#she took great pains to renovate her house back to a cool looking one THANK you

[ghoul--doodle]

A ver in her pjs I doodled during a lecture :}

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (XXVI)

Chapter 26: Poppy Dream

Here we go with a new chapter!! I hope you like it!! Not gonna lie… there's a tid bit of angst in that one… I hope you don't hate me too much by the end of it though (better hope so cause it will get worse…)

I am also coming close to the end now… I reckon that I have… 5, maybe 6 chapters left, something like that. Thank you to all of you who have stayed throughout the whole thing!

WARNING for mentions of soft drugs in this chapter (Harry took mushrooms when he wrote fine line, apparently, and I used this idea here, but there is no mention of addiction or anything shocking. He’s just being an idiot, as usual.)

Word Count: 3745

Living with Gareth was great.

Lots of cuddles, and him being sweet and stealing kisses. He cooked almost every day, and you had a nice system of chores that kept both of you equally busy with the nasty tasks to do. It was smooth, and easy. It felt safe.

A little boring, you had to admit. It wasn't... exciting. You were happy to find him home when you walked inside the apartment you shared, but you didn't want to just rush to him either.  You weren't eager to leave work to join him. Why not though? He was great...

After almost two months of living together, you would have expected to be more ecstatic at the idea of living with him. You blamed the fact that you had spent so many years living on your own, and it felt strange to share your daily life with someone now. You knew that it wasn't the only reason though.

But overall, you were happy, and it was nice to have him around. Your only real problem with your new home was that Harry didn't drop by unannounced anymore. He used to do it all the time before. If you were free for an evening and he knew so? You were certain that he would be on your doorstep with some take-out and a bottle of wine before 9pm.

You understood, of course. He was coming to spend time with you, not both you and Gareth, and things were different now that you didn't live alone anymore. You also reckoned that it would be a little like intruding, from his end. It didn't change the fact that you missed those evenings with him like crazy.

Which was why you were now standing on his doorstep, a bag full of Chinese food in your hand right after you had knocked a couple of times. He opened the door, looking dishevelled and wrapped in comfy clothes that made you want to snuggle into his side and stay there, tugged into his chest, for the rest of the night...

…or maybe forever.

"Y/N?" he asked with a frown, and a little bit of panic shining in his green eyes. "You're alright? What are you doing here?"

You shrugged in response.

"I'm fine. Just thought I'd drop by."

"Did you and Gareth have a fight?"

"No. I'm fine. I just wanted to spend some time with you. I brought Chinese!"

"Oh... huh..."

"H? Who is it?

Before you could process what was happening, a woman was appearing in the doorway. She was wearing one of Harry's jumpers. You noticed that it wasn't one of those you used when you came to his house though. It seemed like a new TPWK sweater.

"Hi..." she faked a smile, coming closer and placing a hand on Harry's arm, as if to show who he belonged to. "Sorry, you are...?"

You finally shook yourself, and offered her your open hand and a bright smile.

"Hi! I'm Y/N. I'm Harry's friend. Sorry to interrupt, I didn't know he had company, and I was passing by, so I thought I'd drop by. But... you're clearly occupied so... I'll leave you to it. Behave, huh?" You added jokingly, waving your finger at Harry.

"I see... I'm Gloria," she shook your hand, but her smile was toxic to say the least. "A friend... I see... you often drop by?"

"I wouldn't say often but..." you offered her another smile, and cleared the air before any misconception could be settled, and Harry would get to argue with his new girlfriend because of a quid pro quo. "Since I've moved in with my boyfriend a couple of months ago, I and Harry haven't spent much time together, so..."

Gloria seemed to immediately relax, and her next smile was earnest.

"Oh, I see! You want to come in then? I'd love to know more about you! I'm sure you can tell me so many stories about H!"

But Harry gave you the smallest shake of his head, and you got the message loud and clear.

"No, no, no! I'm not gonna intrude. Let's plan a dinner or something like that instead! That will be much better. Good night then, lovebirds!"

"Good night, Y/N! It was nice meeting you!"

You gave the couple a little wave, and turned to walk back to your car, when Harry's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Y/N?"

You turned around, unable to resist his call.

He seemed a little out of breath, you noticed. A little sad too. Maybe even a little disappointed or tortured. As if he tried to resist the urge to do something.

You couldn't know that he was resisting his urge to send Gloria away, and close the distance between you and him in a rush and kiss you under the lamppost before his house. He wondered what you tasted like... he wondered so more and more often these days, and his longing for you seemed more and more difficult to control.

He did resist though. Instead, he looked at you with desperate eyes.

"Still renovating your shop on Sunday?"

You offered him a smile, but he could have sworn it wasn't an earnest one. He could read sadness in your eyes as they shone under the yellowish streetlights.

"Sure! If you can spare the time."

"For you? Always."

"Well then... I guess... see you on Sunday!"

He nodded, unable to look away.

"See you on Sunday."

I love you was on the tip of his tongue once more, but he bit his cheek instead, until the pain made the words disappear.

You climbed in your car, aware of Harry's presence still on his doorstep. You drove off without a look back at him. You knew he was looking at you as you drove down the street, and you didn't find in you the strength to see him like this: walking further from his door and into the street so he could keep on looking at your car, in his old black jumper and his hair held into a tiny bump on the top of his head with one of the elastic bands you had forgotten long ago in his bathroom, his arms crossed before his chest,  until you disappeared for good around the corner.

A couple of streets away though, you pulled over, and threw your food in a bin. You felt sick now, instead of hungry.

You climbed back into your car, resting your hands on the wheel and your head against the back of your seat. Up above, stars glimmered above L.A, undying fireflies that came back to haunt the same pieces of the sky every night. The nearby lamppost shed yellow hues in your vehicle, bathing your hands in the electric light.

It could have been a nice night, you reckoned. If only...

You didn't react when your phone let out a whistling sound. You didn't need to check the screen to know it was Harry. He would be asking something along the lines of:

Hey! Let me know when you're home, please? It's quite late already. Just want to make sure you're home safe. See you Sunday. H x

 Because he was the kind of idiot who always signed his texts, and you were the kind of moron who secretly found it cute although you acted like it was annoying. And he was the kind of idiot who always worried about you when you drove at night, even if it wasn't that late yet. He just... always asked for you to reassure him that you were safe. And he was the kind of idiot who played it cool and blamed your lack of skills behind a wheel to hide the fact that he simply was always worried about you. And you were the kind of moron who still believed his lies about it.

And he was the kind of idiot who tried to forget his love for you in the arms of someone else. And you were the kind of moron who chose to push away the real reason for why you were on the verge of tears now as you sat motionless in your car, in the empty Californian street at 9pm. It was easier to blame it on how tired you were these days, than admit that your life was not getting in the direction you wanted it to go, and that every day you wished you wouldn't walk even further away from what you truly wanted...

... or rather whom.

"Wait! What do you mean you're at the HOSPITAL?!"

"Can you like… not shout?"

You took a couple of very deep breaths, trying to calm down, but so far doing a terrible job at it.

"Mitch, can you please tell me again where you are and why? Please?" you asked in a lower voice, although your voice was everything but calm.

"We're at the ER, Harry bit off his tongue."

"HOW…?!"

You took another deep breath, noticing the people in the grocery store looking at you.

"How on Earth did he bit his tongue hard enough for you to need to go to the ER?" you asked, your voice shaky.

"We were high. He jumped off the window."

"High?"

"Yeah… mushrooms."

You heaved a tired sigh, burying your face in your hand. You knew that Harry had been 'experimenting' - as he liked to call it – while writing his new album. He said it helped him get out of his own head, relieve the pressure. You reckoned that as long as he was taking drugs because he wanted to escape reality, or as long as he didn't get a sense of need for it, then it was quite unharmful.

At least, you thought so.

"Could you come and pick us up? Sarah's not answering her phone, and I can't drive."

"How did you get there?"

"I called an ambulance. He was bleeding like crazy!"

"Are you high too?"

"A little. Less than him though. Still, can't drive."

"I'm coming. Don't move."

"Thank you, Y/N!"

"Don't thank me yet, I'm about to kick both of your arses!"

You hung up the phone before Mitch could add anything, and hurried to set back the few items you had gathered in your bag before you rushed to your car.

You sent a text to Gareth warning him about the incident and telling him that you couldn't get the groceries and were driving to the hospital instead, before you turned on the engines and drove out of the parking lot.

Your phone rang a few minutes later, and you talked on speaker with your boyfriend.

"Hey! I just got your text… is everybody alright?"

"Hmmm… I don't know for sure, I'm going to the hospital now."

"Do you need me to come too?"

"No, don't bother. You're busy working. I'll handle it."

"I hope it's nothing too serious. How did he manage to hurt his tongue so badly?"

"I'll tell you later. I've got to kick his butt first."

"Go easy on him. The poor guy…"

"You're right, it must hurt a lot," you calmed down instantly, and now instead of anger, you wanted to reach the hospital as fast as possible out of worry.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. Call me if you need anything."

"Thank you. See you tonight."

"Love you!"

"Love you too."

Soon enough you were rushing inside the hospital, looking for your two friends. And you found them with ease, as they were waiting for you, sitting on hospital chairs with Harry's head resting on Mitch's shoulder.

The guitarist gave you a little wave and a relieved smile.

"Thank God you're here…"

"Are you alright?"

"Me? Yeah… him… He needs a nap."

As if on cue, Harry seemed to finally notice that you were here, and he shot you a toothy grin.

"Y/N! I 'appy 'o 'ee you!" he mumbled, unable to articulate his words properly.

"They numbed his tongue," Mitch explained. "And he's still high."

"Is it serious?" you asked with worry in your voice as you bent down to examine Harry's face.

"Nah… he'll be fine. Got it all patched up. He'll be fine in a few days. He did lose a bit of his tongue though!"

You smacked Harry's arm, and he frowned, looking at you with angry eyes and an adorable pout while he rubbed his arm.

"Wha' was 'at for?"

"What was that for? You lost a piece of your tongue, you moron!"

"Don' call me 'at…" his pout grew sadder, an effect of the drugs, really, he was always sleepy and all cuddly when he was drunk or high.

"I was so worried about you!"

A smirk slowly formed on his lips.

"You 'ere 'orried abou' me?"

"Of course, I was worried! I still am! And I'm gonna kick your butt for being so stupid!"

"I 'ave a pre'y bu'…" he smirked.

"Yes, well, your pretty butt is gonna be in trouble! Now come on, let's get you home."

You dropped Mitch at the studio first, where he would wait for Sarah to take him home. You helped Harry in his house next, making sure he wouldn't fall, as his head was still cloudy. He was slowly doing better though, and his words became clearer by the minute, although his painful tongue still made him wince when he hit his tongue against his teeth.

"'ank you for picking me up," he said, falling on his bed.

"I'm gonna get you some water, okay?"

You helped him out of his jumper, as he seemed tangled in his sleeves before heading downstairs and coming back with a glass of cold water.

"'ank you," he breathed in a baby voice, holding the glass in both his hands as he rested his back against the headboard.

You shook your head looking at him. You had to admit that he looked adorable like this, a little lost maybe. Soft and fragile and you could read through his body language that he longed for some cuddles.

And you thought about crawling in bed by his side, to let him rest his hedd against your shoulder, but then you remembered that he wasn't single either anymore. So, you reached for your phone instead.

"You want me to call Gloria for you? What's her number?"

"Who?"

"Gloria. You're girlfriend?"

He huffed, shaking his head.

"She ain' my girlfriend. I don' see her anymore."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?"

He shrugged, his pout back on his face.

"I didn' like her 'at much."

"I see…"

"I don' wan' 'o be alone," he admitted in a whisper, resting his head against the headboard, his glass still in his hands resting on his stomach, while he stared at you with pleading eyes that truly meant to say please, stay.

You heaved a sigh, taking off your shoes and climbing in the bed by his side. He gave you a grin in response.

"Alright… but just a few minutes. Then, I have to go home."

"Bu' I'm hur'…"

"Because you were being a moron. Next time, don't count on me to come pick you up at the hospital because you broke a limb because you were high!"

He stared at you with one of these intense glances he threw at you every time he listened to you really intently, and it was always a bit too much for you to handle.

"I don' like i' when you're mad a' me…" he whispered truthfully, a sad expression on his face now.

You heaved a sigh, defeated already. You took away his empty glass, placing it on the bedside table on your side of the bed, and opened your arms for him. He didn't need you to speak out loud to rush into your embrace, burying his face into your neck.

"I'm not mad," you reassured him. "I just… I don't like it when you're hurt. It makes me all worried."

He hummed, nodding.

"I'm always worried abou' you 'oo you know?"

"I know."

"I ge' real worried when you don' call for more 'an a day," he went on, rambling, and you were certain that he wouldn't have said any of these words out loud, had he been sobber. "I make all 'ese scenarios in my head… and I miss you."

"Well, I'm here now."

He snuggled closer to you, nodding his head. His arms were around you now, holding you against him as if he were afraid you'd change your mind and walk away at any second now.

"I'm always worried abou' you. I really need you, you know?"

He rubbed his cheek in your neck, and you were certain that your heart was about to implode.

"I like i' when you hold me," he went on. "Feels warm. Feels safe. Feels really safe in your arms."

You dropped a kiss in his hair, and you could have sworn he had shivered at the contact.

"You are safe. You're safe with me, Harry."

"Don' leave me. Ever."

"I'm not gonna leave you, Harry."

He heaved a content sigh, before breathing in deeply your scent, your perfume and your shampoo intertwined to better blur his senses. When he spoke again, it was barely a whisper, and you weren't sure what he meant, but it sounded like something dangerous.

"God… I write too many songs abou' you, Y/N. I'm so sorry. I really 'ried bu' I can' help i'… Ain' my fault if you're always there."

Put a price on emotion

I'm looking for something to buy

 Harry pulled at his lower lip while he listened to the latest version of his song. He had started writing it a while ago, but he could feel now that it was almost done.

His tongue was almost healed, and he could speak as normal again. He thought back about the way it felt to be safely held in your embrace…

 You've got my devotion

But man, I can hate you sometimes

 He wondered if you would remember that these words were yours. That night on New Year's Eve. You and him alone in his mother's garden, under the frozen winter sky. He could never shake off these words of yours. He wasn't sure of what you meant by them at the time, and yet he felt like they echoed in his heart with an uncomfortable accuracy.

He too hated you sometimes for the way he loved you so ardently, so stubbornly. At the end of the day though, it wasn't your fault at all, and he couldn't change his feelings either.

 We'll get the drinks in

And I'll get to thinking of her

 He had broken up with Gloria, although he reckoned that they had never really been together to begin with. He had just seen her over the course of three weeks, it was hardly anything meaningful to him. And he was ashamed to admit it, but he had indeed drunk a little too much a couple of nights just to think of you instead.

 We'll be a fine line

 Maybe it could be what you'd remain. Somewhere in between friends and lovers, and it was almost fine for him, really. It had been fine for a long time, at least. He could shake off the feeling of missing you, and he had grown skilled at forgetting about Gareth and the way he got to kiss you and share your bed.

But then he would see you face to face, and it was getting harder every day to resist the temptation to just spill it all out and hold you close.

And when he saw you with Gareth, it still hurt just as much to know that he lived everything Harry desired so brightly.

For how much longer could he go on like this? Years? Months? He didn't know, and was afraid to find out the answer.

 Test of my patience

There's things that we'll never know

 And yet despite everything he felt and how painful it was to live like this, he still preferred this situation to the events that would unfold if he spoke the truth.

Because he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes, and you were loyal to a fault. And you were kind and too selfless for your own good. And if he told you the truth, you would walk away. He had given the various possibilities a lot of thoughts, and over the dozens of scenarios he had run into his head, his conclusion seemed to always fall back onto you leaving him for good. Because you could never choose him feeling like you would be cheating on your boyfriend. He knew perfectly well that you would never do anything of the kind to your boyfriend. If you were to ever leave him, it would be to make you both happier, not just for yourself. And for now, Harry was pretty sure that it wasn't the case.

So, even if he managed, by some miracle, to make you doubt your feelings for Gareth and consider trying something with him, Harry knew that your sense of loyalty would push you back into Gareth's arms. Guilt would torture you too much. And then Harry would lose you for good.

No need to try, then. The game was lost already. It was almost as if your possible feelings for him - and he was far from certain that you had any - barely mattered. There was just no scenario where Harry won.

What a stupid heart he had for giving itself to you...

 Spreading you open

Is the only way of knowing you

 If only he had realized all this before you met Gareth...

Why did it have to hurt so much to belong to someone else? Why did it have to mean that we'd be at their mercy? Why did we have to be so damn fragile in front of the ones that mattered most to us?

Would you recognize them if he sang your words? Would you remember that evening with him? He still dreamt about it from time to time...

Would you realize it then? How much of you he carried with him all the time?

He reckoned that you wouldn't.

 We'll be a fine line

We'll be alright

 He let his head fall back, his face turned to the ceiling as he let out a deep, painful sigh and closed his weary eyes.

Would the two of you ever be alright?

***********************************************

Taglist :  @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky@snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity@i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony@madamrogers @cronias13​ @stylesfics-xx @mellamolayla @mariaenchanted

[kat-hawke]

Vynette’s Request

The Unit's return to Stormwind was unceremonious, as Kat preferred, and every operative had their hands full within the first hour. The guards were overworked and understaffed following the scourge onslaught, and the paperwork piled higher by the day: missing persons, domestic threats, Cultist sightings and speculations. Kat and the others worked tirelessly throughout the day and night over the week to sort the reports to the correct groups and chase leads on the ones which pertained to their Unit.

At nearly two in the morning, Kat and Vynette were the only two remaining, shuffling through folders with inkwells, and the Director's supply of whiskey, running dry. The elven operative repeatedly tapped her heel, earning a stern glance from the Director in a silent demand to cease the annoying habit. All the while, Kat could feel Vynette's occasional glance, but the Director was content with the silence and private conversations with the dagger on her thigh.

"I was talking to an agent from another Unit today," the elven operation finally spoke without looking up from her work. "I guess they've had eight agents now put in to answer the call for aid. From, you know, the Covenants."

Immediately Kat's patience ebbed at the mention, letting out an exasperated sigh through the nose as she muttered her response without eye contact. "Uh-huh."

There were few reports about the tear in the veil between realms, and few yet about these supposed Covenants on the other side. Each document was skimmed and submitted to the appropriate Units, but Kat remained adamant that none of it was her concern.

She could hear Vynette's sigh, knowing the operative would push the topic, her patience continued to decline.

"It seems like the need for more trained hands is still pretty great. And what with the duties of wartime off everyone's plates, more or less," the elf's voice trailed softer and quicker as she mumbled, "I was considering requesting a temporary assignment to offer my abilities. Ma'am."

While Kat speculated, this is where the conversation was leading, hearing the words still shook her. The depleted patience turned to annoyance and anger as she stared at the paper in hand, a slow exhale spilling over the faintly parted lips which curled inward over the teeth. Collecting her thoughts with eyes closed and shutting out the voice from the dagger for a moment, she refrained from an explosive response.

"There are plenty of eager hero types and bucket-heads t'full the ranks," she spoke in a monotone, slowly opening her eyes. "We have plenty t'do here."

"I know. There is work to be done, and I'm not ignoring or underplaying the work we do." Vynette kept the topic afloat, furthering the slow boil in Kat's blood and testing the limits of her restrained temper.

"It is just... the request came for me specifically." An uncharacteristic uncertainty softened Vynette's voice. "My teacher is part of the House of Eyes. He has called for me to aid the Necro Lords."

Without missing a beat, Kat's eyes narrowed sharply following Vyn's confession, her tone turning ice-cold. "I see..." 

Looking away from the elf, she went back to the papers on her desk, the grip on her temper slipping away as her operative mentioned a figure from her past. The sudden sense of abandonment weaved into the abusive thoughts that came to mind.

"So after everythin', I've done, everythin' I've risked, yer going t' abandon me just like that." Pain and anger laced Kat's words, her jaw tightening towards the end as a stamp violently slammed upon a folder. "One letter from a ghost and I'm nothin' t' ya'."

"No, that's not it at all! You're... you mean a lot to me. You took a chance on me." Vynette's voice lowered as the door to their office remained open. "I owe you everything."

Her words did little to cool the building heat within the Director's blood as she continued to shift through documents furiously and refuse to look at the elf.

"I am not looking to leave beyond a temporary reassignment; my home is here. With you and with the Unit." Vynette spoke again after a deep breath. "But he was the one who got me here. He saw value in me and gave me purpose. And I failed him. And he died," she finally admitted.

The rubber stamp was slammed into the ink pad and abandoned.

"And I saw value in ya', and gave ya' a new purpose!" Kat quickly countered, pointing a finger in the elven woman's direction. "A purpose that could have, and still could, get us both killed." 

With a scoff, Kat's head shook, and her arms crossed as she stood from the desk and paced. "Ya' failed him, but he sends a letter? Have ya' gone dense Vynette?" The woman's first name's deliberate use was rare, and she hoped it would erode the elf's will to continue the conversation. "It has trap written all over it. Or did ya' forget how ya' were ejected from the Horde?"

"I was overconfident when I got set up. I'm not that any more thanks to you," Vynette pointed out, pained by the truth in the Director's words. "Being by your side is important to me." 

Kat scoffed, shaking her head and putting her back to the elf as she examined the wall. Documents, photos, pins, and red tread all created the tapestry of their current open case to locate The Renovator. Her eyes glanced to the pin, which represented the Ren'dorei she awaited to hear a response.

"If bein' by my side is so important, then why so eager to leave it?" Pain and anger continued to lace the Director's words as she refused to face her operative.

"Kat..." Vynette pleaded. "There's still closure I need from my time as an apprentice. Shit I'm still carrying with me. My loyalty is with you; no one can change that. So I'm asking-- begging for the chance to serve the cause in the Shadowlands and put my ghosts to rest."

"Livin' in th' past never moved anyone forward," Kat responded in her chilled tone. "I need ya' here. Or is suddenly wot I and this job I graced ya' with no longer of importance? I didn' say a bloody thing when I came back to find yer visage eerily similar to mine, plucked a hair from the office, no doubt. Even when my patience is tested by yer sometimes questionable motivations and comments in the borderline territory of breakin' my rules, I allowed yer leash to remain lax. I never asked fer anythin' other than service in return, even after footin' the bills to fake and create yer life in the Alliance. But this is the thanks I get? T'be abandoned fer some Horde dog."

