#so every week I had to go down to the workbench thing in the basement and use a literal bench vise to squeeze them until they were soft

[fbfh]

Imagine topping Leo in a chair?

LITERALLY love you for this. riding Leo in a chair is in like your top 5 favorite ways to ride Leo. your faces are so close together and he can feel every intimate rockwing bouncing squeeze of your tight juicy little hole gripping his throbbing cock like a vise. his eyes are so wide and his grip on your soft hips is nearly enough to leave pretty little fingertip bruises polkadotting your thighs (which he's obsessed with) and your hips (which he's also obsessed with) and your ass (are you sensing a pattern here????) and god everything you do drives him crazy but CHRIST the way you hold his face so sweetly in your pretty hands, so innocent and tender while simultaneously milking his cock for all he's got. and he'll give it to you. Leo will let you ride him in that chair that he can't look at after that without going half mast. he'll let you ride him until he's shooting blanks, until both of your cum drips on the floor, mixing in messy creamy beautiful puddles. Leo will throw his head back in pleasure, panting, chest heaving and giving you the best view of his perfect neck that's just begging to be covered in hickeys and bites. Leo will let you ride him in a chair until he passes out. can't walk. pounding down gatorade and liquid iv to try and rehydrate. and he'll thank you for it.

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

The One

Prompt: Hours away from your wedding, you visit Gibbs, needing to ask him a question that’s been on your mind for years.

Various family members had come in and out of your room, helping you get ready for your wedding that was set to happen in 6 hours. It wasn’t a big venue, just mainly close family and friends and their plus ones. The location was a botanical garden your fiancé’s parents had decided on, even after you had voiced that you preferred it in a small church. During most of the wedding planning you didn’t get much say at all, all of it being organized by your future mother in law who felt she knew best.

Your fiancé was too submissive to go against his parents wishes, not wanting to ruffle anyone’s feathers at the cost of making you feel unimportant.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, hair finished as your curls fell over your shoulders and sighed. Something was keeping you uneasy all morning. You could just blame it on cold feet but that wouldn’t explain why you couldn’t stop thinking about a certain someone that wasn’t your husband to be. You looked down at the multiple unanswered texts you had sent him throughout the day, telling him you really wished to see him at the wedding.

He was your friend of 5 years, you two met on a joint operations case between the FBI and NCIS. The both of you kept in touch, meeting up for a quick cup of coffee and chat almost every week. You would be lying if you said you never thought of him more than just a friend but for whatever reason, it never exceeded friendly conversations and occasional late night cafe dinners. The last thing you wanted was to ruin your friendship by catching feelings that most likely weren’t returned.

4 years later and multiple bad breakups later, you found the one you wanted to marry. Or at least think you did. Sure, the two of you weren’t as compatible as you’d like but it’ll work itself out with time, right?

Another big sigh from you, it became clear what you were gonna have to do. Getting up and dressing into something casual, you grabbed your keys and left your room. No one stopped to see where you were going, all too worried about whatever task they had been given by mother in lawzilla, so getting in your car and leaving went smoothly.

The drive wasn’t long as you pulled into the quiet neighborhood and parked just outside his house. His old truck parked in the driveway told you he was there as your hands suddenly became clammy with nervousness. You got out of your car and made your way up to his door. You knew it was unlocked and all you needed to do was walk in but you were frozen. You hadn’t thought your plan all the way through and now your head was filling with doubts.

As if your body knew something you didn’t, your hand opened the door and your legs carried you in. Surely, he had heard you come in so there was no turning back now. The house was quiet except the sound of power tools being used from down below.

The floor creaked as you walked towards the basement and began to descend the stairs. You were going to call out his name in announcement but he was already standing there looking up at you. Dressed in a plain blue plaid button down and some cargo pants slightly dusted in wood shavings, it was a good look for him.

“Hey Jethro,” you started.

“Hey Y/N.”

You made it to the bottom of the stairs and continued until he was only a few feet in front of you.

“You haven’t been answering any of my texts.”

He licked his lips and looked down guiltily before responding. “I know.”

Feeling antsy, you walked over to the boat and ran your hands over the newly sanded edges. He took that time to grab two small glasses and pour 2 fingers of his whiskey in them, handing you one.

You took a bigger sip than necessary, hoping it would help the building anxiety.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married in less than 6 hours,” you said, leaning against his workbench.

“Lucky man,” he responded flatly.

“Is he?” He gave you a look of inquiry. “I mean we don’t have that much in common. His parents don’t really like me and..”

You stopped, refraining yourself from finishing the sentence and took another sip of the whiskey.

“I don’t know. I mean did you think your ex wife was gonna be the one when you married her? Marriage is a big deal, you don’t just go and marry anyone. What’s so special about me?”

“I don’t think I’m the one to ask about marriage,” he said with a short chuckle. “But I’m sure he has many reasons why you’re special to him.”

“I don’t know Jethro. I never really thought in depth about our relationship until now. It almost feels as if the last year and a half was a blur, nothing standing out too much. Our relationship isn’t like what they describe in all the romantic books and movies. Sometimes I feel like he’s more of a platonic friend than fiancé.”

“Then why say yes to marrying him?”

You didn’t have a straight answer for his question. The proposal had gone so fast and in public, you didn’t have much time to think about it without looking like you were gonna say no.

“I don’t really know. Because it was the logical choice? We’ve been together for almost 2 years now.”

He shook his head and swirled the amber liquid in his mason jar, taking a step towards you.

“You don’t marry someone because it’s logical Y/N. You marry them because you can’t see yourself with anyone else and want nothing more than to spend every day coming home to them. You marry all of their traits that you fell in love with, including the weird ones. Marriage is a team effort and if you aren’t both absolutely on the same page, it’ll never work.”

Tears welled in your eyes, his words making you realize just how dumb you have been. You knew your fiancé wasnt your soulmate. You had more in common with Jethro than him. And that’s what bugged you the most. Being best friends with the person you wanted something more from and not having the courage to say anything. But now it’s time. It’s time for you to know if there could’ve been anything between you and Jethro.

“I just need you to answer one question Jethro. Is there something more between us than just being friends? Because every time I’m with you, I can’t think straight. I enjoy every moment we spend together and can’t wait for the next one. You always make me feel so happy and cared for but am I alone in those feelings?”

He sighed and finished his drink, turning to walk away.

“Don’t ignore the question Jethro! Please. Just talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say Y/N? That I’m jealous that your boyfriend of 1 year gets to marry you instead of me? He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know that you like to look up at the stars at night when you’ve had a bad day at work. He doesn’t know that you actually have a PhD in science but don’t tell anyone because you don’t want to feel like you’re better than anyone else.”

He turned back, now headed your way, confessions continuing to spill from his mouth.

“I bet he doesn’t notice the way you arch your eyebrow when you’re lying. Or how you pour half a gallon of milk into your coffee after adding a cup of sugar. You’re right Y/N. There is something more between us but it’s too late. You’re gonna marry him and I’ll be there for you just as your friend.”

You let the tears fall, elated and heartbroken at the same time.

“But I want to be the one,” he said cryptically, /settng his whiskey down.

“One what?” you asked as he came closer, causing your breath to hitch.

“The one to kiss you before he takes you away from me,” he breathed, closing the gap between the two of you. Almost reflexively, the glass you had dropped to the floor and overcome with so many emotions it made you light headed, you kissed him back, holding onto him for support. One hand on the back of your neck and the other holding you tight, your tongues met and danced with each other until both of you were out of breath.

Both of you let out heavy breaths as you pulled apart but he didn’t let you go. He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead, your nose, your jaw and your neck, making your eyes flutter closed. He then released you and took a step back. His words and actions had changed everything.

You couldn’t get married now knowing what you knew. You weren’t sure how to put it into words but something told you that Jethro knew that as well.

“Thank you,” you finally answered. You were sure your makeup was ruined from all the crying and stress but it didn’t matter any more. You pulled him in for a hug, arms wrapping around his neck and just breathing him in. Without hesitation, his arms held you close again. Yeah, you could get use to this.

[starlocked01]

The Black Coffee Widower

AO3 Link

Dukexiety Week Day 3- Coffee Shop

WC: 4.2K

Summary: Virgil works the late-night shift at the local coffee shop. That's where he poisons and picks up his victims. He wasn't ready for the one who didn't fight back.

Content Warnings (there's a lot today): Serial Killer/Coffee Shop AU Unsympathetic Virgil, Poisoning, Kidnapping, Swearing, Gun Violence, Negative Self-talk, Self Hatred, Murder and Attempted Murder, Implied Sexual content. Sexual innuendo, referenced rape, referenced mutilation, Strangulation, Hospitals, Police

@dukexietyweek

The simple fact was that they glowed. Virgil had long ago given up on trying to explain it to himself; they just glowed when he saw them. It was like a premonition- a beautiful soft light that needed to be contained lest it sullied the rest of the world by leaving it dim and grungy in comparison.

Virgil was grungy. He knew very well he didn't and would never glow as they did. Maybe that was the reason why. Maybe if he ever had to tell someone why he did it, he'd tell them that.

He killed them because they glowed and no one should be able to glow.

However, he'd never cared all that much about the whys. The hows were so much more fun. How did he pick his victims? Easy. They glowed and walked in at the wrong time. How did a weak, little, pathetic loser subdue the perfect glowing people? Bitter coffee was a perfect cover for bitter poisons. How did he end their lives? Any way he pleased.

How did he avoid detection? A healthy dose of anxiety kept him careful. Too many of the brightest glowing people escaped because they'd be missed. He never went by his legal name anywhere. He stayed patient and alert. He was the nobody that no one could ever remember. Playing barista sucked but it was the perfect cover. No one ever suspected the sulky, little, dimwitted worker stuck on the insomniacs shift at the quiet little 24-hour cafe. And no one ever really noticed if the store's hours were a bit unpredictable between 2 am and 4 am. That was the best time for hunting; it worked and Virgil wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

---

Virgil knelt, his latest catch already unconscious and tied up behind the counter when the doorbell chimed. Cursing at himself for forgetting to lock the door, Virgil grabbed a refill pack of napkins and stood cautiously. He gasped, finding the man who had entered shone twice as brightly as the woman he already had tied up. Certain that Miss Double-Soy-Latte-with-Hazelnut-Syrup-and-Whipped-Cream-you-got-that-Sugar? wasn't about to wake up and cause a scene, Virgil watched the man as he studied the menu.

The first thing he would do is take the man’s studded wrist gauntlet and fishnet fingerless gloves. Those things couldn't belong to someone who glows. Virgil squinted and could just make out a loosely looped studded belt to match, hanging off the man’s hip and exposing his lack of undergarments. Virgil hungrily followed the curve of that hip with his eyes up to the man's stomach peeking out underneath the ragged edge of a homemade cropped band t-shirt. He wanted to punch that stomach, to feel what it was like when the man tensed and when he stayed soft in compliance.

Next, he stared at shapely arms crossed in front of the man's chest. Those arms looked strong as a vice and he wondered how much effort it would take to break those delicate bones to render the muscles useless. Would he break first?

The man wore a sleeveless leather vest, displaying a museum's worth of inkwork, tentacles and snakes, and other writhing forms accented periodically with teeth and eyes and fangs and beaks. A rendition of the Harry Potter Death Eater mark set into the shoulder and tattooed thorns circled his neck. Virgil found himself getting hot under the collar and decided two in one night would be a fun challenge.

It was hard to see the man’s face until he flashed Virgil a brilliantly blinding smile as if on cue. The smile was all the sign Virgil needed to know this man would die tonight. He was practically begging Virgil to save him from the light radiating from his face. His gorgeous, handsome, wild-eyed face.

Virgil wanted so badly to touch the messy, overdue 5 o'clock shadow, to feel the scars left by razor nicks and frequent skin irritation. He wanted to wipe away the heavy eyeliner and mascara, run dirty fingers through greasy, dyed hair. He wanted those eyes to see him for who he is so he could spare them the pain of hoping there had been another ending once he'd entered the shop.

If the stranger was uncomfortable with his intense gaze, he certainly didn't show it as he approached the counter. Virgil squirmed as a cacophony of overlapping mismatched beats of a second hand overwhelmed his entire sense of hearing. Looking down, he quickly spotted a wristwatch on the unconscious woman's wrist and stepped on it to deaden the maddening sound. Soon all he could hear was the new customer's watch ticking erratically as though it needed to be wound up.

"Heya, kitten! Like what you see, baby?" the man smirked at Virgil as he leaned down on the counter and made sultry suggestive eyes at him.

"Excuse me?" Virgil hissed, recoiling from the familiarity.

"Woah, kitty's got claws huh?" the man giggled. Virgil stiffened, well aware how close the man could come to looking down and spotting the woman. And if he attempted to turn him in it wouldn't end pretty. He didn't want to have to clean up the shop after a struggle before having his fun.

"What are you ordering?" Virgil asked tersely.

"Me-ow. Guess you don't swing my way- darn. I bet you've got a totally bodacious booty too," the man batted his eyelashes at Virgil.

"That isn't on the menu. Order or get lost, yeah?" Virgil growled, trying to seem as disinterested in the enticing man as he could manage.

"Right. Seven shots of espresso, a shot of creamer, and a shot of the pineapple ginger concentrate, s'il vous plait," the man listed off as though he'd ordered the same thing a hundred times.

Virgil froze, unsure how to ring up the disgusting concoction, "what the hell? What kind of drink is that?"

"It's like me. One of a kind," the man beamed, brushing bleached silver hair out of his eyes, "can you handle that, kitty kat?"

"Stop with the pet names," Virgil rolled his eyes and finished inputting the drink, "um.. that will be… $6.69."

"Eyo! Sixty niiiiiiine," the man giggled emphatically while pulling out his money to pay.

Virgil rolled his eyes, "childish. Name for the order?"

"Uh, your phone number."

"What?"

"Damn you don't take hints!" the man placed one hand on his chest and bowed with a flourish, "my name is Remus, and I think you're very cute, kitty kat."

"You are maddening! Just call me Virgil!" he snapped, getting a cup ready to prepare the last drink Remus would ever have, "it's gonna take a minute to pull all those shots. Gosh… that much caffeine could kill you…" Virgil smirked at his own joke.

Remus took the smirk for a friendly smile and grinned, "I got all night for you, Virgil."

"That's cute. I'll let you know when it's ready," Virgil smiled, making direct eye contact as he added his favorite blend of sedatives to Remus’s cup.

It only took 30 seconds before Remus hit the floor with a confused grunt. Virgil was almost impressed the man had downed half the drink in one gulp. Moving quickly, Virgil locked the shop and dragged Remus back behind the counter, binding and gagging the flirtatious idiot. Tonight was going to be so special.

---

It hadn’t been easy, moving both bodies- cursing his weak, pathetic self the entire time. He made sure to dose both of them again after stashing them in the trunk so he could go back and finish out his shift.

He smiled pleasantly at the officers who stopped by just before the morning shift, careful to not give them any reason to be suspicious as he packed up day-old donuts and prepared two drinks nearly as caffeinated as Remus’s drink had been but significantly less poisoned. But still a little poisoned because fuck the police.

It took every muscle in Virgil’s body to not run gleefully to the car when the morning shift came to relieve him from work. He hid his excitement behind his usual persona of snarky disinterest and exhaustion until he was safely in the car and blasting his favorite CD on the drive home.

Pulling directly into the garage, Virgil shut down the car and giggled as the door shut slowly on his prisoners' last hope for rescue. Working at a leisurely pace, Virgil dragged first Remus then the woman down into his basement, both drowsy and barely able to make a complaint. It only seemed fair they die in the order they'd been caught so Virgil laid Remus out on the couch while he tied the woman down to his workbench.

The woman began to moan pathetically just as Virgil was tying down the last limb. It was not a moment too soon. He chuckled to himself and smacked her face a few times to help her wake up.

"Look alive, sunshine! You won't be much longer, I'm afraid," Virgil quipped as she blinked awake and started to panic at the restraints holding her down.

God, he hated when they screamed almost as much as he hated the watches. Virgil waited as long as he could stand the high-pitched whining pleas for freedom and help before loudly shushing until she quieted.

"Shh! Stop yelling or I will restrict your breathing," Virgil hissed, laying a prohibitive finger to her lips, "I promise you'll live longer if you stay quiet."

"You'll let me go?"

"No. I'll just take my time," Virgil smirked as the color drained from her face and her lip began to quiver, "ohh. Ohh, don't be so dramatic, sweetheart. It's time to grow up and realize death is inevitable."

Virgil laughed as she started screaming again, only turning away when Remus stirred from his sleep.

"Oh, dear. You've woken up my other guest. Now you know, he's special. You're going to have the life choked out of you, slowly but surely, but he gets to lose a lot more than his life. Count yourself lucky, sweetheart." Virgil turned to examine the man on the couch again as he blearily blinked up at him.

"You coulda'sked, kitkat," Remus mumbled nearly incomprehensibly. Virgil tilted his head in confusion as he watched Remus. The man slowly regained awareness, and even as Virgil stood above him with a hard frown, he smiled back up at his captor.

"What the hell are you getting on about?" Virgil asked with a growl, hoping to startle that unsettling grin off Remus’ face.

Remus laughed, "you coulda just asked if you wanted to do a scene, cutie! Although I love the attention to realism. Like you actually drugged me to bring me home!"

Virgil stared, completely in shock at what he was hearing, "wait.. you think…"

"That you were too shy to ask me out so you drugged me and dragged me back home? Yes," Remus nodded enthusiastically, "if you have some whips and an electric hand mixer we can have some real fun, you sexy little kitten!" Remus bumped his eyebrows suggestively, leaving Virgil absolutely stunned.

"What is going on here?!?" the woman on the table cried out.

"Shut the hell up!" Virgil barked back at her, too confused to do much more than stare at Remus. Why did he like this? Why did Virgil like that Remus liked this? He felt hot and confused but also certain about one thing he absolutely wanted.

Experimentally he reached down and laid his hand on Remus’ exposed stomach. Watching Remus for his reaction, Virgil slowly slid his hand along the skin and up to Remus’s chest. Remus shut his eyes with a smile and shivered at the touch, "oh yeah, baby. I can purr for you, kitty. Anything you want."

Virgil inhaled sharply, pulling back his hand and looking back at the other prisoner as she lay whimpering on the table.

Well shit, what was he supposed to do with a captive audience?

---

Virgil didn't know what he'd been thinking, letting Remus go after all was said and done. Remus had been fun and so down for all of his sickest fantasies, supplying quite a few of his own. He'd stolen Remus’ watch and put it on the woman's body before shooting both timepieces on her wrist. The ticking had probably driven him to let Remus go. That had to explain it

He dumped the woman as far as he possibly could and hoped beyond reason that Remus wouldn't recognize her in the news and realized what he'd done. For a week he lived in fear of the cops showing up at work or worse his house, armed with search warrants and one hell of a witness. For a week, nothing happened.

It turned out he'd worried for nothing. Just when Virgil began to itch again to get rid of another glowing being, despite the police pressure pushing him to lay low, Remus came back in during his shift.

"Hello, my little purrrfect kitten!" Remus beamed as he walked into the shop.

Virgil froze and slowly turned back to face him, "you- you came back?"

"Mhm. Never got your number but I wanted to see you again, Virgie. Figured we could have some more fun this time," Remus smirked as he leaned casually against the counter, "one usual with the special sauce please!"

"Special sauce?" Virgil asked, still amazed Remus had even come back to the cafe.

"You know," Remus leaned in close and whispered, "the stuff that knocks me out so you can take me home and we can get it on freakier than my last BDSM club"

"Wow, you- you liked it that much?" Virgil let out a low whistle. He studied Remus again, stricken by the fact he didn't glow so much this time. Even though Virgil wanted to take care of another glowing bastard, he was so much more interested in this willing abductee.

"Yeah, I did! That shit's hot as fuck!" Remus beamed. Virgil checked the time on his terminal display and realized it was nearly the time his least favorite police patrons would be making their morning run.

"Look, uh… why don't we save the tranqs for my place?" Virgil smirked as he started to prepare Remus’ strange order, "I'm amazed this drink doesn't put you in a coma already."

Remus giggled, "sometimes it takes a little something extra to get the heart pumping, yeah?"

"Hm. Well, I get off in two hours-"

"I'll be sitting right here in the corner then. I wanna get to know you, Virgie."

"A horrible mistake for you, really," Virgil laughed, heart fluttering far too much.

"Plus I think I left my watch at your place…"

"I haven't seen it this week. We can look though," Virgil lied smoothly, knowing very well the police had the timepiece in evidence.

Remus kept flirting as Virgil cleaned the store and served the early morning crowd, true to his word about waiting to leave with Virgil. They walked out to his car and Remus held out his arm expectantly when they sat down.

"What?" Virgil asked suspiciously.

"You're off the clock, let's get this party started. Surely you have the special stuff in here- you injected me last time."

Virgil flushed, "um.. really? You don't want to wait to know where we're going first?"

"How am I supposed to pretend I'm getting kidnapped if you don't knock me out? At least tie my hands?" Remus bat his eyes at Virgil who rolled his eyes and leaned over to grab a scarf out of the glove box.

