almost indicative of… something.

“I told you that movie wouldn’t work out, didn’t I? I warned you about working with young talent like that. It was a real gamble,” he laughed at his own pun, nudging Elvis crudely with his elbow. “See, if you just trust in your agent, he’ll steer you right. I haven’t led you wrong before, have I?”

At that remark, Elvis’ stomach roiled, but the Colonel would only see the money they made, not the impact Elvis felt he so desperately lacked.

“Yeah, you’ve gotten me this far.” He managed to relay, though as of late, he was less and less trusting of Colonel Parker. Frannie had mentioned him in particular. Elvis wondered if maybe his meddling agent was the one behind all of the on-set mischief, perhaps even the break-in. But even the Colonel wasn’t so malicious, just greedy. 

“I have, haven’t I? So what do you say? You in?”

Like he even had a choice. “I don’t suppose anything else has come in.”

“Oh, plenty. You’ve got them clamoring for you, kid. You might even have to go back on tour soon, just to keep the music current. We can’t have your voice getting left out of the spotlight.” Or, in other words, the Colonel wanted to market the absolute shit out of every aspect of Elvis. His look, his charisma, his personality. His agent loved it when he played it up and leaned into the rockstar playboy charm.

Anything to get his mind off of this pain. He needed to stop thinking about her or he was going to start tearing his hair out. His stylist would explode. He had to remain composed. He had to remain relaxed, like his heart wasn’t crumbling.

Frannie had told Elvis that he was one of the only people she could talk to. Elvis rarely made new friends. People often wanted to make acquaintances and more with him, and he wasn’t opposed to it happening— but it often never did, naturally, anyhow. He had a small circle of friends and Frannie had inadvertently wormed her way into that circle, because that’s what he felt was amiss. A very near and dear friend. 

*

Los Angeles was… not his favorite destination. The party life never stopped, relentless lights, women and drugs. He had to resolve himself, to only imbibe when he had the time to treat himself. But his heart felt like someone had blended it.

Elvis hopped in the elevator with his boys. It felt just like old times. Joe was saying something about a new club opening down the street, open until 4 am. But Elvis wasn’t really listening to what anybody had to say. He was out of it for the most part, leaning against the rumbling wall and feeling the weight of himself. Rocketed up and up to the highest floor, he stepped out to new hopes, stumbling on paisley carpet.

Elvis wearily made his way down the corridor, flanked by his close-knit group of friends. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened by the emotional turmoil he couldn't escape. Despite the upbeat chatter around him, his mind lingered on thoughts of Frannie, the one person who seemed to have cracked the surface of his guarded heart.

The hotel room door loomed ahead, a temporary refuge from the chaos outside. The keycard slid into the slot, granting access to a space where Elvis could momentarily escape the relentless pulse of Los Angeles. The room greeted him with subdued lighting, plush furnishings, and an air of hushed luxury. He loved this hotel and its castle-esq structure, the staff were all personable and timely, but still gleeful when handed a fat tip from Elvis Presley. But celebrities were the hotel’s usual clientele, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him being here. He recognized some of them from his previous stays here.

He liked to take long walks in the Huntington Botanical Gardens. Beauty and solitude abound, everyone was usually too dazzled by the myriad of exotic blooms to focus on one well dressed man amongst them. He wondered if Frannie had ever been. 

Elvis wandered through the room, the gravity of his emotions etched on his face. He was a man known for his composure on stage, but in this private sanctuary, the weight of unspoken feelings pressed upon him. He glanced at the king-sized bed, an island of solitude in the midst of a stormy sea of emotions.

As Elvis sank onto the bed, the echoes of Frannie's words resonated in his mind. She had become a confidante, a rare gem in a world that often sought more from him than he was willing to give. Their friendship had become a lifeline, a tether to reality amidst the glitz and glamor of his stardom. He really didn’t know how he was supposed to find another girl like her. It felt like a one in a million comet, a shooting star he’d missed his chance to make a wish on. 

In an attempt to escape the clutches of heartache, Elvis decided to draw the heavy curtains open. With a sigh, he gazed out of the hotel room window, his eyes drawn to the shimmering lights of the city below. The relentless pulse of Los Angeles, the city of dreams and illusions, seemed distant from the confines of his room. The sprawling urban landscape stretched out before him, a canvas of possibilities and uncharted territories.

Parting the curtains revealed a spectacular view of the cityscape. Yet, what captured his attention wasn't the sprawling city lights but a distant billboard, illuminated against the night sky. As the light spilled into the room, he recognized the familiar face of Francesca Ferrara, adorned in glamorous attire, promoting her latest movie. Whispers of Silk. 

A bittersweet smile crept onto Elvis's face. The universe seemed to mock him with reminders of Frannie's presence, even in the solitude of his hotel room. Yet, it was a distraction, a tangent from his own heartache. As the billboard loomed in the distance, Elvis sank into a chair, contemplating the complexities of his emotions in the glow of the city that never slept.