The elven operative stood from her seat as she pressed her defiance and rare occurrence from a woman who took pleasure from remaining obedient. "You've let my leash remain lax because I've done everything you've ever asked of me, without question. I've followed every order, completed every mission," her voice dropped lower but picked up its intensity, "I've done every off-book task you've needed with a smile because I'm your knife. I've committed sins for you, and I'd commit them thrice over, and you know that." 

As the operative's tone raced away, Kat looked back over her shoulder. One brow lifted as she stared the elven woman down from across the room as if cursing her for the act of defiance. Her teeth ground together as she contemplated the whispers of the soul-bound dagger.

Vynette's nose scrunched as she realized her tone was getting away, composing herself before resuming. "He's not some Horde dog, Director; he's found a place of high standing in the House of Eyes. If I went over your head, they'd give me the go-ahead. Hell, I could go to Fiske. I didn't do that because I don't give a shit about their authority. You're the one I follow."

"Go over m'head or t'Fiske, and it won't be a temporary reassignment." The Director barked the threat, the hold on her temper loosening further as the primal beast within began to stir. Though she knew the woman would never go over her head.

Resigning to defeat, Vynette sank into her seat, her gaze fixated on her desk. "If you command me to stay, I'll stay. I don't ask for much. But I'm just asking for you to trust me. I have debts to repay, but he's not my master anymore."

Content with the operative's surrender, Kat raked her fingers through the raven tresses with a silent breath of relief. "When this case is over," she motioned to the wall at her side as she turned to face the elf finally. "Then I will consider signin' off on a temporary reassignmen'. I will no' make any promises, however."

"Of course, ma'am," Vynette replied with an earnest salute and a genuine, radiant smile as the visible tension in her shoulders relaxed. "Til then, the only thing on my mind is our case. I'm all yours; you have my word."

"Good," Kat murmured as she returned to her desk and the papers scattered atop it. The pleasure she found in the elf's tension over the defiance was kept hidden.

"Now get out of m'sight for an hour or two before I change m'mind, and there better be a bottle in one hand when ya' return."

"Yes, ma'am," Vynette complied without hesitation, hastily exiting the office as commanded.

The fountain pen spun between Kat's nimble fingers as she stared at the door long after the elf was out of sight, leaning back into the seat with a deep sigh. This act of defiance was unexpected and worrisome, as she relied on Vynette's desire for subservience to keep her firm grip over the displaced Sin'dorei. The thought that putting those supposed ghosts to rest would change her behavior had the Director concerned. A shift in their dynamic of power was a threat to stability and security, the very idea of which caused the pit in her stomach to churn. There was also the fear of this former master swaying her operative into a new life and role, one of possible betrayal from within.

"I said I would consider it, not guarantee it." She responded to her mental conversation and returned to work, trying to set her paranoia to rest.

[ @lovelydeadlysocialite​ ] [ Vague Mentions: @alyssa-ward, @longveil ]

(Vynette’s perspective)

[the-headbop-wraith]

1 _ Whisper

 The dream again.

Falling into the black.  Crooked spikes stretching up, reaching.  Hungry teeth to skewer meat, then it’s all over.  Mercifully quick.  He couldn’t believe it happened, he hadn’t the strength to stop it.  What had happened?

It was all a blur after that.  He remembered how cold he felt, how weak he was as Vivi screamed at him.  He didn’t understand what had happened at first, if he had been aroused suddenly from a dead sleep.  He thought he was asking, nearly begging her to explain.

“What happened? What happened?”  But his mind couldn’t coordinate the confusion of words in his throat with his numb lips.  Too much pain and his body was impossibly weak.  Bright lights burned into his eyes.  And Mystery.  It was Mystery, wasn’t it?  Sitting beside the people jerking at his clothing and jamming needles into his body.  He remembered those red eyes staring at him with such clear focus, as if gazing through him and into his soul.

__

The hot sun dug into his eyelids, making his face feel unnecessarily warm.  He opened his eyes a crack and glared through the windshield tilted above him.  Judging by the suns position in the sky it had to be a little before noon, but it was hard to decide the specific time of day following the falls hourly time change.  He blinked at the wetness in his eyes and reached his hand up to dry his face, but rather rub his eyes gently he smashed the mechanical arm into his nose and prompted him to jolt upright.

“Oh god,” Arthur groaned.  He pressed he cold palm to his face to ease the pain.  His rash motions upset the dog curled up in his lap, and with a whimper Mystery squirmed around until he was facing Arthur, concern in his eyes.  “M’okay.”  He reached his flesh hand to the dogs head and scratched behind his ear.  “Still not used to this.”

After reassuring his companion, he moved his good arm to drape over the drivers back seat and pulled himself up more to sit.  Arthur had the front seats to lay across, while Vivi took the more spacious back.  Arthur watched Vivi where she was curled up in a nest of sleeping bag and a blanket, the pillow in her care was a few feet from her head.  Arthur pulled up his own blanket, crushed between him and the seats, and carefully this time dabbed at his sticky face.

Mystery gave a low whine as he leaned across his companions lap and nudged his cool nose at the digits of the false arm.  Arthur couldn’t feel the fur or the nose, but he could detect the pressure and distress the dog projected his way.  Arthur put his arm around the dogs neck and pulled him closer and pressed his face into the soft white fur.

“It’s okay,” Arthur murmured.  “It’ll be okay.”  Mystery curled up into a tight ball against his chest as he leaned back on the driver’s door.  Arthur shut his eyes and worked to ease the sorrow from his mind before Vivi awoke and questioned his broken expression.

 __

The assignment was a relatively simple one.  No mention of spiritual hostility but the owners of the home just voiced concerns, they didn’t want to believe that someone had been confined to their home and the activity had been growing more frequent as of late.  Arthur had noticed that their group had been given easier and less assignments, but that shouldn’t have come as a great shock.  Vivi didn’t seem to mind, he knew she worried about him too much. 

They unpacked the essential equipment from the van and hauled the readers and the camera to the upstairs bedroom, where the couple noted most of the activity.  Mystery remained in the back keeping an eye on the laptop, that was connected to the camera that was already recording in the house.  Arthur swore the dog was looking for something.

“I’m getting some high electric readings from the walls here, where the plugs are, “Vivi said.  She held the small electric reader in her hand as the lights flared on the top.  “That would easily explain the creepy feelings they’ve been getting.”

Arthur had gone into the bathroom, admiring the cleanliness of the floor and sink area, where the couple had set their towels.  “The place was built in the 1800s,” he added.  “But it was recently renovated when they moved in,” he paused.  “How long ago was that?”

“Two years,” Vivi said.  She moved the sensor towards the ceiling fan above the bed. “It correlates with their accounts that the activity had been increasing, since they moved in.”

Arthur did some of the math in his head, but Vivi was the one that kept on top of the local history of their assignments and the finer details of witness accounts.  “Did they start renovations before they moved in, or after?”

“Between.”  Vivi appeared in the doorway of the bathroom.  She lowered the black device gripped in her hand, as she scanned over the walls and mirror.  “They had to restore some of the house to make it livable, then finished up after they were settled.”

Arthur tried the faucets and listened as the water rumbled in the pipes somewhere in the walls.  The sound was nonspecific, but the couple said they heard voices.  “What I wouldn’t give to recount a timeline with the accuracy you have,” Arthur said.  He turned the water up full blast and the rumbling stopped.

“I just pay attention,” Vivi said, a slight shrug and the hint of a smirk in her lips.  “Nice bathroom.”

“You do more than that,” Arthur insisted.  “I’m terrible with dates and history and… keeping facts straight in my head.”

Vivi opened the cupboard nearest to the bathrooms doorway and knelt to examine the interior.  Freshly folded towels were stacked inside, a few shampoo bottles and some bars of packaged soap met her eyes.  The silver pipes in the back looked solid.  “You’re great with the equipment,” she said, and giggled.  “I can barely update my iPod without it crashing.  Thanks, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Arthur said.  Whenever her iPod did freeze up, which was too often in his opinion, Arthur would troubleshoot it for her.  He shut off the water and listened.  “Hey, Vivi?”

“Yeah?”  She stood up.  In the walls there was a faint rattle as somewhere in the pipes the pressure stabilized after use.  Vivi raised the electro gauge towards the bright lamps above the mirror and registered a high increase in current.  “Looks like this might just be your typical case of shoddy restoration. Arthur?”  She turned to him when he failed to continue after her prompt.  “What’d you need?”

Arthur shakes his head.  “Er, ah— The owners left the attic open for us.  Sorry,” Arthur said, smiling.  “I was thinking over the interior layout of the house, and it seems like common draft through vents in the roof.  Maybe we should check that out next?”

“Good plan.”  Vivi closed the cupboards and exited the bathroom.  “After running the water, we might get some interesting sounds.”

With a sigh Arthur followed.  “Yeah.  That’s what I meant.”  As he moved past the windows he couldn’t resist a glance at his arm, glinting under the bright light beside his amber vest.

__

The assignment turned out more successful than Vivi and Arthur had initially thought.  A lot of their paranormal investigations turned out to be nothing but the usual in old homes and unkempt buildings - the foundation settling, old uninsulated wiring, even bats in the walls; there were the few cases of sham artists with tape recorders that played from hidden spaces or rigging designed to catch the camera at a specific moment.  A lot of disappointments, but the college funded their research regardless if anything was found.  Sometimes exposing the falsities was enough as far their providers was concerned, but it was no satisfaction to find out their time had been wasted with overactive imaginations.

It was far into the night, Arthur was fueling himself with endless cups of bitter coffee while Vivi sat in the back of the van roving over the laptop and the evidence she was checking.  While she listened for electronic voices, she worked with duplicates of all the images gathered trying to edit out the fuzziness of the night vision cameras.

“Arthur,” Vivi piped, as she leaned over the drivers seat.  “What does this sound like to you?”  She set the laptop down on the passengers seat and fitted the ear muffs over his ears, as Arthur kept his attention of the dark shapes of the forest around them.  This was a common ritual as they drove, which was reason why he took the longer and sometimes outdated back roads.  Arthur tilt his head as he focused on the loud scratching filled his ears of the raised volume.  He was wary that a sudden sound would shut through his brain of something unnamed, usually someone’s heightened whisper as he or Vivi asking questions.

The voice that came through was an older woman, not Vivi by a long shot, not the home owners that had been outside at the time.  Arthur had adjusted his senses well to identifying white noise that came through the electric recording and easily distinguished between a falsified recording and the genuine paranormal.

“Sounds like, ‘made the garden,’” Arthur finally said.  “Weird.”

“I know, that’s what I thought.”  Vivi slipped the ears muffs off Arthur’s head and raised up the laptop from the passengers seat.  Mystery watched from his elected spot on the middle seat, curled beside Arthur’s leg.  “That would correlate to the images I’m working on, the one’s of the figure staring out the master window into the backyard.  It’s sweet if you think about it.”

Arthur smiled.  “You mentioned that the house was uninhabitable when the new owners first bought it?” he said, his smile widening.

“Yeah, I did.”  Vivi went ahead and double checked her current data, before closing the programs and shutting the laptop down.  “Total wreck,” she went on.  “Renovations would’ve cost nearly as much as the home itself.  The yard was dead, full of weeds and junk.  Then the owners moved in, cleaned it up.”  Vivi stuffed the laptop up under the passengers seat, before she crawled over cushion to sit beside Mystery.  Vivi set her hand between the dogs shoulder blades and scratched as he uncoiled and sat up.  “Mrs. Ricewell wanted a garden.”

Vivi let her voice trail off, as Arthur poured himself another cup of lukewarm coffee.  “Sounds straightforward to me,” he said.  His metal hand fumbled to hold the plastic cup as he lifted it from the cup holder and to his lips, careful not to spill again.  “Nothing hostile.  Just there because the house was restored.  I think that just sometimes happens.”  Arthur took another sip and winced.  The coffee was terrible.

“Hmm?”  Vivi asked.

“Energy, I think.  Like a battery,” Arthur said.  He lowered the cup back to the cup holder; Vivi helped him guide his arm when it was apparent his aim was off.  “I’ve been thinking up some theories for our separate report’s, and did my own research on places that have been abandoned.  Other paranormal researches support the idea too, that activity kicks back up in a home again if people start to fix up the place.  A house with no running energy, no people, it starts to degrade and maybe any spirits there begin to drift away.  Spiritual energy has to be powered by something, it doesn’t make sense that a ghost is there just because.”

Vivi pondered over this as the van rumbled down the old road.  The headlamps illuminated the skeletal trees and brush struggling to claim the earth that was paved over, in time there wouldn’t be a road here and the area would be forgotten.  Aside from the soft light inside the vehicle there was no other radiance this far out from town and the stars blazed among wistful clouds with the backdrop of the dazzling quarter moon, outlining the gnarled tree branches with a golden haze.  The sky beneath the moon, perhaps seared by some far off town, was a bubbling fuchsia beneath the dark sky.

“That would explain why activity kicks up when were around, if there’s any,” Vivi said.  “You need to figure out a way to make dampers for the equipment, so spirits don’t tap into the batteries.  It’s getting expensive to pack spares for just in case.”

“Good idea,” Arthur said, smirking her way.  “Can’t believe I never thought of that.”

Vivi returned the smile.  “That’s why we make such a great team,” she said.  She gave Mystery a scratch on his shoulder when he leaned her way and yipped.  “You too Mystery.  You keep us from staying mad at each other.”

Arthur was about to reach over and take another swig of his coffee, when the engine faltered under his feet.  He hesitated as the lamplights pulsed and the low rumble of the motor began to sputter out.  “Oh no,” he muttered, raising a foot to the break to disengage cruise.  “No-no… don’t do this.”  He brought his hand back from the steering wheel when a bright flash zipped through his eyes and the interior light of the cab dimmed, leaving the impression of red in his retinas.  “C’mon, don’t do this.”  He pressed his foot to the gas and turned to give Vivi a defeated look as the lights dimmed once more.

“Arthur,” she said.  “Did you fill up the tank like I told you to?”

“I did.  I did!” he pleaded, grinning sheepishly.  “I’m sure I did.”  Arthur wasn’t so certain at this time, as the engine gave a final whine, then died completely.  “Yeah,” he urged.  “I remember putting the receipt in my pocket.”

“Then what could be the problem?”  Vivi watched the erratic movement of the boo charm as it began to twist to a stop.  She leaned forward opening the glove back in front of her and dug through the papers and spare battery boxes until her hands snapped over the flashlights handle.  She handed the flashlight to Arthur as he reached under the steering wheel, feeling for the release handle with his good arm.  “We’ve never had trouble with the van before.”

“I know,” he mumbled.  The handle creaked as he jerked it out and the hood of the van thudded.  “I’ll give it a look, see if something came loose.  This roads not in the best of shape.”

Vivi watched as Arthur got out.  When he shut the door, his beam bobbing under the dull haze of the night, she shared a glance with Mystery.  “It’ll be all right,” she cooed.  “he’ll be right back.”  Mystery let out a soft whine that startled Vivi in its evident distress.

The hood of the van snapped up and Vivi watched the dark panel as the light bobbed around the sides and through the tight crease at the base of the windshield.  She could hear Arthur fiddle around, his metal arm making audible clanking as he snapped it to the edge of the van whenever he leaned forward to fiddled with wires with his good arm.  It seemed like hours that he worked and Vivi in that time had rested her hand on Myster’s head massaging his scalp, while the dog no doubt bore holes through the van’s hood to where Arthur stood.  Finally, the hood swept down with a harsh snap and Arthur rounded the side to the driver’s side door.

“Can you give me some 99?” he asked, holding the flashlight as Vivi reached for the cup holders.  They had a pump bottle of disinfectant in one of the cupholders, and Vivi leaned over to squirt the jelly liquid on his flesh palm.  She pulled up a blue bandanna from the passenger doors pocket, the cloth had numerous dark stains on it and she used it to rub the grease off of Arthur’s hand.

“Thank you,” he said.  He set the flashlight on the driver’s seat, and took the cloth when it was offered to him and cleaned off his metal knuckles.  “I couldn’t find anything wrong with the engine.  Absolutely nothing.”

Vivi thought over this as she watched him in the dark.  Cool air breezed in through the open door, the night was filled with the scent of dirt and oil.  “I’ll see if I can call a tow truck,” she said at last.  Arthur made a sound under his breath but didn’t argue.  Arthur moved the flashlight aside as he climbed up into the driver’s seat and shut the door.  Vivi climbed over the seat into the back hunting for the phone.  “Can you hand me the light?”

Arthur looked over as the light swung up when Mystery picked it up and handed it back to Vivi.  She thanked the dog, and Arthur slumped down in his seat a little more.  He ran through his mind all the methods he had used to replace and maintain the van, he was a trained mechanic and about a third of the engine was digital.  It made no sense, and it annoyed him.  Arthur kept his irritation to himself.

After several minutes, Vivi climbed back over the seat with the light while her thumb jammed at the touch screen of the phone.  “No signal,” she said.

The three shared a collective sigh.  For what felt like hours they sat debating a plan separately, not speaking until they had run through all the ideal scenarios until they had gathered a potential solution.

“We could tie Myster’s collar to the front bumper and have him pull us,” Arthur suggested.  To this the dog growled, eyes flashing in the soft light of the flashlight at his paws.  “Kidding.  Kidding.  Touche.”

“Or,” Vivi says, smoothing down Mystery’s raised ears, “you can put the van in neutral and push us for a bit.  Maybe we’re just in a ditch?”

For a while Arthur said nothing, only gazed forward into the black daggers of trees and flat nothing.  He nodded.  “Knew you were going to suggest that,” he said.  Arthur took the gear shift and struggled with the handle, it felt like it was fighting him.  He adjusted the keys in the ignition trying to release the lever, partly he hoped the engine would just roar to life.  He managed to unstick the handle and switched the van to neutral.  As Arthur climbed out, Vivi hopped to the driver seat.

“Be careful, Arthur,” she urged.  “Don’t strain yourself too much.”

“I know, I know.”  Arthur braced his toes to the road and gripped the frame of the door.  Nothing happened for a while, until he grunted and adjusted his stance to a more comfortable position.  Slowly, the van creaked forward.  “Having fun?” he snorted.

“Not really,” Vivi confessed.  They gained momentum and she became worried that they were heading up a hill that was steeper than she first anticipated.  “Remember what I said.”

“I’m okay.  Just let me concentrate.”  Arthur felt his heart pounding, his left side throbbed where the compromised veins detoured circulation in his body.  “Maybe you and Mystery should get out,” he panted.  “Follow the van.  It might help.”

There was a pause, Arthur didn’t try to study the expression on Vivi’s face, not in the dark.  He remained focused on the road and the rubber tires crunching gravel.  At last with hesitance she says, “You think that might really help?”

“I’m just kidding,” he said, with a hint of a chuckle.  “I’ll quit here in a second.  Have you gotten a signal on the phone?”

He saw the flutter of light in the corner of his eye as no doubt Vivi checked the phone at his prompt.  Arthur felt something of relief when she gasped, but he didn’t expect her next exclamation.

“Art.  Look!”  Arthur raised his head and saw a shape down the road. An ambiguous and large shape with flat sides, in contrast with the sharp twisted angles of the surrounding woods. At first he couldn’t decide what it was Vivi wanted him to see, but as his eyes adjusted he could make out the soft tones of pink brushed down the sweeping sides of flat surfaces. Above the knotted tree branches curled the jagged horizon of symmetrical points across the top, dark slates slopped downward and glimmered beneath the moon. He felt a surge of adrenalin in his body as his mind began to place what the shape was that should be obvious to his eyes. “I’m not imagining it, am I?” Vivi said, skepticism in her tone. It was dark, it would be easy for the wishful mind to conjure an auto repair shop in the middle of the thick woods. But no, Arthur could see fully what Vivi was staring at.

“No,” Arthur huffed, trying to catch his breath.  “It’s a house maybe?”

“More than a house,” Vivi went on.  “A mansion.”  She gazed unmoving for several minutes, as Arthur panted and strained with the heavy vehicle.  “You wanna stop now?”

Arthur glanced up, saw the high wall glide from the black tangle of dry shrubs and grass.  “No,” he assured.  “Just a few more feet, then I’ll stop.”  He regretted that almost immediately.  The building was much further away than he anticipated, and more than once he debated on just stopping where they were.

“We’re here, Art.  You can stop now.”  Vivi reached over to grip his shoulder as his feet began dragging over the asphalt.  “Sorry, it looked a lot closer than it was.”

Arthur leaned against the door as he caught his breath, his knees trembled now that he had stopped.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Things always change perspective in the dark.  Dumb.”

“You okay?” Vivi asked, still holding his shoulder as he shuddered and gasped.  “You’re not gonna collapse, are you?”

Arthur laughed and choked on his breath.  “I’m not delicate china, Vi.  Just a little out of breath.”  He felt his metal arm slump at his side and leaned its way.  “How’s the phone?”

There was a flash in his eyes as the screen pulsed on.  “Better than you,” Vivi answered.  “But still no sig— Shit.”

Arthur grimaced as he looked up.  “Don’t tell me.”

“No power.” They said in unison.  Mystery gave a soft whimper and shuffled around in the passenger seat.  “Fuck,” Arthur muttered.

Vivi sighed and set the phone down in the cup holder with the disinfectant.  “Let’s stay optimistic,” Vivi says, “and presume that whatever can go wrong at this point, must.”

“Yeah.”  Arthur felt some of his strength come back and stood straight, turning to the tall building that they were stationary before.  He blinked at the haze of the windows, the dark bronze coloration of the roof and ascents of the front door.  A cold tingle worked up his spine and he visibly shook.  “Place is spooky,” he said, louder than he meant too.

Nothing was said for a long time and a harsh silence fell over them, as if the dark windows and walkway of the home was judging their presence.  It was an eerie sensation and Arthur decided he was the only one that felt it.  Arthur jumped when Vivi broke the silence with a sudden statement.

“We should go inside.”  Vivi nudged Arthur as she lowered down from the drivers seat, he stepped back as her feet crunched the dirt underfoot.  The car doors clicked when she hit the unlatch button and she moved along the vans side to the back.

Arthur stuttered, “What?”  He saw Mystery’s white fur skip through the light of the flashlight as he took up the torch and dropped from the open door of the cab.  “Someone probably lives there.”

“You’re probably right,” Vivi says, around the back door of the van.  Arthur leans through the driver’s side door as she climbs inside.  “But it looks abandoned.”