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah but you like it, kitten."

---

Logan stared at the evidence bored, absolutely baffled. In 5 months there had been 18 victims, a consistent signature, and every promise that someone would turn up with a connection to this perp. Or someone should know where these folks had been headed when they fell into the unsub's trap.

And then after Lydia with the two watches- nothing. No bodies were found for weeks. No whisperings of the media-named Black Widower who aggressively mutilated his male victims almost beyond recognition after raping them and humiliated the women after strangling them with silk scarves.

"I just don’t understand. Guys like this don’t go dormant! It's against every drive they have. What are we missing, Patton?"

Patton looked up from his third cup of coffee, "I don't know, Lo. What about the two-unsub theory? Maybe they met up and are keeping each other occupied?"

Logan rolled his eyes, "oh sure. Two serial killers, one who's gay and one who hates women meet and start playing house. Real cute."

"It could happen…" Patton replied defensively, already reaching for a second donut as his partner glared disapprovingly.

"No. I think it's the same unsub. The watches are always shot while the victim wears them. It's consistent. It's a single, unique signature that the media still hasn't published. If it's two different killers, they knew about each other and were purposefully copying each other long before they went dormant."

"Well, I'm not going to complain that we aren't finding more victims. I'd rather people not be mysteriously killed and maimed by the Black Widower...s," Patton lifted his chin defiantly. He stood and walked over to the evidence board, studying the geographic profile again, the map showing a confusing cluster of dumpsites, victim's homes, and last sightings, and puzzled over the strangeness of the case.

"If this case goes cold, we may never find the unsub. He lives his life, free to decide to start again while all of his victims lay rotting in the ground. Their families don't deserve to live with that fear," Logan sighed heavily in near defeat, "of course I don’t want more victims. I want this man caught. Why did he suddenly stop?"

---

For a month, Remus had come in once or twice a week, asking Virgil for the secret sauce and flirting with him until the end of his shift. The randomness of his timing and anticipation of his visits made it impossible for Virgil to hunt. He didn't quite mind because seeing Remus was always better than the thrill of the kill.

Virgil finally relented and watched with quiet admiration as Remus celebrated over getting his number, and their relationship only moved faster after that. Pretty soon Remus was able to convince him to go on an actual date after work, grabbing breakfast at a nearby diner and hitting up his apartment afterward. Virgil had rarely spent so long away from his own home, but being out with Remus made him feel almost normal.

Media slowly stopped covering the Black Widower and Virgil smiled to himself just imagining how frustrated the police must be that they couldn't find him.

Virgil was happy, laying next to his boyfriend who loved him despite almost every eccentricity. He almost believed nothing could go wrong with Remus there.

"Uh, kit kat? I have a bit of a confession to make," Virgil winced, cursing himself for being so naive to believe that foolish sentiment.

"What’s up, dukey?" Virgil rolled to his side to face his boyfriend, "you can tell me anything."

"I don't- promise you won't get mad or like.. react badly?" Remus asked quietly, alarming Virgil even more.

He gently laid a hand on Remus’ neck and rubbed that roughened cheek with his thumb, "what's going on, Rem? You're scaring me."

Remus visibly gulped and whispered, "I know what happened to my watch. Virgil, I've always known.."

Virgil pulled back slowly. So this is what it actually felt like to be caught. His heart hammered in his throat, making a verbal reply impossible. He strained to not start crushing Remus’ throat and his own heart in his panic. This was love and this was a threat and god the way Remus looked at him right now only complicated everything else so much more.

He wasn't scared. He wasn't wriggling away from Virgil’s touch. Remus stared death in the eye unflinchingly.

He'd always figured his boyfriend must be brave or stupid, but Virgil hadn't counted on both.

"I know… what you are… and I still fell in love with you, Virgil. If you're gonna… could you at least drug me first and let me kiss you with my last breath?"

Very quickly several pieces fell into place as Virgil stared at the man who loved him despite every flaw and couldn't even beg for his own safety or life.

Remus knew what happened the night they met.

Remus had made the connections to the other murders and the subsequent drought of victims.

Remus could have turned him in- directly to the officers at the shop a half dozen times and a hundred other times when they weren’t spending time together.

Remus loved him.

Remus loved him and was scared of this confrontation.

Remus was not scared of dying.

Killing his boyfriend would be the exact link the cops would need to capture him.

Not killing his boyfriend for knowing his secret would be the largest risk imaginable.

Virgil couldn’t live without Remus

His hand was slowly choking Remus out despite his reluctance to take action.

Virgil gasped and pushed Remus away roughly, darting out of the bed and down the hall. He didn't stop until he heard Remus calling out for him.

Shit.

"Virgil!" his voice came out hoarse and painfully weak sounding. Virgil knew he should run.

But Remus was calling for him. And this was his fault.

"Virgil?" it was a question, asked in a voice that couldn't get enough air to support itself. He could leave and Remus would probably die a very painful death, all alone, with his fingers and palm emblazoned in the bruising that would provide the cause of death.

Remus loved him. He couldn't let this be the end.

Virgil flew back into the bedroom, grabbed the landline, and made the call.

"Remus, I am so sorry. Just keep breathing, baby. I am so so sorry!" Virgil apologized profusely, waiting for the emergency operator to pick up.

---

Hospital staff had to pry Virgil from Remus’ side as they moved him quickly into the O.R. Virgil paced and wondered how exactly to explain Remus’s injuries without getting arrested to distract himself from the fear that Remus would die in surgery.

He should have never let himself get so close to someone so smart and funny and perfect and… glowing. Virgil sat and waited for the doctor's verdict, pulling his hood over his eyes to block out the throngs of injured, sick, frantically glowing people around him.

Ages passed until Virgil heard his name and looked up suddenly for the source. A doctor and a police officer stood before him and all of the adrenaline in his body screamed that he needed to run.

"Uh.. how is he, doc?" Virgil asked, fighting himself to not scream or make a scene.

"Remus Crowne is currently in recovery and you may visit him. Due to the nature of his injuries, we have contacted the police to speak with him first," the doctor intoned, voice dripping with suspicion.

The officer took the pause to speak up, "would you like to make a statement, Mr. Kier?"

"I just want to see him," Virgil replied in a raspy voice, shaking his head in denial as he stood.

"Very well. This way, sir," the doctor led Virgil and the officer back towards the recovery rooms. When they arrived, Virgil nearly choked seeing Remus talking with the same two officers who came into his shop each morning. The shorter one knelt beside the bed to hold Remus’ hand. He spoke softly and asked all the questions while his partner stood tall and took notes, looking incredulously at the injured man. Virgil instinctively wanted to barge in and protect Remus from these pigs but the third held him back with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Before long the two officers left the room, eyeing Virgil disdainfully. He waited for the words that would send his world crashing around him even more than it already had.

"You- you can go in now, hon," Virgil's head tilted in confusion as the third officer let him go, "just be more careful in the future."

"I- what? No charges?" Virgil barely whispered, glancing towards the bed where Remus laid watching the tv.

"Believe me, if it had been me, I don’t care how consensual- I would have pressed charges for sending me to the E.R. have a good day, sir. Come along, Patton." The stricter-looking cop turned, gesturing to the kinder one and all three left quickly. Virgil beamed and ran to Remus’ side.

"You're welcome, kitten," Remus coughed and reached for Virgil’s hand.

"I'm so sorry- I didn't want to, Rem-"

"Shhhh. I told them it was a sex fantasy gone a bit too far. If I'd known you liked strangling dudes too-"

"Now you shush!" Virgil leaned in close, "you get better fast now, okay?"

"I always wanted to date a serial killer.. promise you won't leave me over this?" Remus grinned weakly up at Virgil, "I could help you, ya know."

"Shhhh this is just the pain meds talking. You don’t know a serial killer," Virgil laughed as tears of relief streamed down his cheeks. He gave Remus a dramatic stage wink and held his hand securely.

"Aww, you're right. I'm just stuck with a pretty boy who doesn't know his own strength," Remus grinned and watched Virgil rather than the tv until a nurse came to shoo his boyfriend away for the night.

Remus couldn't wait for their first hunt together.

[ninnodesu]

“Can I See You?” ch 2 || Modern!Thomas

Well. People apprently wanted more of modern!Thomas, so naturally, my brain conjured up a continuation.  GUESS WE HAVE TWO LONG STORIES NOW, FRIENDOS

I AM GOING TO TAG EVERY CHAPTER OF THIS FIC AS CICU IN CASE YOU WANT TO BLOCK OR FOLLOW!

TWs: - Mentions of rape - Broken bone - Mentions of cannibalism - Mentions of murder - Murder

He could see in your eyes, how the tears welled up and streamed down your face that you’d recognize him and he left. He couldn’t look at you at this point, couldn’t look at you cry because of him. He heard you cry behind him as he turned to go into his basement bedroom, his heart stung in his chest as he heard you beg and scream in fear. Closing the bedroom door, he proceeds to lean up against it, back pressed hard to it, eyes shut closed. Some kind of desperate way to make your panicked begging go away.

I can't, I can't, I can't, his inner voice chant like a mantra. His anxiety gets the better of him and he starts pacing, the wood under his feet already marked with a worn-out pattern left by his heavy boots after years and years of anxious pacing. A fierce battle erupts in his mind.

- I can't kill her - You have to, and you know it - No, I won't - Come up with one good reason to fistfight the old man about this - He would die and I wouldn't have to do this fucking thing anymore - And what? You'll live happily ever after with this woman? - I… - She would never accept the truth

Returning to his original place with his back to the door, he slowly sinks down to sit on the floor, one leg sprawled in front of him, the other resting under it. He's lost, he doesn’t know what to do. If he lets you go, you'll go straight to the police. If he kills you, he'll never hear from you again, he'll never see your face again, a sudden wave of intense nausea hits him at the thought of keeping the skin of your face to make a new mask. No, no he can't do that.

This is the first time since he had to butcher his first human that he feels genuinely lost.

He's mad at his uncle for wasting the low amount of money they do have on ugly hookers and booze, having Thomas resort to this way of living. He never truly did want this. The first time Charlie, or Hoyt as he wants to be called now - although Thomas never really did care about his apparent name change and still called him by Charlie to piss on his ego - talked to him about this, he threw up minutes after being left alone.

He still remembers the first time he got forced into butchering a person, just like it was yesterday, even though it’s nearly four years ago.

That day, he was on his way home from work, ending the day with bashing his old boss’s head in with a sledgehammer. The old man had disrespected his family, something Thomas wouldn’t stand for. Knowing that the security cameras were already turned off, he swung the hammer out of anger. He was mad that they were closing the slaughterhouse and he was hurt by the words that had been spoken. No one disrespects his family and gets away with it. Killing his boss didn’t wake any regrets. He believed the old man deserved it. The afternoon sun was still blazing down at his already sweaty form, propping his headphones on his head, he turned the music on full blast and lumbered home with no care in the world.

His right hand carried a memento of his old work, the slaughterhouse’s chainsaw.

As he had come out from a few trees up on the gravel road, a police car was parked by the side of it, the harsh blue and red light blinking to get his attention. Figuring he was caught, he took the headphones off, letting them rest around his neck and stopped in the middle of the road. His hair blew in front of his face as he took heaving breaths, waiting for the piercing pain of a bullet.

Bang! Thud.

What greeted him instead of searing pain, was Charlie standing behind him, brandishing a shotgun and looking down at a police officer with the head blown off. Everything after that is a blur. Vague memories of Charlie talking to him about the plan, the body was laid out on an old table in the basement. He’d never seen this side of his uncle before, so he tuned out.  Words like “ do it”, “no money left”, “can’t afford”, “ butcher him ”, “don’t tell mama” and the worst sentence he’d heard in his life; “ you have to do this, Tommy. For the family. We need meat to survive, boy.” echoed in his mind.

A loud bang coming from outside woke him from his memories. When he just seconds later heard your voice in a shrill pitch, he almost jumped off the floor and hurried out only to see you laying on the floor with half the table over you, the other half leaning against the metallic sink.

Jesus christ…

Being left alone again, your thoughts start racing and your heart along with it.

Where did he go? Why is he here? Does he live here? Is he going to kill you? Rape you? Keep you as a hostage? Was that his family? What? Why? Where?

It’s quiet, but you hear a faint shuffling coming from somewhere close to you. All you can do is lay there and look up at the ceiling, and to your left or right.

On your left you see what looks like a workbench, an apron rests on a hook next to it. It looks well used, stained with a dark and muddy hue of red. There's a sink and dirty towels hanging off the edge of said sink. The sight to your right, however, makes your stomach flip and turn on itself. There’s cleavers, knives, hooks. Huge bins stained with the same red hue as the apron. Putting all the puzzle pieces together, your breathing increases, teetering on the edge of hyperventilating. Thomas, your Thomas. The Thomas you’ve gotten to know, the one you’ve missed for these two weeks, the one who made you all giggly when he sent you the first full-face selfie of himself… a murderer.

As the adrenaline starts shooting through your body, you try wiggling a bit to see how bolted down you are. Your fastenings are tight and they burn as you try pulling your hands out. The metal just digs into your skin resulting in nasty burns.

Fuck…

That’s when an idea - or rather a small glimpse of hope - blooms in your head. Hopefully, the table is not bolted down. It’s a stupid idea, and you know that if Thomas doesn’t kill you, the table most likely will. But rather the table, than the man you’ve slowly started to fall in love with during the months you’ve talked. Getting killed by Thomas’ hands would haunt you more in the afterlife than anything else.

Gathering all the remaining strength, you throw the entirety of your body not bolted down to the side, doing your best to ignore the burning in your wrists and ankles. The first attempt yielded nothing major, the table moved, yes, but not to the extent you wanted. So you do it again, this time, the table goes down, and you with it. You feel the bone in your leg crack before you feel the brutal pain that explodes through it.

Your scream is high to the point where you feel your vocal cords strain and your voice slowly becoming lower, raspier. The pain is enormous, the throbbing pain in your leg thrumming together with your rapid heart. But - thankfully - your scream summons movement, footsteps, and voices. The most prominent footsteps, heavy ones, belong to Thomas as he’s the first one to your side. Even if you can’t see him, you see his clunky boots and grayish jeans, at least you hope that’s Thomas and no one else. All you do is sob onto the floor, your tears pooling under your chin at the pain radiating from your leg… and the burns around your wrists. It takes a full minute before you see big fingers curling around the edge of the table, a grunt coming from above you before your vision starts flying. He was lifting the table up. A loud, hoarse cry escapes your dry throat as the table thuds back into place, jolting your broken leg.

You're about to scream again when your brain catches up to the cleavers and knives hanging to your right but quickly after the first raspy pitch leaves your throat, a hand clamps over your mouth. The rasping sound is muffled under the big hand and you can feel it moisten due to your breath, but all he does is put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and plead with his eyes for you to stay quiet. Which you don’t, you rasp out a hoarse scream against his palm and keeps shooting daggers at him. My god, are you pissed right now.

Who the fuck are you, and what have done to the Thomas I know, you fucking animal!

You don’t quiet down until you hear that sliding door slide open again and an angry voice rings out. "Thomas! What the fuck is that racket?!"

Thomas jerks his head up as he hears Charlie's voice. He's not sure what to do, his uncle’s footsteps thud down the stairs and soon enough, Thomas sees him in full and exchanges eye contact. "This bitch is still alive? Why haven't you taken care of'er yet, ya idiot?".

Shit uh…

He glances down at your dagger filled eyes while trying to figure how to keep you quiet and talk to his uncle at the same time, needing both hands to do so. He can't sign to Charlie if his hand is clamped over your mouth. Letting out an annoyed grunt, he grabs the nearest towel and shoves it into your mouth as quickly and deep down he can without choking you, making sure you can’t spit it back out. Seeing you so shocked, and angry and… some other kind of emotion he couldn’t place, he got the urge to show you some kind of affection. Resulting in him patting your cheek, his huge hand basically engulfing half your face before walking over to the stairs.

"Well?", Charlie spits out his venomous words. Thomas' hands fidget a bit, nervousness taking a hold of him.

'I know her' The same signs that he kept on repeating earlier, annoyance building inside him knowing that his asshole of an uncle refuses to learn more. Making it almost impossible to have a normal conversation with him. "Listen, Tommy, I. Don’t. Care.", the looks between the men are like venom. "You were 'sposed to get to work on'er before mama gets home. You know damn well how much she hates when the cattle scream." Thomas really can’t help the smirk hiding beneath his mask when he hears that. He glances up the stairs before checking the time on his wristwatch before shrugging, pointing to it, and slowly signing two words he knows Charlie can decipher.

'Fifteen minutes'

That's when Charlie grabs the neck of Thomas' shirt and yanks him forward, the only reason he's able to is that he manages to catch him off guard. His breath reeks of alcohol. A clear cut sign that he’s drunk. "Listen here, you bastard. I've had enough of your defiance today. If you ", he stabs a finger in Thomas' chest at the last word, "don't take care of that girl, I will . And you know damn well I ain't going easy on'er." Charlie releases Thomas with a shove, making him stumble backward slightly. The final words from Charlie’s mouth before leaving the basement stings in Thomas’ heart. "I don't want to see your ugly ass upstairs until she's done for."

Thomas watches him leave and turn towards you, who’s still crying silently on the table.

His heart stings more and more the closer he shuffles to you. Sure, he had had nights where he dreamt that he would meet you. But not like this. Never like this, never here. He did not want to see you on his butcher's block. At the same time, he moves to remove the towel he makes the same shushing motion towards you, with the same pleading eyes as earlier. This time, she nods. And Thomas lets out a sigh of relief. As he removes it, you’re panting, breathing sounding almost more like wheezing squeaks. He goes to rinse the towel under some lukewarm water to pat clean the bloody gash over the eyebrow that got hit to knock you out before getting here. All the time, he feels a burning gaze on him, from eyes that are seemingly watching his every move.

You wince when the damped towel touches your eyebrow, a wound you didn't know you had greeted you with a sting, a small hiss leaving you. Your eyes are glued to the giant man, making sure you see his hands at all times. You want to speak, but your throat is dry and hoarse, figuring out that your earlier screaming has annoyed your vocal cords to a great extent. So all you do is watch him. He, on the other hand, is doing his best to avoid making eye contact with you. And it pisses you off, but at the same time, it relaxes you and makes your heart hurt.

Why the fuck are you avoiding me?!

The thought makes your eyebrows furrow. He’s seen you naked, yet can’t fucking look you in the eyes? You try thrashing a bit with your shoulders to try and get his eyes to yours, but to no avail. His tender way to clean your wound surprises you. This huge killer, this murderer, and straight-up deranged man are making sure not to hurt you, and you can't help but breathe out a laugh.

That's when he - apparently - seems happy with his cleaning and turns his back to you, he turns the water on and it sounds like he's rinsing something. Shutting the water off he moves out of your line of sight. A slight panic arises in your chest at the thought that he might have gone off to fetch whatever tool he seems fit to end your life.  You hear a rummaging sound close by, and then he's back above you, looking down at you. This time, you feel a large hand on your head as he slowly and carefully tilts your head back, your eyes are met with harsh light and you shut them. That overwhelming want and need for him to look into your own eyes die down. Now, you don't want to look at him when he slits your throat.

But he doesn't.

You hear what sounds like a paper wrapping open. Two fingers press on either side of the gash over your eyebrow, a small whimper escapes you at the pinching pain, and then something sticky is attached to you. A band-aid. He had put a bandaid on the cut of your eyebrow. It isn't until you feel his hand leave your head that you open your eyes. And at that moment, your eyes are met with his blue ones. The way he's looking at you makes a tiny bit of your anger and hurt, and fear goes away. His blue eyes are filled to the brim with hurt, and sadness, and confusion. It almost looks like he’s about to burst into tears. He looks broken down.

Thomas fiddles a bit with the paper wrapper of the bandaid after making sure it's secured on your eyebrow and proceeds to look down into your beautiful eyes, your eye color popping in the harsh light. Something in them reflects his own emotions. He doesn’t want this, he punishes himself for not responding to your text messages the past weeks, or that he didn’t reach out to you. What he’s looking at is clear cut torture for him. He wants to cry.

I'm so sorry…

He hears the familiar clacking of his mother's shoes above the both of you, a sigh of relief escapes him. Patting the pockets of his jeans, he makes sure he has his phone and the keys to the basement before he heads over to the stairs. But he stops right before ascending them and looks over to you.

He pulls his phone up, unlocks it swiftly, and goes to his text-to-speech app, making sure the volume is put on high before typing out two words and hitting the speech button. A male voice rings out through the basement.

"I'm sorry"

[katsukikitten]

Back at it again since tumblr didnt want me in the tags the first time

Bakugou was irritable today. Not that his irritability was anything new but every little thing set his skill crawling. His forearms littered with threatening pops as he bared his teeth to anyone brave enough to look his way. 

He figured the only way to get his agitation out was to hit something, anything.