[ejzah]

Can you do a fanfic of what if Densi had come their separate ways after the season 9 finale. You can make it really angsty. I'd also like to see Kensi have a moment of realization, regretting she was the one who drove Deeks away cause I always found it unfair that he had to apologize when I've always felt it should have been the other way around!

A/N: I kind of made this after the season 10 premiere, because rewriting things to exclude Mexico felt too involved.

I think both Kensi and Deeks said and did some things that were unfortunate. Though I don’t think Deeks ever was trying to give Kensi an ultimatum when he said they shouldn’t get married.

***

Shattered Beyond Repair

Kensi stood in the center of the living room. She’d made it past the front door, finally, but couldn’t seem to get past this point. Everywhere she looked, there were little signs of the life she and Deeks shared.

Had once shared, she reminded herself internally.

After they returned from Mexico and Deek was released from the hospital, Kensi had stayed with him to nurse him back to health. Even though they weren’t together anymore, she couldn’t justify abandoning him to a rehab center, or some stranger. Not after everything they’d been through, all they’d overcome.

The cavern between them had persisted though, and Kensi could never quite find the words she needed to fix things. Then before she knew it, Deeks was well enough to be on his own, and decided to stay with a friend of his. Unable to stay there on her own, with the constant memories, Kensi had temporarily relocated to a hotel.

She drew her finger along the top of the coffee table, leaving behind a streak in the thin layer of dust. It was just another sign of everything that was wrong. Pressing her lips against the tight, painful sensation rising in her throat, Kensi moved on. She didn’t get very far; stilled by the sight of a picture frame tucked between some knickknacks.

It contained one of the pictures from their engagement shoot. The pure joy on her and Deeks’ faces is such a cruel juxtaposition to the constant ache in her chest.

“Hey.”

Kensi spun around at the sound of Deeks voice, tucking the picture against her chest. It had only been a few days since she’d seen him, in passing, but her eyes roved over him like it had been weeks.

“Hey. I didn’t realize you were coming today,” she said when he didn’t say anything else.

He hesitated in the doorway, head dipping for a second before he looked up again, gaze focused beyond her.

“Uh, yeah, I just came to pick up a few more things. I won’t be long,” he said.

“You don’t have to rush,” Kensi told him, not even caring that she sounded desperate. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been, um…” he shook his head, and made rough, sarcastic sound. “It’s been hard.” He looked as hurt and lost as she felt.

Kensi started towards him before she even fully registered the decision.

“Kensi,” Deeks protested softly as she wrapped her arms around him. “This isn’t—”

“I miss you,” she whispered softly, and he broke off. His remained stiff in her arms for a few more seconds, and then his arms slowly rose to enfold her shoulders, his chin lowering to rest on her head.

“I do too. You don’t know how much, Kensi.”

“Then we should talk. We can work this out, Deeks.“

She felt his chin move against her head, side to side.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he said.

“We’re both miserable. I know I made mistakes, I said things I didn’t mean, but I was angry and scared, and I definitely don’t feel that way now.”

“And what about when we have another issue we don’t agree about?” He paused briefly. “Are you going to walk away again if you don’t like what I say?” It wasn’t said maliciously, but Kensi flinched at the reminder.

Deeks eased back slightly, cupping her cheek so he could turn her face to his. She was so used to looking to him for positivity, for the humor in moments of darkness, yet she only found deep sadness in his eyes.

“I never meant to give you an ultimatum that night, Kens,” he continued, his thumb brushing along her jaw almost absentmindedly. “And I would never force you to do something you’re not ready for. Like leave NCIS.” He sucked a shallow breath between his teeth. “Or start a family. But I want those things, Kensi. I want them with you, and I…selfishly, can’t live a life where I might lose out on all of that. Or you.”

Tears filled her eyes, and this time she did nothing to stop them. She wanted to tell Deeks that she could give him everything that he wanted. Now. It would be so easy, but the words stuck in her throat.

“So, what are you saying?” she croaked out finally.

“I can’t—I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. His eyes were wet too, a couple tears creasing down the sides of his nose.

“No, please, baby.” She held him tighter, as though she could physically keep him with her.

Deeks dipped his head, his nose brushing against hers, his mouth so close. Cupping his cheeks, Kensi tugged his mouth down to her, and kissed him. She expected Deeks to pull away, but instead, he drew her closer, his mouth moving over hers with a desperation that was almost terrifying.

It ended far too soon. Kensi buried her face in Deeks’ neck, breathing in his sent, relishing the feel of his skin and beard against her cheek.

Slowly, Deeks encircled her wrists, and gently drawing her hands down. “I love you,” he whispered, and Kensi couldn’t contain the sob that erupted from her throat.

“I love you, too,” she gasped back, clutching at Deeks’ shirt for a few more seconds until he pulled out of her arms. He stepped back, fists clenched at his sides.

“Good bye, Kensi.”

She watched him turn, walk away, the door closing behind him. Sinking to her knees, Kensi sobbed.

***

A/N: I hope that was suitably angsty. Honestly made myself cry a little bit writing this.

Thanks for the prompt!