Arthur glanced back at the yard under the bright glow of the moon and the cobblestone path that led up, toward the shimmering front of large doors that were ornate with stylized, lace frame beneath the forward facing balcony.  Staring at the home, it seemed much large and imposing as he gawked at.

“Looks abandoned doesn’t always mean abandoned,” Arthur snapped.  “I can push the van a little further up the road, it wouldn’t be trouble.  Besides, it’s probably filthy inside.  Could be infested with insects and mold.  C’mon Vi, I don’t like the looks of this place.”

The beam of the flashlight hovered towards him and behind Mystery was the girl in blue, her rosy glasses caught the diverted light below her knees.  “Let’s check it out, first,” Vivi said, touching his metal wrist.  “You never like the looks of any place that looks deserted.”  He looked away as she leaned towards him, seeking his eyes in the dark.  “I’m sure the place isn’t as gloomy as it looks,” she says.  “I think there are lights on inside.”

“It might just be the flashlight,” Arthur said.  He reached down and took the torch from Mystery’s mouth.  Arthur turned the light towards the front lawn and ran the dim beam over the front posts of the door and the shingles that made up the walls.  “And some of the windows are boarded up.”  He felt a cotton bag pressed into his chest, and wrapped his arms around the sack.  “Is this the holy water?”

“And charms, and dispel,” Vivi responds, as she moves to the back of the van again.  “We’ll take a quick peek inside and if it’s as dilapidated as you reason, we can just come right back out.  No more than five minutes.”  Arthur can hear her rummage around, most likely searching for the sleeping bags.  “Can you bring the light over?”

“Three,” Arthur says.  He shines the light over her shoulder as she gathers her overnight bag and jams a folded blanket through the arm loops.  “But any sound, and sort of scuffling that sounds like a rodent and we are gone.”

“Four and a half,” Vivi counters.  She grabs his bag and slides it towards him.  “But I’d feel a lot better if you were there with me.  It’d be lonely if Mystery and I were in there alone.”  Vivi reaches down to stroke Myster’s head as he leans up towards her.

Arthur groans, “Why do you have to be so assertive?”  He frowns as Vivi kneels before him and pinches his cheek.

“Because one of us has to be,” she says, a smile beaming off her lips.  Vivi struggles to life his bag and her own, but Arthur takes her heavier bag and steps back.  As Vivi steps off the back bumper, Arthur turns the soft yellow haze of the flashlight to the cracked tarmac.  “Don’t—” Vivi begins, before she’s cut off by Arthur’s voice.

“It’s cool.  I’m not going to break myself,” Arthur snaps.  “The only thing breaking around these parts is my masculinity. Really Vi, if I need help I’ll ask.”  He slings her bag of her shoulder, and holds the flashlight and the sack of paranormal supplies in his metal arm.  He turns and adjusts the light on the road broken by age and stringy weeds.

“Sometimes you forget to ask,” Vivi says at his back.  “That’s what worries me.”

Arthur turns back but neglects to frame her with the flashlight.  Mystery mulls around Athur’s feet, as he studies Vivi’s outline under the golden cast of the moon.  Vivi stares through the dark at him and Arthur detects that uncanny sense of being seen through.  After a moment he says nothing, instead he turns away towards the looming edifice before them.

When the doors slam shut Arthur calls back, “Can you see well enough?”  Vivi’s beside his shoulder and hums a confirming sound.  Side by side they move forward, bundles of cloth shifting and whispering as they struggle not to drop something onto the dusty cobblestone steps.  In the vapor of the light Mystery’s outline glimmers as he trots ahead leading the two, head forward and ears high.  Arthur takes his eyes off the dog and stares up as the mansion seems to rise and swell at their approach, as though taking a defensive stance to their intrusion. 

The home felt much closer than it actually was and the path seemed to lead up and up with each step, the sensation boggled Arthur’s mind.  A familiar chill began to work at the base of his spine and he shuddered, despite how hot his blood had become from exerting himself with pushing the van.  The twisting unease built in his gut the closer they moved to the porch, and in the dark glass above the carved wood of the front door Arthur was certain he saw a glimmer of red.

“You okay?” Arthur asked.  His voice was soft and nearly cracked, but Vivi didn’t catch the distress.

“Yeah.  It’s a beautiful old home,” she said.

Arthur could’ve cried.  Beautiful, she had called it.  Many dangerous places could be beautiful and deadly all in the same structure.  Was it the intent of animals that contained fatal poisons to mesmerize the gullible as they scurried away?  Or was it to intentionally attract the weak minded, and eliminate those disastrous genes from the infinite line of descendants to follow?  He didn’t want it to be true, it couldn’t be.

He felt a mild vibration on his arm and swung the flashlight beam enough to see Vivi, her hand wrapped around the wrist band of his metal arm.  “I’ll get the door,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Arthur said back, unsure if he had said anything at all.  He raised the light to the tarnished metal of the door handle as Vivi moved forward.  Arthur glanced around as the latch clanked under Vivi’s grip.  The shadow of the house felt icy, but it was fall and shrouded areas seemed to shelter frigid pools from the sun.  He jerked his head, certain Mystery had moved behind him but there was no shape or shadow there.

“Arthur?” Vivi sounded confused.

“Sorry.”  Arthur raised the light back to the handle, and where Vivi with Mystery stood coated in dark shades and hazy fuchsia.

Vivi shielded her eyes from the sudden light.  She had set his bag beside the door as the pressed her shoulder to the old oak.  “No.  I—” She stopped and sighed.  “Never mind.  Just my imagination.”   As Arthur choked out a sound, she gave a hard shove to the rough wood with her shoulder and the doors snapped open, as if cracked apart after centuries of desertion.  “Got it!  Can you bring the light in over here?”

With little coaxing Arthur shuffles forward, his metal arm latched over his chest and the provision bag, fingernails digging into his palm around the handle of Vivi’s bag.

The interior of the house was icy and Arthur almost expected to see his breath as he stepped into the oppressive gloom.  The bulb of light from the torch fell onto velvety rich, red carpet.  It rasped under Vivi’s feet as she stepped through the threshold into the black entrance hall.  “Wait for me,” Arthur called, hurrying after her and Mystery.  The sense of foreboding had faded completely, but it didn’t feel right.  In its place was left a vacant and isolated sensation, and Arthur instantly mourned the loss of accusation the front windows had piled on his subconscious.

“It’s not so bad in here,” Vivi said.  She stood center of the carpet, Mystery had stopped to sit close beside her feet.  “I thought it’d be dusty and dank, but no.  It’s almost, homey.”

The atmosphere was deafening and contained, evolving into a sense of suspension where time became meaningless.  Arthur passed the torch beam over the blue wall paper and the tiled floor beneath the carpet.  It was just a long hall.  He adjusted the light, trying to identify what hazards might lay in their path.  The beam of light instead caught Mystery’s gaze as the white face turned to meet his eyes, the look caused Arthur to freeze.  It was peculiar and unnatural, an expression that a dog’s face should not be able to fabricate and the suggestion of it startled Arthur at first before he recognized the actual shape of Mystery where he sat.  He had only a few seconds to register it was the dog with the red collar, before the soft vapor of light of the torch sputtered and dimmed.  Vivi’s voice broke through the crushing silence, before a loud swoosh filled the foyer followed by the ear splinting boom of the doors.  The tremor of vibrations faded from their minds as the moonlight from outside and the torch of the flashlight, were cut off completely.  A ringing persisted, and Arthur recognized the sound of blood pulsing through his eardrums in the complete absence of sound and dimension.

No one made a sound, no one moved.  No matter how Arthur strained his eyes could not perceive the wall of black that filled his eyes.  After years of waiting, Arthur believes he has been left behind.  He takes a breath of the sharp air and is about to cry out, when he catches hold of Vivi’s voice very near his side.

“Arthur,” she whispers.  “Arthur.  Do you see that?”  She points, but he can’t see anything.  Her voice is comfort enough, and he feels reassured.  Arthur is about to reach out for Vivi, when his eyes too lock on what she must have found.

At first it looked like the glimmer of her glasses, but it was high up towards the ceiling of the room somewhere in the dark.  The thick haze around it illuminates as the wavering flame dips and sways in nothingness with no visible tether.  Their eyes follow the slow motion of the fuchsia orb as it glides downward to greet its guests.

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 27 ~Obsessions~

"Claire! There ye are!"

She spun around in her chair to face Geillis. "Hey! Right on time. Just finishing."

Geillis crossed her arms, took a step back and studied her face. "Mmm ...ye look great. Nae dark circles under yer eyes, ye gained a bit of weight, and ye're no' cranky. Sleeping better?"

She grinned. The last few weeks had been perfect. She was finally sleeping without the nightmares and eating properly. Her work schedule had finally loosened up after the arrival of her new assistant, Mary McNab, a widower in need of a part-time job. And to her relief, her nauseousness and fainting spells seemed to have ebbed. 

Then there was Jamie.

The thought of him made her smile. Since that night in the stable, they had been together almost every day and most nights. And when he wasn't with her, he was either busy rehabilitating Donas or overseeing and working on the renovation of the house he bought a while back. Although she had offered money from her inheritance to finance their eventual home's restoration, he was too stubborn and proud to accept. He was persistent and adamant that it was a man's job to provide for his family with his own sweat and hard work. Slightly annoyed but not wanting to disturb the peace, she conceded, thinking her money could be put to use for other things in the future. She really couldn't complain much about his stubbornness. After all, it was this particular trait that got him through his ordeal.

Although aware of the changes in her body, her pregnancy was still not visible, which was a great thing, since her rushed wedding was only a couple of weeks away, a few months before Jenny's. And for the first time in a very long time, she felt relaxed, and her spirit was light, and she wasn't about to stress over their upcoming nuptials. After what happened in the last few months, she realised life was too precious to be worrying. Whatever worries and expectations she had for the future, she had shoved them away and focused on the present. She did precisely what Ellen had advised her.

Take it one moment at a time. One day at a time.

Let your sense of control go and give it up to the higher power.

Believe you will be guided to the right path and have faith.

As for Jamie, pending fatherhood had changed him a lot. He had been slightly going overboard with baby proofing the house and buying heaps of reading materials on first-time parenthood. And slowly, despite protests from the family, he had also eased his way back to work in the hotel, doing only half-days so as not to compromise his recovery. 

She refocused on Geillis. "Thank you. I'm finally sleeping through the night, so I'm more energetic."

"That's great, chick. It's about time. We don't want ye looking all gaunt and stressed out on yer big day."

"After what happened with Annalise, I think I have my priorities straightened out by now. Call it an awakening or whatever. I'm determined not to be one of those bridezillas. I'll just go with the flow. I'm just happy Jamie is on his feet and thriving even if he's back to being his stubborn self. But I must say, he's obsessing way too much about the baby to a point he was wondering if there was some sort of daddy boot camp around this area."

Geillis laughed. "Aye, weel, that's quite normal. He's definitely looking better too. He looks like a man truly well-loved. If ye ken what I mean." She winked to make a point.

"Ha, ha! Anyway, enough of me. How're things with Willie?"

Geillis rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation over the topic. But Claire knew her friend's feelings ran way deeper. "Weel, ye ken it took a while before he convinced me to go out to dinner with him ..." She paused to check her cuticles. "I tried to be all cool about it by telling him that I'm a big girl, and I could handle one night stands and that he didn't need to take me out to dinner as a thank ye. I was convinced I was some sort of transitional. Weel, he was appalled with my assumptions. But whatever ...I'm done fighting my feelings. Like ye, I'm just going with the flow. I like the lad, Claire but sometimes, I cannae forget that time when he called out yer name on our first night together. It keeps coming back."

"Oh, Geillis." Claire stood up and hugged her friend. When she finally pulled away, she looked at her friend in the eyes. "Listen. He announced to the family that you're his girlfriend, and he hasn't done that for years. Besides, how many times did he ask ye out before ye relented? That accounts for something. He must like you a lot to pursue you; otherwise, he wouldn't have been persistent. Stop worrying. He cares for you, and you know fine, Willie is not that sort of bloke, ok?"

"Aye," Geillis shrugged. "It's just that the Fraser lads are known for their gallantry, so ye never know if Willie was just trying to do right by me."

Claire shook her head. "Now, don't be daft. Willie hardly goes home to Lallybroch now. He's always in our house, and that's because he wants to spend more time with you. And that reminds me, I think he better start coughing up some cash for the rent. That man can eat!"

"Weel so does yer, Jamie. What's with men and midnight snacks?" 

They looked at each other and giggled.

"Come on, lass, let's get ye out of here before more work is piled on yer desk." Geillis started to pull her hand as she grabbed her satchel. "I don't want to be late for our appointment."

Claire almost forgot about their appointment at a beauty salon. They were planning to have their nails done, including facial and Brazilian wax treatments. It was Geillis' advance bridal gift to her. "Erm Geillis, don't ye think I can skip the Brazilian wax part? It sounds like it's going to hurt. And aren't we supposed to do this before the wedding? You know all this pampering and stuff."

"Ach, shush. This one's on me. Jenny arranged the pamper session before the wedding already. And as for the Brazilian wax, Jamie will be please, and ye can consider it an early wedding present for him. And besides, I've wanted to do this for a long time, just ye and me. Even though we live in the same house, we hardly spend time together anymore," Geillis chattered as she continued to pull Claire along. "Ye ken what they say, no pain, no gain. Trust me ...men love it. It will be worth it."

"Well, Jamie has never complained before..."

"Of course, he hasn't complained. He doesn't know any better. Wait till ye see the look on his face when he sees yer fanny."

Self-consciousness crashed over her, and she yanked her friend by the arm. "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Pipe down will you! Don't want the staff knowing what we're about to do."

"Don't want the staff to know what?" a deep voice came from behind them. The girls jumped as Willie approached them. After a quick kiss to Geillis, he eyed them both suspiciously. 

"Aaah, a wee bit of a trim and some pampering. Girls' afternoon out, ye ken. Will be home before dinner," Geillis explained hurriedly. She stood on tiptoes to give Willie a quick peck before pulling Claire roughly.

"Wait ..." Willie called after them.

"We're late, sorry," Claire looked at him apologetically. "See you at home."

Damn Geillis! He will find out soon enough what they have been up to.  Claire cringed at the thought as she allowed her friend to pull her away from the baffled looking Willie.

..........

It was early evening when Claire finally made it through her door. She had dropped off Geillis at the hotel for her impromptu dinner date with Willie before heading home. Other than the funny feeling between her legs after the Brazilian wax treatment, Claire felt shiny and brand new from her pampering session. Sneaky as her friend was, she appreciated their time together since it was long overdue and she very much needed some girl-talk.

"In here, Sassenach," Jamie's voice called out as she heard utensils and pans clacking. She inhaled deeply, and she smelled food.

Dropping her satchel and laptop on the coffee table, she made her way to the kitchen. "Oh, hi ...Whatever you're making, I hope you didn't make loads. Geillis and I were served snacks at the beauty salon."

She was just about to go over to Jamie when he stopped her on her tracks. "Stay where ye are, Sassenach. I need to blindfold ye."

"W-what?" 

Jamie waved a hand in the air. "A wee degustation. It's straightforward - I blindfold ye, and ye let me know how each of the things I made taste. It's sort of a trial for a full course menu I'd like to make and suggest to Murtagh."

"Huh? Taste-testing? I don't know if I could go through a whole set of menu, Jamie. I might have loads of appetite these days but don't you think it's a bit late for that?" She eyed the paper bags on the countertop with suspicion. "And why do I have to be blindfolded?"

Jamie smiled. "They're just wee bite portions, Sassenach. I just want to know how the components go together, and ye have a great taste palate. As for the blindfold, I think one has a more open mind when ye can't visually peg the ingredients. Allows yer taste buds to take over as the primary sensory perception."

"Aaah, is that so, Chef Fraser?" she teased, grinning.

"Aye, it is so. Weel, are ye helping me out here or not?"

Her skin tingled with anticipation. "Fine, let's do this."

He lit up, pushing up the sleeves on his casual shirt as if prepping for something big. He put on Claire's girly pink apron hanging from the hook, which only made him look more masculine than ever, and dragged a chair for her to sit on.

"I can sit on the stool," she pointed out.

"No. A chair is sturdier, trust me."

Sturdier for what?  She shrugged. "Alright, so what do I do?"

He pulled out a scarf from the back pocket of his jeans, grinning, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes. "First this."

"Oooh, kinky."

"Aye, I can do kinky," he whispered as he gently placed the scarf over her eyes and tied a loose knot, before planting a kiss on her cheek. "So, can ye see anything?"

"Nope."

"Right, sit tight and give me a few secs."

She heard cupboard doors open and close, and the rustle of bags. She smelled the scent of freshness and a variety of herbs, all mixed up. The refrigerator door squeaked, and then it went silent. Jamie's shuffling around the kitchen slowly relaxed her, and she allowed her mind to drift while she waited for the first taste.

Moments passed before she sensed him kneeling in front of her as a rush of his warm breath hit her lips. "Are ye ready for yer first taste, Sassenach?"

She twitched her nose and smiled. "Yes."

"Open up ...aaahhh."

Her lips parted. She expected the cool, smooth touch of the spoon, but Jamie used his fingers instead. He placed something small and soft on her tongue. The flavour of earth tickled her taste buds, and the firm bite against her teeth exploded juice in her mouth.

"Dumpling? With truffles and wild mushroom." A smile touched her lips as she caught the last bite of mirin. "Ooooh, the balance is incredible."

He wiped a trickle of moisture from her bottom lip. "Good lass. It was dumpling filled with porcini, chanterelles and truffle oil. Did you like it?"

She grinned, licking her lips. "Uh-huh. It was yum."

"Alright, next one." She waited, her senses going on high alert. "Open for me."

Her body relaxed as if trying to respond to the command. Before she could take a whiff of what's coming next, Jamie pushed the morsel into her mouth. She tasted something creamy, thick cheese combined with a hint of garlic, olive oil, sweet basil and crisp tomato.

"Mmmm," she moaned. "Mozzarella cheese, my favourite. And tomato ...so fresh and so good, like it was recently plucked from the vine. And basil ...this is so heaven!"

He chuckled, and his hand began stroking her cheek, soothing her into a more relaxed trance. The simplicity of the flavours flowed through her, and she allowed herself to lean back. "Ye're very good at this, Sassenach and the faces ye're making, is making it hard for me to concentrate," he said in a low voice, his finger trailing down her throat. "Do ye want more?"

She nodded eagerly this time. "Uh-huh."

"I want to take off yer top."

She was caught off-guard by his request. His outrageous demand was over the top, aware that there's a possibility Willie and Geillis could walk in on them anytime even though she knew they went out for dinner. But still, the whole scenario was turning her on and she felt brazen. "Do it for me, then."

Not saying another word, he unbuttoned her blouse with deft fingers, and the cool air rushed at once over her exposed skin. For her, it felt so outrageously decadent to be sitting in the kitchen, blindfolded and having Jamie feed her. As her mind began to wander and ponder what was going to come next, he took her by surprise when his mouth suddenly clamped on her nipple and started sucking through the lace fabric of her bra, flicking his tongue back and forth. She gasped and automatically arched toward him. Before her hands could grip his shoulders, he was gone, and she was grasping air. Next, she heard a clatter of utensil hitting the countertop, the rustle of paper and Jamie whistling. Each second twisted the tension in her stomach to another knot.

She tried to even out her breaths as she felt him come closer, but he spoke quite calmly. "Ready for yer next bite, Sassenach?"

She nodded.

"Open."

She did and bit down. It was flaky and smelled of the river. There was a hint of teriyaki sauce and spring onion, but it didn't overwhelm the natural flavour of the fish.

"Salmon! Oh ...and it's beautifully cooked."

"Mmm, very good." As she chewed and swallowed, he unhooked her bra, and her breasts spilt free into his waiting hands. The combination of his touch and the lingering flavour of food in her mouth made her shiver. Coasting his finger over her stomach, he traced the waistband of her skirt. "Lift yer hips, Sassenach, this is coming off."

Her inner rational voice wanted to tell him absolutely not, but her body had a mind of its own as her hips lifted to their own accord.

She heard his sharp intake of breath. "Beautiful ...so beautiful. It never stops, does it? The wanting ye?" he whispered as he stroked and caressed her calves and upward, gently parting her legs. She hissed, unable to get a word to pass her mouth. "We have two tastes left. Let's get ye something to wash it down with."

She could only whimper at the loss of his touch as he stood up and made his way back again in the kitchen. A cupboard door slammed, and the sound of liquid being poured into a glass echoed in her ears. "Just a wee sip because it's alcohol. Let me know what ye think."

He cupped her chin and tipped the glass to her lips. The wine trickled down her throat, the scent of blackberries drifting to her nostrils and soaking her mouth. She relished the intense tannins and boldness of flavour. "Red wine. I can taste berries. Cabernet Sauvignon?"

"Aye, it's Cabernet Sauvignon. Pregnancy has definitely heightened yer senses. Have a little more and then that's enough. It's not good for the baby."

As she took another sip, his palm cupped her between her thighs, taking her by surprise.

Her hips shot up, and the wine slid down her throat. "Stunning," Jamie murmured as if she was one of his scientific experiments.

A choked laugh escaped her throat. She thought they had both gone bonkers acting out a foodie sex scene, yet she didn't want him to stop and needed him to finish where he'd taken her. "Stop teasing me, Jamie," she said hoarsely. "I need ..."

"Hush, I ken what ye need, Sassenach. Lift up."

And she did, and he carefully slid down her panties.

She waited for his hands or his mouth, but there was only cold air. "Jamie?"

"Oh, holy Christ!"

Oh, holy Christ, what?  She was confused for a moment and then she remembered the Brazilian wax treatment she had from earlier. All of a sudden, her face heated up and she tried to squeeze her legs together in embarrassment. "I guess I've gone over the top. Y-you don't like it?" she asked stammering.

He didn't answer her question. "Legs apart, Sassenach, I want to see," he demanded in a low voice.

She obeyed, completely helpless, wishing she could see his reaction. There was a long moment of silence.  Jesus, why isn't he saying anything? 

He didn't utter a word, as she felt him move away from her. Every muscle in her body was locked with tension as she waited for him to say something. Anything. Instead, when he came back, his fingers pushed past her lips and laid a sample on her tongue.

Chocolate truffle!  Bittersweet, rich and creamy. The chocolate coated her tongue and melted in her mouth, making her smile. "Oh God! That's lush," she said huskily.