 So he headed to one of the two closest gyms from his small apartment to blow off some much needed steam. The local 24 hour gym that was open to the public was a no go, not just because it was always over crowded but also because he got banned after cussing out some damn extras who were snapping pictures of him instead of working out like one should. Leaving his only other option to be the agency's "gym". 

When he first set foot into the sorry excuse of a gym he demanded a better upgrade for it, if they expected to keep him and Kirishima in top shape. Otherwise he would begin to look elsewhere considering other agencies were dying to have the newest upcoming pro hero in their rankings. The agency obliged, delivering his expectations and more in less than a week. Guess being in the top five really did have its perks. 

The ash blonde pulls his shiny new coupe into the parking garage and finds a spot closest to the entrance. He grabs for his water bottle from the passenger seat before exiting the car, locking his black beauty as he made his way inside.  He swipes his fob over the keypad before it beeps while flashing green, allowing him entrance to the back door of the basement. Walking past the long corridor of support labs that had long since closed to get to the gym. The rooms illuminated by the low light of locked computers, secrets and redesigns stowed away behind bullet proof glass. 

Nearing the end of the dimly lit hall he spies harsh light flooding onto the linoleum floor, indicating that someone seemed to be collecting some major overtime. From his experiences at UA he figured each room would be filled to the brim with over eager support, eccentrically yelling at one another over specs and improvements, sharing their love of science at a volume much too high for Bakugou's taste. Shortly after his hero debut he discovered just how wrong he was about the support labs. He had needed a 2am, mid shift, costume adjustment so he came here, expecting the place to be brimming with brilliant minds only to find one person still working. 

So it should be no surprise that at 10:30 at night there was one room that was clearly occupied. Still a rare curiosity takes over the hot head as he peeks into the room while passing, wondering if he will catch a glimpse of you again. 

He found you odd, as you seemed to be nocturnal or better yet maybe you didn't sleep at all. No need for it as your hunger for knowledge seemed to outweigh any basic human need.

Bakugou had only seen you a handful of times, here and there in passing towards the gym at all hours of the day and night. Maybe it was just coincidence that he would find you hunched over something with this gleam in your eye as you destroyed and rebuilt the item over and over again.  

He shakes his head, he doesn't get it. Doesn't get why you dedicate so much time when no one else in your department seemed to give as much of a damn as you did. Or maybe he did get it, maybe it was similar to how he pushes himself so he can be number one, except yours was just for intellectual stimulation. 

After an hour and a half of throwing weights and punches around and becoming heavily drenched in sweat, Bakugou finally calls it a night. Gulping water from his water bottle before wiping at the sheen that collected on his forehead. He sighs out, before catching himself in the mirror. Smirking as he flexes, letting go a few pops. Admiring not only his improved physique but also his new hair style. Sides faded but top long, ash strands looking borderline messy, as if someone had just caught him and a lover kissing heavily in a dark hall during a house party, their fingers desperately pulling at his hair. 

He reaches for the ceiling in a grunting stretch as a yawn forces its way out. He leaves the gym, switching off the lights before making his way back to the parking garage. A furrow of his brow as he notices the light to your lab is still on, maybe you had forgotten to kill the light when you left or maybe you were still tinkering away.  Crimson eyes peer into the room, spying you as you begin to stretch. Your eyes latch onto his as he watches your expression go from concentrated to elated. You jump from your seat, causing Bakugou's brow to furrow more before you're flinging open the door and yanking at his wrist.

"Wow what are the odds?! Well I guess they would be around 4.64% considering you don't normally frequent this gym but I should also factor in your recent ban raising it up to.." 

"Oi, shitty woman, quit the nerd talk!" He yanks his wrist from your small, delicate hands. Totally unsure of what your name is and even if he did know it, he would sooner address you with an insult than your family name. 

"Ah I forget, not everyone loves numbers. But still I am quite lucky tonight." You beam up at him, hair threatening to fall loose from its haphazardly shaped bun, "You're just the man I needed to see, Bakugou." 

He isn't sure why but a faint blush creeps to his cheeks, was it your bright smile that threw him so off guard or was it the way your lips formed around his name?

He sucks his teeth, looking away from you with crossed arms. 

"Well I'm sweaty as fuck, so you really don't need me." He huffs but before he can turn on his heel you're clamping cool black metal to his forearms. You guide him to the door to the testing area of your lab, turning his arms this way and that to make sure your measurements are perfect as you ramble on. 

"No! No! That is the perfect condition for this experiment. I've been working on your winter costume since there are deficiencies with your current one. Since you, and I'm sure you already know, sweat less in the winter there needs to be some sort of counter balance to offset the possibility of little to no stored sweat. Preventive measures could be made sure and you collect sweat from previous activities but 'stale' sweat does not ignite as quickly or as violently as fresh sweat. One could argue that using heavier and denser materials could help aid in more sweat production but this risks overheating should a mission need you inside or a rapid change in environment all together outweight any benefit. So not only are these bracers less obnoxious than your gauntlets, no offense, but they collect 56 to even 62% more of expandable sweat compared to the normal 54% all while reducing the amount needed for ignition. Sure my colleagues could say that's a marginal improvement at best but…" Heat radiates off of him in waves, pulling your eye upwards. You're met with a red hot gaze that seems to rake over your skin. An odd chill runs down your spine as you realize your mistake. 

Nerd talk.  And rambling nerd talk at that. 

All the while Bakugou wonders why your hands are so damn cold and yet they feel good, soothing to his warmed skin. Refreshing even as it reminds him of a passing breeze in the summer or hiding in the shade from the sun.

A bit of heat rushes into your cheeks as you suddenly realize how close you are to THE Ground Zero. Someone who you knew so intimately through paper and yet knew nothing about all at the same time. You knew his measurements, the circumference of his head, his biceps, the number of inches around his thighs. Hell, you had them memorized since the big boss upstairs assigned you his costume and accessories well over a year ago. And yet you couldn't even fathom to name his favorite color or favorite food for that matter.

You swallow thickly, clearing your throat as you move on, dropping his deadly hands as you do.

"Ah, anyway, these bracers are designed to help with not only better sweat collection in both summer and winter but to aid in some stealth missions as they make no sound compared to your heavy gauntlets." You smile at him once more causing his stomach to flip before those small icy hands press harshly into his toned hot back, pushing him into the testing chamber behind diamond glass. 

"I just need you to test them. I need to make sure they can withstand your heat and power." With that you shut him away, quickly trotting to the mic on the other side. Pressing the button to speak as he turns his arms over looking at the smooth black material 

"Now, remember, it takes less sweat. So don't go all out!" At first you worry it falls on deaf ears before he gives a nod your way. Suddenly you are in awe of the power house that stands before you as his expression changes from utter agitation to complete determined focus, all with something as simple as a deep breath out. He focuses on producing enough sweat to ignite, calling on his quirk as if it were an extension of himself. Pooling it onto his skin, permeating the air with the slight smell of burnt sugar before he let's go a small pop. 

But the medium sized explosion he had expected was anything but what was produced.  Suddenly the brace on his arm explodes from the pressure as does the diamond glass in the room. Fear grips Bakugou as shards of glass go flying towards you before you flick your wrist harshly.  

The deadly shards bypass you, glistening shrapnel sinks deeply into the tile floor around you like a piece of jagged art.

And yet you seem unphased, delighted even as a manic smile paints your lips before it sours. Eyes noticing that the bracer barely stood up to the challenge. 

"Fuck…the density still cannot withstand the joules output or force that Bakugou is capable of…" A string of murmurs that remind him all too much of Deku as your fingers curl in the air, calling forth the failed experiment with unseen forces. The blonde long forgotten as you hunch over the workbench, going back to square one. 

Crimson eyes dissect your form and actions as you pull various books and tools towards you with the influence of your quirk, hovering around the work space. 

Suddenly you feel heat radiating behind you when normally you're enveloped in the cool air of the air conditioning, kept extra low in the labs to prevent overheating of parts. You look over your shoulder, suddenly remembering the Pro hero who's beginning to wonder why you're in support with a quirk like that. 

"I know, I know. The last bus and train left hours ago. I'll catch them in the morning." You guess at why he's lingering as you wave him off with your hand. He's caught off guard by your statement before he notices the clock, going to open his mouth to scold before snapping it shut. 

Why should he care if you work through the night? What was he gonna do? Offer you a ride when he didn't even know your name? 

He sucks his teeth biting out as he leaves. 

"Just call me when you're ready to test these again." 

Weeks pass and it's as you never left the lab. Glued to the same spot as he tests the product every other week only for you to grow more and more frustrated with each failure punctuated by shattered bracers. 

And every time he enters the lab room he learns something new about you. He can tell when or if you've left the lab for longer than a few minutes by how tidy the space is or lack thereof. A chaotic circle encompasses you filled with random items that you hope will ignite a spark of inspiration. Anything from books to thin sheets of metal and even to soft fabrics that haphazardly lay atop metal tools. Anything one could possibly imagine was probably there, sitting along-side several empty cups that once held iced coffee. He notices the bags beneath your eyes as they darken with each passing week and he's beginning to wonder if you've ever left as he leaves anywhere between 12 to 3am most nights. 

Tonight is no different as he makes his way to the gym at midnight while you're hunched over his bracers. A part of him wants to tell you to stop being an idiot, to rip you from your little stool and drag you to your bed or wherever the fuck you'll sleep as the other part points out 'why do you fucking care?' So he watches silently, eyes fixated on you until he runs out of glass to look through before he locks himself away in the gym. 

Bakugou puts in his black wireless earbuds before cranking his music up, tossing his phone onto a nearby workbench. He stretches this way and that, reaching for the sky as he looks at his form in the mirror, his hard earned V and bottom two abs wink at his reflection beneath his signature black tank top and his black hoodie. 

His fist connects easily with the heavy black bag suspended by a large chain. The sandbag swings back and forth with a creak with each heavy handed blow. Bakugou loses time with each kick and hit thrown at the bag, each passing song fueling his desire to melt his frustration until his hair is plastered to his forehead. He lets out a steadying breath as his heart roars in his chest,he rears his fist back for a final blow backed by a bit of his quirk. It connects with the well worn leather with such force a weak link in the chain snaps as the fabric obliterates, the 200lb bag flies into the mirror behind it. Shards of reflective glass glitter as they rain onto the matted floor. 

"Fuck." He huffs, stretching and turning to the opposite mirror. Sending a quick snap of his tongue out with the caption "Oops" as the background showcases the decimated gym to Kirishima. He picks up his bag, removing his ear buds to be met with the cool air of the hallway. 

Your light is still on causing him to grind his teeth as his phone reads 2:45am. He's angry enough he chooses to avoid looking into your enclosure as he walks past, fearful his sharp tongue will give him away. He misses you perk up, frantically waving for him to come in before you're at the door, flinging it open to yell out much too loudly in the empty halls. 

"Bakugou!" Your voice is hoarse and cracks from disuse before you clear your throat, lightly jogging to catch up to his large stride, "I've done it!" 

He ignores you, lips pursed in a tight line before your cold hand wraps tightly around his wrist. Pulling him back to the lab with eager steps. He rips away his wrist with a growl and follows you reluctantly, you seem unphased by his harsh actions. 

"I've finally perfected it. I'm sure this time. I was looking at it all wrong. Larger surface area does not always equate to better absorption. Not to mention the pressure for the explosions beneath the bracer is what was causing the failure in the first place. A marginal error that I should have caught earlier. This new design covers less than 15% of your skin but increases…." You ramble but it all falls on deaf ears. 

Bakugou sees that your hair is so loose in its ponytail it might as well be down. The bags beneath your eyes weigh heavy on your pretty features, your skin showing signs of dehydration as it seems to have lost some of its elasticity. Your lab coat is wrinkled and your nametag, that you're wearing for once, is pinned on upside down. He commits your name to memory although he finds it odd that it must be your first name instead of your family name, then again you do hail from overseas. As the two of you walk into your lab he realizes instantly that it has become your main living space. Shards of diamond glass still litter your floor, there is no rhyme or reason to the placement of objects.  Tools, and trash commingle in dangerous piles and stacks around the room. Something knits itself as it floats in the air, wavering a bit when you pause your rambling to yawn.

"Oi nerd!" Bakugou's voice is sharp, authoritative as he grips onto your wrist. Eyes still washing over the room before they land on you. Somehow you're too daft or too tired to pick up on his concern. 

"Yea yea nerd talk. I fucking get it." A half snap from your exhaustion, "Just…" 

You lose his grip before grabbing onto his arm, finding a mesh woven bracer somehow on that disastrous desk. It seems to be made of a soft, elastic fabric as you slip it over his thick forearm after shoving away his sweatshirt sleeve.

"Perfect, your sweat output was pretty close to max earlier. I could smell caramel from the gym. This is going to be so fucking great!" You giggle in delight as the other mesh bracer finishes itself, dropping before you frantically reach for it. He notices your faulty step, your under the breath curse and the long moment your eyes flutter. He almost bites his tongue clean off. 

Again your cool hands find his burning skin as you try to keep your tired brain focused on the task at hand and not how his forearms have grown nearly a half inch since your first encounter. It's difficult not to fall victim to his intoxicating smell as you force yourself to not sway on your feet and collapse into a lovely muscular man. His heat seems to have some sort of affect on you, causing an odd affinity between you both.

"Okay all done! Please give a medium sized blast!" You encourage, shoving him into the testing chamber as he glares down at you. He isn't sure why your chaotic state is bothering him but it does. He rolls his eyes as you slam the door shut. He brings clarity to his mind, focusing on his quirk and how the sweat feels against his skin. How it yearns to be something more, to explode into a whispering flame that may catch something ablaze. 

He gives in, just a little, giving it what it wants, igniting it with a simple thought. An explosion he would have considered large if he were still at UA but since all he's done is grow these past five years, earning him the number 3 rank, it comes to no surprise when the glass shatters yet again. 

Except this time you're too entranced with the smoke clearing, of seeing if your baby you've slaved over has made it through to comprehend the sharp threat. You notice the flying glass a moment too late, flicking your wrist to change the trajectory from what was supposed to be your entire body but your arms are grazed by the razor sharp shards. You grit your teeth, cursing to yourself calling forth a first aid kit. 

But nothing shows up in your peripheral except for a looming presence. One you give your back to in order to find the first aid kit with your gaze, when was the last time you ever had to look at something to summon it? 

Damn it, how could you be experiencing quirk failure from exhaustion right now? Sure it took a lot of brain power for your quirk but it takes weeks of no sleep for a failure plus you had been eating...your eyes glance around the room. You hadn't been eating, or so it says from the lack of any sort of plate or take out aside from your iced coffees with the added protein and carbohydrate shots your body needed to process your quirk with ease. 

Fuck, guess it really was quirk failure. You bite your lip, unable to find that damned kit hoping the hot head wouldn't catch on to your short coming. 

Vermillion eyes watch crimson spots bloom across the white fabric of your coat. He grinds his teeth, searching for the first aid kit only to find it knocked beneath a shelf. He rights himself, stalking your way with a grimace just to stop in his tracks. He watches you slip your oversize jacket off of strong shoulders, toned arms adorned with several thin slices that weep red, but what has really caught his attention was that body con dress. 

Sticking to you like a second skin, but looking somehow comfortable at the same time, he wonders for a moment if you've made it yourself. It's similar to the fabric used to make his shirts, breathable, soft, always smelling a bit sweet like you when they are fresh from the lab. His hand twitches as he can imagine how supple your curves would feel in the delicate yet sturdy material, palm already too familiar with the soft sensation. Red catches his eye once again pulling him from the trance that is your body. He sneers at the cuts as he grabs onto your cold shoulder, shoving you into your chair so he can work on you. You look up a bit shocked with a pinch of anger mixed in and a dash of hurt pride. He takes no notice as he wraps bandages tight around your arms, your eyes locked onto the bracers. The smile on your face cannot be helped as you stare proudly at your work, it was able to withstand so much power and remain not only in tact but unsinged. You grab onto his wrist turning it this way and that, a pen and pad float near by as you take notes. Bakugou cannot hide his astonishment as he watches the invisible hand borrow your neat yet rushed script as it is unable to keep up with your thoughts. You pull the bracers from his arms, fabric begins to tear itself thread by thread before spooling itself, wrapping around wood as if it were a snake. He pulls away, eyes hard as he talks himself out of whatever the stupid "heroic" side of him is saying. He takes a step back and with it taking his warmth. You shiver but you are too busy to notice, teeth chattering ever so slightly but you're too busy studying. He growls to himself. 

Suddenly you're enveloped in a dizzying sweet smell and warmth, it is then you realize that Bakugou had shoved his hoodie over your head. Slinking your arms into the holes to move the hood of the sweatshirt back, quickly realizing the material is not damp as you had once thought. It's warm from his quirks use, material dry as a bone, reminding you of pulling your favorite blanket fresh from the dryer just to wrap yourself in it as rain taps on the window of your apartment. 

Subconsciously you snuggle into it, opening your mouth to state how much work you have to do but instead you have to stifle a yawn. 

Had the cold of the lab always kept you awake, were you starting to actually feel the weight of your work only because you were warm? 

"I think it's time for bed, nerd." 

He places his hot palm on the back of your neck in a power move as he speaks. He enrages you and entices you all at once as your face snaps up to meet his gaze, your own eyes burning holes into him. He smirks down at you, deciding in this moment that he really likes you.  

"I'm taking you home. Get your shit." He squeezes your nape as a warning. He isn't taking no for an answer.

"I'll take the bus and train in the morning, three hours is child's play." Hitting his hand away, trying to return to your work. He scoffs in response. 

"You sure are oblivious for someone so smart. Tomorrow is Saturday." He crosses his exposed arms, unable to hide his smug smirk as realization washes over your stunning features, "That means the bus won't be in the business district til 10am." 

"I think I'll be okay." You say after a moment of silence, "I've waited longer. Or I could walk..." 

"Will you?" He retorts, "Your office says otherwise." 

You follow his gaze, your entire office in disarray, as if a bomb went off. 

You guess in a sense one had gone off. Biting your lip as you mull it over, eyes finding Bakugou's file shuffled across your desk, spying your own hand written cliff notes. 

Stubborn your script reads, you sigh admitting defeat as you wave your hand over the file. It tidies itself, papers folding neatly back into the Manila folder before you snap your fingers. 

Bakugou watches items soar around the room, books fighting and bickering over their order, pens and pencils long forgotten in corners of the room race back to their place on your desk. Papers flutter and fall into the trash or shredder in defeat as plastic cups sink into the plastic bin in the corner. The diamond glass follows suit as your own hands grab onto the bracers, giving them a gentle squeeze before you access an invisible drawer on your desk, hiding away your project before pushing it back. Wood flush against wood as if there were no drawer at all. 

A question burns on the tip of Bakugou's tongue, it dies in his throat for now as a new one is born. 

"That Kirishima's faceplate?" The question comes out in the form of a bite, for some reason the thought of his more likeable friend coming in here as often as Bakugou has set his blood boiling. 

"Ah yes, I just got this assignment from the big boss. Kirishima's new unbreakable breaks his faceplate everytime. Otto had it before me, which was odd. He is more of a reverse engineer. Taking an unknown material and figuring out how it works." Your eyes linger over the empty office across the way, "But he's been out and Kirishima can apparently no longer be on the back burner. Especially now that I've finished with the company's top hero." 

His heart melts just a bit as he watches a smidge of pride form in your dazzling eyes. He scoffs to change the topic.

"Come on, shitty woman." He guides you to the parking garage. 

Once there he acts out of character. At least what you would believe to be out of character as he holds open the door to his car for you, waiting for you to step in. 

"What?! I ain't fucking kidnapping you but I ain't letting you weasel out of this shit either." He growls, waiting impatiently by the door. You step in as he gently shuts the door behind you. He steps in himself, the engine purrs to life as you give him your address. 

"That far out? And you were gonna fucking walk?" He laughs, "Hell no, never again. You'll call me before you do that next time." 

"I don't have your number asshole." You grumble to yourself but he grabs your unlocked phone from your hands, plugging in his number and calling it. 

"There now you do." He locks it and puts it in his cup holder, demanding your attention. No longer can he keep that burning question to himself, "Why are you on support?" 

It puzzles you for a second before you realize he means it as a compliment to your quirk and not an insult to your intellect. 

"Oh that's easy. Being a hero wouldn't benefit me, it's too restrictive. I'm more of a…." You ponder on your words, vigilante was wrong, you wouldn't take justice into your own hands for the sake of others and villain was too strong, "Chaotic neutral. My moral compass is pretty grey and being in this lab benefits my need for knowledge." 

Bakugou glances your way, respectful of your honesty while your eyes become heavy watching the street lights blur, the hum of the engine pulling you deeper into relaxation.  There was something about a car ride that took you back to your childhood days in America.  The outskirts of the city would quickly wind into back roads lined with corn stalks that scrapped the sky. 

The street lights slowly became fewer and farther in between as the black coupe took you further from the heart of the city, soon more stars began to dot the sky.  You see just the tip of his zodiac constellation, it stirs a question within you. 