Without warning, the blindfold was suddenly ripped off, his mouth taking hers in an urgent kiss. Then his tongue slid in to taste the residual flavours in Claire's mouth while his fingers slid between her legs.

It didn't take long, and she came hard, bucking against the chair, a dozen sensations pulling her in different directions. Jamie muttered something incoherently, hiked her up against him and stumbled into her bedroom. In a few seconds, he dropped her on the bed and shed his clothes.

She was still shaking from the after-effects of her orgasm when he pushed her knees back and took her in one full, deep thrust. Sweat dripped from his brow as he locked gaze with her. At that moment, her heart burst open, filling her with light and immense love flowing out of her and surrounding them.

"You've always been mine," he whispered.

Her body welcomed him as her inner walls clamped hard around his cock. He took her wildly, and she gave it back to him, with the sting of her nails, with the ragged cries of his name and the thrust of her hips. And when they both exploded together, he wrapped his arms tight around her body, keeping her safe within the circle.

Racked with pleasure, he collapsed on top of her, muttering her name like a litany of prayer and worship.

It took a while before they got their heartbeats and breathing back to normal and reality broke through. Then Claire started to laugh against his chest, and he smiled down at her. "Wow, Jamie, what just happened there?"

"I dinna ken. I did plan on a slow seduction, but after I saw ye bare down there, I just lost it. I kinda feel like a dirty old man liking it, but I must admit, it looks verra pretty. Was I too rough?" he asked, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

She found it endearing how his accent became more pronounced when he was sex-drunk. Smiling, she propped herself on her elbow, her finger tracing the whorl of hair on his chest. "No ...it was everything, Jamie."

"Good. Now that mama is well-fed and satisfied, it's the baby's turn," he laughed, pulling her out of bed.

He was full of surprises of late, and she was only too happy for him to lead. "What did you have in mind?"

Scooping her up in his arms, he bit her earlobe gently. "First shower. Then I'll make us hot cocoa. And how about a film afterwards?"

"Sounds grand to me," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, as he walked them to the bathroom.

An hour later, they were settled with their mugs of steaming hot cocoa in front of the television. Dressed in his t-shirt, she cuddled next to him under the blanket. 

They were just getting to the exciting part of the film when there was a loud knock on the door, making Claire jump.

She was about to get up when Jamie pulled her back. "I'll get it."

"It could be Geillis and Willie. She sent me a message earlier that she left her keys in her office."

He nodded and made his way to the door. The next consecutive knocks were louder and more urgent. "Coming ..." Jamie's loud voice called out as he hurried, the limp still slightly evident in his stride.

Claire put down the mug on the coffee table and got up from the sofa. She had an unerring instinct it wasn't Geillis knocking on the door.

"Isobel! What are ye doing here?"

It was Geneva's sister looking stressed and worried. "Is Claire here?"

Claire walked up to them, a niggling sensation starting to stir in her belly. She knew the girl, but they had hardly exchanged a full sentence since coming back to Lallybroch. Confused, she wondered why the girl was asking after her. "Isobel, what's the matter?"

Jamie waved Isobel in and closed the door behind her, worry etching his brows. "Is it Donas?"

Isobel shook her head, her eyes filled with panic and dread. "No, no, Donas is fine. I-i-i-it's my sister. She plans to do something terrible. I-i found her diary and a lot of awful things are written about y-you and the things she wants to do. It's so horrible, I c-c-can't even say it, " she stammered, glancing at Claire. "A-and yesterday I found a bottle of sulfuric acid under her bed. At first, I didn't think much about it because my father uses it to clean metals on the farm. B-but earlier I looked it up and found articles about it being used in acid attacks. A-a-and I started to wonder why she had it under her bed."

Jamie ran a hand through his hair, ragged breath whooshing out of him.

Claire suppressed her panic, not wanting to jump to false conclusions. "Isobel, maybe she's just ranting in her diary. There has to be an explanation for the acid under her bed ..." She knew instantly her rationalisation sounded lame the moment it came out of her mouth.

"N-no, she's been obsessing about you ever since her job application at the hotel was turned down by Brian. I c-can't stand back and do nothing ...and ..."

Their conversation was interrupted by another knock on the door, making them all jump.

"It must be Geillis," Claire sighed as she looked at Jamie.

Before Jamie could respond, Isobel turned around and opened the door. Then everything happened in a blur. One minute they were all standing there, expecting Geillis to come in and in the next, Isobel was on the floor howling in pain as she clutched her upper body.

Standing in the doorway was Geneva holding an empty bottle, and her eyes widened in horror as she watched her sister collapsed. "No, no, Isobel ...no, no ...I'm so sorry. Oh my God, what have I done," she cried as she fell to her knees beside her sister.

It must have been adrenaline, fear or her heightened instinct but Claire didn't take any chances as she grabbed a decorative vase on the console table and smashed it on Geneva's head. Numbly, Claire watched her crumple beside her sister as she slowly backed away.

[bixbythemartian]

Idk if you're still doing prompts? If yes, what about a ghost who protects kids instead of trying to kidnap/murder them? If no, I've loved your past stuff, great work, take care of yourself, you're awesome!

Sorry this took so long! Thanks for the compliments! Been saving this for a special occasion! 

“Murder?” the spirit asked, hovering above the ouija board in the old, abandoned attic. “But, why should I want to do that?”

Claire, a 13 year old girl with dark brown skin and twists, shrugged. “This house has a rep, you know. People died here.”

“People die everywhere, all the time. It’s what people do. It’s what made me, after all.” The ghost chuckled, as if it had told a good joke.

“What’s your name?” David asked. He was 12, and scrawny, with short buzzed hair, and medium brown skin. 

“Oh, I don’t remember,” the ghost said, waving what might be a limb. “What’s a good name for a ghost?”

“Spooky?” David suggested.

“He’s not a cat,” Beryl said. She was 15 and nominally in charge, so theoretically this whole thing was her fault/responsibility. She was David’s older half-sister, so mostly she followed them around and intervened when it looked like they were going to hurt themselves bad enough she’d get yelled at. She had streaks of purple in her long, black hair and light brown skin.

“I’m not even sure I’m a he,” the ghost said.

“Alex,” Claire suggested. Everyone looked at her. “It’s gender neutral. Boys and girls can be named Alex, right?”

There was some grumbling agreement, and the ghost nodded (probably) slowly. “Okay, I can deal with that. So, what are we doing today?”

“Well, we were going to talk to a ghost, or try,” Claire said.

The ghost gave a hearty bellow of a laugh. “I believe you have succeeded in that. What’s next?”

“I dunno. Lunch?” Claire shrugged.

“That seems wise. Growing bodies need sustenance, I know that much. Did you bring anything to eat?”

“Naw,” David said. 

Beryl sighed, and pulled out her bag. “I swear,” she muttered, and pulled out a handful of snacks and some capri-suns. She was glad that Callie had gone home sick, her supplies would be a little stretched across four.

Everyone sat down and started snacking.

“What’s it like, being a ghost?” Claire asked.

“Boring, mostly. Nobody lives here. Sometimes I watch the squirrels and raccoons who nest in the winter.”

“You don’t remember being alive?” Beryl asked.

The ghost hesitated. “I have some... vague, memories. Distant. Pain and fear. I remember some things about human life, but not why I know them.”

“Can you do cool ghost stuff? Like go through walls? Moaning?”

“Anybody can moan,” the ghost said. “As for walls, yes and no. They renovated at some point, downstairs. Where no walls used to be, but walls are now, I can pass through.”

“Were you mad about it?” Claire asked. “I heard sometimes ghosts get mad about people changing things.”

“No, that room really was too small for their family. I think I’d have to remember more about living, or living here, to care about what they did.”

They talked for the rest of the afternoon, and then for the rest of the summer they kept going back to the house. They brought toys for Alex to move around, and a sheet to see if they could carry it (sadly, the sheet passed right through Alex). 

One day, Alex met them at the door, and shushed them. Very quietly in each of their ears (simultaneously, somehow) they whispered “If you want to see some fun ghost stuff, hide in the front closet and be very quiet.” 

They hid in the coat closet in the front room, and with the door cracked open, they waited.

There was a man creeping through. Just a regular college-aged white guy, and they all went real still. 

Alex appeared, out of nowhere. Instead of being somewhat amorphous, they looked horribly real. They seemed to be coated in blood, and they screamed something awful.

The guy shrieked, threw his flashlight, and ran out.

The kids came out of the closet, laughing, but Claire stopped. “Alex, are you okay?”

“I think I used more energy than I had,” the ghost said. It seemed to be fading. “Hard to manifest.”

“Maybe you just need to rest,” Beryl suggested.

“Yes, rest,” Alex said, and faded.

For the rest of the summer, and the summer after, there was no sign of Alex.

Eventually, they all kind of forgot, like it was a shared dream, rather than something that had happened.

Beryl, driving home from school one weekend, was nodding asleep at the wheel and not realizing it until someone shrieked “WAKE UP!” in her ear. 

She jerked awake, pulled off the road, her heart slamming in her chest. She turned to the passenger seat, and saw a faint glimmer. “Alex?” she asked.

The faintest, almost-not-there touch to her forehead, and then the glimmer was gone. 

“Alex is back,” she breathed. She pulled her phone out. She had to text her little brother.

[brazil-also-loves-rwby]

To move on 2 - RWBY FANFIC

Hello everyone. This is my fanfic Para Seguir Em Frente. I translated it because I received many visits from countries with English language. MY ENGLISH IS BAD AND YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! Please comment. Originaly posted here https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13256016/1/To-move-on

The next day, it took a few hours of riding to get to the nearest train station. The trip on the semi-empty train until Mistral lasted another full day. May did not have much opportunity to look around the city, since they only had lunch in town before boarding an aircraft up to Vale. Only when the ship reached flight did she turn to Oscar to voice her thoughts.

- Oscar, it's been a long time since I visited the capital of the kingdom but... The city seem kinda...

- Empty? - May nodded and Oscar sighed, his shoulders falling as the world weighed on his back. - I did not overdo it when I said that thousands of people died an aunt. Everyone who could fight were summoned to fight grimms army and the cities were unprotected. Contrary to the common, the safest places during the battle were isolated villages, such as yours, where the news of the war did not arrive. There was no panic to attract the grimms. But the cities...

- All they despaired. - Aunt May completed and Oscar nodded. - I noticed that there were a large number of buildings under renovation...

- Yes. But with the fall of Salem and the return of the gods the number of grimms decreased dramatically. We had few reports of attacks, and all of them of weak grimms, in small groups. They will take time to grow in numbers again and this will give us time to strengthen ourselves again. - Oscar lowered his eyes and her aunt immediately put a hand in his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

- You also lost friends, is not it? I'm sorry. - Oscar clenched his hands in fist on his knees, devastated.

- Yes many. - He answered quietly. - But the wounds will close eventually.

- Oscar ... - May put a hand to her nephew's face and gently made him look at her. The pain in his eyes was heart-breaking. - You're right dear, but it's okay to cry for them. Do not keep it in your chest Oscar.

Oscar opened his mouth to deny it but, he noticed suddenly, he had really been holding back for a long time. He cried with relief a few times, when Blake or Jaune escaped certain death, but soon everyone needed to be up and running again. Even now, with everything over, he had come so concerned to help Remnant rebuild from the ruins that remained that he had not even stopped to breathe. Just living the next day, the next battle, again and again.

- It's okay Oscar. - The hunter felt the arms of his aunt pull him for a comforting hug. He did not even realize he was shaking. - It's all right.

Oscar finally let the weight of years of fears, losses and battles drain out of him along with his tears. He just leaned his head against her aunt's shoulder and let the low sobs wash away the sadness inside him. May only supported him, stroking his back and whispering words of comfort. Neither of them knew how long they stayed like this, but when Oscar finally pulled away, he felt light as he had not for years.

The rest of the trip followed without further events. They arrived in Vale in the middle of the following day, after a little delay with some flying grimms. They descended the landing ramp, tired of hours of constant travel.

- Do you know any hotel for the night?

- In fact-

- LITTLE BOY OSCAR!

Oscar interrupted himself in the middle of the words and tried to turn back in time, but Nora was already on top of him, knocking him to the ground. Even though she was a woman now, her personality remained the same. Which meant that Oscar would be crushed in a bear hug each time they met after long periods of time without seeing each other.

- Nora ... I ... I can not ... breathe ... - Oscar muttered with little air he had left, making the redhead laugh and loose it. She jumped to her feet and held out her hand to help him do the same.

- We miss you SO MUCH! I thought the trip to Mistral was going to take forever! Oh! Are you the Oscar's aunt ?! You are equal! Nice to meet you! I'm Nora Valkarie, and that handsome man approaching us is my fiancé, Lee Ren! REN, HURRY UP!

May and Oscar did not have time to say anything while Nora fumbled around them, not pausing to breathe. Fortunately, Ren was quick to approach, taking his wife's hand. It seemed to anchor her on the floor, giving them a moment to introduce themselves.

- It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am... - Ren began, reaching out for May, who returned the gesture.

- May Pine. It's my pleasure. Oscar has told a lot about you all.

- He said?! Of course he said! We are all incredible! - Nora declared, puffing out her chest.

- Thanks again for coming to meet us Ren. It's been a long trip. - Oscar thanked him, also greeting the friend with a light hug. Ren put a hand on the younger man's shoulder as a gesture of comfort.

- You must be exhausted. Let's go, lunch should be almost ready.

- Where is the meeting place? - Oscar asked, picking up his suitcase in one hand and his aunt with the other. Nora replied.

- In the Arc's house! They have a huge family and with so many grown up childrens the house was empty! And they have bunk beds!

They laughed and talked on the way to the Arc's residence. As expected, the house was large and spacious, surrounded by a large green garden. The yellow-painted walls were warm and welcoming, giving the building a familiar air. And even before they crossed the entrance gate, Jaune was already opening the front door, smiling at them.

- By the gods! I thought you were tall Oscar! - May could not fail to comment when introduced to Jaune. The boy's hand covered hers and he stood long inches above her head. But the poor boy must have had a heart of gold, because he blushed slightly at the remark.

- I've heard that often... - Jaune smiled to mask his embarrassment. - Please, come in. Weiss and Blake are in the kitchen helping with lunch and Ruby just called me. She and Yang should be here soon.

They all entered the house, being guided into the kitchen by the delicious smell of lunch being prepared. There, a brunette faunus set the dishes on the table while a white-haired lady stirred the pots by the stove. Helping to cook, an older, blue-eyed blonde woman smiled at them. A new session of hugs and presentations followed. They were Blake Belladonna, Weiss Schenne, and Iris Arc, Jaune's mother.

- Please, make yourself at home. Lunch is ready. We're just waiting ... - The bell rang again just then. Mrs. Arc turned to Oscar, who was standing by the kitchen door. - You can answer that for me? Is kind of crowded here.

- Of course.

Oscar turned and went out to greet the newcomers, and after a moment's hesitation his aunt followed. 'It was better to say hello in the open hall than with everyone in the kitchen again,' she thought. She arrived in the room just in time to see Oscar opening the door for a very tall woman with fluttering blond hair. She smiled, carrying a suitcase on each shoulder as if they weighed nothing. May noticed that one of her arms was a mechanical prosthesis.

- Hey Oscar! Looking good! - She bent down to walk through the door with her suitcases and her gaze fell on May. - Hello, you must be Oscar's aunt!" My name is Yang!

Yang approached, dropping a suitcase on the floor to greet May with her mechanical hand. It was cool to the touch, but smooth.

- It's my pleasure. - May began to say, but was interrupted by a female voice outside.

- Yang! You took my ... OSCAR!

May jumped in surprise, as with the arrival of Nora, because her nephew was again attacked by surprise. A red ray struck him in the chest, exploding in rose petals all around him. They swayed in the air and fell slowly to the ground, revealing a young woman dressed in black and red. She hugged Oscar by the waist, being lower than him, and he returned the hug with a shy smile.

- It's good to see you again, too, Ruby. - She released him just enough to look at his face.

- But ..! But..! Yang told me you would not make it in time! - Ruby glared at the blonde.

- Oops. - That's all she said, shrugging her shoulders and heading for the kitchen. Ruby's glare then fell on May, widening in surprise. The older woman noticed that the leader of the team RWBY indeed have beautiful silver eyes, of which her nephew had spoken about a lot.

-And your aunt came too! - Ruby exclaimed. She looked at herself and Oscar, hugged, and jumped away, stuttering and blushing. - Well, I... I'm Ruby Rose. Nice to meet you.

- May Pine. Pleasure is mine, dear. - May smiled, stealing a quick glance at her nephew, who wisely looked away. Her maternal instincts whistled, but she hastened to make no assumptions. - Lets come in?

Everyone gathered and greeted each other with hugs and smiles and then sat down at the table. The lunch itself was delicious and the company, welcoming. May had spent many years alone, or just with Oscar as a company, and the move to a 10-person table was radical, but welcome. Everyone talked, laughed and shared stories and memories.

- And you all live here at Vale? - May asked at one point, sipping her juice. Weiss replied.

- No, and most of us have not yet taken up residence after the war. But we all came to the ceremony. - May blinked, confused.

- Ceremony? - Oscar agreed.

- Yes, but maybe I missed it, with all that I told you. - Blake continued the explanation, her voice calm.

- Since none of us ever officially graduated as hunters, the Vale Council decided to hold a ceremony to grant us our certificates. - Ruby sighed with those words, catching May's attention.

- And honor our deeds in the war! - Added Yang. This time Ruby groaned in disgust on the other side of the table.

- And they're having a great party! - Nora added equally lively. Ruby seemed to sink further into her chair.

- Yes, it will be a formal event, with all the pomp they can add. Of course the place will be full of photographers and journalists. By the Gods, Ruby! - Weiss explained, but she broke off irritably when Ruby banged her head on the table, looking defeated. - There is no use crying over it.

- But I do not want to go... - Ruby whined anyway.

- Ruby hates to be in the spotlight. - Oscar explained, watching May's lost gaze.

- Everyone's gonna be looking at us! And Weiss will force me to wear heels! - Ruby stood up, pointing dramatically at her teammate. Weiss just rolled her eyes and they all laughed.

- And when will this party be nephew?

- Tomorrow night. I thought we could spend the afternoon shopping. I do not have any formal clothes for the event. - Oscar pointed to the combat gear he wore. - Actually, I have nothing that does not fit in a suitcase.

- I know what you mean. - Ren said, and all the hunters at the table agreed. - We've spent so much time traveling that we do not need more than that for a long time.

- It was fun trying on my old clothes. I could not get into any of them. - Jaune commented and Yang laughed.

- It is true! You needed to have seen Ruby trying to get into her old clothes at home! - Yang laughed even more with Ruby trying to shut her up without success.

- But Ruby has not grown much these years. Maybe a few centimeters at most. - Oscar remarked, and Yang almost gasped with laughter. Even Weiss and Blake chuckled.

- No, no! I mean that the shirts did not go through her brea- Ruby finally attacked her sister, falling with her from the chair to the floor and covering her mouth with both hands. The desk burst out laughing.

No one but May noticed that Oscar took advantage of Ruby's indignation to disguise his reddish face. He obviously understood what Yang meant.

The rest of the day continued in a rush. All went shopping together and Ren and Nora joined Oscar and May to look at homes for sale in the city. Everyone went to bed exhausted, only to wake up with more confusion the next morning. Weiss and Nora managed to drag Ruby by force to a beauty salon, where all the women spent the afternoon prancing. Oscar took advantage of the free afternoon to advance a visit to some houses that caught the attention of his aunt, having in mind a list of details that she had passed to him.

- What did you think of this one Oscar? - Jaune asked, stretching his head out the second-story window. - Wow! We can see Beacon from here! I can see that they have made good progress in rebuilding the school.

- After the Wyvern was destroyed the military finally managed to clear the school of grimms. Now it's a matter of time before the school opens the doors again. - Ren said, scanning the cabinets. - The furniture here is very tasteful Oscar, totally different from the last house.

- Yes, that place looked like a dollhouse! And believe me, I'm an expert on them. - Jaune nodded.

- Actually, I really liked this house. - Oscar commented, sitting down in the large double bed by the wall. - There's everything my aunt wanted in a house, and it's also decorated to my liking. I would not mind spending a few years here...

- You said you'd stay in Vale for some time. It has to do with the history of you teaching magic, does not it? - Jaune asked, stepping out of the window to sit on the opposite side of Oscar in bed. Ren also approached, interested in the subject.

- Yes. As I said, I am the only person who actually possesses a technical knowledge of magic. The council of kingdoms has entered into an agreement for me to immediately train as many teachers as possible so that they can pass on knowledge to their realms. Apparently the case of teenagers blowing up things in fights is more and more common. No one knows how to deal with magic yet and it just comes up, loaded with strong emotions. - Jaune nodded.

- It is true. The girls taught us something, but nothing technical, just what they learned from Professor Ozpin.

- It's almost like a mixture of semblance and dust. We can manipulate nature and even the notion of time, but it consumes our aura. - Ren added.

- Weiss was very pleased, commenting that this could drastically reduce the use of dust on the market, depending on how the magic affects people's daily lives.

- She completely abandoned the Schenne company, did not she? - Oscar commented curiously. He thought he heard Weiss commenting on it the night before. - She will be one of my pupils in magic classes. She said she had been trying to use her glyphs, replacing dust with magic, and getting great results.

- It is true. I think she's the liveliest of all this magic story. - Jaune commented. - She been commenting how eager she is to learn more about it.

- You two came a long way since our first year at Beacon, have not you, Jaune? - Ren said, disconcerting the blonde.

- Well, yes...

- Jaune did not get along with Weiss at the academy? - Ren smiled at Oscar's innocent question, and Jaune blushed.

- Well I...

- Jaune was in love with Weiss at Beacon. This included serenades, catcalls and flowers. - Jaune moaned with embarrassment and buried his face in his hands.

- Thank you for the description in detail Ren. I think you've been spending too much time with Nora.

- Seriously? I thought you were in love with Py... - Oscar stopped. - I'm sorry.

- It's all right. Pyrrha left a hole on me that will never really disappear, but today I am able to think of her for everything she has done for me with affection, and not only for the pain that her lack does. - Ren agreed with a sad smile.

- We all miss her.

- And beyond that ... Looking back today, I realize how my attraction to Weiss was childish. - Jaune continued. - She was beautiful and haughty. I had a cd with her songs at the time and I was always struck by the emotion she carried in her voice, but personally she was distant and restrained. It was a challenge, you know? I wanted to be worthy to unearth a sincere smile from her.