"So why do you want to be a hero?" You keep your eyes focused on the backdrop that lies beyond the tinted glass, missing Bakugou's knuckles turn stark white. 

He doesn't speak and that's answer enough for you.  

It took him an hour to get to your side of town, an hour. One you had said you would walk, one you mentioned you had walked before. He pulls up the sidewalk by your building, turning to you. 

"We're here…" His announcement turns into a sigh as he sees your slumped form. Head limp but thankfully not leaning on the glass as you're snuggled into his hoodie. You're murmuring how you need to update your measurements in your sleep causing Bakugou to roll his eyes. He pulls away to parallel park. He debates, should he wake you? 

No, who's to say you wouldn't attempt tor eturn to your work? He sighs, pocketing your phone and pulling the lanyard out of your purse that has, what he assumes,your house key on it. 

Katsuki's blood runs ice cold in his veins as realization sucker punches him square in the chest. He had NO fucking idea which apartment was yours. He turns your key over and over but why would that have the number on it? 

"Fuck." He would have to pray your mailbox was both clearly labeled and inside. He shoulders your purse before scooping you into his arms, sure to cradle you like the princess you are. 

He steps through the automatic doors, relief washes over him as a wall of mail boxes greet him. Better yet, they were neatly labeled with names AND apartment numbers.

But it is not long lived as his red eyes rake over the names, the family names, last names. He only knew your first and of course, of fucking course the Gods would laugh at him as panic rises in his throat. You had to have the most common first initial didn't you?  He had spotted it six times already but none of the last names seemed out of the ordinary, if anything they were all ordinary, run of the mill Japanese last names. Nothing foreign about them. 

"Fuck." He murmurs, plan B wouldn't work either, he can't just try out every fucking apartment with your first initial, how weird would that be, some guy shoving keys in random doors with a passed out woman in his arms. 

"Fuck." He cusses again. Was he going to have to take you to his apartment? Fuck, fuck fuck! He couldn't do that, the press slunk around his apartment like vultures, even at this hour.

"Oh you must be the guy that's been keeping her up so late at night." A voice sounds behind him, he turns towards the sound. A smaller young man smiles at him as if he and Bakugou share an inside joke. 

"Quite nice of you to bring her home, and get her mail." He laughs softly reaching for something in the desk, he approaches slowly, "But she must have forgotten to tell you she lost her key a couple of weeks ago. She always asks me to get the mail instead of paying the lost key fee. Don't blame her though." 

The desk clerk, Wantanabe, rambles on as Bakugou's sharp eyes watch closely. Silently thanking the Gods' for their blessing as he watches Watanabe slide the spare key into your mail slot. He commits your last name to memory, but more importantly 5C burns into his retinas. 

"...she hasn't been home in four weeks,  so she has a lot of mail." That snaps Bakugou back to the present, a small stack of mail is presented to him. He stares down at your form unable to keep the scowl off of his face. The dark circles beneath your eyes seem to become darker by the second. 

"Thanks." He growls through gritted teeth, snatching the mail as best he can without disturbing you. He looks for an elevator and when he sees he will have to climb five flights of stairs he wonders if this is the reason you don't come home often. 

Soon enough 5C is staring Bakugou in the face. He is hesitant, even if he does bring you home safely he wonders if you would misread his actions. As the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. Still his hands move quickly, sliding the key into the door and unlocking your mysteries. The apartment is sizable for the area, clean at least what he can see from the light of the hall flooding in. He flips on a switch with his elbow, he expected harsh light but instead ambient string lights that line the ceiling illuminate the space in a warm light. A three chair island with a marble water fall looks out into the living room, a large sectional couch swallows the space, a TV atop a nice entertainment table while books litter the coffee table and one part of the couch. The apartment feels as if it had been warmed by the sun through the drawn curtains but not overly hot, it feels cozy really.  As if Bakugou could imagine himself spread out on the grey sofa while you're curled against him, half dozing half reading your book. 

The thought jarrs him, he feels too close to you now, feverish almost as he rips your key from the door, shutting it softly before placing the lanyard onto the kitchen island. He spies a hall and passes a full bath, then a freshly vacant guest room to see a final door closed that he assumes is the master. He flips the switch and again light snakes around the ceiling washing the room in this comfort. He can understand the soft yellow lights considering you spend forty plus hours beneath harsh, bleaching white lights. He pulls back the comforter as best he can and lies you down gently. He removes your red bottom heels and praises the Kamisama when he sees you do not have on tights not that he would remove them anyway. You snuggle deeper into his hoodie, smiling as you do, dreaming of whatever little scientist's dream about. Katsuki imagines it's all math, measurements, molecular structures, nerd shit. You begin to murmur in your sleep.

"...gotta update his chart…" 

"Fucking nerd." Bakugou smiles to himself, you look peaceful even as your mind races with reminders. Another snuggle deeper into his hoodie, he goes to reach out to push hair from your face and stops himself. 

"What the fuck am I doing?" He growls aloud, he doesn't know you. Barely figured out your last name and that was by both chance and stupidity on the desk clerk's. He heads for your bedroom door, stopping with his hand gripping the handle. He peers over his shoulder before killing the switch, flooding your room with darkness. 

He shuts the door and with it the odd ache that's growing in his chest. 

[mshermia]

What’s In Your Heart - Webpril 03: Soul World

summary: 

Peter had been dodging Tony for weeks now. A few months after the world was saved, Tony wasn't sure what he had done but every time they had scheduled a day at the lake house, Peter found a new excuse to cancel.

Or, Peter struggles with the aftermath of the Snap.

read on AO3

###

"What the hell is wrong with my cooking?" Pepper had spun around, not too far off from that metaphorical steam coming out of her ears.

Tony was on thin ice. On very thin ice. No matter how much his awesome brain had been praised left and right over the past decades, it sure was failing him now.

"Nothing is wrong with it. And while I personally love your lentil and chicken sausage stew, I'm not sure the kid has the pallet to appreciate your hard work, honey," he rambled, trying not to stumble over his words. "Plus we're out of kale."

Pepper shrugged up her arms in bewilderment. "How are we out of kale? I just bought some yesterday!"

"Erm..." Tony quickly moved away from her, fiddling with the tab and a jug for a bit to hide the cringe on his face. "I think Madame Secretary fed it to the chickens instead of the lettuce leaves." Tony ignored Pepper's groan of annoyance and pressed on back to the topic at hand. "So, I was thinking I can just order in Thai food when he gets here. You know how the kid loves Thai food."

With a deep breath, she rubbed two fingers over the crease between her eyebrows. "When will he be here?"

"Sometime after lunch," Tony said quickly, adding a quieter, "I think".

"So, we're not entirely sure if he'll be here," Pepper clarified, her arms crossed in front of her. "Again."

"He'll be here," Tony waved her off. "He'll be here."

By 5 o'clock, Tony was bent over his workbench in the basement. Elbows perched on the tabletop and head balanced between both hands, he was staring at nothing in particular, wondering what he'd done wrong. He'd been down there for a while when Pepper's soft steps echoed off the walls as she came down the stairs. Tony didn't bother to move, didn't even bother to pretend that he had been doing anything but mope over the fact that Peter had not shown up. One hand tangled in his hair, the other cradling his face, Pepper pulled him close, his head dipping against her chest.

"Did he message you?"

"No..." Tony mumbled against the fabric of her shirt. It wouldn't be long now though. The kid had not been shy for excuses whenever he had canceled lab time.

"Did you guys have a fight?"

Tony turned his head to the side, wrecking his brain and not for the first time. Had they had a fight? Had he done something wrong? 

Things had been perfectly fine right after that last showdown. Well, fine might not be the best word. Tony hadn't been fine, physically at least, but Peter had stuck by his side, never far off when Tony would wake up from a procedure. Every time he had found the kid next to his bed, Tony had been elated. 5 years of agony without him and then, there he was like he had never been gone.

Things had been fine and Tony had no idea where he had gone wrong.

"Maybe it's nothing you have done, hm? It has to be a shock for all of them. Coming back to a world that's so different than what they remembered."

"Yeah," Tony mumbled. "Maybe..."

Just then, his phone lit up with a received message. Pressing his eyes shut, he turned his face back towards Pepper. He didn't need to see it. He had gotten that message too many times already.

It was always the same. Whenever they had finally set a new date, there was something that had come up. Homework. Decathlon practice running long. A late patrol, he needed rest from. May had asked him to stay after all.

"He says that he has a project for school that he's had to finish today and he's not quite done yet and that it'll be too late to come over afterwards," Pepper read out loud for him.

Schoolwork. On a Saturday.

She ruffled her hand through Tony's hair and pressed a kiss on top of his head. "I can still make some stew?"

Tony grimaced against her. "I don't like it with no kale."

With a soft laugh, she pressed another kiss to his head, then untangled Tony's arms from her waist. "Well, me and your daughter will be up there waiting for when you're done feeling sorry for yourself, okay?"

"Funny," Tony grunted, slumping against the top of his workbench again. Pepper was halfway up the stairs when he called out to her. "Is it me? Am I... am I expecting too much after... after everything? Maybe it was all just in my head?"

"Babe, I think I'm the wrong person to ask all that." She tilted her head with a sigh. "Just talk to Peter."

Tony leaned back in his chair, eyes on his fingers toying with the nanites on his right hand. Sure, talking was his area of expertise. Feelings, not so much.

 #

 It had been a long time since Tony had been to the city. Even with all the years, he had lived in Manhattan, that lake house had been terribly easy to get used to. The glare of the streetlights of Queens was definitely something Tony could live without. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he squinted up at the apartment building.

This was a horrible idea.

Tony straightened the sleeves of his jacket as the elevator doors opened onto the floor of Peter and May's apartment. He hadn't felt this awkward ringing at someone's door since his first date in college and back then his biggest worry had been if his fake ID was convincing enough. He brushed his knuckles against the apartment door softly first, then a little hard before he stepped back a little. As the door flew open, it was neither Peter nor May who stood in the frame.

Happy, dresses in boxer shorts and a white t-shirt, was the last person Tony had expected to run into at the Parker's apartment.

"Erm..." Tony blinked a couple of times, his mouth gaping just a bit too wide for his standards.

"Tony! What..." Happy's eyes had grown round and big, his complexion paling as he tugged down the hem of his shirt a little further. "What... what are you doing here?"

"Yeah," Tony mumbled. "Yeah, me... I'm the surprise."

Happy's mouth clapped shut. He retreated a little further into the apartment but there was no convenient place for him to hide.

"Do you need more change?" May called from somewhere within the apartment.

"Er, no..." Happy stammered, his voice pitched far too high. "It's... er...." He cringed at Tony, clearly unsure what to say. "All good here."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. "I just want to talk to Peter."

"Peter?" Happy's shoulders lost a little of their tension. "Peter's not here."

"What?" Whatever awkward energy had been pulsing through Tony before went flat at once. "He was supposed to come to the lake house today and then sent me a messaged to cancel."

Happy frowned. "He did?" His hand shot up and scratched the back of his neck. "May said he's spending the night at Ned's."

"Oh." That stung. Tony couldn't deny it.

"Come on, give the kid a break," Happy sighed. "Listen, I know you missed him and you did all... all that stuff for him, but he needs some time for his friends, too. Don't be an ass about it."

Tony's heart gave an unpleasant squeeze. "Excuse me?"

"Hey..." Happy pulled his hands up, giving him a look like he didn't want to fight. "I'm just saying. He's been out there with you every other day. He's 17. He needs to live a little." A hot flush rose on Happy's face. "I mean like... do some... some teenage stuff."

Stunned, Tony stared up at him. Just as he was working past his confusion enough to get out a mumble 'What the fuck are you talking about?' did the elevator doors open once again.

"Oh, thank god," Happy groaned holding out money for the delivery driver to take. "Listen Tony, I'd really appreciate it if you could keep all this..." He vaguely gestured at himself and the apartment. "...to yourself. May wants to wait for the right moment to tell him, so, please just, you know..."

"Right," Tony breathed. "I'll... er..." He pointed back at the elevator where the delivery man had already disappeared again. "I guess I'll head home then."

With an awkward little wave, balancing the take-out, Happy closed the door leaving Tony alone in the quiet hallway. His heart was beating harder and faster with every passing second, dread spreading through his veins.

"FRI," he muttered. The nanites in his right hand illuminated at the sound of his voice. "Find Peter. Now."

 #

 It was only thanks to how fast FRIDAY found him, that Tony managed to calm himself enough to take the car instead of commanding the suit to encase him. Well, that and the fact that Peter was less than 15 minutes drive away from the Parker's apartment.

Mount Olivet Cemetery was quiet. The gates had been closed, visiting hours for the public long over. It left Tony with few options but to suit up after all once he was out of sight of the main gate and then hover over the high fence. He walked the rest of the way guided by FRIDAY until he found Peter sitting in the grass.

He didn't look up at Tony but didn't hesitate to speak when he had walked up behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Tony crossed his arms, carefully to keep his own bruised ego in check. "I went to your place because I thought that maybe we should talk about why you're avoiding me. Of course, then I heard that you're at Ned's and I thought cool, I wonder how the kid's friend is living it up. Was expecting a little something different, not gonna lie. Needs better lighting. Also, I'm quite a fan of this thing called central heating."

"That's hilarious," Peter mumbled.

With a sigh, Tony dropped his arms. He walked up the last couple of steps to Peter and sat down in the grass next to him. The October air was not quite frosty yet but far from comfortable.

"What's going on?"

Peter shrugged. "What do you think?"

"Well, I was hoping you'd lie to your Aunt and me about a secret party schedule or a teenage romance you wanted to keep quiet." 

The quiet brooding, the way Peter stared ahead, not baited at all was so unlike him.

"You know, don't you?" Tony kept his eyes on him. "About Happy?"

Peter's chin was resting on his pulled-up knees, eyes staring ahead at the gravestone of Ben Parker.

"Kid?" There were goosebumps on Tony's skin, but now was not the time to freak out.

"Yeah." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "May invites him over when she thinks I'm at your place. Or at Ned's."

"And then you come here instead?"

"Sometimes," Peter whispered.

Tony pressed his eyes shut, battling the rising resentment that Peter would rather sit here alone than to come to him, only to hate himself for making it about himself.

"What's going on, buddy?"

Peter huffed out a breath. "You wouldn't understand."

Both of his hands braced against the wet grass underneath him, Tony swallowed the testy remark that was burning on his tongue. "You're a smart kid. I'm sure you'll find a way to explain."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'm not as smart as you thought. Maybe I'm not—" Peter pursed his lips, gave his head a little shake.

"You're right," Tony nodded. "Maybe I don't know what it's like. It was just you and May and now you come back and this all seems to have happened too fast and—"

"That's not..." He shook his head again, this time a little more forceful. "It's not that. She's... she's happy and I want that. She deserves that."

"Pete, I'm sure they just don't want to overwhelm you. If you talk to her and—"

"Just drop it," he hissed. "This isn't your problem."

Tony bit the inside of his lip, painfully hard at that. His eyes had snapped away, now squinting down at his own chest, watching it rise and fall with the deep breaths he sucked in, hoping to calm the temper that was blazing up inside him.

"Maybe..." Tony blew out another low breath, determined to keep the edge out of his voice. "Maybe the fact that I'm here and asking should tell you that I'm rather willing to make this my problem, Pete."

For the first time, the kid's head moved just enough that he could squint in Tony's direction. After a moment of hesitation, his eyes flickered back to the grass in front of Ben Parker's headstone. "You're happy now." Peter pressed his lips flat with a little shake of his head. "You don't need this. It's not fair to you."

"No, buddy, what's not fair is you being out here lying to us about where you are. After everything." Tony sucked in a deep breath. "After 5 years of missing you."

Peter hid his face behind his hands and just when Tony thought he had gone too far, pushed too much, the kid's arms dropped drown to his knees. "If I tell you, you can't say anything to May."

"Pete—"

"You have to promise me." At last, he looked right at him, eyes pleading. "She can't know."

Tony held his stare, hoping that maybe it would be enough for Peter to yield, but he didn't falter for even a moment. Tony inclined his head at him, banking on the terms changing after he knew what was going in.

"Alright then."

For a moment, Peter didn't move at all. Then he slung his arms around his legs, pulling them a little closer to his chest like it would help to hold onto his composure when he would speak. Only, he didn't speak. He stared into thin air, lips trembling but not a single word rolled off his tongue.

"Pete?"

As if pulled from a dream, his head snapped in Tony's direction, his eyes swimming with tears. 

"I saw... I saw Ben," Peter whispered. "I... Just for a moment. Or..." He narrowed his eyes a little in thought. "Or I thought it was just a moment but now... I'm not so sure anymore. Maybe... maybe it was longer."

"You mean..." Tony swallowed hard, nerves fluttering in his stomach. "After. When you were gone?"

Peter nodded, a first tear dropping off his lashes.

It wasn't surprising. In fact, it was quite in line with what Tony had thought this might be about. Stories of those who had been dusted seeing dead loved ones had sparked up soon after those lost during the Snap had returned.

A trip to heaven for the fallen, was what the tabloids had coined it. A nice sentiment for some, Tony was sure, but they didn't know what he knew. They didn't know about the Stones.

Tony moved a little closer. One hand on the back of Peter's head, his thumb brushed through the kid's hair. "It's normal to miss him, bud. You think May doesn't still—"

"It's not..." Peter shook his head, causing Tony's hand to fall down to his shoulder instead. "It's... I can't explain. You wouldn't understand."

The inside of Tony's lip was sore where his teeth had been grazing and biting, giving an outlet to his own nerves. "I do, buddy. I understand. It's..." He blew out some air, centering himself. "It's unreal. Beyond words, beyond explaining. I... Honestly, I thought it might have been a reaction to the anesthetics at first before I— Well, anyway..."

Peter had sat up at that, his eyes red, eyebrows drawn together. His eyes flickered over Tony's face, studying him while his jaw moved like he was gritting his teeth.

Tony squeezed his shoulder. "All I mean is that all this, magic tricks and... and Infinity Stones, their effects, it's not logical. It's not something we understand yet. Maybe we will one day. If you want to..." Tony shrugged. "We could try and figure out the energy structure of—"

"You saw something?" Peter whispered.

Tony swallowed hard, fighting his instincts to look away, to reach for his glasses, something to shield the uncertainty that had been plaguing him for the past few months.

Peter's eyebrows twitched. "When you... did you see something? When you... did the thing?"

"Did the thing?" He dipped his head at Peter, trying for some humor. Inappropriate, outrageous, the cliché he was supposed to embody.

"When you... when you snapped the gauntlet. When you died..." Peter sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving Tony's face. "You saw something then?"

Tony swallowed hard. "I didn't die, kid."

"You... you were gone. The arc it was—"

"The nano housing unit's structural integrity was destroyed by the stones. I didn't die, buddy. I— Hey..." Tony moved a little closer, his arm now wrapped around Peter's shoulder. His other hand cupped the kid's face. Peter's breathing had become uneven, panicked almost. "It's okay, kid. Just breathe. It's all good. I'm right here."

Peter nodded like he wanted to believe him, hot tears running down his cheeks onto Tony's hand. He might have tried to hide his tears from Tony before, but now that didn't seem to matter anymore. Just like it hadn't mattered after that last battle. Tony would never forget the fear on Peter's face on the battlefield that day. The way he had been curled up in a chair next to his hospital bed. It was the stuff his nightmares were made off, causing the kid that kind of pain, only second to those memories from Titan.

No, the kid was way past hiding his tears. His eyes were glued to Tony's face. Calmly, Tony mimicked for Peter to breathe in, hold the air, then breathe out. It wasn't like Peter didn't know what to do. This wasn't their first rodeo. Over the years, they'd been here more often than Tony really cared to admit.

They sat there for a while as Peter's heartbeat slowed, as his tears dried, his eyes a little more focused. It took effort for Tony to keep a light smile on his face as he looked right at Peter, not to pull away now. It took effort not to lie to the kid's face like he had been lying to himself, avoiding the trauma, the toll that day had taken on him.

"I do know, buddy. I... I did see it. Or at least I... I guess it was likely the same."

"You saw someone?"

"Yeah," Tony breathed. "My mom."

Peter's eyes widened. "Your... your mom?"

"Yeah." Tony nodded, trying not to think of her face now. "It was just a short flash. She didn't say anything. Just stood here and I... Come here, buddy." Tony pulled him close enough to wrap both arms around him. "I'm not sure, but I think it was the Soul Stone. The orange glow. Did you see that?"

Peter nodded against his chest and Tony hummed in agreement.

"Yeah, must have been that one. I think it just lets you see the people you love, the ones that are already gone. You know, what's in your heart."

Peter's hand shot up but not in time to stifle the sobs that bubbled out of him, deep and agonizing. It caught Tony by surprise. The only thing he could think of was to pull Peter a little tighter against him, mumbling soothing words, trying to calm him down.

"It's okay to miss them, bud. It's okay." When he kept his voice low, it was less likely to shake or worse, break.