- And it was not the same with Pyrrha? A challenge? - Oscar asked, engulfed in their brief moment of confidence. The memories he had of Pyrrha belonged all to Ozpin. A bright young woman, whose flame burned too fast, but lit the path for her friends to the end. Unfortunately, these memories always brought a bitter taste of guilt to his mouth.

- No, not at all. See, if Weiss was a princess, tall in a tower and out of reach, Pyrrha was ... - Jaune sighed. Oscar already knew the friend's romantic side, inclined to poetic metaphors. The last time Oscar pointed this out, the blonde had blushed, mumbling something about 'being the effect of living with seven sisters'. - Pyrrha was an unreachable goddess. I could idealize that one day I would be worthy of Weiss, but Pyrrha? I could not think of anyone alive on earth who could be worthy of her.

- Nora and I were something... Gradual. - Ren said, his voice low. - We lived together for so long that I never considered a world without her. Then in the middle of a battle it finally dawned on me that she was no longer a little girl, but a woman.

- And you took your time for it, did not you? - Jaune laughed, and Ren agreed, slightly embarrassed.

- Well, Nora pointed out a lot of pretty obvious signs that I've missed over the years.

- What about you, Oscar? Who was your teenage crush? - Jaune asked suddenly, making Oscar take a little jump in surprise. He swallowed hard.

- Well I...

- I thought that was obvious. - Ren commented with a small smile, making Jaune blink confused and Oscar flushing slightly.

- Obvious? What do you mean?

- Well, you just needed to look at him every time he looked at- Ren's phone rang at that moment and he excused himself to answer. Moments later he hung up and turned to his friends. - Nora said the girls will be ready soon. We should lock up here and get ready too.

- Sure, I'll send a message to the realtor and make an offer at the house on the way. - Oscar got up, along with the others, to leave.

- Hey! Oscar has not said anything yet! - Jaune complained, accompanying his friends to the exit. - That's an offense! We were talking from heart to heart here!

- Well, that gives us a good excuse to repeat the dose, does not it? - Ren suggested amiably. - And that gives you a chance to guess.

- If you tell me it was Mrs. Calavera, I will not find it funny! - Jaune answered and the three of them continued talking and laughing outside the house.

Oscar found himself thinking about the past on the way back to the Arc's house. How all of them have changed and how his feelings have matured over the years. Feelings that until today he could not define or name. Absently, he found himself wandering and thinking of her.

[emmakillianfan]

The Recipe - A Captain Swan Little Bang Story

Summary: Chefs Emma Swan and Killian Jones both have their reasons to compete in the Culinary Championships for a large cash prize. But when they are paired as a team, they must learn to work together or it could all go up in flames. Part of the Captain Swan Little Bang 2018!

A/N: Here is my contribution to the @captainswanbigbang ‘s little bang! Thank you so much to all the mods for organizing it and for all your hard work. I was able to combine two of my greatest loves in this story - Captain Swan and culinary competitions. I could not have done it without the incredible feedback of my beta reader, @aloha-4-ever , who offered suggestions, kept me on track, and helped me change my idea when the first one turned the wrong direction. And of course this story is all the better with the incredible artistic work of @cocohook38 who made the incredible illustration of Emma and Killian as chefs. She took my idea of them in this story and made it reality. If you like her work, check out these great shirts. One of the designs is hers!   Proceeds will go to Little Hearts, Big Hopes to find research for Jacobsen Syndrome, a charity supported by Jennifer Morrison.  https://represent.com/store/emma-s-ugly-ducklings

Rated: Teen for a little language and mild affection

Triggers: None unless you have a food allergy

Available at: Archive and FF.net.

There was always something magical about cooking to Emma Swan. From the first time she had thrown ingredients into a pan and watched them meld into something wonderful and tasty, she had been mesmerized by the transformation that to her was pure magic. So when she aged out of the foster care system at 18, she found herself working long shifts at a diner and taking a cooking classes at a local community college.

Yet after a long day where she crafted creamy risotto that made the Italian master chefs cry at its beauty, Emma found that she was a fan of the simpler things in life. That particular night she was standing over a single frying pan with a golden brown sandwich sizzling to that perfect melted state where the butter, cheese, and bread would meld into a sinfully good grilled cheese sandwich.

“You won’t win the Culinary Championships with a sandwich,” her roommate Ruby announced, dropping her bag on the farm table they had restored during a snowy weekend when the entire city had shut down. “What? No objections that competition cooking isn’t your style?”

Emma lifted the corner of the sandwich to inspect her work. “I think we’ve already had that argument. I did my time, earned the accolades. Why would the Championships want to invite me back?”

Running a hand blindly through her dark hair, Ruby sighed. “Why wouldn’t they? You’re unbeatable. You won every freaking competition.”

Emma kept her eyes on her sandwich, pressing the slotted spatula down on it and then letting the bread rise back. “If I’m so unbeatable, then what’s the point? Nobody’s going to watch me win again. And if I lose, then I lose reputation and credibility.” Since her string of wins, Emma had found herself in the role of executive chef at one of New York’s small but popular restaurants.  

Always with a flair for the dramatic, Ruby held her phone out to her friend and shook it from side to side. “Fine, I’ll read the good part anyway. They are giving you a guaranteed bonus and appearance fee.” For Ruby, food was about money. She was the granddaughter of a restaurant owner and now worked in New York with a variety of chefs to help them start their own establishments. But to Emma, she was a friend and roommate, plus part time coach and assistant if it meant she got to hang around television types.

Peeking at the underside of her sandwich again and deeming it good, she flipped it easily and finally gave her dark haired roommate some attention. “So I just show up and cook?”

“That’s the idea,” Ruby said, breaking off a piece of the cheese that Emma had sliced for the sandwiches she was making. “Everyone will be paired up with another chef. You’re not in it alone. Then when there is only one pair standing, they both get a cash prize and you compete against your partner for a chance to go against other chefs from around the country. How savage is that? Turning on your own partner. The national winner gets $500,000.” Ruby shoved the phone down into the tiny little bag she was carrying and crossed her arms. “Imagine it. No don’t imagine it. Plan on it. Think about what you can do with that money.”

With her green eyes back on the sandwich, Emma sighed. “You’re thinking Ingrid’s.”

“Yeah,” Ruby said with an emphatic nod of her head. “So what do you say? Put on those chef whites and compete?”

Emma slid the sandwich on the plate and began to prepare a second one, knowing her roommate was hungry too. “I’ll think about it.” She concentrated on the satisfying sizzle of the pan for a moment.

“That’s Emma-code for I’ll think of reasons not to do it.” Ruby looked sourly at her friend. “You’ve done these before. Why not now?”

“I told you that I would think about it. I will. I need to look at schedules, expectations, requirements, and all of those little details.” She flipped the sandwich. “Such as, who would I partner with anyway? You?”

Ruby scoffed. “I’m no chef. I help pain in the butt chefs like you start their own restaurants. But you touch the food. I draw the line at that. Anyway, I already talked to the scout slash production assistant. They said not everyone entering has a partner already. There are probably half a dozen on the show who would kill to work with you.”

It was a running joke between the roommates that Ruby was a front of the house person. She could sell steak to a vegetarian, but she couldn’t grill one to save her life. “I could just get a loan to fix the restaurant up. Seems a little more responsible.”

“What if you win? Your former foster mother left you a beautiful house on the coast of Maine. It’s huge. Imagine the restaurant we could turn it into! What else are you going to do with it?”

“The kitchen is nonexistent,” Emma reminded her, adding a bit more of the herbed butter to the pan. “There was a stove with only one working eye. The refrigerator was blowing hot air. And did you notice there were no counters? There’s not a health inspector drunk enough to give me a permit.”

“So,” Ruby said as she snagged the now completed sandwich and saluted her friend with it, “if you win the whole thing, you get $500,000. That’s more than enough to get the kitchen outfitted and the renovations complete.” Closing her eyes as she bit, Ruby smiled around the melted butter and cheese sandwich. “I take back what I said. Make these for the judges. It would win the entire thing.”

***AAA***

Two years ago the red numbers of the countdown clock glared mercilessly at Chef Killian Jones as he felt the sweat beading on his brow. The bitter stench of burned garlic wafted up from the singed pan, along with the realization that he had no time to recreate the dish for the judges. The other competitors were calmly plating mounds of food while his plates remained empty.

There were only seconds left on the clock when he balled up the logo-decorated apron and threw it over the pile of dirty pans and mixing bowls. “I quit,” he announced, ignoring the camera that followed him as he pushed through the swinging doors and past the producer, Mr. Gold, who was whisper-shouting into his headset at some unknown production assistant.

A few days later a certified letter and legal paperwork arrived at his apartment in Maine stating he was being sued for breach of contract. Known as a rebel and a fighter, Killian didn’t fight this time and eventually paid the full amount due with the only asset he had left – his beloved sailboat.

Waking up that morning in Storybrooke, Maine, he had felt that same gut-wrenching dread as he had two years before when the clock ticked down his doom in the industry. Granny’s wasn’t exactly the best of career steps, but none of the better restaurants even took his reservations after the show aired. He was grateful for the opportunity to work, even at a themed diner that served the same 40 or so customers over and over again.

“What did you do to that chicken pot pie Leroy ordered?” Granny asked, holding the swinging door between dining room and kitchen open with her hip. She was staring at Killian with her eyes peering accusingly over a pair of wire rim glasses.

“I froze some of the fresh peas and ground them fine,” he explained, rubbing his hands on the towel over his shoulder. “Dusted the dough with that and some sea salt to add a bit of bite to the dish.”

“He’s practically licking the plate, and asked for another one to go. See if you can make that old grump smile for the second time in one night, will you?”

“Aye,” he said with a grin as he turned back to the prep table and began to gather his ingredients. “I do love a challenge, particularly when it is 10 minutes until closing and the kitchen should have been shut down already.”

“He’s a paying customer,” she reminded him, letting the door bounce as she turned back to the dining room. “And you know what I always say, right?”

“A customer’s money is always good money,” he chanted wearily. “Tell him it will take a bit of time, but I’ll have it piping hot for him before he finishes his next pint.”

Killian sliced through the carrots with precision and grace, the blade of his knife catching the artificial light of the overheads. He was not a man who liked mediocrity or disorder, as a few of the line cooks had learned when their stations had not been as uniform as they should have been.

Since most of the staff was already gone for the evening, Killian worked in silence for as long as he could. There was something therapeutic in the coolness of the dough under his fingers and the scent of the vegetables, chicken, and béchamel simmering on the stove, as he worked the dough into the small round pan. He was just sliding it into the already warm oven when he heard the familiar clearing of a voice in the rectangular window between kitchen and dining.

“What can I do for you, mate?” Killian asked, taking a cloth to the buildup of flour on the steel table. “Marian craving another slice of Granny’s chocolate cake?”

Robin folded his arms on the ledge of the window and laughed. Known for his renovation techniques and business skills, he ran one of the best restoration companies on the coast. He also handled much of Killian’s business affairs since the chef had little interest in that himself. “Not yet. We don’t...well, it’s far too soon for that particular craving symptom. My news is for you, mate. I just heard from that talent scout woman. She wants you to come in for an interview about that cooking competition show. Bloody brilliant opportunity I’d say.”

“Show?” Killian asked, not remembering what his friend was talking about now. They had more than a few late night discussions with and without a few libations to keep tongues wagging. “I hope you would know better than to sign me up for some ruddy competition. Those days are over.”

Robin offered a quick reminder. “You’d get a daily fee to be there, a guaranteed $100,000 in cash and prizes for the finals to share with your partner, and of course the purse is $500,000 for the national win. More than enough to get you out of this place and running one of your own.”

“Quiet, mate, I don’t think Granny heard you plotting my escape.” Like all chefs he wanted his own menu, his own rules, but you didn’t tell your boss that while you were still trying to bring in a paycheck. “And besides. She barely lets us take a sick day without a two week notice. You think she’ll go for me disappearing to compete in a bloody reality show?”

“She will if you promise to mention the diner’s name and address enough,” Granny interrupted, her pursed lips indicating she had heard the conversation. While she had to be joking, her stern expression didn’t indicate the mirth behind the suggestion. When he froze in place at being caught discussing such an idea, she softened and almost smiled. “Killian, I’m not blind. You’re a fine chef and this place is beneath you. Go and spread your wings. If it works, you’ll probably put me out of business with whatever crazy scheme you’ve got next. If you fail, well there’s always a spot for you here.” Sighing when he didn’t jump at the opportunity, she turned toward the door and paused again. “I could just fire you and then you’d have to go, or not make rent.”

“Gold won’t want me on the show once he realizes I’m the one who left without warning,” Killian protested, returning to the duty of cleaning the counters. “It was not a pretty sight. I just gave up.”

“A mistake you won’t be making again,” Robin noted. “Baby steps, Killian. And he seems willing. Now you just have to prove him wrong about you.”

Yanking on the faucet’s hose to spray down one of the leftover pans, he grimaced. It wasn’t obvious where the scowl was directed, but part of it had to be the idea of competing again. “I am fine with the status quo. I don’t need this hassle.”

“Too bad,” Robin said, “As your agent and business partner, I already told them yes.”

“I’ll fire you,” Killian called over his shoulder. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“You’d have to pay me to make that threat work, mate. I am volunteering, and you’re doing the show.”

***AAA***

Emma was the last of the competing chefs to arrive, but as the call sheet dictated, she climbed out of the cab in party attire for an event to meet the rest of the cooks. She was hustled through a long hallway, stopping just before the room where the welcome banquet would be held.

The girlfriend of the producer, Belle French, gave her an overview of the competition as she walked on impossibly high heels past the door leading into the party.

“So about the contract,” Emma began, adjusting the strap of her red dress. “I noticed that it said, ‘chef duos in duels.’ I’m not really…”

The petite brunette nodded her head, checking the clipboard she had cradled in her arms. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just to stir up drama. Anyway, we have the perfect match for you.”

Bobbing her head affirmatively, Emma squared her shoulders. “I’ve been more of a solo chef as of late. I don’t even have a sous chef at the moment. It’s just a little…”

“We…I mean, our producer, Gold, took care of that,” the woman answered, brushing back her thick hair. “He works somewhere here in Maine. On the coast I think? Isn’t that where you’re thinking about opening a place?”

“It’s not that small of a state,” Emma remarked easily. “So do I get to meet him prior to cooking with him? I mean no offense, but I’ve seen some of the chefs on these shows. Gold doesn’t always go for quality. That Walsh you gave me last time carved the protein like he was peeling a banana. Even a monkey can break down a chicken, Belle.”

“Sure, sure,” Belle said breezily, checking her list again. “Killian’s competed before so he’s not completely green…it’s just that…well, I’ll let you meet him.”

Emma’s gut was telling her to ask why he didn’t already have a partner, especially since he was apparently fabulous. But whoever he was, he was an unknown. That led to her other question.

“And this Killian guy didn’t have a friend, wife, or someone? Or does he just suck? There has to be a reason.”

“Aye, there’s always a reason,” a new voice said as she spun to find the source. Find it she did. Standing next to one of the tables, wearing a dark henley and what appeared to be two-day stubble, was a dark haired man who must have missed the party attire memo. He flashed a too-white smile before taking a few steps toward her and sticking out a hand. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma,” she offered, knowing that he must have recognized her from the way his eyes seemed knowingly confident. “So maybe you could answer that question. Why don’t you have a partner?”

He finally dropped his hand when she didn’t shake it. “Perhaps I’m just a bit picky when it comes to partners.”

“Right, and I’m supposed to believe that. I should warn you, I’m really good at spotting a lie. And right now, buddy, you’re pinging my radar.”

She knew she must have gotten to him a bit, as he clenched his jaw, and twin splotches of red appeared on his cheeks. “It’s good to have talents, love, but I’m not the dishonest type.”

***AAA***

Having already met his partner, Killian curled his hand around the sweating glass of rum and gave a congenial nod to the bartender hired for the party. The room was only about half full of chefs who were left to mingle just out of range of the production. His own partner was chatting with two sisters who were partnered together.

Another chef named Arthur was standing near an ice sculpture talking to a married couple with a plate full of fruit tarts that were among the assortment of finger foods offered. The second married team was standing off to another side, the rust-haired woman excitedly studying every single item on the table.

He had yet to sample much of the food other than a large prawn that seemed to scream his name. The table he was standing next to at that moment was piled high with aged sausages and thinly sliced beef and lamb carpaccio. He was studying the cut on one of them when he heard the familiar voice of his partner in this adventure.

“Please tell me you’re going to do more than look at that meat,” she said, lifting a few slices with the silver tongs. “I have done at least a thousand of these competitions and the vegetarian chefs are always the first to go home.”

He felt his jaw drop slightly at the sight of her. He had been so on the defense about her doubts earlier that he had not noticed how she looked nothing like the television version of herself either. Usually on camera in her chef whites and her hair in a severe bun, she demanded respect and attention. Now, she was a vision in a red cocktail dress and loose curls down her back. “I assure you that I know how to do more than simply slice and grill a few vegetables, love.”

She laughed, a joyful sound though not quite as carefree as he thought a confident woman such as Chef Swan. “Just checking. I mean if you want to be first out, that’s fine for you, but I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

He reached over and plucked one of the sausage bites before dropping it into his mouth. A full mouth would keep him from having to make conversation for a moment. It tasted like sawdust on his tongue as he watched her study him carefully, as if she was trying to taste the spicy concoction through him. Swallowing, he managed a small but bright smile of his own. “And you think that I will be the first one out? Are you mad, love?  I mean Chef, milady…”

“Chef’s fine,” she said, grimacing. “So if you’re not the vegetarian chef, then you’re...rustic Italian with strong Mediterranean flavor influences?”

He shook his head again, feeling a little more at ease with her. “Now, love, do I sound like an Italian chef?”

Her shoulders rose and fell with a silent chuckle. “I admit all the British accents are messing with my guessing game. You can’t all be cooking pub food? The judges won’t be too kind if they get half a dozen dishes of bangers and mash, or fish and chips.”

Lifting a dark eyebrow at her clearly judgmental statement, he waited until she bit off some of the charcuterie. She did not make a show of closing her eyes and preening dramatically at the savory food. Instead, she chewed rather methodically and let her eyes crinkle only slightly as she swallowed. “For such an educated palate, you seem to have a low opinion of English cuisine. It has won a reputation for being bland, which is accurate in only some cases, but that’s not what I make.”

She hummed in response. “So you’re rustic comfort food with hints of French stuffiness? Wait, that’s probably those two.” She gestured toward the two men, both of whom were newly married to their non-culinary wives, competing together.

“You seem to want to place a label on everyone. What if those labels don’t fit?”

She ran her tongue over her lip to enjoy more of the saltiness of the cured meat. Her green eyes glowed with challenge and she lifted her chin defiantly. Shifting her weight, she glanced over him as if to size him up to her standards. “I want to know what I’m up against and who I’m working with, Chef.”

“I suppose you’ll see my style when it comes to competition. You never know. I might be the expert in Asian fusion.”

She beckoned him closer with two fingers, making him breathe in the sweet scent of powder mixing with the spicy perfume over the strong wafting aromas of the food. He prayed she didn’t notice the way his eyes partially shut or how he swayed in her direction before stopping himself. “I don’t think so, Chef Jones. See that woman there?” She pointed her elbow toward a dark haired woman with her back to them. “That’s Chef Mulan. She spent seven years perfecting her skills with sushi and sashimi. I am sure you must have some skill to be on this show, but you’d never beat her in that particular way.”

Killian tilted his head and studied the woman in question. “Sounds as though you are a fan of the clichéd, Chef Swan. One’s heritage and ethnicity don’t always dictate their palate. I may have English blood in me and fancy a good serving of fish and chips from time to time, but I detest clotted cream and Yorkshire pudding.”

The blonde chef’s lips twitched into an almost smile. “I will take that under advisement,” she said, taking a step backward. “I’ll leave you to it.” She was turning around when he spoke out again.

“And what of you? Do you label yourself with some moniker that is supposed to describe your food? Molecular gastronomy perhaps or comfort food?”

She spun back that half turn to face him, those palely painted lips twitching again. “I would think you would know the answer to that by the shows and competitions I’ve done.”

“I’ve seen what the magic of the camera shows about your food, but what does the camera not show about you?” Still he persisted, enjoying that ember of a spark in her eyes when someone actually challenged her instead of just bowing to her requests and lavishing praise on her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Chef Jones?” She finished, then turned away from him and walked over to join a raven haired woman standing near the producers. He appreciated the view of her, even in retreat.

“Perhaps I would,” he said to himself.

***AAA***

“Good job,” Ruby said in a stage whisper, resting her chin on a folded hand and keeping her eyes on the contestants still milling about. “You flustered that poor guy right before he has to cook. Need I remind you that he’s your partner? Are you trying to lose the competition, Emma?”

Emma threw back the rest of the wine in her glass, not tasting the sweet bitterness on her tongue. “He wasn’t flustered, Ruby. He was a cocky jerk who will probably chock.”

“Cocky? A chef is being cocky?” Ruby splayed her hand over her chest that was revealed by the plunging neckline of her red top. “I’m shocked. How could a chef be cocky? P.S. I know him. He works for my grandmother. Not a bad cook. You know Granny wouldn’t hire him otherwise.”

Emma was about to ask more, when August Booth summoned the contestants tapping a fork against his wine glass. While not a chef, August had been a food critic and writer for years. She’d butted heads with him, but found that she respected his opinion most of the time.

“Seriously though, he’s one of the cuter ones here. Did you see those blue eyes? Of course you did, you were standing there with him. Do you think they’re contacts?”

“I wasn’t looking that closely.”

“Right? So you ignored most of the chefs here, something you always do by the way, and ended up talking to him because…”

“We’re paired together and I was worried he’s not good enough. He happened to be standing there looking confused over a display of sausages and other meat. I thought...anyway, don’t read into it, Ruby. Do you blame me for doing a little research?”

Ruby grunted, “The only CIA you know is the Culinary Institute of America. You, Emma Swan, were checking out more than his culinary pedigree.”

Sticking her tongue out at her friend, Emma crossed over to the group of experienced and yet nervous chefs gathered around the judge and host. The cameras were already circling, capturing the uneasy energy of what was clearly going to be their first challenge.

She was right, using the remnants and leftovers of the appetizers and hors d'oeuvres they had been noshing on for the last hour, they were supposed to create two new dishes for the judges.