"But I didn't... I didn't see them... My mom and dad." He shuffled in Tony's arms. "I loved them. I... I swear. I just... it was all so fast and I... I didn't know. I just didn't think and—"

"Oh buddy, shh. That's not... Maybe..." Tony blew out a breath, cursing himself. His chin was resting on top of Peter's head, his eyes burning for the kid. "Maybe it doesn't work like that, hm? Maybe it's not who you love. And maybe it's just one person, hm? I only saw one person."

"But Ned he... he saw his dad and... and all his grandparents and then..." Peter sucked in a few breaths, his voice muffled against Tony's chest. "He asked me if I saw my parents, too, and I... I lied. I said I did but— You can't tell May, please."

Tony pressed his eyes shut, his heart breaking for the pain the kid had been harboring.

"I swear, I love them," Peter mumbled. "I do. I don't... I don't know why... why they weren't there, why I didn't think, why—"

"Oh buddy, no, no, no. Come here...." Tony grabbed him by both his shoulders, maneuvering him in a way that Peter could look at him. "Hey, look at me for a moment. How old were you, hm? When they died?"

"I..." he frowned, fingers brushing away his tears. "Like... like 4..."

"Do you even remember what they looked like? I don't mean from pictures just... memories of them?"

Peter's eyes filled with more tears his chin trembling.

"Hey, no, I don't... Pete, it's not your fault if you don't, okay? You were so tiny. Just think how tiny Morgan is. If I had—" His lips slammed shut as he pushed the thought out of his mind. "Maybe it has nothing to do with what's in your heart, okay? Maybe it's all up here, hm? What you remember?" He tapped Peter's temple a couple of times, not looking away from him. "We just don't know. But I promise you, it's nothing you did wrong, okay?"

There was reluctance from Peter as he huffed and pressed his face back against Tony's chest.

One hand in his hair, Tony gave it a ruffle then softly tapped a finger against the back of Peter's head. "I know that big brain of yours is trying to rationalize everything that happened, but you gotta trust me with this, kid. This is not on you. I promise. I'm sure if love would have been enough you would have seen them."

Peter didn't say anything, he only held onto Tony, hands balled up in his jacket. The wet grass, the chilly October night, all of that didn't matter anymore. Tony would sit through a lot worse if it could take some of the pain away.

He still had his chin resting in Peter's hair. The kid had calmed down, his breathing even now, the sobs had subsided. Just when Tony was starting to wonder if he had fallen asleep did Peter's stomach give a rumbled that must have echoed through all of Queens.

"Wow! I think I'm gonna have to call animal control and warn them, just in case they get a bunch of calls for a starving wild animal running loose in Queens."

Peter snorted. "Don't be an ass, Tony..." The tiny giggle the kid had let slip, gave Tony hope, but it was forgotten just as fast. With a heavy sigh, Peter shook his head, his voice muffled in Tony's shirt. "You think it's too late? To drive out to the lake house tonight?"

His hand was still in Peter's hair, brushing back and forth through the strands. "Not if you stay till Monday..."

Peter's chest vibrated with another laugh.

"Fine," Tony sighed extensively. "Sunday night then?" He craned his neck a bit, trying to get a glimpse of Peter's reaction. "Only if you want to, buddy."

"I do," Peter nodded. "I do want to."

By the time they had left the city, Peter was curled up on the passenger seat, eyes closed. He looked peaceful like that, at ease. 

Tony blew out a quiet sigh as his eyes went back to the dark road. There was no point in pretending like things would be all dandy now. It wouldn't as simple as this, to have one talk and voila, trauma gone. No, this would take time but that was okay.

Time, they had.

[springtimebat]

The Uneventful Life of Alan Walker

It was a bright summer day. Alan Walker was stepping out of his house to greet the rich morning sun, milk bottles chiming in his strong hands. Alan Walker is Little Patch of Heaven’s milkman. Its only milkman. The others vanished a long time ago, one by one. Except for Alan. Alan somehow got away with it. Alan’s also a Walker and anyone who knows anything knows that Walkers can’t be trusted. He’s the only Walker left. Sometimes that’s a problem but not today. Not during his rounds.

He makes his way around town, delivering and collecting milk bottles. He occasionally leaves newspapers too, on the streets closest to the newsagents. He stops on Portland Drive around noon to watch Angel Jones undress in front of her bedroom window. Sometimes he’ll climb the tree in her front yard to get a closer look. But on this particular day, her parents are home, so he just leaves her a pot of strawberry ice cream on the doorstep instead. 

At four, Alan stops his truck on the corner between LPH elementary and LPH high. He puts the ice cream banner up in the left side window and presses the stickers of ice pops and lollies onto the screen door. Then he talks to the children as they come out of school. Alan gets along better with children. They’re polite to him and they flatter his ego occasionally. He gives them ice cream because they want it. He enjoys their company. It reminds Alan of old times, playing with all his brothers in the mud, before they got told to stop and had all the grit scraped away from them. 

Sometimes he’ll dislike a kid that comes up to him. Maybe they’ll say something stupid or disgusting, make him uncomfortable. He’ll deal with them when the crowds fade away. Or a higher up will deal with them later. Either way, they won’t make Alan uncomfortable again. And they’ll have some story to tell their stupid friends the next morning. They’ll stay away. That’s good. 

Around five, Alan drives across town towards the Kendall Woods, directly below the Devil’s Thumb. He collects herbs from the water’s edge. Rosemary, thyme, basil, oregano. It all grows by the Black Spots’ banks. It goes nice with all the things Alan eats at dinnertime. As he leaves, Alan Walker will see the shadow man, watching him from behind an oak tree. 

His eyes will be glassy and his trenchcoat will be tattered. He’ll be angry, as usual. 

“Are you going to the Joneses again?” The shadow man will ask. 

“Yes I am,” Alan Walker will reply. He always does, no matter the weather. He won’t break his routine for anything. 

The shadow man will shake his head, “You’re a bad man Alan,”

“Am I?”

“A terrible man,”

“Is that so?”

“You’re split down the middle. Your brothers were too,”

“Oh really?”

“You were all too clean. Your brother’s got caught. They got punished for all the filth they spewed. You will too.”

“Someday?”

“Someday soon.” 

Then the shadow man will walk away, back towards the Kendall Woods. Alan will collect his herbs, throw them in the back of his truck and wipe the mud off of his boots. He’ll then drive back into town. Back to Portland Drive.

Three times out of seven Mister and Missus Jones will be home by six and Alan Walker will be invited in for dinner. Very welcoming couple, the Joneses. They have such interesting things to talk about. Mister Jones was an engineer at the power plant nearby just by Cowhorn and knew all sorts about the Devil’s Thumb caverns. Missus Jones knew all about fashion and elastic. She worked at a flower shop on Geek Street. They both liked Alan Walker. He was an interesting fellow and so polite whilst at the dining room table. Alan Walker liked the Joneses too. Still, he looked forward to the times Mister and Missus Jones were not home. Because, four times out of seven Angel Jones will be left all alone at the house when Alan calls around six. She’ll bring him into the kitchen and fix him a cup of tea. Afterwards, Alan will bend her over the counter and just make love to her for an hour or so. They’ll lie on the floor for a while after, Angel wrapped in Alan’s strong arms. Alan couldn’t always predict what she’d say. That’s why he loved her. Still, she’d always start a conversation with the same thing. 

“How’s your day been?”

“Fine,” He’d say, “Much better now.”

She’d smile and pull herself closer to his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat. 

“Do you love me?” She’d ask.

“I adore you,”Alan would reply. And he would mean it.

After that she’d giggle and they’d either have one last roll in the hay or she’d talk some more. By eight or so, he’d be told to pack up and go home. Angel would walk him to the front door and kiss him on the cheek as if the last few hours hadn’t happened. Then she’d wave him goodbye as Alan got into his truck. Then Alan Walker would start up and head home for the night.

Alan Walker’s house is grey and soulless. He doesn’t live there. He just sleeps and eats there when he needs to. People like Alan don’t need homes. They live wherever they can, appear wherever they’re needed. And at around nine, Alan was needed down in the basement. Because on this particular day, he has a guest. They’ve been down there for a  week, sleeping in the dark. Now it's time to wake them up.

The first splash only startles them. It’s the waterfall that cascades down their deformed skull that makes the creature open their eyes and splutter. The thing’s disgusting, bulbous eyes. Alan Walker stares at his guest, a bat in his hand. He waits for it to notice him, sitting on an old box. Finally, after what seems like hours, the guest twists its head towards its host, its ghastly, wrinkled skin making Alan wince. 

“Who are you?” Alan asked, his voice no higher than a whisper. 

The thing chained up in his basement groans, stretches and releases a hideous, piggy squeal. 

“Excuse me?” He is answered with the same actions, perhaps a little more strained than before, as the creature begins to cough in the dark. Alan sighs. This one is far less intelligent than the...things before it. That changes things quite a bit. 

The creature shivers in the cold and Alan can see black feather uncoil from its withered shoulders. Huh, wings. Who would have thought? Alan lifts himself from their waiting spot, swinging the old, oak bat in his left hand. The guest’s eyes narrow and stare at him, as if he’s realized what will happen. 

“I don’t know how the law works where you come from,” Alan begins, “But here, where I was born and raised, we have specific rules about trespassing... very, very specific rules.” 

The thing begins to frown. Good.

“Our law, our basic human rights, state that a man can defend his land from trespassers with any means necessary. Nod if you understand me,” The thing nods, “Now speak if you’re capable of speaking. It’s rude leaving someone to have a conversation with themself.”

The thing gurgles but can’t seem to form any words. Alan gives it a small smile. 

“Ah well that’s a shame. No use holding off the inevitable. Let me just go get the lights.” Alan Walker, the only milkman in town, strolls back towards the basement door and reaches out to flick the lights.

“I’ll give you a few moments to think.”

Light flashes in the abomination’s eyes for a brief moment. However, afterwards it can see just about everything. The blood staining the carpet, the boxes, the dresser. It sees the cracked mirror on the opposite wall. It sees the rusted saw and Alan’s retired baseball bats from his younger years on the old workbench; tired, worn, covered in guts. Most importantly, he sees his captor’s large collection of shrunken, severed heads; twisted and marked by pus, their eyes swollen, wide open and empty. That is when the creature seems to realise what is going to happen. When Alan approaches him again it makes no vile attempts to communicate. No, much to Alan’s surprise he holds his head up high, sticking his pointed chin into the stale, basement air. He dies, soon after, without a fight. Alan leaves clean up duty for later. 

And thus ends a day in the life of Alan Walker, last of his kind. Tomorrow he will do the same things, follow the same routine. And when he drifts off to sleep, Alan will dream of the same thing he dreams of every night. The Shadow man, in his rotten trench coat, his eyes like little suns.

“You’re a bad man Alan. A terrible one. All split down the middle. One day you’ll get caught. Everything will be at peace. Until that day, the loop will continue.”

[johnsbleu]

Hold My Hand: John Wick x Reader Chapter 80

warnings: none that i can really think of hold my hand masterlist

So much has been happening this morning that even taking a break for 5 minutes is nearly impossible. Jimmy is pissed since their basement still isn’t done, which means they’ll probably have to stay at your house for another week. That’s no big deal, of course. The problem is Tess could go into labor at any minute, and Jimmy doesn’t want to bring a newborn baby to your house and be a bother.

You were supposed to go with Tess to the hospital for a tour, but she ended up canceling it since she didn’t feel well. You bothered her to reschedule it, but she never did. So you did it for her. Tess was pretty quiet on the way home, and you already know what was on her mind. Giving birth is scary and it’s very intimate thing, so of course Tess would want a private room where she can be before, during, and after.

Walking into the house with Tess, she doesn’t even say anything as she shuffles off to her bedroom for a nap. John’s car was in the garage, so he’s home and you have a pretty good idea where he is. You drop your purse on the couch, kick off your shoes, then you head downstairs to see him working on a book.

“Hi, baby.” you whisper, leaning against his back, “How’s it goin’?”

“Good.” he sets his utensils down and turns around to look at you, “How are you? How was the tour?”

You pull up a chair next to John and prop your head up on your fist, leaning against the workbench, “It was good. Every question that Tess had was answered. The only thing is she wants a private room, but since she didn’t book it in advance, it’ll be more expensive.”

“Like how much?”

“I don’t know,” you look at John and shrug, “I don’t know what Jimmy’s insurance covers. Our insurance is terrible at the bookshop. That’s why Tess switched to Jimmy’s insurance when they got married. I have my insurance through there, but when I have a baby, I don’t know how we’re--”

John laughs, rubbing his hand over your back, “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” you nod and lean over more for John to rub your back, “I just want Tess to be as comfortable as possible. She’s gonna be shoving a baby out of her vagina, the least we could do was make sure she’s comfortable in a private room.”

“Why don’t you book it for her?”

You look at John and smile, “Can I?”

“You don’t need my permission.” he laughs, then he grabs you so you’re sitting in front of him, and he begins to massage your shoulders, “Book it for her, then have them bill us. Or I can call and talk to them if you want.”

“You’re more persuasive than I am.” you say, leaning back until you’re flush against his chest, “I can tell her that I worked it all out with them and that I got her a private room, but the fact that we’re paying for it stays between you and I.”

John zips his lips and pretends to throw the key away, “You have my word, Mrs. Wick.”

“Speaking of Mrs. Wick, are you ready?” you ask as you get up from John’s lap.

He brushes off his pants and frowns when he sees they’re covered in glue, “I should probably shower first.”

“No problem. I’m gonna grab something to snack on anyway. My stomach is bothering me today. I always get the flu in the summer, so lucky me.” you say, then the two of you head upstairs.

It’s true, your stomach has been bothering you, but there’s a part of you that’s hoping it’s because you’re pregnant. You’re sure that it’s just your mind running away with your hopes and dreams, but you’re still not completely sure. Since you’re no longer on birth control, your doctor warned you that you might have some times where your period is light or a few days late, and she told you not to be alarmed. Part of you just wants to take a pregnancy test to find out, but the other part is telling you that your mind is just being dumb.

“Hey! Can anyone hear me?” Tess yells from her room, and you poke your head in to see what’s up. “Oh, hi, can you bring me some water and some crackers? When you’re this pregnant and you can sit in a comfortable position, you don’t dare move.”

“Sure thing.” you walk back into the kitchen to grab two bottles of water and some crackers, then you head back into Tess’ room.

“What are you up to?”

You take a cracker from Tess and eat it, “We’re going to visit Helen. John is just taking a shower.”

“You’re freaking out.”

You shrug, “A little. I don’t know what to even wear. I’m meeting his wife. What do you wear to meet your fiance’s wife?”

“Dead wife.” Tess says, and you immediately scold her. “Sorry.”

“Oh, by the way, I just talked to the hospital. I got you the private room. Don’t worry about it, I talked to them.” you say, watching Tess perk up. “I want you to be comfortable, so I just called them and talked to them.”

“You’re lying.”

You gasp, “I am not.”

“When you lie, you tend to repeat yourself over and over, and you just did that.” she says, raising an eyebrow, “You’re going to have them bill you instead, aren’t you? Is that even possible?”

“Don’t worry about it.” you say as you get off the bed, “It’s not what you should be thinking about right now. You need to rest up and relax. Please, for your amazing sister’s sake, don’t worry about this.”

Tess jokingly rolls her eyes, “Fine. Oh, hey, you should wear a cute summer dress and some sandals. That’s good enough.”

You lean against the door frame and nod, “Good idea.”

“It’s gonna be great. You’ll tell me all about it, right?”

Nodding, you close the door a little and smile, “Of course.”

You head upstairs to see John has finished his shower, and he’s now getting dressed. He has a nice pair of jeans laid out on the bed along with a nice dark blue t-shirt. John smiles when you walk past him, then he reaches out and grabs you by the waist, kissing you on the lips.

“You nervous?”

You nod your head as you shuffle through your closet to find something appropriate to wear, and you pull out a floral romper that you’ve had tucked in the back of your closet for months now.

Holding it up, you look at John and smile, “How about this?”

“Perfect.” he sits on the bed and watches as you change. He fidgets with his watch and sighs, “You know you don’t have to go if you’re uncomfortable.”

You slide on your sandals, then kneel in front of John, “I’m going with you.”

“But you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.” you sit in his lap and tuck his hair behind his ear, “I’m just…nervous.”

John laughs, “You don’t have to be nervous. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“Would you be nervous if I was bringing you to my husband’s grave?” you ask, and John tilts his head from side to side before he finally nods. “See! It’s nerve-wracking.”

“It’ll be fine.” John leans up to kiss you, then he rubs your back, “Let’s go.”

__

Before you got to the cemetery, John stopped by the local flower shop and got a nice little pot of daisies for Helen. You insisted on getting her some flowers as well, so you picked a cute little bunch of pink flowers that compliment the daisies nicely.

The drive here wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it’d be. John held your hand the entire time, occasionally pressing kisses to it, and even leaning over to kiss you when the traffic slowed down. He knows you’re nervous, and he’s been so good at reassuring you that everything will be okay.

John lets go of your hand to turn into the cemetery and you immediately tense up. You don’t even remember the last time you were in a cemetery, maybe when your grandma died years ago? You clasp your hands in your lap and John looks over at you as he chuckles.

“Baby, it’s fine.”

“Should I take my ring off? I feel like I should take it off.” you say as you pull your engagement ring off and place it in the cup holder.

John pulls up next to some tombstones, then he puts the car in park. He grabs your ring and slides it back on your finger, then he stares at it for a moment before he leans down to press a kiss to your hand. When he looks up at you, he smiles wide, “Leave it on.”

“Are you sure? I’m meeting your wife.” you lean closer to him and whisper, “I’m meeting Helen.”

John laughs quietly and nods his head, “I’m positive.”

You exhale shakily as you get out of the car and close the door, and John watches you with a smile on his face, then he reaches out to hold your hand. Walking closer to Helen’s tombstone, you feel like your legs each weigh a ton, so you slow down and let go of John’s hand so he can have a moment with Helen to himself.

He kneels down in front of her tombstone and pulls out the weeds that are growing around it -- either her family never visits, or this cemetery has a lousy lawn service. You’re assuming it’s a combination of both. If John was coming here, he’d definitely tell you.

You lean back against the tree and watch John as he whispers quietly, and you smile to yourself when you realize he’s talking to her. You love how much John loved Helen, and you wish so badly you could fix the past for him, even though it would mean the two of you wouldn’t be together.

You look down at your engagement ring and smile as your mind wanders endlessly, and you begin to think about how your life would have turned out if Helen had never passed. Things would be entirely different. Who knows, you might not have even moved to New York, and if you hadn't, you wouldn't have met John.

But what if you had? What if you had still moved to New York and met John, and he was still with Helen? You'd be the girl who had a crush on him from afar. Of course, you'd never make a move – he was a married man after all. But there's no harm in looking.

The feelings that you have for John wouldn't be there since the two of you wouldn't have met and you wouldn't have the relationship that you have. The ups and downs that you and John experienced really pushed the two of you closer and made your relationship stronger. But had Helen not passed, the two of you wouldn't be together and you wouldn't be engaged, and it honestly hurts to think about John not being a part of your life. You want John in your life, no matter what, no matter how minor his role would be. Even if he was just your friend who lived across the street that had a wife. Thinking about it, he wouldn't even have Bleu. Life would be so different. And it's not the kind of different that you'd ever want, and you hope John wouldn't either.

Spinning your engagement ring on your finger, the wind picks up a little and blows your hair in your face. When you look up again, you see John looking over his shoulder at you, and he smiles wide and waves you over.

“Come here.” he waves again, and you quickly walk over to stand next to him. He wraps an arm around your waist and smiles, “This…is my fiancee. Pretty cute, right?”

“Jonathan.” you whisper and nudge his side, “You can’t say stuff like that.”

He laughs, “Yes, I can. I can say whatever I want about you. You’re cute, and I’m sure Helen would agree.”

Inhaling deeply, you shrug a little as you grow nervous, “Uh, so, hi. Is this weird to just talk to her? Am I doing it right?”

Letting out a laugh, John kisses the top of your head and grips your side tighter, “You do whatever you want, baby.”

“Well, I met John and instantly fell in love with him. I’m sure you can understand that.” you wring your hands as you begin to feel a little uncomfortable. John smiles when you look at him, and he immediately hugs you when he sees the tears in your eyes. Using the back of your hand, you wipe away the tear on your cheek, “I promise I’m gonna take really good care of him -- I have for almost a year now. I love him a lot, and he’s my favorite person on this planet. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. Not a day will go by where John doesn’t know how much I love him.”

John beams with pride when you look at him, and he leans down to kiss your forehead, “That was very sweet.”

It’s so hard to wrap your mind around the fact that John was married and you’re literally standing at her grave. You look at Helen’s tombstone and read the words scrawled across the front of it. Helen Wick. Beloved daughter, sister, and wife.

“She has siblings?” you ask, looking up at John.

“Yeah, a brother and a sister. She was the middle child.” he says, kneeling down to fix the potted daisies he brought. He reaches up for your flowers, then he places them next to the pot. “Her parents live in Buffalo, her sister is somewhere here in New York, and her brother, I believe, lives in Washington.”