He had chosen some of the tuna, which he was currently marinating in the limes and coconut milk that he’d swiped from the bar. Having found bits of cucumber, he combined them with the tuna and shallots to make a tuna poke in a lettuce cup.

Emma’s knife, plastic though it might be, sliced easily through the small fruit items that she had gathered from the tables. Not stopping the motion of the knife, she gave a side glance at the table’s meager ingredients. To her left was a small bowl of a yogurt-based dip with honey on top. If she was able to scrape the honey from the dipping sauce, she could drizzle it over the sugared fruit.

“You’ll need something to cut the sweetness a bit,” he said. “The honey and the sugar, love? That’s enough to send the judges into a diabetic coma.”

Her sharp intake of breath did not deny that was what she was thinking or that he was right about the overwhelming saccharine taste that would put her on the bottom of the competition. She decided to merely acknowledge his observation with a pithy, “I’m aware.”

“No offense intended,” he chuckled, nudging a saucer holding four lemon slices in her direction. “You’re a bit of an open book. But for the sake of that infernal competition clock, perhaps you’d consider these. Might add just the right bite to the dish.”

“I thought you would going to use those with the fish. You have to use it to make your ceviche, don’t you?”

He laughed at her question, insisting that she take the lemons. “I visited the bar and was able to get a dash of lime juice and coconut milk. It will make my dish truly sing.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he dashed off again in the direction of the dessert table.

That was odd, she thought as she began the process of drizzling the honey over the mound of fruit. Hers was supposed to be the sweet component to their duo, and his the savory. What on earth could he need from the dessert table? Not wanting to spend too much time analyzing his movements or palate, she grabbed the lemon slices before he could get back and liberally doused her fruit with the tangy citrus liquid.

She let the berries and fruit rest while she inspected her ingredients again. She could have used the yogurt dip as the base for a parfait, but the assignment was to craft an amuse-bouche, something that was to tickle the tongue in a single bite, and a parfait would be considered too large and cumbersome.

Suddenly her partner was back, tossing a napkin in front of her that was piled with a few ginger snaps and sugar cookies decorated with lemon flavored royal icing. He winked as he obliterated the two ginger snaps he had kept for himself with the bottom of a shot glass before passing the glass to her. “For your tart,” he said as if they had already decided on her dish. “You can form it in that, and use a bit of that icing as a binder. I was only able to grab one, but you can slide it out and make…”

“I know how to make a tart,” she snapped, grimacing at the small glass with its crumbs still clinging to the base. “You don’t think…”

“The clock on the wall is telling me that overthinking is a luxury at this point. Best put your misgivings about me to the side and get to work on the crust. Otherwise those judges won’t find you so brilliant when they are eating a macerated berry in their bare hands.”

She hazarded a glance at the other table where Zelena was sprinkling pistachios over chicken and Regina was using hollowed out apple as a vessel for the deconstructed apple pie. That wasn’t surprising, as Regina seemed to think apples went with everything. Mary Margaret was capping off a delicious looking shrimp toast, while David was filling tall shot glasses with a soup of some kind.

“It’s not wise to worry about the competition. One doesn’t win by worrying about what the others are doing.” Killian spooned his fish and veggies into the center of the lettuce leaf and rolled it, folding its ends delicately and placing it in the center of a saucer. He stooped down and looked over the rim of the plate to inspect it, making miniscule movements to adjust it just so.

“Do you always talk like that?” she asked, sliding out her first tart and placing it on the plate as he began the process for another of his wraps.

“Like what?”

“Like you write fortune cookie advice for a living? I was just seeing what they were making. It’s not like the judges get palate cleansers between contestants. If they taste their dishes first and they’re horrible, that can carry over to ours.” She frowned as her next tart didn’t seem as firm as the first. The last thing she would want would be for it to crumble in a judge’s hand.

“Add a bit more water to make it more dough-like,” Killian suggested, plating another of his rolled wraps. When she looked doubtful, he smiled. “I promise. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

She assumed it would be a mushy mess, but the couple of drops of water truly helped and allowed her to easily plate the four bites. There were only 90 seconds left before the buzzer and her hands shook from the stress of it all.

“It looks brilliant,” he whispered, his voice closer than she expected. At some point during the plating he had moved to the same side of the crowded prep table as her, sidling up beside her to the point that his whispered encouragement was warm on her ear. She gave him a nervously tight smile in return.

Filming of the judging scenes were rough, as there was more direction from the producer and retakes to get reaction shots from everyone. All the sets of chefs were told repeatedly to react but not to overly extend themselves or their emotions. “I have no use for dramatics or hysterics,” Mr. Gold told them each pointedly. “Smile, nod, and say thank you, but don’t cry, scream or throw things.”

By the time the judges approached them, Killian was shifting his stance and kept running his fingers over the stubble on his chin. Her green eyes shot over to him and half expected him to pass out as August instructed the other two judges to try his wrap after Killian explained it. His previously controlled and confident tone was replaced with his thicker accent and shakiness that did not seem natural on him at all.

“Delicious,” Emily said, the first of the judges to speak. She placed a hand over her mouth as she chewed, a delicate move that made her seem more ladylike than August’s method of robust chewing. “I’m tasting hints of coconut and...” She ran her tongue around her mouth. “I’m also getting lime? Did you marinate the tuna in lime?”

“Aye, I thought the coconut milk and lime would provide a richer flavor.” She could tell the compliment had relaxed him more, as he let his shoulders fall and there was a soft exhale as if he had been holding his breath while they ate.

“You’re known as a seafood chef, aren’t you?” August asked, not bothering to even mask the disdain. Emma had always known him to be fair with her, but he was a food critic. Criticism came naturally to him, slipping from his full lips as easily as the white lies he spouted about his credentials. Emma knew about those too and was not above making him worry she might out him as a fraud if crossed. “I would imagine you wouldn’t do so well if you had attempted something with venison or pork?”

“Most people like to put all chefs in these neat little boxes and assume we are talentless gits when it comes to anything else. I have quite a bit of experience when it comes to seafood, but I enjoy making people savor their dishes no matter the protein or accompaniment.” Killian flashed a smile that was not exactly innocent as the camera panned around to the side to capture another angle.

It was Belle’s turn to offer her thoughts. Unlike Emily Gale, she was not a chef or restauranteur. But she was well read and known in culinary circles as a foodie with a most educated palate. She dabbed at the corner of her mouth and eyed the plates in front of Emma before she spoke. “I’m liking the combination of flavors, and the addition of the cilantro gave it a kick. It’s unexpectedly good with notes of freshness one wouldn’t expect from buffet leftovers. And using ginger snaps rather than raw ginger was genius.”

“Cut,” cried the producer who clearly thought he was a director too. In his perfectly fitted suit, Mr. Gold approached the table with his signature cane in hand. “This is just too nice. I need some darkness, shade, something. Is there something you didn’t like about this man’s dish?”

Belle and Emily’s eyes darted downward as they considered this request, but it was August who spoke first. “The texture is off. The filling felt like mush in my mouth.”

Once they had all expressed some doubt about Killian’s dish and the camera crew got the shots they wanted, it was on to Emma’s contribution. She lifted her chin up a fraction of an inch and offered tight smiles as they complimented her flavors and textures. August even winked as he commented on the smart decision to cut the sweetness with the acid of the lemon.

“Good job, love,” Killian said as the cameras and judges moved on to another table. He quickly corrected himself to call her chef, but she didn’t respond right away.

“Thanks,” she finally said, not blatantly staring at the judges deliberations over the competition. “I didn’t think of the lemon and you…”

“We are a team, are we not?” he asked. “If we don’t help each other out, we won’t get very far.”

Emma nodded as she watched the judges sampled Regina’s deconstructed apple pie next and remarked over the perfectly brown color and firm yet soft texture of the dough that she had apparently made from soft rolls. Looking down at her own small tarts, Emma frowned. How had Regina browned the practically anemic-looking rolls? Their only source of heat were the votive candles used in the decor. It would not have been enough.

“Either she can conjure fireballs in her hands,” Killian whispered to her, his mind clearly on the same page as his partner, “or she had a blowtorch in her purse.”

***AAA***

Someone would probably complain, Emma thought as she slid her key into the lock at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. One of the remaining contestants would see a conflict of interest with the teams being required to live for the week where Killian normally worked and she had connections with through Ruby. Officially, Granny was not part of the competition or crew, but she was a comforting sight to the chefs who knew her. Granny had even let Killian sneak into the kitchen and make snacks between the rounds. But at that moment Emma didn’t really care where she slept.

The impromptu round of competition at the kick off party had left both Mal and her daughter and Sean and Philip eliminated for uninspired food. During the the second round, a romantic dinner for a couple on their first date, Regina and Zelena again came in first. That challenge had resulted in Mulan and Arthur being knocked out for overcooking the duck. The duo had left arguing with each other to the end over who had turned the burner up so high.

Emma wasn’t proud of her performance yet. She and Killian had been near the middle on the first round and second place in the second round. At least they hadn’t been in the bottom, but they would need to pull out two strong showings to get through to the finals.

All the teams had been doing interviews for talking-head pieces and reshoots of critical moments until nearly midnight, followed by decompressing drinks after that. Since two of the remaining teams were married couples, and the other included a complicated relationship between two sisters, she had found herself naturally pairing off with Killian. At least that was what she told herself as she found herself laughing at his jokes and sharing witty observations.

“It hardly seems worth the trouble,” Killian had said when he opened the door to stairwell that led the back part of Granny’s and all the quaintly nostalgic rooms. “If I was assured a good night’s sleep in the near future, I might just stay awake to avoid the grogginess of competing after an hour or two’s nap.”

“You’re not totally wrong about that,” Emma said, lacing her fingers together and lifting her arms to stretch. She didn’t miss the way that Killian’s eyes focused on that bit of skin exposed by her rising shirt. “But it’s hard to resist the idea of shutting my eyes for a few minutes. Knowing me, I’ll probably sleep through my alarm though.” She lowered her arms and jokingly collapsed against the door, her forehead touching the cool wood.

“Go,” Killian said, his accent thicker with the lack of sleep. “I’ll be sure to come wake you if I don’t hear you rooting about when you should.” If she hadn’t closed her eyes for that moment, she might have noticed how he rubbed the pad of his thumb against his fingertips as if wanting to reach out and touch her.

“I don’t know that I trust you enough for that. I mean I barely trust my alarm clock. I meant what I said earlier. Thanks for your help today. I’m sorry that I doubted your abilities.”

“It’s my pleasure, Emma. Perhaps we might have a cup of coffee in the morning and discuss our game plan?”

She closed her eyes briefly. “Would that mean getting up earlier? Because no matter how cute you are, Killian Jones, you aren’t worth losing sleep over.” Later when she was in bed, eyes heavy and breathing controlled, she remembered calling him cute. It cost her another few minutes of sleep as she tried to recall his reaction to it. Sleep encompassed her before she ever had the chance to remember his pleased and yet shocked smile and sort of shuffle step that spoke of humility.

It turned out that having coffee with him didn’t require her to lose any sleep. A few moments after her alarm went off, she heard the knock on her door. He stood on the other side, freshly showered and hair damp as he ran a hand over his chin. “Just ensuring you are awake and ready to compete. We’re to gather outside the diner in a bit. I presume you’ll be there?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at him blearily. “I’m awake,” she said, her voice sounding slightly hoarse from the short time of disuse. “Are you…”

“Not a morning person, I see. No matter, Emma. I’ll get us that coffee and we can share it while we await our next assignment.”

Sure enough, when they joined the others and listened to a litany of rules about the next round, he slid a foam cup into her hand and moved his own cup toward hers as if to say cheers. “Can’t have you falling asleep in your mise en place.”

She took a sip of the warm, strong liquid, swallowing as she rolled her head back in a mocking display of supposed ecstasy over the drink. “You seem to be racking up points there, Chef. Are you trying to weasel your way into my good graces so that I’ll let you win if we’re the final two?”

“I’ve been accused of being devious, but I assure you that’s not the case here. I’m just trying to be a good teammate. And if caffeine makes you more alert and a better competitor, I have no issue in fetching it for you.”

It was not that she wasn’t grateful. She was. But she had said thank you a dozen times at least to the man who seemed half pirate and half Yoda with his sage advice and ability to understand her better than most after 24 hours of knowing each other. It made her feel both supported and inadequate in a way that made her uncomfortable. She was used to winning competitions that focused on traditional techniques and the artistry of food. This competition was a different beast with limited time and ingredients, the focus being creativity and ingenuity rather than skill and precision.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered from behind the raised cup.  

“Doing what? Bringing you coffee? I thought we already established that I want you to be in top form. I’m not here to lose, darling.”

“Competing.” She noted that Zelena seemed to be gazing in their direction while pretending to listen to something her sister was saying. Tilting her head toward Killian, Emma lowered her voice further. “I know it’s about the money, but is there something more?”

“I suppose we all have our reasons,” he said, his eyes glinting as she leaned closer. “The money is as good as any for me. I competed before, you know, and walked out before I could be kicked off for a mess of a dish that should have been a slam dunk.”

She frowned. “Redemption?”

“Something like that. I paid a hefty price for my exit and wanted to buy back what was once mine.”

She didn’t get to ask him any more than that, as the instruction sheets for the next challenge were announced by August. Contestants would be left with $20 to scrounge for food on a small island about 30 minutes away. There was only one small store on the island, five homes, and otherwise only natural resources.

“We’ll be taking a ferry over to the island in just a few minutes. Pack up your knives. You’ll have an outdoor kitchen with equipment and basic seasonings on the island.” He smiled, cleared his throat and delivered the lines again, letting the cameras get him from another angle. “You’ll also have access to equipment for fishing or hunting. Not both.”

Killian gave Emma a quick glance. “Any ideas now?”

“Not so much,” Emma said, standing and slinging her knife bag over her shoulder. “You’re the seafood guy. Feel like fishing?”

***AAA***

The ride to the island was shorter than they had hoped, leaving very little time for strategizing after Mr. Gold reiterated the expectations that they should all interact more and show their dislike for the other teams. It was Ariel who noted loudly that he seemed to only talk about personalities and not the flavors or food. When they got there it was still early morning and there was nothing man-made to be seen in their direct vicinity other than the dock. The heat of the day was not even in full force, but the contestants were already shedding their chef jackets. Emma noticed that Killian’s fitted black t-shirt made him look more like a male model than a chef, and couldn’t miss his appreciative gaze at the gray tank clinging to her own defined curves.

Mary Margaret and David were the only ones who chose to hunt rather than fish, but that didn’t surprise Emma. Mary Margaret was known for her prowess with a bow and arrow and was sure to bring back some sort of protein that was unattainable to the rest. Killian admitted that he was not much use with that or a crossbow, leaving them to take the rudimentary pole, line, and hook.

“You want to fish while I check out the store for what it’s got?” Emma asked, cupping her hand over her eyes and squinting to see if she could spot the place they were told was close. “I am not expecting much, but I’d like to hit it before we worry about making camp.”

“Aye,” he said, looking over at Zelena who was going to do the fishing for the sisters. That might be worth sticking around for just to watch. “I’m not sure we have much of a list or a plan, but it’s best to be getting on with it. See if you can find some fresh vegetables for a salad.”

It was still early summer, so produce was not going to be at its peak. Still, Emma was hoping to find some lemon for the fish. Perhaps some of the homeowners would have rice or pasta that she might trade for or some sort of starch. Turning back toward Killian who was already carefully threading the fishing line, she frowned. “Do you think we might look for clams? It’s early in the season for them so they’d be small, but just imagine!”

“Brilliant! You head to that store, and I’ll see what I can do about getting some clams.”

Emma threw her chef jacket onto the pile of camping gear and darted ahead to try to beat some of the others. She ended up being second to arrive at the store that sold little more than jerky and fishing bait and lures. But she was able to get a pack of smoked bacon for less than $2, knowing that would highlight most any fish Killian caught.  

As she walked along the path toward two of the houses, she slapped at a mosquito that had been buzzing about her. The marshy area of the island was a breeding ground for these nuisances that seemed to be ready to feast on her. The first family she met was nice, but had very little in terms of fresh food. Still she managed to obtain a can of creamed corn, half a bag of rice, and two rather small onions. The second family offered her some cereal--a sugary, oddly colored mess that she couldn’t imagine using, a small bottle of wine that was the type you’d find on sale at a grocery store, and two unopened cans of beer, which they gave her in exchange for her butternut squash soup recipe.

Despite the last few years in New York, Emma was sure that she had never walked so much. Her sensible chef shoes were caked with muddy wet sand and had started to rub her feet raw. Hair was escaping her expertly braid and her skin was pink from the sun and numerous slaps trying to kill the mosquitos. Worst of all, she was limping from a tumble over an exposed root.

“Catch anything?” she asked when she stumbled back to the shore, dropping down to the sand with her finds beside her.

“In the cooler there.” Next to him was a blue cooler on wheels with their names written on neon green tape. She peeked in to find ice and two blue fish. It was a disappointing haul, as blue fish tended to be on the oily side and trashy. She added the bacon and covered it all back again.

“Blue fish?”

“Aye, we’d have better luck if we were on a boat, but blue fish it is. Cut out the bloodline and it should be tasty. I was thinking we might make a taco if we had…”

“I’m afraid I didn’t get much for tacos.” She showed him the assorted items. “I was thinking maybe soup with the clams. A nice broth and steamed clams is always a good choice. And we could beer-batter the blue fish. That might be good.” Sliding her shoes off, she rubbed her feet. “There’s three more houses so we might get lucky for some other sides. I just needed a moment to rest.”

He shifted his weight and watched as his lure bobbed out ahead on the water. “Perhaps we should switch. I can go to the other three and you could see to the fishing. I’ll take the shore route so I can look for clams while I’m at it.”

“I’ll stay.” Looking over at some of their competitors, she could see that Eric had nearly filled the cooler with different fish and was well on his way to setting a record. Zelena’s container was empty, but she seemed unfazed by the lack of protein.

He bent down and helped her put some of the ice on her already swelling foot. “You’re sure you’re alright? We don’t need to call the medic team, do we?” The tips of his fingers lingered at the ends of the makeshift ice pack. “I could carry you back to the ferry.”

She refused his offer by rolling her eyes. And by the time he returned she had more than doubled their stock of blue fish by catching three more and adding two stripers while she was at it.

“You’re lucky,” Zelena had told her, with a knowing  smile. “Killian’s not bad to look at in the least.” Like they had assumed, Zelena wasn’t the most adept at catching fish and had fallen face first into the sand. Yet, she had come out of the faceplant looking alluring and camera ready. Her tank top was tied just under her breasts and her damp hair was curling in a way that most women paid good money to recreate.

Emma wanted to ignore the woman who was clearly trying to get into her head with talk like that. Instead she concentrated on pulling in her line and casting it again. So what if Zelena was right? He wasn’t bad to look at. He was a good cook. He seemed like a good guy. That was the problem, she thought as the water rippled in front of her. She didn’t get nice guys. She got guys who wanted quick flings. She attracted guys who had wives and wanted to keep their trysts a secret. She got liars and scoundrels. She never got the nice guy. And she had made her peace with it.

“I found a few things,” Killian said, dumping the sack. “And…” he pulled out the other smaller sack from the loop of his belt. About 20 clams. It’ll be a feast.”

She limped over to where he was standing, ignoring the blatantly concerned look on his rugged face. “Good job,” she said, offering uncharacteristic praise. Wrinkling her nose, she pointed at some items in the sack. “Green tomatoes? Those aren’t tomatillos. What were you thinking?”

“It’s too early in the season for ripe ones. But I once knew a southern chef who taught me how to make a fantastic fried green tomato. I also thought about pickling them in some vinegar for a nice relish to go atop our beer battered blue fish.” He began to collect their ingredients. “We should go make camp, love, and get our kitchen in order. Can you walk?”

“I’ve got this,” she said, throwing one of the bags of food over her shoulder. She nearly lost her balance, but by throwing her hands up like a gymnast on an apparatus, she returned to normal. The concern in his expression was both comforting and disconcerting as she slapped his pack against his chest. “Let’s go, Chef.”

It didn’t take long to get to the camping area. Concerned about her ankle, Killian volunteered to set up the tent after getting the fire going. This allowed Emma to cut and prep the food. It didn’t get past Emma that he was instilling a lot of trust in her, as she fileted the fish instead of him. He didn’t even mention that her cuts, while good, were not at the same angle that he would have done and probably left too much yield on the bone. She appreciated that.

“It’s been a while since I cooked outside,” she said, mixing the marinade for the blue fish by hand since there was no electricity for the equipment she normally used for the purpose.

“Girl Scout camp?” he queried, looking at her curiously.

“Hardly. I was a foster kid so organized events that people paid good money to do were out of the question. I’ve done this with some friends over the years though and always remember how much I love it.”

“Aye, it’s something I always say I should do more of, but time and circumstances rarely allow for it.” He poked at the fire to stir it up a bit and peered over the lip of the pot where the clams were soaking in the broth of cornmeal, creamed corn, white wine, a little butter and a few dried herbs. “Good choice to go ahead and start our clams, love. I rather like the idea of letting the soup simmer overnight to build flavor.”

She smiled at his compliment, covering the fish in the bowl with the beer based marinade. He had managed to find a package of tortillas. While they wouldn’t be as good as homemade, they would do well for a soft fish taco.

The only thing missing was dessert, but the selections had been low. So far their one idea was to grill the two bananas they had gotten from one of the homes to make what would resemble sauteed plantains.

“It was a good find,” he said, plopping down next to her. His forearms rested on his bent legs. “Let me see your ankle.”

She frowned, closing the lid to the cooler. “It’s fine, Killian. I promise.”

“Aye, no doubt that you will deny it hurts until it bloody well falls off. But despite your protests that you are fine, as you say, and refusals to utilize the medic, I have concerns. I can see from here that the swelling is still present.” He extended his right hand and wiggled his fingers in her direction to encourage her. “I promise to be gentle.”

Frowning, she straightened her leg and extended it in his direction. Even through the soft denim of her pants, she could feel his fingers gently running down the long limb probably more than he had to in order to inspect the injury to her ankle. She didn’t protest though, even minimizing her breathing to near stillness as he pushed up on the end of her jeans. “See, it’s fine.”

“It’s still swollen and a bit warm to the touch. We should get you one of our packs to use for elevating it. Can’t do to have you limping about tomorrow when we must be at our best.” He quickly doctored up a way for her to elevate her ankle and keep it cool with ice.