“Huh,” you kneel next to John, “I didn’t know that. I mean, we don’t really talk about her, and that’s fine. It’s just…her stone isn’t, uh, tended to like it should be.”

John shrugs, “Well, with her family not really being around, no one is ever really here to tend to it.”

“Why was she buried here? Why not in Buffalo?”

John sighs, “Well, truth be told, she wasn’t close to her family. They’re very…judgmental. They hated me.”

You pat John’s cheek and smile, “How can anyone hate you?”

“Well, not everyone is as accepting and understanding of me as you and your family. They didn’t know about my job, but…” John says, letting out a small laugh, “They believed that I stole Helen away from them, that I made her move away and marry me. That we secluded ourselves from them. She never talked to her family because she was just…different from them. She was just so different.”

The wind blows causing your hair to move in front of your face, and John chuckles a little. He moves your hair behind your ear and smiles when your eyes meet.

“I used to come out here a lot, but I just don’t have the time anymore.” he says and immediately looks over at you, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“And I didn’t take it like that.” you say, waving your hand. You look at John for a moment, then you roll your eyes and laugh, “Okay, I kinda did.”

John laughs and leans over to kiss your cheek, “Well, I guess I kinda of meant it like that, but let me explain before you get mad at me! I just don’t have time to come out here every week like I used to. If Helen even knew I came out here as much as I used to, she’d be so mad at me.”

“What would she say?”

“She’d tell me that it’s time to move on. And I agree.” he says, then he looks at you and smiles, “It was time for me to move on, and I’m glad I did. And just because I moved on, it doesn’t mean I don’t love her and the life we had. I definitely did. But I have you now.”

You nod your head, looking over at her stone again, “When did you stop coming here? Did you stop coming here because of me? Because if you did, I never made you do that. If you still want to come out, you can. I would never take that away from you, John.”

“I know,” John laughs, shrugging a little, “I just started working again and didn’t think to come out here, then I did meet you and I realized I can’t keep living in the past. Especially not when I have this great girl right in front of me. This girl who is exactly my type. This girl who makes me want to be the best version of myself.”

“That’s sweet.”

“This girl who I can’t wait to start a family with.” he says, and you slowly look over at him, praying like hell he doesn’t know that you’re dying to get to the grocery store so you can buy a pregnancy test. “I can’t wait, baby.”

You let out a laugh and shake your head, “Me neither.”

John groans as he sits down on his butt and he pulls you to sit next to him. He reaches for you and wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” you look up at John and linger for a few moments, wondering if it’s appropriate to kiss him.

John leans in more and cups your face as he kisses you, and you can tell he’s trying his best to keep it PG. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, then taps you on the nose, “You’re my forever, peach.”

“God, you’re making me melt today. Did you talk like this to Helen? Have cute nicknames for her?”

He shakes his head, “Not really.”

“When I look at pictures of you and Helen, I see you calling her names like ‘my love,’ or ‘darling’.” you drape yourself over his lap and laugh, “Darling, I’m parched! Fetch my tea set, my love.”

John jokingly shoves you off of him as the two of you laugh, then he puts his arm over your shoulder again, “Well, I definitely wasn’t calling her peach. You’re my peach.”

You hear twigs snapping behind you and look over your shoulder to see a woman watching the two of you. Nudging John to get his attention, you nod your head in the direction of the woman, and he looks over his shoulder at her.

“Oh!” John immediately gets up and reaches down to help you up, “Maggie! Hi!”

“Hi, John.” the woman says, walking closer to shake his hand.

You’ve only seen a picture of Helen a few times, but this woman is, without a doubt, her sister. Almost the spitting image of her. Did she have a twin? You wonder to yourself as you wipe away the grass stuck on your romper.

John shoves his hands in his pocket and clears his throat, “How are you?”

“I’m good.” she says as she looks over at you, looking you up and down. “Just tired from the long drive out here.”

Oh, you’re definitely being judged, you think to yourself and you quickly hide your left hand from her view. You told John that you shouldn’t have worn your ring! He needs to take his off too!

“Her stone looks terrible. Haven’t you been tending to it? Wasn’t that why she wanted to be buried here in the first place? To be closer to you?” she moves past you without looking at you, and you feel about two feet tall. She carelessly moves the flowers that John brought and places her flowers front and center.

You look over at John, and he shakes his head and clenches his jaw as he watches her. Walking closer to him, you pat his arm and point to the car, “I’m just going to wait for you.”

“It’s probably best that you do,” he whispers, then he looks over at Maggie and quickly pecks your cheek before she sees. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, my god, don’t be.” you whisper, then you reach for his left hand, “Give me your ring.”

John furrows his brow, looking at you as Maggie talks away, “What? No. I’m keeping it on.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, and John nods his head as he places his hand on your cheek. “Okay, I’ll be at the car.”

__

John and Maggie have been talking for nearly an hour, and you can tell he’s trying his best to get away from her. He keeps backing away a little, but she reaches out to touch his arm, keeping him in place. He’s too nice for his own good, you always tell him. Whatever Maggie is talking to John about, you can tell he isn’t interested. He’s looking around, occasionally over at you, and he’s trying so hard to get away from her.

You hear your phone ringing in the car and you lean in the window to grab it, and when you move to get out, your shorts get stuck.

“Well, shit,” you say as you answer your phone, “Hello?”

“Hi…” Tess says, laughing, “What’s going on?”

You pull your shorts more and almost fall back to the ground, “God.”

“Is everything okay? I can just hear the stress in your voice.”

“Yeah, we’re still at the cemetery.” you look over at John as he continues talking with Maggie. “Helen’s sister showed up. I don’t think John was expecting that. They’ve been talking for almost an hour now.”

“Oh, is she nice?”

“I wouldn’t know.” you start to laugh and shake your head, “She barely even looked at me.”

“Oh,” Tess groans, “Well, maybe she’s just upset. I mean she lost her sister, and it’s her birthday.”

You look over at John, and Maggie throws her head back as she laughs. “No, I think she just doesn’t like the idea of her sister’s husband with someone else. Which is understandable, I guess. I would probably be the same with Jimmy.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to ask if you could pick up a few things for me while you’re out. Jimmy won’t be home until later tonight.”

“You can take John's car.”

Tess is quiet for a moment, then she laughs, “Yeah, he'd kill me. I'd definitely crash it.”

“You would not. It's really not that hard to drive. The keys are in the bowl by the door.” you smile as you glance over at John, “And do I need to remind you that you’re John’s ‘little sister’?”

Tess laughs, “Oh, don’t do that.”

“Tess, take his car.”

“Bitch, I'm just lazy! I don't wanna go! There, I admitted it.”

You laugh loudly, and both Maggie and John look at you. Even from where you’re standing, you can see John’s eyes light up at the sound of your laugh, and he smiles when your gazes meet.

“Now was that so hard? I need to get something from the store anyway. Oh, no, they’re walking this way. Text me what you need. Bye.”

John and Maggie are walking over to you, and he widens his eyes as you try your hardest not to laugh. When Maggie looks over her shoulder, you shuffle in place, trying to figure out how to stand so you don’t look bored, or…like a bitch.

John reaches out for you, but he stops when Maggie looks at him, almost like she’s scolding him. You frown a little and pick at your nails, growing more and more nervous, and on top of it now, you’re sad. You’ve never seen John like this. He shakes his head and moves to stand next to you.

“This is Y/N,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, “My fiancee. This is Helen’s sister, Maggie.”

You reach out to shake Maggie’s hand, but she just looks and it and you slowly pull your hand back, tucking it behind your back.

Maggie takes a deep breath and nods, “I heard you got engaged.”

Trying your best to avoid eye contact with Maggie, you shuffle in place more and scoot away from John a little. You’re so damn uncomfortable and John can tell. He rubs his thumb over your shoulder, trying his best to reassure you.

“How long have you two been together?” she asks, looking at John.

“Uh,” John chuckles, “It’ll be a year in September.”

“Oh,” she nods and crosses her arms, “You always seemed to…move things along quite fast. You met my sister, moved her into your house, proposed, and married her within a year. So I’m sure this is the same, well, not quite the same. She’s not Helen, is she?”

You feel anger surge through your body, and you look up at Maggie as she glares at John. She’s trying to piss him off, and you’re beginning to understand why Helen never talked to her family. John has his head down a little like a child being scolded, and you hate to see him like this.

“Remember how you married her? Flew her to Greece and eloped? Didn’t bother to invite us,” she finally looks at you and laughs, “We wanted to be included.”

“I’m sure.” you nod, and John pulls you closer to him. “But he was in love and wanted to marry her. I don’t blame him for that.”

Maggie looks at you for a moment longer and cocks up her eyebrow, “You look very young.”

John finally lets go of you and looks at you, “We should head home.”

“Do you still live in Mull Neck?”

“Mill Neck,” John corrects her, and he opens the door for you, “Same house.”

Maggie laughs loudly and shakes her head, “Oh, joy. Same house that you lived in with my sister.”

“John lived there first.” you say as you start to get in the car. Maggie reaches down to touch your arm, and you swear John almost growls.

“How old are you, dear?” she asks, judgment radiating off her skin. “I mean, John is no spring chicken.”

You laugh, “He’s not old, and I’m not that young. I’m...almost 30.”

“But you’re still quite a few years younger than him.”

John leans closer to your ear and whispers, “Ignore her.”

John tries to push you into the car, but you stiffen your body and look at Maggie, “Why are you being so rude to John? Don’t you want him to be happy?”

“With my sister, yes.” she says and points to Helen’s tombstone, “I don’t think she’d want him sitting in front of her making out with his new fiancee.”

“No one was making out.” John says, still trying to push you into the car. “It was nice to see you, Maggie. As always.”

“I’m sorry.” you whisper, and John looks down at you as you look over at Maggie. “I’m sorry for your loss, Maggie. I have a sister, and I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you feel, but blaming John won’t make you feel any better. He’s a good man, and he was good to your sister. You should be thankful that Helen spent the last five years of her life with such an amazing man. I know that Helen is.”

Maggie scoffs loudly and moves a little closer to you, pointing in your face, “You don’t know my sister.”

“Maggie, stop.” John puts his arm out in front of you to protect you, but you move it to back to his side.

You nod, “You’re right, I don’t know Helen. But I know John, and I know the way John talks about Helen. He loved her. He’ll never stop loving her, whether he’s with me or not. That fact won’t change.”

“Just get in the car, baby.” John whispers, then he wipes away the tear on your cheek that you didn’t even know was there. You get situated in the car and pull on your seat belt as John shuts the door carefully, then he turns back to Maggie and shakes his head, “You have no right talking to her like that. She didn’t do anything wrong here. She was completely respectful the whole time, not only to you but to Helen as well.”

Maggie scoffs loudly, “Oh, please.”

“I mean it, Maggie. Don’t ever talk to her like that again.” he says, and Maggie widens her eyes a little when she realizes just how serious John is.

John stands in front of you as to protect you even though you’re in the car, and he doesn’t move until Maggie starts to walk back to her car. You always knew John would protect you, he’s shown you that before already, but this was something else, and it makes your heart flutter and beat a little harder when he turns around and looks at you.

John sighs loudly when he gets in the car, and he looks over at you with such sad eyes, “I’m sorry she was like that.”

“It’s okay.” you shrug, “I just didn’t like the way she was talking to you.”

John leans over and cups your face in his hands, “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”

His gaze keeps dropping to your lips, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling, but when you start to smile, John immediately leans in to kiss you. You’re taken aback by how passionate the kiss is, but you don’t mind. He slides his tongue into your mouth and he moans quietly against your lips as his hand moves to your shoulders.

You lean your forehead against his, keeping your eyes closed, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod and open your eyes to see John looking at you, “Yeah.”

“Thanks for sticking up for me.” he whispers, and you look over his shoulder to see Maggie driving out of the cemetery, “I should have known someone from her family would have shown up. It’s her birthday, I don’t know what I was expecting. This is my fault, I shouldn’t have brought you.”

“Hey,” you cup his face in your hands and shake your head, “Don’t blame yourself. It’s okay, Jonathan. I’m glad you brought me, I’m glad we came. I’m glad I got to come here and meet the woman who made you so happy.”

“I know, but I feel bad because of her sister. And then you said all that nice stuff and now you’re crying.”

“It’s okay.” you say quietly, trying to brush it off. “Baby, I’m fine.”

John nods and sits back in his seat, “Okay.”

John looks up at you with most pitiful puppy dog eyes, and you figure now is a good time to tell John that you want to take a pregnancy test.

“I think I know what will cheer you up.” you say in a sing song manner.

“We can’t do that in a cemetery.” John teases, then he shakes his head, “Just kidding.”

You scoff, “Yeah, I totally was gonna suggest sucking your dick in a cemetery. No, what I was gonna say was that we need to go to the store because Tess needs a few things, but I also need something.”

“Oh,” John starts the car and nods his head, “Okay.”

“No, no, don’t drive yet.” you say, then you reach for John’s hands, “I didn’t know how to even bring this up earlier, but I think I need to…take a pregnancy test. Don’t get your hopes up, I’ve just been feeling a little weird, and to ease my mind, I need to take one.”

John immediately starts to drive out of the cemetery and he reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss to it, “Let’s go get you a test!”

__

You’re not even entirely sure if you’re pregnant, but you’re standing in front of a wall of pregnancy tests anyway. Literally the biggest selection you’ve ever seen. Letting out a laugh, you look over at John as he pulls a box off the shelf and looks at it, comparing it to the one he’s already holding.

He leans down a little and whispers, “When are you supposed to have your period?”

“Should have gotten it a few days ago.” you say, looking at him, “My doctor said that’s normal since my cycle is wack anyway, but I don’t feel good lately.”

“Like you feel sick?” he asks, and you nod your head. John looks back at the pregnancy tests in his hands, then he shrugs and tosses them both into the cart, “We’ll just get them both.”

“Yeah, but these are digital.” you say, pointing at a more expensive box.

John grabs the box and tosses it into the cart, “Then we’ll get all three.”

You cling to John’s arm as you continue your way through the grocery store to get the things Tess needed. She needed some cream for what she called ‘personal reasons’ and she didn’t want John to know about it.

“Oh, damn, I need to grab something for Tess and you can’t know about it because otherwise she’ll die from embarrassment, so I’ll be right back.” you say, backing away from John, “Meet you back here in 5 minutes.”

“Okay.” he laughs, watching you walk away.

You quickly run back to the health and beauty section and grab the cream that Tess asked for, then you hide it behind your back when you see John. You reach for your purse and grab out a 20 dollar bill, then you get in a line one aisle over from John.

He peeks over the top of the aisle and smiles when you look at him, “Hey, pretty girl.”

You stand on your tiptoes to see over the snacks and candy, then you smile when you see John, “Hi, handsome.”

“You come here often?”

You shake your head as you laugh, “No, I usually make my ridiculously hot fiance come here and buy the groceries.”

“Oh, so you’re engaged?” John winks, “Lucky guy.”

You point at yourself and smile, “Lucky girl.”

“I don’t know, I’d say he’s definitely luckier.” John says, then he peeks over the aisle more, “Look at you.”

You roll your eyes and laugh, “You should see him!”

You place the cream on the counter and get checked out before John is even done. You tuck the bag into your purse, then you wait on the side for John as he places everything on the counter. When he puts the pregnancy tests on the counter, you notice the cashier giving John a weird look, so you walk over and stand next to John.

She looks at you and nods her head a little like she’s understanding why this man is putting three boxes of pregnancy tests on the counter. You try to hold in a laugh, but when John looks at you, you let it out quietly. His cheeks are a little red, and he stands back as you pull your credit card and pay for the groceries. You smile at the cashier and grab the bags of groceries, then you and John head out to the car.

“I was getting some weird looks.” he says, pushing the cart to the car.

Nodding your head, you laugh, “I would assume it’s not every day that they see someone go in and buy three boxes of pregnancy tests.”

“Thanks for saving me.” he laughs, “Again.”

You pop the trunk of your car and put the groceries in the back, then you turn around to look at John, “I’m your fiancee, it’s what I do.”

__

Tess is sprawled out on the couch when you walk in the front door, and she widens her eyes when she sees John is carrying the grocery bags. She gets off the couch as best as she can without rolling onto the ground, then you turn around and hand her the bag without John seeing.

“He didn’t see me buy it. He doesn’t even know what I got.” you laugh, leaning against the wall, “And even if he did, he wouldn’t say anything. He’d be too embarrassed, and he’s a good man. He’d never say anything about it.”

Tess laughs and nods her head, “True. Jimmy would just shout it out in the middle of the store. ‘Hey, I got that cream for your butt’.”

“He would not.” you laugh, then you look down and play with the zipper on your purse.

Tess nudges your shoulder a little, “So, you gonna tell me how it went?”

“Where do I even start?” you laugh as you walk into the kitchen and see John sitting at the kitchen table, “It was fine, and I’m glad I went. John and I just kinda sat down and talked a little bit, then…Helen’s sister showed me.”

John groans and shakes his head, and Tess perks up a little as she walks over to sit next to John at the table.

“You two don’t get along?”

John shrugs, reaching out for you to sit in his lap, “It’s not that we don’t get along. I just don’t really know her, and Helen wasn’t that close to her family.”

“Why’s that?”

Tess has absolutely no problem with asking intrusive questions. She’ll ask John anything, and there’s always been something about Tess that makes you want to spill your guts. She’s loud and outspoken, but she’s also the most trustworthy person you know. But you always warned people not to tell her anything they didn’t want you to know, because whether they liked it or not, Tess was going to tell you.

John shrugs and looks at you, “Helen never really got along with her family. Her sister most of all.”

“And…” Tess leans forward, “Why is that?”

John lets out a small laugh and shrugs again. He takes a few moments to think through what he’s about to say, then he exhales, “Well, I mean, I met Helen and--”

“Wait, how did you meet Helen?” Tess asks, leaning back against her chair. She looks at you and puts her hand out, “Oh, my god, you’re not uncomfortable, are you?”

You shake you head, “Of course not.”

She points at John and waves her hand dramatically, “Continue.”

“Uh,” he clears his throat, “I met Helen at the book shop.”

You sit up straight and look at John, “What?!”

John nods his head and looks at you, “Yeah, I met her at the book shop. We both grabbed the same book off the shelf.”

“Okay, now I’m uncomfortable. You met your wife in the book shop that you bought for me? Was it even for me? Or was it--” you take a deep breath and start to get off of John’s lap, “Never mind.”

John wraps both his arms around you, squeezing you tight, “I’m kidding.”

“I’m so mad at you.” you say quietly, leaning up to kiss him, “I’m still gonna kiss you, but I’m mad at you.”

“Sure, peach.” John laughs against your lips, then he cups your face as he kisses you tenderly.

“So, forget the whole story about Helen.” Tess says, bluntly, “Why does her family hate you?”

John keeps his arms around you and you lean back against his chest as he talks. “We met, she moved in, we got engaged, and then married. I think it was a lot for her family. This mysterious guy who they didn’t know just came in and took their daughter away, according to them.”

“And her sister?”

“She’s the worst of the bunch.” he laughs, “It was actually her younger brother and mom who liked me, a little. But her sister never understood Helen’s love for photography. She never understood what she saw in me, which I understand.”

You give John a disapproving look and shake your head, “You’re amazing, hush.”

“Anyway, her sister never liked me because I 'stole' Helen away from them, and then before Helen passed, she told me she wanted to be buried in Queens instead of Buffalo. So naturally, that was my fault as well.” John grabs your hand and presses a kiss to it, “I never liked her anyway, but she was pretty rude to this one today, and I really didn’t like that.”

“What can you do?” you shrug and lean back against John.

“Kick her ass, that’s what I’ll do.” Tess says, and Jimmy pokes his head into the kitchen.

“Whose ass are you kicking now?”

Tess reaches out for him and presses a big kiss to his lips, then she points at you, “Helen’s sister was mean to her.”

“What? Why? You’re so sweet.”

You shrug again, letting out a small laugh, “I don’t know. She kept asking how old I was. She made it very clear that she didn’t like that John was engaged to someone else. She kind of…uh,” you look down at your hands, sliding your ring up and down on your finger, “Never mind.”

“No, no, no, keep going.” Tess begs.

“I don’t know, it was almost like she…” you pinch the bridge of your nose and shrug, trying to find the right words, “It was like she tried to plant this seed to get me and John to fight. She said I wasn’t Helen and brought up my age, and it just all felt very conniving. It felt like she wanted John to be miserable.”

“But he’s not!” Jimmy says happily, “I’ve been home for not even two minutes, but he seems damn happy today.”

You know John is happy, and you know that he’s even happier because there’s a pregnancy test just waiting for you.

“I’m very happy.” John says, pulling you back into his arms, “You should have seen her stick up for me today. I was so proud of her.”

“What did you say?” Tess asks, pulling out the chair next to her for Jimmy to sit down.

“I just told Maggie that I was sorry for loss and that being mean to John wouldn’t make her feel better.”

“Yeah, but how she said it gave me chills. It was so nice, but at the same time, I wouldn’t have fucked with her.” John says, and you roll your eyes.