Quirking an eyebrow at her as she reached down to adjust the ice over her injury, he smiled. “I suppose I should volunteer to wait on you hand and foot as it were. We have a few things leftover that we won’t be using tomorrow. Might I offer you something to eat or drink?”

She fell back onto her elbows, craning her neck to look at the sky through the canopy of trees overhead. “It feels weird to have a campfire and no s’mores. But if we had chocolate and marshmallows, we would have a good dessert option.”

“Perhaps next time.”

Her head fell to one side and she caught his gaze. “You assume there will be a next time for us to camp. I’m kind of hoping the rest of the competition will be indoors.”

He didn’t clarify what he meant. Instead, he stood up and foraged through the odd assemblage of ingredients they weren’t using. Stooping over the cooler, he frowned at the addition of the two fish she had not mentioned. “You got stripers?”

“Not enough for the competition,” she admitted, “but yeah. What do you say to using them for dinner?”

“I’d say my assessment about you being brilliant is correct.” He lifted the two fish up and waggled his eyebrows. “A feast for two it is. And I say we crack open that second beer. No sense letting it go to waste.”

Later she was holding the paper plate with the rather meager but well cooked dinner on her lap. “I’m not too much of a foodie to enjoy beer out of a can.” Reaching over, she plucked it from his hand and popped the cap. She took a long gulp of the cold and bitter beverage. “Reminds me of college.”

Chuckling, he took his own sip and settled next to her again. “I think I’d have liked to have seen that. You in your younger days, carefree, and a bit wild. It must have been a sight.”

She broke a bit of the flakey fish off with her fork. “I don’t think I was ever carefree. But I did have friends and enjoyed the occasional party.”

He had yet to bite into the food, his eyes studying her slightly sunburned face. “I would say that it is a shame that you didn’t experience that state of being carefree, but I doubt you would accept the condolences. I’m sure that your beginnings made you into who you are today.”

“And have you figured that out yet?” she asked.

“As I told you, you’re an open book in many ways,” he finally took a bite of the fish, his eyes closing briefly to assess the taste and texture of his own work. Opening them again, he met her green and curious eyes. “But I would never tell a lass that I have her all figured out. You do continually surprise me.”

“In a good way?” she asked before closing her mouth around the fork again.

“The best,” he confirmed. “I know we are only paired for a short time, but I feel like you have challenged me at each step. That’s an impressive feat for a New York City chef competing in Maine.”

“And that’s what you’ve figured out, that I’m a New York City chef?”

“Aye, that and that you love garlic and cinnamon, though not together. You worry more over what your diners are thinking of your food than the classical flavors and techniques we learned in classes. There’s something about perfect knife cuts that makes you smile. I think you probably prefer gelato to ice cream. And while you are clearly a savory chef, you have a sweet tooth.”

The tenderness in his tone and expression amazed her as she waited for the sarcastic punch to hit. It didn’t. “You might be right,” she answered so softly that he barely heard it.

“I know that you enjoy your work as an executive chef, but you have dreams that are bigger than that. Perhaps that’s the wrong word though. I think you probably have simpler dreams that involve cooking your own food in your own restaurant.” He brushed a bit of sand off his leg.

“Don’t all chefs want that? And you think you have me figured out by watching me cook?”

“By watching you in general,” he clarified, bowing his head and murmuring the words. “You are quite guarded, but there are moments, just a few, when you let the real you out to the world.”

His face was so close to hers in that moment that she barely had to lift her head to press her lips to his. If he was shocked, he did not reveal it except by a slight gasp. Slow and thoughtful, his lips moved against hers with gentle firmness. A moment later he pulled back a fraction of an inch, the blue of his eyes dark in the dim light of the fire. An errant curl that had escaped her messy braid was between his fingers as he studied her.

“Don’t,” she said, reaching up and cupping his cheek in her hand. “Don’t apologize or make an excuse. Please.”

“I wasn’t intending to,” he said, leaning his cheek further into her palm. “Perhaps you might be willing to share a bit more about your beginnings. I would be honored to know you better.”

She yawned and watched the wispy gray strands of smoke rise from the fire and disappear into the night sky. “Not much to tell. I changed home every few months and learned to travel light.”

“Never a home that stuck?”

“Well, there was one when I was about 14. A woman named Ingrid. She had a few of us she watched over. And one by one they were either reunited with their parents or found adoptive parents. I didn’t.” She was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to encourage her perhaps. While he said nothing, his eyes studied her in that attentive way he had. “Soon it was just me. She tried to adopt me, but it didn’t go through or maybe she changed her mind. I moved on to another group home and didn’t know why. It hurt. Not knowing why the one person who seemed to want me left me too. God, I should be over this. I am a grown adult now.”

“I don’t know if we ever get over not being wanted,” he answered. His arm rested on her shoulders and his hand dangled until she caught it with her own, locking their fingers together. “Wounds are made when we’re young tend to linger.”

“Sounds as though you have a few of those wounds too?”

“Nobody makes it through their youth unscathed. Some are just luckier than others, I suppose.” His thumb trailed over the fleshy part of her hand.

She tilted her head to better look at him. “Tell me?”

He gave her a short version of the loss of his mother, betrayal of a father, and loss of a brother who he had adored. There was talk of the boat that he had always wanted and the loss of it.

“You mean that Gold was the producer on that show? He sued you and you chose to come back again?”

“I’m not proud of that performance, love. He doesn’t seem that concerned though.”

Her brow creased thoughtfully. “No, he doesn’t seem concerned about much other than the drama of the competition. So if you win, you’ll buy back your boat?”

“That’s the plan. What about you? Some posh and proper bistro in New York?”

“Actually, I’m looking at a place here in Maine,” she admitted, her head hitting his shoulder as she told him of Ingrid leaving her a tall Victorian house that was way too big for her to live in and screamed out as perfect for a seaside restaurant. Her voice sounded dreamy as they discussed menus and sustainable fishing that would make the place her dream. Her eyes closed as she imagined simple elegance and clean flavors.

“As enjoyable as this moment is, love, I was just thinking that perhaps we should be considering sleep. We got precious little last night, and tomorrow…”

“You really shouldn’t be so practical,” she said, throwing back her head with a moan of frustration. “Because now I am going to think about how much I want to sleep.”

Laughter from Mary Margaret and David’s camp filled the circle of campers, while the lights of the camera crew at Regina and Zelena’s site drove away some of the feeling of purity from the experience of camping. “I don’t regret it, Emma. I just would rather kiss you without the fear that your sleep addled brain wasn’t wondering who I was or about my intentions.”

“I know who you are, Killian. You’re not the only one who has been paying attention.”

***AAA***

Mr. Gold and the judges arrived around 10 a.m. the next morning, though filming had been going on for a while. None of the teams were particularly chatty with each other as they put the finishing touches on their plates. With Emma’s limp less pronounced and the swelling going down, she was hurrying about as if there wasn’t a problem. Stirring the freshly chopped onion into the green tomato salsa, she didn’t see  it when it happened, but she certainly heard it.

When she looked up, she saw Killian take about five steps back from the fire with his left hand cradled in his right. She dropped the spoon into the mixing bowl and hurried over to him. “Are you alright?”

His eyes were narrow and glassy as he stared at his hand as if it had commented some sort of offensive treachery. The towel that he normally wore over his shoulder or at his waist was haphazardly covering his hand, but Emma could already see the red splotches of blood coming through the thin fabric.

“Killian, look at me,” she said, steering him away from the fire. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

It was David who alerted the medic to the problem and Ariel who flagged down one of the production assistants. Emma didn’t move from his side until he reminded her of their task. “Get the fish. It’ll burn if we leave it too long.”

“You can’t possibly be thinking about food right now,” she hissed.

“Aye, and you are too. Go win this thing, Emma. I’ll be fine.”

Squeezing her hand on his thigh, she put on a new set of cooking gloves and checked the fish that was close to overdone at that point. His knife was on the ground, as was the lime that didn’t look quite ripe enough. She pulled the fish, and using her own knife, rough chopped the blue fish for the tacos. Her eyes and focus were on Killian, who looked to be in pain as the medic spoke to him and the production assistant in hushed tones.

Skirting around the cameraman who was capturing her own nervous reaction on tape, she grabbed for the box of salt and seasoned the clams heartily before going back to throw the premade tortillas on the grate of their makeshift grill. Killian had spoken earlier about the importance of heating them just before the judging, which would a smoky flavor. The bacon would create that as well, she thought. So with her stealthy glance still on Killian, she threw the bacon slices onto the grill grate and heated them. Once they were crispy enough, she broke them into smaller pieces and combined them in the salsa. There was still quite a bit left over and so as a last minute addition, she threw the rest of crumbled bacon into the broth.

“Chef Swan,” Mr. Gold said, his cane digging into the sandy earth. “I know you must be frantic what with your partner’s injury, but if you would be a dear.”

“What do you want?” Emma asked distractedly.

His sickening sweet smile grew wider as he watched her push back her hair with her forearm. “Dearie, you know we are filming a television show here. It’s important that we have these details, you know.”

“Look, I’ve got seven minutes left and a lot of plating to do. Can we just get on with it?”

“Of course. I just hoped we might shoot some B-roll of you doing a few things around the fire. Stirring your food? Adding some herbs or spices? You’ve got a box of salt there. Why don’t you pretend to put some in while we film?”

The exhale of her breath sent the errant hairs around her face flying as she grabbed the salt and poured some into her hand. “Can you do that again, a little slower this time?” Gold asked.

She said nothing, adding more to the heaping mound. Her head turned to get a better view of what they were doing to Killian as two EMTs were rushed in from the direction of the docks. Her stomach dropped and her hand shook as she felt the salt overflow from her cupped hand. She jerked it back and dropped the rest of the mound down to the sand. “Excuse me,” she told the producer and cameraman, pushing past them to hurry over to Killian.

“What’s going on?” she asked, staring down at his wrist and hand now covered in bandages.

“They want to get an x-ray of it, but I may have sliced my tendon,” Killian said, his jaw tight and his eyes flashing with anger. “I’m a bloody klutz to have used the knife so carelessly.”

“Oh God,” Emma said, yanking her glove off to touch him. “Are you in pain? What am I asking? Of course, you’re in pain. I’m going with you to the hospital. I want…”

“Emma, the competition…you need to be here for the judges. I’ll be fine. I’ll be back for the next round. We’ve both got plans for that money.”

Only, he wasn’t back for the next round and neither was Emma. While he was being taken to the hospital, Emma had stood alone at the table where she served the residents of the island and the judges the fish tacos, rice, and clams in the white wine broth. She had run out of time to make the dessert, but nobody could really blame her when she was working alone on a two person task. No, the complaints weren’t about the lack of sweetness. They were instead about the saltiness of the clams in their broth. She had seasoned them too much and the added bacon had made the dish so salty that it was inedible to most of the people there.

With her head lowered and bile rising in her stomach, she heard the news announced that she and Killian were eliminated from the competition.

***AAA***

“So I called that contractor about redoing the floor at Ingrid’s,” Ruby said two months later as she breezed into the kitchen of the restaurant where Emma was working. “He said he could do them next week. Great, right?” Steam from the pots and pans on the stove rose high and the clatter of plates from the wait staff echoed in the room.

Emma slid the pan into the oven and closed it with a resounding slam. Lifting her knife, she returned to the vegetables on the cutting board and began to chop. “Excuse me, but did we somehow come into money that I’m not aware of or something? Because last time I looked at my bank account, I was not seeing it. After I oversalted my last dish on the show, I am lucky my boss didn’t fire me.”

Ruby plucked one of the berries out of the dish waiting to be cut and popped it into her mouth. “So you’ll get a loan. It’s the American way.”

“Seriously?” Emma asked, her knife rocking against the bamboo board. “Ruby, you know this business better than I do. I can’t just go get a loan to redo a house as a restaurant. I’d need equipment, staff, food, insurance…I can’t do it. I’m going to be cooking someone else’s vision for the rest of my life.”

“Pity party, table for one,” Ruby chided, leaning her elbows onto the cold surface of the prep table. “Look, you did well on that show. I’ve been watching the raw tape. Investors are already impressed..”

“I oversalted the food, nearly burned the fish, and…”

“And they still had a hard time deciding whether or not to send you and Killian home. By the way, he’s doing better. Granny’s got him back in the kitchen on the days he isn’t doing physical therapy for his hand.”

Her non-response included spinning around to add some freshly chopped peppers to the simmering pot on the stove. Other than the tense rise of her shoulders and the shallowness of her breath, Emma’s reaction to hearing his name would have gone unnoticed by someone who wasn’t her best friend.

“When I went to visit her for her birthday, he asked about you, you know? Wanted to know how you were doing.”

“And I’m sure you told him,” Emma answered sourly. “Ruby, I screwed it up for us. He trusted me and I screwed it up. He needed that money too.” Her eyes dropped as she remembered the wistful way he had spoken about his boat and the idea of sailing along the shore with no real destination in mind. Truthfully, the thought appealed to her too.

“And that happens sometimes. It was a competition, Emma. You either win or lose. It’s not like you don’t get other chances. There’s another show that is casting right now. I could make calls. But I think we need to look at this one a little bit closer. And maybe explain why you didn’t even go to the hospital to see him when he got injured. I know you’re a great winner, Emma, but I thought you had it in you to be gracious in losing too.”

“You know why I didn’t go,” Emma said, her voice trembling. “I let him down and couldn’t face him. It was easier to just go back to what I know best and move on. I’m too much of a broken mess to even deal with screwing up like that.” It had just been a kiss, she told herself, ignoring that they had talked late into the night and she had slept with her head on his chest as he watched the fire that night. It was easier to say it meant nothing. Who would go traipsing after a guy in another state after a single kiss?

“I think he has a thing for broken messes. I don’t know if you saw it, but his eyes light up when he says your name.” Ruby’s smile grew. “It’s not even something he can hide.”

“What? With anger?” Emma tried to joke. It fell flat.

“No, I wouldn’t call it that.” Ruby dug into the designer knock off bag she carried and pulled out a DVD. “This is the raw cut of the show. Would you do me a favor and watch it? Just watch it? Even if you don’t enjoy seeing his obvious interest in you, you’ll appreciate the take down of Regina and Zelena for cheating. The look on Gold’s face when he realized his own interference was going to cost them is priceless.”

“I don’t have time for television shows,” Emma said, drowning out Ruby��s response with the blender. When she finished making the sauce, her friend was gone and the disc sat catching the light on the counter. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to watch.

***AAA***

“You could call her,” Robin suggested, passing a plate to one of the servers at Granny’s. “If you don’t know her number, you at least know where she works.”

“Are you suggesting I show up there and stalk her?” Killian asked as he slid another pancake onto the plate and doused the stack with syrup. “Hi, I’m the now one-handed git who works one step above fast food and kissed you that one time. Fancy a drink?”

“Don’t be dramatic. You have two hands.” Robin shrugged, having heard his friend’s pitiful excuses before. “And no, I was thinking more along the lines of calling her there. But if you think showing up would work better, I vote for that. Take some time off. You got that insurance settlement that is going to make a hefty downpayment on that 30-foot Catalina sailboat and your appearance fee for the show.. So why not a trip to New York?”

“No thanks, mate. Rejection is not something I would like to relive.”

“Have you always been this stubborn?”

“It’s one of my more lovable traits, mate. That and my ability to cheat at any game of poker. Speaking of which, are you hosting this week or is it John?” Killian flexed and stretched his left hand carefully as the doctors had instructed. The surgery to reattach the tendon was arduous and the recovery tough. But he was trying to do his exercises nightly and had spent hours in therapy to better use the injured appendage.

“You care for her. And from the footage the Widow Lucas’s granddaughter showed me, the woman seemed to fancy you too. I don’t know why she didn’t visit your lousy arse in the hospital. But I do suspect that a call from you wouldn’t be unwelcome.”

The ding of the bell from one of the servers indicated another order being placed. Killian reached for it and nearly faltered as his hand cramped up. Tearing it down on his second try, he grimaced. “Not now.”

***AAA***

Emma spooned some of the whipped cream onto the steaming mug of hot chocolate and watched as globs of it melted away. With a sprinkle of cinnamon on top, she curled her hands around the too hot mug and padded on sock covered feet into the living room.

Normally Ruby didn’t wait up for her unless she wanted something, but she had yet to say a single word as she sat curled up on the loveseat reading a bodice ripping romance and munching on cheese doodles. Dipping a finger into the whipped cream and licking it, Emma watched her friend expectantly. Ruby simply turned the page in her novel and chewed louder on the cheddar flavored snack.

“Fine,” Emma said, curling her legs under her and reaching for the remote. “I’ll watch the damn footage. Happy?”

Ruby said nothing and simply dragged a cheesy finger across the page in her demonstration of concentrated reading.

The large screen filled with scenes of the short time they were in the competition, Emma recognizing the efforts the contestants made. What she hadn’t noticed at the time was becoming increasingly clear on the video evidence. Killian’s eyes often lingered on hers and his smiles became brighter each time she spoke to him or showed any attention in his direction. When she smarted off at one of the judges, he was practically beaming with pride. Her own reaction wasn’t exactly subtle either.

“The interviews are even better,” Ruby said, finally dropping her book and pretense.

Ruby was right. Killian spoke of food with great respect and passion, but he was speaking of her with nearly equal reverence. His face flushed and his words stuttered when someone off camera asked if there was something going on between them.

“This isn’t making me feel better,” Emma complained, sipping down more of the chocolate drink. “Why am I even watching this? So what if he was interested in me? I clearly ruined it by getting us kicked off the show and then being too chicken to even show up to see him at the hospital.”

“Right,” Ruby said, digging her hand into the bag and pulling out another crisp puff. “I mean nothing to see here. Move on.”

Emma frowned at the screen as Regina and Zelena waxed philosophical about their differences of opinions and similar palates. Then the footage of Killian’s injury filled the screen, followed by her mistake, and then the announcement that she lost. Her finger hovered over the stop button on the remote when Ruby told her to wait. “For what?”

The image of Killian in his hospital bed filled the screen and Emma let her finger continue to hover. “It was my fault,” Killian told the camera, his expression somber and his face pale against the starched sheets of his bed. “I had already salted the broth and didn’t tell her. She didn’t know.”

“But he didn’t salt it,” Emma protested to the television. “I know. He wasn’t near the pot of broth. He was trying to cut that lime and…”

Ruby reached over and pulled the remote from her friend’s hand. “Pretty dramatic statement, right? He was trying to take the blame for your mistake.”

“That’s just…”

“Romantic?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I was going with stupid.”

“Right,” Ruby said, nodding thoughtfully. “Stupidly romantic then.”

Ruby made her watch the rest: the stunning disqualification of Regina and Zelena in the penultimate round for cheating, followed by a black screen with white typography stating that Mr. Gold had been removed from the production for his part in sneaking the women ingredients, tools, and recipes in some sort of deal for them to win and become the faces of his brand of frozen dinners, and the thrilling showdown between the married couples resulting in a close victory for David and Mary Margaret. Between the winning pair, it was Mary Margaret who won the whole thing though you couldn’t tell by the exuberant celebration. As Ruby turned off the television, Emma sank back against the cushions of her couch. “I can’t believe he did that. He could have let me take the blame; it’s my fault. I don’t get it. Why did he do that?”

Exasperated, Ruby threw the blanket covering her legs off and stood up from the love seat. “Ask him, Emma. Freaking ask him. I gassed up your car. I packed you an overnight bag. I called your boss and traded in some of that vacation time you’ve been hoarding. I was trying to trick you into going to Maine with me to see about your plans for the restaurant at Ingrid’s old house. I even lined up some investor appointments so you can do this the real way instead of the competition show way. But I’m going for the emotional appeal. Now get your ass in gear, put some hot chocolate in a thermos, and go ask him yourself.”

“Ruby…”

Her exasperated friend was jangling the car keys in front of her. “You can yell at me in the car. Let’s go. We’ll talk about the restaurant on the way.”

***AAA***

Granny’s most frequent customer had sent the meatloaf back twice, claiming it was bland. Killian was ready to kill him. A scent of burnt grease permeated the air as he directed the two line cooks to prepare the easier dishes between shouted replies from the restaurant’s proprietor.

Sashaying into the kitchen, Granny lifted the lid on the rosemary laced tomato sauce and breathed in the scent before turning her attention toward Killian. “Take a break would you? You’re clearly not on your game today.”

He dropped his mouth open to speak, but shut it in recognition that she was right. “I’m just going to take a walk.”

The older woman’s glasses swung from around her neck as she leaned over to inspect another pot simmering away. “Go on with you,” she said cheerily. “Be back in a bit?”

“Sure,” he said, wadding up his apron and pushing through the back door. He knew better than to say he was getting fresh air when all he could smell was the stench of the dumpsters. He rounded the building and was about to head east toward the docks when he saw what appeared to be the familiar blonde head of his television partner. It couldn’t be, he thought bitterly. Why would she be in Maine?

He was already at the docks by the time Granny quit hugging Emma and telling her to stop being a stranger. And he had bought a pound of fresh scallops for a dish he wanted to try by the time Granny had lectured Emma about her lack of confidence in taking chances. He was a block away when Emma ordered her favorite grilled cheese and Granny told her that she was short-handed, so cook it herself.

He caught sight of her standing at the grill before she even turned around. “Best keep your eye on it, or it will burn,” he said, not sure what else he could say in that moment that wouldn’t be clichéd or heavy handed.

She turned her head slightly to confirm his presence and then shifted her eyes back to the sandwich. “You think I don’t know how to cook something as simple as grilled cheese? I thought I was an open book.” She lifted the edge of the sandwich and studied it. “I guess not a cookbook though, right?”

“I think you traveled an awfully long way to eat a burnt sandwich.”

With a flick of her wrist the flame beneath the pan disappeared and she slid her sandwich onto the plate. It was then that he noticed she had made two. “I didn’t travel all this way just to make a sandwich I could easily do at home.”

He nodded, gesturing to the two prep cooks to take their breaks. He knew Granny wouldn’t mind. She might even understand.

Lifting the two plates high, she carried them over to the prep table in the middle of the room and gestured for him to join her. Along with the sandwiches, there were onion rings and a simple dipping sauce she had mixed just before he arrived.

“Why did you come here?” he asked as he took a seat on a stool that wobbled. “I didn’t really expect that you would show up here. I assumed you would rather forget our awful encounter.”

“This is where I could explain that I’m still going to open my restaurant here. But that’s not the reason right now. Or I could tell you how Ruby forced me. But I’m not big on following directions other than a recipe. So the shortest answer is to ask you why. Why did you try to save me when you didn’t do anything wrong? Why did  you risk your reputation?” Her voice faded into a hushed stillness that seemed unnatural for a restaurant kitchen.

“And you think I have the answers?” He licked his lips nervously. “I hate to shatter the illusion, love, but I don’t. When I heard what the judges said, I felt responsible. I had distracted you. You would not normally make such an error, so I tried to take a bit of the burden from you. Even if it wouldn’t get us back in the competition on a technicality, I didn’t want you to lose your dream of opening that restaurant. And with the way Gold seemed to be playing it, investors were going to be hard to convince to fund you.”

“You traded your chance at getting your ship back for me?”

“Aye.” He met her gaze with an unwavering focus.

She nodded slightly and gave a nervous laugh. “Besides, you made that amazing striper for me. I thought I owed you.”

“Grilled cheese in exchange for striper cooked over a fire?” he asked, straddling the stool across from her. “I do hope it’s the best grilled cheese ever.”

She broken off a bit of the sandwich and popped it in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “So yeah, it’s the best thing I make. It’s the first thing I ever made actually. When I watched the bread brown and the cheese melt, it felt like I was performing magic.” She leaned back, suppressing a sigh. “And given how I screwed up whatever was going on between us, I could use a little magic right now.”

He bit into his with his dimples deepening. “I’m impressed. You make a hell of a grilled cheese and you shared a bit about your beginnings. And for the record, you didn’t screw anything up.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the hospital,” she blurted out. “I didn’t think you would want to see me. I didn’t think you would want me…”

“I must have done a piss poor job of showing you my intentions if you could think I didn’t want you, Emma. And you owe me no apology. I was there out of my own carelessness and to the detriment of our team. You must think me a complete…”

“I think of you,” she interrupted. “And not in a bad way. Look, I know we didn’t get to know each other that much. And I know we only kissed once, but I…I want to know you too Killian.”

“And I you.”

“So any suggestions on how we do this? I’ll admit that I’m not sure of the steps here. I’ll probably screw it up.”

Standing up and circling the rectangular table, he grinned as he pulled her up to stand. “I’m sure there is a recipe, love. Or we might make it up as we go along?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, matching his happy grin. “I think I can do that. Sometimes the best recipes are the ones you make up as you go along.”

His lips covered hers hungrily, devouring the softness. Arms around him, she melted into his embrace. And in that moment, their hearts like ingredients joined to make the perfect combination.  

[p-artsypants]

The North Tower- New Home

Thank you all for tuning in! I’m just taking a short break from 320 State Street to write something spooky for halloween. I don’t anticipate it to be very long. Hope you all enjoy.

—

Astrid pulled into the driveway with the lawyer. The trip from the US to Wales had been a long haul, and to say she was exhausted was an understatement.

“Is this it then?” She asked, stepping out from the car.

“Yes ma’am.” The lawyer, Mala Throk replied, a briefcase and a set of keys in hand.

The castle was set upon a hill, and looked over a sizable town on one side, and a lake on the other. It was huge and looked to be mostly intact. Of course, Astrid knew this wasn’t the case as she had visited the castle as a child on Holidays.

“Your Uncle left a very specific set of instructions on what he wanted you to do with the castle,” the lawyer explained, being the one to draft the will. “The South Tower, the one we are going into now is to be used for guests, and they are not to venture farther than the ballroom on the western wall. This is the only part of the castle that is fully renovated for renting out.”

The lawyer unlocked the front door with a skeleton key.

“Right,” Astrid agreed. “When my uncle had my family visit for Christmas, he had us stay in the South and West Towers. The West Tower isn’t as fancy, but it’s still spacious and historic.”

“And on that note,” Mala pushed her way inside, stepping into the lavish, but dank smelling, lobby. “The West Tower is only for family and hired hands for events. It is renovated servants quarters.”

Astrid twirled slowly in place, taking in the rich architecture and vivid tapestries. Directly in front, there was a long hallway lined with suits of armor that led to the ballroom, this Astrid remembered it from when the great Christmas tree sat in the corner, flooded with silver packages. It had a huge fireplace, big enough to sit in. It was the largest room in the house. On either side of the hall, a double staircase led to the dining hall. Iron statutes in the shape of people sat on the railings, baring torches. To the right and left of Astrid, two more halls lead down to the East and West Towers. A wrought iron chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. “It’s more beautiful then I remember.”

“I apologize for the smell,” Mala stated, going to a window. “I was instructed to have the castle shut up until you arrived. The power should be back up sometime during the night. Your uncle has dehumidifiers in the ceiling, so the air should smell better in the morning.”

“It’s not so bad. It beats city air at least.” Astrid strolled the hall and opened another window, framed by rich mahogany and satin curtains. “I’m sorry I couldn’t move in sooner, I was just so close to finishing my degree.”

“I’m not concerned with it,” Mala smiled. “The groundskeeper, a man named Eret, was left a hefty sum of money by your Uncle, and went on Holiday. I’m sure he appreciated the time off. Finishing your degree was a wise choice, especially if you want to continue your Uncle’s work at restoring the castle.”

“I’ve dreamed of it ever since I was a little girl.” She grinned, “every Christmas I looked forward to coming to visit the castle. And my Uncle would take me to the library and tell me the history of the land. I’m eager to get to work.”

Mala grinned. “I’m so glad to hear it.” At this point, the duo headed back out to the car to get Astrid’s luggage.

“Thanks again, for all your help getting me settled in. My parents aren’t able to come until next week.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all.” Mala promised, “I love this castle. In the many times I visited Finn Hofferson, he gave me tour after tour, and told me the stories behind various art and rooms. Even on his death bed, he recounted things he spent years studying and writing down. His library is surely a wealth of knowledge…and his home…There’s just something magical about it.”

“If you believed my Uncle’s stories, then yes, it’s very magical.”

Mala snickered, “Oh, you don’t believe the castle is haunted?”

“I’m not sure I believe in ghosts…but I guess I’ll find out living here, now won’t I?” Astrid started heading to the West Tower, suitcase in hand. “If there are ghosts, maybe they can tell me more history about the castle.”

“Oh, Astrid, your room is in the East Tower.”

“Oh…” Said she in response.

“Unless you don’t want to live over there…”

“Oh no, that’s fine, I’m just so used to the West Tower.”

“The East Tower is only for you and Eret. It’s where the master bedroom is. Along with the Library.”

“My Uncle’s room, then?”

“Yes, precisely.”

Astrid followed Mala down the long hallway, framed with gothic windows and vivid paintings.

“I don’t think you ever mentioned the North Tower.”

“Oh, you’re right. It slipped my mind.” Mala replied, continuing to the stairs. In the middle of the tower, a spiral staircase traveled up and down three flights each way. Astrid knew it was the same in the West Tower. All the doors to the other rooms were visible. Together they climbed to the top floor, slightly breathless.

“So the North Tower…” Astrid reminded, panting.

“Oh yes, the North Tower,” Mala opened the bedroom door, coughing a bit at the dust that lied within. The room was indescribable. The windows on the far side of the room reached from ceiling to floor. The bed was directly across from the door. Large, buried with pillows; lush blood red sheets dressed the mattress. Ebony curtains hung by the windows and around the frame of the bed. On the North wall, a neat fireplace was tucked into the wall, encased with ornate marble carvings. Above the mantle hung a painting of an unknown man, wearing a fur pelt over his shoulder. He was not conventionally handsome, with a broad nose and tightly sealed lips. His hair, brown like chocolate with a copper tone, was swept back like a wave. But his expression was less then charming, like he was forced to sit for hours. He held an air of danger and roguish strength. His deep eyes held resentment and something else…longing? Astrid could not tell. She turned her attention from the bewitching portrait the the rest of the room. On each side of the fireplace was a door. One lead to a closet, the other to a bathroom.

“The North Tower is…a bit of a mystery to me actually.” Mala explained as Astrid set her bags down. “Your Uncle explicitly stated that it is prohibited to everyone except the owner of the house. Which is you now, I suppose. He said within it lies ‘disturbing truths’. When I pressed him about it, he refused to answer. It was the only time he would not elaborate on the History of the home.”

Astrid rolled her eyes, “it’s the whole ghost thing again.”

“The haunted aspect is what gave the castle it’s charm, and what brought the tourists in for events. Might I suggest keeping the stories alive?”

Astrid chuckled, “Just because I am skeptical doesn’t mean I’m going to give up a tried and true money making scheme.”

Mala smiled softly, “call it what you like, but I think there’s more to this castle then there seems.”

“I’m sure there is. The first thing I’m going to do is explore that North Tower for myself. Maybe I can use whatever I see to enhance my Uncle’s stories.”

“Splendid idea.” Mala grinned, “but might I suggest we bring in the groceries? By time we get those in, I’m sure the moving truck will be here with your things.”

“O-oh, right, of course.” Astrid sheepishly glanced away. Before leaving the room, she gazed again at the painting at the wall. “Mala, do you know who that is?”

The older woman shook her head, “I’m afraid I don’t. Your Uncle painted it, you know. Don’t know why it would be hanging in his room though.”

“That’s my uncle’s work?” Astrid stepped up closer to examine it. “He never had a steady hand when I knew him.”

Mala stepped forward too, “it must be very old then.”

“Look, the date,” Astrid pointed. “1953, Uncle was around my age then. Here, help me take it down from the wall.” The two women lifted it the large painting and then set it to lean against the bed frame.

The back only said one thing.

-Hiccup

“Hiccup?”

“I wonder what that could mean?” Mala mused.

“Maybe Uncle was commissioned and the model—or financier, didn’t like it. That’s why he has it.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about this painting.”

“I never came into his room.” She shrugged, “there’s a lot to learn about here in the first place.”

“Well, whoever this young man is, he’s an old man now. Might even be dead.”

“Too bad, he’s kind of cute.”

Mala only laughed as she headed back into the hall.

After about a half hour, the two had stocked the kitchen in the South Tower enough for Astrid to survive for a while. “Alright, the ice should keep the beef and milk cool enough, but try not to open the fridge as much as you can. At least until tomorrow.”

“Right.” Astrid nodded, “it’s going to be a pain trying to get around in this place in the dark.”

“Oh!” Mala snapped her fingers, “I knew that was going to be a problem, and I brought a LED flashlight for you. It’s in my car.”

“You are the best lawyer ever.” Astrid praised.

By the time everything was said and done, and she was moved in, it was around 8 o’clock and everything was dark. Astrid gave up the idea of trying to unpack more with just a flashlight, and stumbled her way back to her room.

At night, the castle was extraordinary creepy. There was no moon to illuminate. Just pitch black. Her flashlight landed on statues and cast eerie shadows on the walls.

“Ghosts indeed,” she muttered to herself.

After getting into the East Tower staircase, Astrid looked down to the bottom floor and paused at the unopened library. It wasn’t nearly time for bed yet, and what a better way to pass the time then reading up on the History she was so excited about? It took a couple of turns to find the right key for the door, and for a moment she hesitated. All of the keys were a tarnished gold, except for one, which was pitch black.

“North Tower,” she rolled her eyes.

Inside the Library, the flashlight ghosted over the various shelves as she took it all in. The library wrapped around the staircase, following it up three flights to the main floor. Books covered the inside walls, and two balconies allowed for access. The far wall directly in front of her was covered by a curtain, presumably over the windows, and Astrid made light work of opening them up. Not much light came in, but a sliver on the horizon, as the view was to the lake below and the mountains in the distance. Though, from this angle, the North Tower was within sight.

“Bah,” she waved her hand at the offending building.

Turning her attention back to the library, she took note of the large mahogany desk that sat just to the side of the windows with a fireplace behind it. Above that, a huge portrait of another man hung. This time, the man looked older but had a fur pelt draped over his arm. He wore studded metal and had a wild beard.

“Hmm, young Santa,” she mused. Though, the man in question did not look so holly-jolly. Much like the first painting, the model wore a sort of grimace and showed great sadness.  

She had to admit, she was impressed.

Astrid stood on a chair to examine the corners. “Hmm, 1950. He did this one first.”

On the bottom of the frame, a gold plaque laid into the wood.

-The Chief

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Astrid shook her head. Not far from the desk, a shelf of books were covered by a grate and locked, supposedly to keep them private. “Here we go. Tell me your juicy secrets.” Astrid flipped through the key ring until she found one that looked to fit. “Uncle really included every key to this house on this ring.”

The grate rose, and inside sat several unmarked books. She plucked the oldest looking one out and reclined on the lounge chair.

Inside, she was greeted with handwriting. “It’s a journal,” she mused.

June 18, 1945.

A month ago, my father died. My younger brother was notified in America, and he’s simply crushed. He wrote that he refuses to come back to Wales. My mother left shortly after, to get away from this blasted war. Therefore, I have inherited my childhood home. I am but a child myself, only just turned 18. Having an entire castle to myself just feels incredibly wrong. Though, I have allowed some displaced families to stay in the West and South towers. I make no money off of this venture, I only do it to because I am horrified of the children that sit in the train station with their masks. I have locked up the East Tower and the North remains shut.

My father once told me that disturbing truths lie within the North Tower, and that one day when I’m old, he’ll take me there to see it for myself. I suppose since he is no longer here to guide me, I am old enough to traverse that tower alone. I have begun this journal to document what I find.

I have my hunches to what lies inside. After all, I have lived my entire life in this house. I know all the secret passage ways and can find my way even in the dark. I know something lives in the North Tower. Because I heard it breathing.

Every tower has multiple ways to get to it, and yet, every door to the North Tower, save for one, has been completely sealed shut. The East Tower, on the main floor has a door with a slide lock on it. Beyond that, the hall is unrecognizable to the rest of the house. There is nothing in it save for the locked door on the other end. Tomorrow, I will venture inside and see what I find.

-Finn

Astrid was full of apprehension just reading about it. She turned the page, but was distracted by something outside.

There was a light on in the North Tower.

[arkansasfenili-blog]

Major Update : Christmas Special

The last update I posted we had just gotten back from our amazing vacation to Ecuador and had a bunch of photos that my father had shared with us.  Now we are back in town and really trying to push for the finish line.🏁

There have been a lot of ups and downs on this project (as you know) and unfortunately some were worse than others.  We are really trying to stay positive despite some real issues and luckily progress is still being made and so on we push.

I know I bring up the pains a lot but I'll just say this again...despite everything we are incredibly lucky to even be doing what we are doing.

So let's get going on this crazy long Christmas update.  2 whole weeks of work and we did plenty...I'm going to keep the format of writing about each individual project instead of all together again.  I liked how that flowed in the last one.

THE GUEST BATHROOM 🚽

We have pretty much finished up work here.  Now just needed the finishing touches.  Mostly paint and some drywall work.

We cleaned up the edges inside our skylight well which were rough from poor work done by our mud and tape guys.  Looks much better now.  One of our favorite additions in the entire house.

First coat of paint looks good.  We got a special matte SPA paint that costs $$ but looks awesome.  Flat anywhere we can is the name of the game.

THE MASTER BATHROOM 🛀

With the guest bathroom finishing up we were able to move into the master bathroom.  First things first...let's get that shower tiled up.  We are using 24x24 Carrera marble tiles here.  Nice and big so less grout but super heavy!

We ran into some miscommunication issues here unfortunately and wasted 3 tiles.  Long story short the coloring of the marble is different tile by tile (which is natural for marble) but our tile guy didn’t think we’d like it so he ripped off a few pieces.  For better or worse we would have been short even if we had them...so we moved forward with as much as we could.  The coloring looked great.

The little cubby for shampoo etc had an original design that changed mid-build thanks to Alicia

Originally we were going to use HEX tiles with a metal edge.  Alicia decided for the super clean continued look, and it's awesome.  We even finished the edges with polished marble which I don’t have a picture of but will share in the next post.

Below you can see that we used the cutouts from the tiles into the shelf itself to make it seem like one big piece that just sinks in.

Great cut for the curb, but it'll come back to get us again.  One of many changes.

Another...Really?...moment was that our tile man made the shower tile perfectly level which highlighted how NOT level our wall was :/. DANG IT!  You can see the wedge shape of the mortar getting bigger towards the top because the wall leans a little.  

I was just going to just paint the part that stuck out white to hide it (in a moment of just wanting to push forward) but Alicia again wanted it to look right; thankfully.  So our bathroom man ripped open the wall, added some shims, redid the drywall, added mud and tape and in the end it looks way better.  I'm glad we made the change.

AFTER

I hope you didn't think we were done with changes.  For better or worse we had time while we waited for tiles.  And our team made our shower curb WAY too big.  Something I overlooked and something that shouldn't have happened.

Once again I wanted to push forward but Alicia really hated it and wouldn’t let it pass.  So she asked our tile guy to rip it apart and take it down to a little less than 3″.  The third decision/change she has made in this master and the third time she has been absolutely right.

You can see how much lower we made it.  It looks 100x better and was worth the work and the wait.  We did end up needing to patch the marble cutouts but we are much happier now that we don't have to jump into the shower.

Now that the bathrooms are moving along...let's get some power!

ELECTRICAL 💡

It's been a long time since we had seen the electrician and while I was happy to be getting back to it it also meant many many MANY trips to the hardware stores which was not awesome.

Electrical switches, plugs, plates, lights, breakers....ish ain't cheap.

But at least after you buy them you get something pretty awesome....LIGHT! 😃

Downstairs

A trio of lamps above a future peninsula downstairs

My newly purchased breakers being wired up

and some lights upstairs!

No more flashlight to walk around at night anymore.  Due to other work though we could only really do a few lights here and there 

FLOORS 😜 (thats a going crazy face btw)

So we have a lot of projects going on, but one that always bothered me were the uneven floors in our house.  I wanted them fixed and for a long time I was told to wait.  Now our walls are painted and we are in the home stretch and my floors are still not level.  As you can imagine this was incredibly frustrating but again we must move forward

I had my own laser level out everyday to make sure I was keeping an eye on things.

Things were getting delivered and we tried to keep moving forward.  We already had the downstairs LVT floors installed and now was time for the upstairs delivery.

We actually originally had one floor but our dealer sold it by accident (causing a short moment of panic).  It ended up being for the better since we changed the color and got a better type of floor for the same price.

Its a little messy

Now if you don't remember from my previous post....the guys did start to throw down a self leveler to try and level the kitchen area.  See below.

Well it wasn't thought through enough.  Firstly there was WAY too much to level.  Secondly it wasn't poured right and ended up in lumps all over the place.....a real nightmare.  Unfortunately this happened while I was away and so I couldn’t get ahead of it

SO.....

I had a fit when I returned and told them to rip it all out and actually level the subfloor itself.  So after wasting tons of money on this 💩 it took a full day to rip out hundreds and hundreds of pounds of the stuff.  A lot of which I did to keep things moving.  Plus I was taking out some frustration by hammering the hell out of the stuff.

We needed it all gone so that we could finally just level the floors and from underneath.  After walking them through exactly what I wanted we started the process of leveling the floors from the joists.  In the end we ended up with a far better result because of it.  Scroll up again to view the mess of concrete and then look below and you’ll see.

Unfortunately something else came up as we did all this.  We realized our French door was NOT installed properly.  It was installed below the subfloor level and wasn't even close to being high enough to clear our floors when installed.

Another step backwards 😡 but forward we must go

So now we ripped it out, repaired the bottom to be level with the floor, cut out a notch in the header and reframed the whole thing.

And all was right again .... Well at least this was😌

While we did the living room we did find where the old master suite fireplace was 🔥 in the bedroom too.  We tried to fix this up best we could too

So now that the floors were mostly flat.  The bedrooms are still a bit slanted but she is an old house.  There simply wasn't much more we could do without ripping out the entire floor and supports and rebuilding.  So we'll just call it character 👴.

Next comes the fun part; covering on that ish up

First lets get some comfy soft cork underlayment down

And then we started installing our hardwood floors !! 🌲 . We had to start with the stair trim first to fit everything snug so they nailed that thing done like there was no tomorrow.

And we went on from there.

So as a reminder our original color was a natural smoked oak look which would have been fine but kinda dark.  We instead went for a greyish/soft brown color (thanks to Alicia again) which we think looks awesome.

Love the way the toe looks in the hallway.

First bedroom done.

OUTSIDE 🏚️

So while all the ups and downs we're happening inside we continued with the projects outside.  Literally managing 2 renovations at the same time.

From the last update we just kept peeling the layers in demo.  The front of the house had 4 different layers on it!!  It may sound like a lot of protection...

But it wasn't :(.  The several updates done to this building over the last 60 years have not been kind to her.  Lots of rot, broken parts, odd builds and whatever else.  Hopefully we can do something about all that.

Look at the original diagonal wood at the top?  How they used to support these buildings before newer tech and strong stuff.  Really cool.

You can see the worse parts were around the windows.  The previous updates were lazy and really poorly done.  So there was tons of water damage (dryrot) around the bottoms of the windows.  All needs replacing.

AND it really was everywhere.  Luckily our main exterior contractor (who is amazing) is reframing it all.

First step was reframing the downstairs windows.  We also are replacing our Old-New windows with really nice San Francisco style windows.  Nothing like buying twice 😒 If you don’t remember we bought cheaper replacements already and had those installed...poorly.  So we ripped those all out and pretty much through them in the garbage as a life lesson.  

Next came the upstairs.  As you can see we will need to fix up drywall again after all this.  A small price to pay for the work getting done here.

You can just see the master bathroom window on the left is being moved to the right as well.  A very happy change. 😄 . You can also see the windows are really nice and awesome and cost a sh**load :|

So not tons to say but the front is looking a million times better already.  The windows are all framed up AND the entryway is framed now all with big strong headers and straight lines.

Still a long way to go but we are happy.  So is half the block...many of whom have come by to let us know how excited they are that we are bringing the old girl back to her former glory.  Trying to match Andrew and Kari there on the right of us :)

The last update of this epic post is some fun stuff we've done.  The IKEA kitchens have been sitting in the garage for awhile and now that the downstairs unit was almost done it was time to start building.  Which was actually pretty fun for me anyways :) . I even laid them out where they would go.

Compare to my elevation and see :)

After that we also got the downstairs some new seats.  Special ones :)

The others...had been over used as of late ☹️

So....there you have it.  We are keeping with the trend of lots of ups and downs and doing work all out of order.  It's just how things have gone.  Luckily we can all feel the end now and can't wait to finish in early 2018.

MERRY CHRISTMAS! 🎄🎅🎁