Tess laughs, “Look at you! Standing up for your man!”

“Well, John stuck up for me too. I had just never seen John like that before. Broke my heart to see him like that.” you sigh and get off of John’s lap, then you walk over to the bag that has the pregnancy tests and hold one up, “Well, should we do this, Wick?”

Tess gasps loudly and gets off the chair to walk over to you, “What?”

“Yeah,” you smile bashfully, “We don’t know and we’re trying to not get our hopes up, but I have to take a test to ease my mind.”

Tess shoves you, “Well, then go!”

You take the bag and look at John, “Wanna do this now?”

He nods his head as he gets up, then he nudges Tess’ shoulder a little when he walks past. As you leave the kitchen, you hear Tess getting out pots and pans to make something to eat, and Jimmy begins to tell her about his day.

You sit down on the bed and pull out the test, looking them all over in your lap and trying to decide what’s best to use. You start to worry that your mind is just being silly and that you’re not really pregnant. The more you listen to your body, the more you feel the slight cramping you always get right before your period.

John plops down on the bed next to you and kisses your shoulder, “Ready?”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and smile, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you want me to…” John watches as you get off the bed, “Do you want me to come with?”

You laugh as you walk to the bathroom, “Honestly…yeah.”

As soon as you get in the bathroom, you look over your shoulder and see John standing there, “I wanna be with you too.”

You take the test out of the package and carefully place it between your legs as you pee, “This isn’t even the weirdest thing we’ve done since we’ve been together.”

John laughs and shrugs as he walks into the bathroom to pick up a towel on the floor, “It’s not like I’ve never seen you pee before. Plus, we’re gonna have a baby at some point. I can’t even imagine what I’ll see then.”

You place the cap back on the test and wrap it in in toilet paper, handing it off to John, “Yeah, baby poop is pretty gross.”

You flush the toilet, quickly wash your hands, then dry them off. John reaches out for your hand, and the two of you walk back to the bedroom. You carefully place the test between the two of you, and you exhale loudly.

John looks down at his watch and nods, “Okay, one minute.”

You play with edge of your shorts and sigh, “Do you really think I’m pregnant?”

John shrugs, “I don’t know. Do you feel any different?”

You poke your stomach, then grab yours breasts, squeezing them as John laughs. “No, I feel the same. But sometimes with birth control, your period can get a little wacky.”

“Wacky.” John laughs, “You have been saying that word all day.”

“I just don’t feel any different, but I guess that doesn’t really mean anything.”

John shrugs, “It’s better that we take a test so you can stop stressing over it.”

You scoot closer to John and hold the test in your hands as you lean your head against his shoulder. The two of you sit in silence for a moment, then you tilt your head back a little to kiss John.

You look at John’s watch and smile, “It’s been one minute.”

“It has.” John is still looking at you, and he reaches for your hand, “No matter what.”

You nod, “No matter what, we still have each other.”

You remove the tissue from the test and see a thick pink line. Not Pregnant. You look up at John, and he nods slowly as he looks at it. He takes a few moments to process it, then he smiles at you.

“So,” you laugh, “No baby for us. For now!”

“Oh, yeah, it’s going to happen.” John smiles as he leans over to kiss you, “Are you upset?”

You shrug and get up to throw the test away in the bathroom garbage, “I don’t know. I mean, yes and no.” you walk back into the bedroom and stand in front of John, “I am because we want a baby, and it’s always a little heartbreaking to know you’re not pregnant. But at the same time, I’m not. I know we’re going to have a baby, it’s going to happen for us. I’ve never been more certain about something.”

“I agree.” John says as he leans up to kiss you again, “I just don’t want you to be upset.”

“Well, what about you?”

“Me?” John laughs and pulls you into his lap, “I’m in the same boat as you. I know we’re going to have a baby, and we haven’t really been trying. Isn’t that what you always say? Don’t we have to try at certain times?”’

“Yes,” you nod, “When I’m ovulating, when my eggs are viable.”

John shakes his head dramatically and widens his eyes, “I need to get some books about this stuff.”

“We probably have some at the shop.” you lean in closer to his face, “I can give you a discount if you want.”

“Oh?” he holds tight to you as he moves you to the bed and lays on top of you, “A discount?”

“Yeah,” you nod and smirk, “Senior citizens get 20% off on Tuesdays.”

John laughs loudly and begins to tickle your stomach as you squirm and scream with laughter under him. He’s merciless, and even when you kick your legs under him, he still doesn’t stop.

“I’m not old! I’m not even a senior citizen yet!” he laughs and rolls off of you. “Mean.”

You put your hands over your face as you continue laughing, “I’m sorry, but you walked right into it.”

“I did.” he nods, then moves to lay on top of you again. He gazes at you for a few moments, then leaves a delicate kiss on your lips, “It’ll happen when it happens.”

“I know.” you smile at John as he rolls off of you, “Remember how we used to say ‘if it happens, it happens’, look at us now! Progress.”

John reaches for your hands to pull you off the bed, but you just stare at him. He starts to laugh and he shakes his hands, “Come on.”

“I wanted to ask you something.” you say, and you kneel on the bed as John wraps his arms around you, sliding his hands into your back pockets, “I just wanted to know…if you ever think about how things would be…if Helen was still here.”

“Oh,” John watches your gaze as it drops to your hand on his chest. He looks at your ring and laughs, “You’ve been looking at your ring a lot today. Is there something on your mind?”

John nods his head a few times, then shrugs. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings with his answer, you can tell.

“At first.” he finally says as he rubs his finger against your arm, “But not anymore.”

“At first? Like when we started dating?”

John nods, “Yeah, but not in the way you think. I’ve never thought about you and wished it was her instead, I need you to know that. I’ve never thought about her while we were being intimate, I also need you to know that. I’ve never wished you were anyone but who you are, I love you. And I’m glad that it’s you here.”

You smile as you lean forward to kiss John, “I know.”

“I would think about if Helen was still here, I’d still be married and I wouldn’t have met you. You’re such an important part of my life, and I can’t even imagine not having you in it.”

“We could have been friends.” you suggest as John starts to shake his head. “Jimmy and Tess still could have met somehow, and then I’d be the weird girl who always showed up when the four of you double dated.”

“First of all, Jimmy and I wouldn’t be friends.” he says, and you furrow your brow a little, “My time was spent on Helen. No one else. I didn’t really become great friends with Jimmy until you. We hung out here and there, but not when I was married to Helen. She passed, then we hung out. But because of you, I hang out with Jimmy a lot, which I’m grateful for.”

You smile, tilting your head to the side a little, “Why is that?”

John rolls his eyes playfully, “Because he’s my best friend, whatever.”

“So stinkin’ cute.” you say, and John laughs a little.

“You really think you could just be friends with me?”

“If you were married, yeah.” you nod as you laugh, “It’s different with us now obviously because you’re not married. You were single when I met you. But had I met you when you were married, I would have kept my hands to myself. I’m a good girl.”

John starts to smile as he pats your ass lightly, “You are, but sometimes you’re a little naughty.”

“I mean, I definitely would have looked. Probably would have worn something sexy to see if you’d notice me.” you say as you wiggle in front of John a little. He rests his hands on your hips and smiles. “But you wouldn’t have because that’s the kind of guy you are. Just like you don’t notice women now.”

“I don’t.” he says, shaking his head, “I would have noticed you though.”

You roll your eyes and get off the bed, “You’re sweet for pretending.”

The two of you head back downstairs hand in hand, and you see Tess and Jimmy talking at the table. She perks up when she sees you, then she pats the spot next to her.

“So?”

You shrug, “No luck this time. It’ll happen though.”

John leans back against the counter and nods, “We’re optimistic today.”

Tess laughs as she looks back at you, “I see that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be sad about it tomorrow, but I just feel really good about this. I just feel like it’s going to happen for sure. I mean, realistically it’s probably good that I’m not pregnant right now because we have a wedding to plan for, and I really don’t want to be pregnant for my wedding. I’d be in the thick of my morning sickness, and no one wants to deal with that. Also once Finn is born, I want to help you as much as I can. I wouldn’t be able to do that if I’m pregnant and throwing up and just feeling like shit all the time.”

“That’s very true, peach.” John says, kissing the top of your head as he moves past.

You watch Tess and John exchange looks, and you decide to let it go. They’re not going to baby you about this since you’re being so optimistic right now.

Getting up from the chair, you reach out for John and tilt your head back, “Since we’re not pregnant, do you wanna go upstairs and practice?”

Tess groans, “You two are gross. You just got down here!”

You look over your shoulder at her as you laugh, then you look back at John, “What do you say?”

John throws you over his shoulder, then he starts to make his way out of the kitchen as you look up at Tess and smirk.

__

@tnu-ree @dangerouslystrangecrown @weird-civilian @callmeglenncoco @sanctuarygirl @meetmeinthematinee @jessicajones616 @artistic-discontentment @cheekybluefox @jazzyboo2001 @a-small-independent-princess @thepastrecedes01 @rubywantsafuitgummy @sterekislyf @lostandfaceless​ @sweetgoodangel​ @racharr @star017 @ladyren33 @whatcolourisanorange​ @lunaticgurly @ficsnroses​ @wheretheriversrunintothesea​

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

with you [chapter three]

Summary: Clementine pops the question, Louis has nightmares, Violet can’t let go of the past, Mitch doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings, Ruby’s a goddamn sweetheart, Willy doesn’t ever remember to knock, Aasim can’t dance, and James is here, too.

Nothing like a wedding to bring this family together.

Note: I didn't plan on working on [with you] right now, but when the inspiration hits, listen to it. 

I lost my momentum/motivation for this story a while ago, but damn it, I said I’d finish it so I'm going to finish it. [with you] isn't done, folks. Thanks for reading and for the constant support. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and stick around for the rest. ❤️

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3

Read on: AO3 

---

Well, the ring isn’t bigger, but it is flatter. 

Too flat to possibly fit on Louis’ finger.

Well, fuck. 

The hammer hits the workbench with a deafening clatter that bounces throughout the basement, causing a startled Willy to drop the tattered, blue tarp in his hands. 

Mitch lets out a deep groan, leaning back in his chair while tugging at his hair. 

“How bad is it?” asks Willy. 

The ring’s a piece of shit, Mitch decides. He tried reshaping it, stretching it to be just the tiniest bit bigger, but progress was halted due to the fact that he fucked up.

Maybe it would be easier if he had Louis’ measurement- which Clementine has neglected to obtain yet- but right now, it’s damn near impossible to get it back to its perfectly circular shape.

“Fucked,” Mitch grumbles. He can’t give it back to Clementine in this shape. She’ll be devastated. 

“I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that,” Willy yawns from beside him, rubbing at his eyes. 

Turning the ring- if you could even call it that anymore- around in his fingers, concern furrows the young boy’s brow as he chews on his bottom lip. 

“What are we gonna do?”

That’s a great question, one that Mitch doesn’t have an answer to yet. 

Really, it should’ve been simple. 

He should’ve been able to stretch it out a bit then reshape it into a perfect circle, into a ring. Now it’s just a long, depressing, wobbly, scratched up loop . 

All the mornings he woke up early this week to come down here and work on it… all for nothing! 

Fuck.

Clementine’s gonna be pissed. 

“No clue,” Mitch sighs, pressing forward against the desk to step down from his chair. “Don’t suppose you got any ideas?” 

“Maybe we could melt it back?”

“With what? Fire?” Mitch sighs.“No fire we could make would be hot enough to melt this.”

“We could just get it hot enough to reshape it, at least?” 

“Maybe,” Mitch says, unconvincingly. "Then again, it is pretty cheap, whatever it is."

Willy tries stretching the ring with his fingers to no avail, only succeeding his pinching his pointer finger. 

The only reason it got into the shape it is now is because Mitch secured it in an old wrench, then used a pair of thick pliers to try and reshape it. No set of fingers are going to be enough to pry it apart. 

“If we don’t fix this, Clem’s gonna be mad at us!” Willy exclaims, slamming the ring back down onto the workbench. “There’s gotta be something we can do! Maybe we could find her a new one? A bigger size? ”

Mitch perks a brow. 

“You got a bunch of wedding rings lying around that I don’t know about?” he asks. “Seems like a weird thing to collect.” 

Not that he’d be all that surprised, though it’d be rather convenient. Willy collects all kinds of strange shit- used stamps off of old envelopes, coins, fun-shaped erasers, probably other stuff. The kid’s like a bird collecting random shit for a nest. 

“No,” Willy grins. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t find one. What about the headmaster’s office? Or the old teacher’s lounge? Maybe one of them took their ring off and forgot about it?”

Seems like a long shot.

Most of the teachers who worked here before all the bullshit happened were married. Hell, Mitch bets that’s one of the reasons they ditched. Had to get back to their husbands and wives and dogs and whatever. Or maybe that was just the excuse they used. 

Even so, he doubts any of them took their rings off before abandoning the school. Even if one happened to leave a ring behind, the odds of it fitting Louis were still not in their favor, which would put them right back into this predicament. 

“Doubt it.”

With the ring and pliers in his hands once more, Mitch bends the ring the best he can. It’s much easier fucking up than fixing it, he thinks bitterly, though that could be due to that fact this his patience and energy levels are at an all-time low. With every failed tug at the ring’s material, every wrong bend, the muscles in his neck tense. 

Fuck the ring, fuck the ring, fuck these pliers, fuck this damn ring, fuck-

“Careful!” Willy gasps out just a bit too late. 

The force causes the pliers to slip from his hand and become lost on the floor.

The ring-

No, not a ring anymore. Nope. 

“Mitch! You just-”

Broke it. 

He broke it. 

Mitch stares down at the damn this in disbelief. How the fuck was that possible? What is this thing made out of? Were wedding rings always made to be this flimsy? The walker Clementine took this from must’ve been a cheap son of a bitch because there’s no way that’s a thing that should’ve happened! 

It just… snapped! Broke apart!

“Oh shit,” Mitch hisses out, cradling the ring in his palm, poorly attempting to stick it back together. “Oh no.” 

Superglue! He had to have superglue down here! There’s-

A high pitched squeak echoes through the basement, followed by a leak of the morning’s barely rising sunlight and the metal clang of the basement door. 

“Mitch?”

Oh-

Oh fuck-

“You down here?”

Mitch’s wide eyes meet Willy’s panicked ones. In an instant, the two yank the torn tarp over the workbench, knocking the flashlight off the edge with a loud clang. The basement darkens. 

“Shit!” 

Footsteps. Heavy, slow footsteps. 

“Mitch?” James’ voice echos, sending a jolt through Mitch’s stomach. He fumbles with the broken ring, only for it to drop and bounce on the concrete floor. 

“Ruby said I’d find you down here.”

“Oh, for fucks sake-!” Mitch dives down onto his hands and knees beneath the workbench, grumbling a string of curses as he feels around for the damned ring all while an annoying ache throbs in his knees.

“Nope! Not down here!” Willy spits out, jerking the tarp down over Mitch’s back, effectively shielding him from any light left. “Nothing to see! Come back later!”

Fucking shit- ouch!

A jagged rock digs into the bone of his kneecap, causing him to jerk up and smack the top of his head against the underside of the workbench. 

Ouch, ouch, ouch!

A chuckle from James breaks through the shooting pain and Mitch can’t tell which is more annoying. 

“Mitch isn’t here?” James asked, the amusement clear in his tone as he approaches.  “Strange, I thought I heard his voice.”

Bastard. 

Of all the fucking people in this school, James would be the one to come snooping around down here. Shit, maybe Ruby complained to him about yesterday and now he’s here to investigate what they’re doing. 

That’s not good. It’s already bad enough that he enlisted Willy’s help after promising that he’d keep the damn marriage proposal nonsense to himself, he doesn’t need to add James to the list. Clementine’s already going to be pissed enough as it is now that she doesn’t have an actual functioning ring! She might really stab him this time! 

“Nope. You didn’t hear anything! Not here,” Willy tries. “Nothing suspicious here.”

“I see. So, those aren’t Mitch’s boots sticking out right there?”

“...Uh, no? Those are, uh, my boots!”

For once, Mitch wishes Willy were a more convincing liar- ah-ha! 

Rubbing along the dirty ground, the ring finally brushes against his finger. With the damned thing secured in his fist, Mitch quickly scoots out. Fighting with the tarp in order to stand up, he damn near trips over his own chair, saving himself by grabbing a hold of Willy’s shoulder with his free hand. 

A bright light nearly blinds him, one held by a grinning James. 

“Gah! Watch where you point that thing!” Mitch exclaims, batting blindly in James’ direction. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, there you are. Uh, sorry,” James apologizes, lowering the light. “I hope your head is okay. Sounded like a nasty bump”

An irritating, sheepish warmth burns Mitch’s cheeks. 

“Hurts like a bitch,” Mitch snaps. “Thanks. Now, what the hell are you doing here? It’s way too early for you to be poking around. And haven’t you ever heard of knocking? We’re in the middle of something and don’t need you waving our flashlight around like- like some sort of flashlight creep, weirdo, person!”

Mitch huffs, trying not to look out of breath after his tangent, but the charmed smile James wears makes him want to knock the flashlight out of his hand. Cocky bastard, catching him with his pants down-

Wait no, fuck, not- 

James caught him fucking around with Clementine’s ring- which he doesn’t know anything about- and now he’s like a deer in the headlights- ha, there’s a better metaphor… y’know, because of the flashlight- and James is the hunter in the car waiting for an explanation. 

Why the hunter would wait for such a thing instead of shooting the deer doesn’t make any sense but-

“Mitch?” Willy’s concerned voice breaks his train of thought. “Are you okay?”

“What?” 

“You look-”

Before Willy can finish, James holds up his hands, quietly asking for silence. He cranks his neck to look behind him, back up at the closed doors of the second outdoor entrance. 

The faint barks of Rosie ring outside. 

Omar must be up, Mitch figures. Early bird starting breakfast, that’d explain Rosie’s excitement. He has to hush her by tossing her a piece of old jerky he found when messing around out here, that way no one was alarmed so early. 

Shit, that means everyone else will be up soon, too. 

After a moment, James turns back to them with a small, relieved smile. 

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I already know what’s going on. Clem told me you were working on the ring down here. You don’t have to hide or make up any excuses.”

Clem? Didn’t he say Ruby-

Wait-

“You know?” Willy asks. “About the ring?”

James nods down at the boy. 

“I wanted to see how it’s coming along, and maybe help, if that’s okay,” James says, giving Mitch a sincere look. “She hasn’t gotten Louis’ measurements yet, has she?”

Mitch’s split on if he wants to throw the disfigured ring in his face or not.

“No,” Willy answers for him. “She hasn’t, and we screwed up!”

“Willy!” Mitch snaps. 

“Big-time!” 

James’ face falls. 

“What happened?”

“I- Well, hold on!” Mitch stutters. “When did she tell you? I thought I was the only one who knew.”

James gives Willy a quick look, to which the young boy gives a guilty, toothy grin and a shrug. 

“Okay, fine, fair enough,” Mitch sighs. “I needed his help and he swore he wouldn’t breathe a word to anyone . Right?”

Willy crosses an X over his chest, saying, “Scout’s honor.” 

“I see,” James nods, watching as Mitch pulls back the tarp to reveal the workbench. “Well, so long as Louis doesn’t find out, I think you’ll be okay. And, uh, last week.”

James picks up the pliers from the floor. Mitch snatches it out of his hand before turning away, purposefully avoiding his heavy gaze. 

He has the weirdest eyes, Mitch thinks. They’re so dark that you can’t tell where the pupil starts or ends and the way he stares is so-

Mitch scoffs, waving his hand as a silent, ‘Well? Go on.’

“When she came to get me, she asked if any of the walkers I keep in the barn happen to be wearing a ring,” James continues. “I searched and searched, but came up empty-handed. We ended up at the train station. She told me about her plans after she got the ring.”

Well, that makes sense, at least. 

And here, Mitch thought he was the first and only person she told. Though he had to admit- not aloud, but to himself- that he’s a little glad that James knows. Maybe he has an idea of how to fix this mess. 

Speaking of which-

Mitch, continuing to avoid James’ stare, uncurls his fist and sets the ring on the workbench. 

James, finally sparing a glance away from Mitch’s irritated face, looks down at the remains of the ring. 

A beat of silence passes as all three of them look at the damn thing. 

God, they’re so fucked. 

Finally, James hums. 

“I don’t think that’s going to fit Louis.”

Mitch glares.

“Gee, ya think?” 

“Told’ja we screwed up,” Willy mumbles. “But maybe we can just wrap it around his finger? Since, y’know, it can do that now.”

“Nope,” Mitch slams his hands on the workbench. “Nu-uh, now way, this ring is trash. Nothin’ we do is ever gonna fix it. Not gluing, not melting, not wrapping. We’re gonna have to start all over.”

“You have another ring?” asks James, leaning against the workbench with his arms folded across his chest. 

Huh, he doesn’t have those nasty gloves on. 

“Uh, no,” Mitch shakes his head. “We don’t.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Nope.”

What a mess.

Clementine asks him to do one thing and he just had to go fuck it up. He should’ve waited until she had his measurements. Don’t know what difference that would’ve made, exactly, but perhaps it would’ve been a step in the right direction. 

God, he can see it now. She’ll come down here with or without the measurements and he’ll have to tell her that he broke her ring and then she’ll be pissed and the next thing he knows, he’s lying on the ground in agony because she kicked him in the dick.

Unless he comes up with a plan. 

“I’m here to help,” James says, breaking the silence. “Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it. We’ll figure this out.” 

Well, isn’t that so damn kind of him...

“What else can we make a ring out of?” Mitch asks, whirling around to face them. “Doesn’t hafta be fancy, just something they could wear without it breaking on ‘em. Something like- like wire, or shit, I dunno… wood? Do you think we could carve some rings?”

“Maybe,” James nods. “Though I don’t know how comfortable or sturdy wood rings would be, it’s a good start.”

“A last resort, at least?”

“I think so.”

“What about the library?” Willy pipes in. “We’ve got all kinds of books in there that could help. Remember all the books we found about boats and explosions? If they had books like those, then maybe there’s some on rings or jewelry making?”

Mitch grins. 

“Fuck yeah, good thinking,” he pats Willy’s shoulder, “see if you can find anything in there. And remember, keep it down, yeah? Don’t need anyone poking their noses where they don’t belong, and we can’t let Clem find out what happened. Got it?”

“Got it,” Willy nods, a frown forming. “Wait, I gotta go alone? Can’t James come help me look?”

“No, he’s gotta keep an eye on the others.”

James shoots him a questioning look, which is more than enough reason for Mitch to turn away. 

“We can’t have anyone coming down here, especially Louis. They’ll ask too many questions, and Clem can’t know I fucked up yet, alright?” Mitch says. “I’m gonna go to the teacher's lounge and see if I can find anything. If not, I’ll gather as many materials as I can find. We’ll meet back here later.”

“In that case, breakfast should be starting soon,” James looks back at the double doors. “I shouldn’t have any troubles, but I’ll do my best to keep everyone’s interests low.” 

Mitch smiles, despite himself. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

---

“One of these days we should just stay in bed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep, spend the whole day in bed. Eat, play card games, sleep, what have you.”

Clementine grins, leaning up on her tiptoes to press another kiss to Louis’ cheek before saying, “Only if we can build a pillow fort.”

Louis chuckles for the first time this morning, fully turning around to face her, his hands pressed against the curves of her waist. 

“Ah, a woman after my own heart.” 

He dips forward as if to kiss her, and she’s fully prepared for it. It’s only when she feels the familiar material of her hat being pressed onto her head does she lean back and open her eyes to find him smirking down at her. He pats her on the head, poorly containing the laughter within him at the sight of her annoyed expression. 

“Unfortunately for us, Clem, we can’t take a vacation day and spend it in bed,” he says, letting her go to head for the door. “Our dear Aasim said Lucy’s ready to pop today assuming she already hasn’t and apparently he needs more than Ruby’s help to deal with that.”

“He wants you to help deliver baby bunnies?”

“I know, I thought it was strange, too,” Louis shrugs. “He knows I get attached to cute, fluffy things, and when I’m attached, I don’t exactly want to butcher and eat them, y’know? Must be doing it on purpose to get back at me for always beating him in Go Fish.” 

Louis swings open the door, motioning for her. 

“After you, m’darling.”

Clementine rolls her eyes, though her smile betrays her. 

“You go on ahead,” she tells him. “I’ll see you down at breakfast.” 

“Well, in that case…”

Louis dips down and kisses her. His lips are soft and warm against hers, more than enough for her to hold him there for just a few seconds longer before pulling away. 

Even though his exhaustion is still rimming his eyes, he smiles brightly. 

“I’ll save you a seat,” he says. “And I’ll make sure AJ doesn’t eat your breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Clementine grins, and it’s on the tip of her tongue, the urge to ask him if he’s okay again. 

At this point, she doesn’t need to ask, and he doesn’t need to hear it or answer.

Once he’s gone, Clementine gives a big sigh. 

Alright, time to find Mitch and give him the string. 

Her plan was more than successful last night. Now she finally has the measurements for Mitch to properly adjust the ring. How he’s planning on doing it, she doesn’t know, but he promised her that he’d try and she trusts him. 

Mitch isn’t hard to find, which is surprising. He’s digging around in one of the hallway drawers when she finds him, muttering curses to himself with a bitter expression. 

He’s spent most of the week down in the basement tinkering around with what she assumes is ways to fix the ring. While she appreciates the effort he’s putting into this, she wishes he was a little less defensive about it. 

Ruby questioned him yesterday about it and he about blew up on her. 

Mitch takes the string without a word and hurries back outside, never once looking her in the eye. 

Odd, she thinks, but sometimes Mitch is hard to figure out. So, she lets it go.

As for the next order of business, she has to find AJ.

Considering he didn’t come back to the room last night, she assumes he had a sleepover with Tenn last night.

For that, she’s grateful.

Not only would he have walked in on something, well, intimate , but AJ has a hard time leaving Louis alone after one of his nightmares. Clementine warned him about being clingy, but all AJ says back is, “I just want him to be okay.”

Louis always insists he’s fine, that the nightmares aren’t really that bad, that he barely remembers them. She knows he still tells AJ that to reassure him. He used to tell her the same thing, only she knows better.

She can still remember the first time she told him to stop lying to her.

“Louis, stop. Just… stop. Lying to me isn’t going to make it any better. You can’t carry this on your own and I can’t fully be here for you unless you’re completely honest with me.”

She never held someone whose entire body rocked and crumbled with so much regret, so much fear. So many things brought to light, so much more than she initially imagined. 

That was the first night they slept in the same bed.

He moved in two days later.

She can only hope that tonight’s better, that he can find peace in his dreams again.

Clementine leaves the dorms and steps out into the fresh morning air, inhaling the intoxicating scent of dew ridden grass and dirt. 

AJ’s at one of the tables, scarfing down his breakfast next to Louis, James and Tenn.

From a distance, she can see how tired Louis is, even if he’s smiling and laughing with the others.

“Clem!” Omar waves her over, holding up a plate. 

That’s when the scent of breakfast hits her, causing her stomach to tighten with a growl. She’s about to hurry over until she sees Violet loading up her bowl. Their eyes meet for a split second, and that’s enough to make Violet jerk around and head to the farthest table possible, one occupied by Aasim. Clementine watches her go as she approaches Omar.

“Good morning,” she greets him.

“It is a good morning, isn’t it? I’m glad there’s a little breeze today,” he says cheerfully.

“Yeah,” she agrees before bringing her voice to a whisper. “Hey… did she say anything to you?”

Omar gives Violet a quick glance, shrugging a shoulder. 

“Just thanks. Nothing else. Tried making conversation but I don’t think she’s in the mood today. Y’know.”

“Right," Clementine nods.

"Hey, have you seen Mitch this morning? He hasn’t grabbed his food yet.”

“Oh, um, I haven’t,” she lies.

“He’s nowhere!” Willy exclaims from behind her, causing her to flinch. Somehow that boy manages to be both too loud and too quiet. He’s a good little sneak, she’d give him that.

“Nowhere?” Omar asks, frowning. “He can’t be nowhere. He’s gotta be somewhere. Oh-” Omar lets out a huff. “Is he in the basement again?”

“No!” 

“That’s a yes, then,” Omar rolls his eyes.  “He’s been down there a lot this week.”

Ruby comes over to them now with anger knitted in her brow and her cheeks puffed red.

“Oh, he’s been banging around down there all mornin’! I just went ta fetch him fer breakfast and he hissed at me like some sorta rodent,” she scowls, “tellin’ me to fuck off, he’s busy! What’s he been doin’ down there that’s so important?”

Willy bites his lip as if to prevent himself from blurting something out, but once Ruby pays him a stern look, it’s out.

“He’s totally not making something super awesome! Nope!”

“Oh, God,” Ruby groans. “What's he makin’?”

Willy shrugs with faux innocence before shooting Clementine a knowing smirk that makes her freeze. 

“What’s he makin’?” Ruby asks again, harshly.

“Nothing!” Willy exclaims before pointing at himself, “I would know because I’ve been down there with him and we’re not doing anything! Nothing !”

Clementine never thought that she’d ever meet a worse liar than AJ but-

Wait.

“Willy, I know yer lying! What’re ya doin’ down there?”

“I’m not! We’re doing nothing !”

No, no fucking-

Clementine has to refrain from slapping her forehead. 

If Mitch has been down in the basement working on her ring all week, and Willy’s been down there with him…

So much for keeping quiet.

“It best not be another cherry bomb ‘cause I will whip his ass so hard-”

“It’s not! Honest! Don’t worry, it’s nothing!” He smiles at Clementine again, baring all his crooked teeth. She glares back.

That seems to straighten Willy out. He looks down at the dirt and says nothing more.

“Well, either way,” Omar hands Willy a plate, “take that to him. I don’t want to hear him complain he’s hungry when he finally comes outta there.”

“On it!” Willy almost spills the food when he takes off, desperate to get out of the situation.

“Willy!” Clementine calls after him. “Hold it!”

He stutters to a halt in front of the basement doors. When she gets closer, she can hear a repeated banging echoing from down the stairs. They both look around to make sure everyone else is out of earshot. Deeming it safe, she leans down and demands, “What did he tell you?”

Willy avoids her hard gaze. 

“Nothin’.”

“ Willy .”

“Okay, fine! Mitch said he needed my help fixing your wedding ring ,” he loudly whispers. Clementine’s hand shoots out to cover his mouth.

“Shhh!” Clem glowers. “Who else has he told?”

“No one,” the boy answers, this time honestly, shaking his head. “And I ain’t gonna tell anyone either, I swear.”

“Willy-”

“Really! I even promised Mitch! Scout’s honor!”

“Clem!” She hears AJ calling for her. She turns to wave at them while keeping her gaze fixed on the young boy.

Willy gives her a sincere smile. 

“Don’t worry, Clem, we got it all figured out. James is helping us with it, too!  Just leave it to us.”

“James-?”

With that, he hurries into the basement, calling out for Mitch. She sees some of the food slosh over and fall on the stairs.

She sighs.

At this rate, Louis’ll find out before she even has a proper ring.

Doing her best to ignore the nervous frustration spreading heat in her belly, Clementine grabs her breakfast and joins the others at the table.

Interestingly enough, she finds that they’re done with their food. 

Instead, papers and colored pencils scatter all over the table. AJ and Louis hunch over their papers in full concentration while James sketches all over his paper lightly, eyes darting up constantly to look at AJ.

Just as she takes a seat, Louis sits back to flash a big smile, holding up his picture. 

“Ta-da!” The other three boys stop and look up. They say nothing as they study the drawing. Clementine leans over to see as well.

“...What is it?” AJ asks.

“What is it?” Louis repeats, his confidence wavering. “What does it look like?”

“Like…” AJ squints, cocking his head to try and piece together what the drawing depicts. Finally, he settles on, “A bunny?”

Louis’ eyes go wide.

“A bun- what ?” he exclaims. He re-examines his picture. “It’s not a bunny! It’s Rosie!”

Hearing her name called, Rosie barks, trotting away from Omar and over beside Clementine, sitting politely and awaiting any leftover scraps. 

When Clementine gets a better look at the drawing, she can tell that it’s… sort of like a dog. It’s the same color as Rosie, but the face is odd. And the ears are definitely too big.

AJ takes the picture from Louis and shakes his head. “Nope, not Rosie.”

“Everybody’s a critic,” Louis snatches the picture back and holds it up to her. “Clem, you can tell it’s Rosie, right?”

She blinks up at him before slowly shaking her head. She can’t help but giggle a little at the distress on his face as he looks at his drawing.

“I think it kind of looks like her,” Tenn says.

Louis sulks, resting his chin in his palm and slouching over, grumbling, “Thanks, Tenn.”

Clementine rubs his back and offers an encouraging smile. He grins back at her and steals a potato chunk off her plate, popping it into his mouth.

“Clem, look!” AJ hands her his drawing. It’s of him, her and Louis standing together with a large beach ball hanging in the air. “We’re playing catch!”

“Wow,” Clementine beams. “You’re really becoming a great artist.”

Louis leans against her shoulder to look. His face scrunches up in consideration. 

“Hmmmm,” he turns the picture upside down for a moment, then right-side up. He glances at the young boy with a smirk. “Looks great, little man. This’ll look awesome on your wall.”

Pleased with the compliment, AJ laughs.  He takes his picture back and signs it. When he goes to grab a new paper, he asks, “What’re you drawing, James?”

“Huh? Oh, um,” James snaps his head up, his hand instinctively moving to cover his page, “I was just… well,” he gives a sheepish smile, “I haven’t had a chance to draw in a very long time, so I hope you don’t mind but…”

When he holds up his paper, Clementine gasps.

The portrait of AJ on the paper looks so… real .

“Dude!” Louis exclaims, amazed.

“Hey!” AJ gasps. “That’s my face!”

James puts the paper down and looks away. “I-I’m a little out of practice, you see. The proportions aren’t exactly right, and I always had a hard time with ears-”

“Dude, are you serious?” Louis laughs. “That looks just like him!”

Tenn gasps lightly at the drawing as well, eyes darting over the portrait, taking in the details with curious eyes. His gaze falls back to his own picture, unsure, covering it with his arm and starts pressing his fingers together nervously.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“It’s what I used to do before. Charlie and I… we both drew,” James smiles. “He’s a lot better at it, though.” He picks his pencil back up, looking fondly at the portrait. “He could do amazing things. These huge scenes with so much life and so much character. Me,” he chuckles lightly, “I could only ever do portraits of people.” He looks at Louis with a comforting grin. “I’m terrible at doing animals, too.”

“You’re a real artist!” exclaims AJ. “Just like Tenn!”

Tenn, still fixated on James’ drawing, tucks his own under the stack of other drawings.

“Wow,” he finally says. “You’re really good. Like, really good.” 

 James notices the young boy’s sudden timidness and looks to Clementine with questioning eyes. She returns his look with a smile and a small gesture towards Tenn.

“Um, thank you,” James awkwardly places a hand on Tenn’s shoulder, “I could show you. How I draw like this, I mean. If you want.”

“R-really?” Tenn stutters. He takes a glimpse at the portrait. “I could draw like that?”

“Of course,” James smiles, “anyone can.”

“Even Louis?” Clementine teases, pointing at his picture of Rosie.

“ Hey ,” Louis takes the picture and holds it to his chest protectively, “I worked hard on this.”

“No doubt,” Clementine laughs, turning to Tenn. “Taking lessons from James could be a lot of fun. What do you think?”

The young boy nods, still not entirely sure, but willing to try. “Yeah, I-” he turns to James, “I want to draw like that.”

“Me, too!” AJ butts in.

“Actually, AJ, I need your help with something today,” Clementine says quickly before AJ can jump on the ‘Drawing with James’ train. 

“Me? Why?” 

Clementine picks up her plate and stands from the table. “C’mon, kiddo. You can draw with Tenn and James afterward. It won’t take too long.”

“But, Clem-” he whines.

“What do you need help with?” Louis asks. “Perhaps my services could be used instead?”

She grins at him but shakes her head. “Sorry, Lou, need AJ for this one.”

“But-” AJ tries again.

“Now, AJ,” she shuts him down. “C’mon.”

James offers the young boy a comforting smile. 

“I’ll give you a personal lesson when you get back,” he says. “Promise.”

“Okay,” AJ sighs.

Just as AJ and Louis go to stand, James says, “Actually, Louis? Can you stay?”

“Dude, don’t mean to undermine your talent, but I don’t think even you could teach me to draw like that,” Louis tries to laugh.

James shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. We need a model.”

“A model?”

“To draw,” he explains, “drawing from life is the best way to learn.” 

He gives Clem a knowing look, which she returns with a grateful one of her own, relieved at how intuitive James can be.

“Modeling, hm?” Louis sits back down, puffing out his chest and adjusting his jacket. He flashes a big, bright smile. “How do you want me? Happy? How about sad, distraught? Seductive, perhaps?” Pursing his lips, Louis winks up at Clementine.

“Still, looking straight ahead, please."

“Right, gotcha.”

AJ sighs loudly.

She nudges him with warning eyes. Before they can turn to leave, Louis reaches out for her hand.

“Hold on,” he says, pulling her closer. She leans down and he plants a sweet kiss on her cheek.

AJ sighs even louder.

“Have fun,” Louis smiles.

She squeezes his hand. “You, too.”

James places two blank sheets of paper in front of him and Tenn, handing him a pencil. Tenn takes it eagerly.

As she and AJ walk away, she hears Louis say, “Make me look good, fellas!” and she can’t help but giggle, just a bit.

“Can’t we go on patrol later?” AJ asks.

“Trust me, kiddo, this can’t wait,” she says. “It’s pretty important.”

“Did something happen?”

“No,” she says. “Not yet.”

---

Rosie’s tail wags happily as she trots out through the gates. She doesn’t go far, always sticking close to them as they walk the perimeter. If she ever does wander too far, all Clementine has to do is whistle and Rosie will rush right to her side.

“James is a really good artist,” says AJ, “even better than Tenn.”

“He’s had a lot more practice than Tenn has,” she replies. “With enough help, Tenn can be as good.”

“You think so? You think he can teach me to be that good?” AJ asks hopefully.

“He said he would, didn’t he?” she smiles at AJ’s excited face.

AJ continues to gush about James as they walk. Clementine remains mostly quiet, only answering when AJ expects her to. When he’s run out of things to say, they’ve already gone all the way around.

“No monsters,” AJ says firmly. “And nothing else.”

“Looks like we’re clear.”

“Yeah,” AJ nods.  He starts for the gates. Clementine places a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s walk around one more time,” she says.

“Why? It’s clear.”

“I know,” she nods. “But, I need to tell you something, remember?”

“Is it bad?”

“No, not bad at all.”

“Oh.”

Clementine whistles for Rosie and they continue walking. She takes a deep breath and speaks the words she’s been repeating in her mind the entire walk.

“AJ, you remember the couple at the train station, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And, you remember what Louis said about them? After you found that picture?”

“Their wedding picture,” AJ nods. “He said they were in love.”

“Right.”

“A kissing love.”

“Right,” she says again. AJ waits for her to continue, but now, she feels at a loss for words. She stops walking and scratches at the back of her neck. “You know that I love Louis, right?”

“‘Course you do. You guys kiss all the time,” AJ teases.

Clementine feels her cheeks heat up as she murmurs, “Yeah, yeah, right.”

Sitting on one of many bulging rocks thrown about, she inhales deeply. Rosie sits by her feet, dropping the stick she held in her mouth. AJ joins her, concern and confusion apparent on his childish features. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she finally says, “about that day and about that walker couple and… I’m going to ask Louis to marry me.”

AJ doesn’t say anything, not immediately. She can tell from his puzzled eyes that hundreds of questions are forming in his head. 

He starts with, “So… what does that mean?”

“Well,” she starts, “it means that, if he says yes, he won’t be my boyfriend anymore. He’ll be my husband.”

Husband.

Let me introduce you to my husband, Louis.

“And you’ll be his, uh…” AJ thinks hard, trying to remember the word.

“I’ll be his wife.” 

Just saying it makes her feel strange. Not a bad strange, of course, but a nervous strange.

“His wife.” AJ sits on this information, mulling it over. “And you’ll be married. So, things will be different?”

“Well, no, not really. We’ll have rings on- well, he’ll have a ring on, maybe. But, nothing drastic.”

“A ring?”

“Remember the walkers?” she asks. “At their wedding, they gave one another one to seal the deal, I guess. That’s what that picture was.”

Then, AJ gets excited. 

“Okay,” he says. “So, you guys’ll have a big party?”

“Maybe we will, but I have to ask him first,” she says. “Last week, when I went to look for James, we went back to the train station to take their rings. Couldn’t find the lady’s, but the man still had his on.”

“You gonna give it to Louis?”

“That’s the plan.”

AJ’s grin grows wider. 

“This…” he draws out, “this is a big thing, isn’t it?”

“It kind of is,” she answers honestly. “Well, for me and him, anyway.”

“Me, too,” AJ laughs. “I like this. We’re gonna throw a huge party! We haven’t done that in forever! We can pull out that, uh, that… music thing! And play games! And-”

“Woah, hold it,” she stops him, laughing at his eagerness. “I haven’t even thought of a way to ask him yet.”

“Well, go ask him now!”

“No, AJ, I can’t ask him right now.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not how it works.” She stands up and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I want to do this right. If I just asked him like it was any other question, then it wouldn’t be as important. I want it to mean something. I want it to be special,” she looks back at the school, “in a world that’s so fucked up, that’s taken away so much from all of us, where any moment could be our last. I want him to know how much I love him. How much I want to be with him in a different way. That’s why I went back and got that ring. I’m not just going to ask, I’m going to propose.”

AJ listens silently, the gears turning in his head as he processes her words. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” she sighs, “I love him, and I want to give us something that we thought was lost forever. Does that make sense?”

AJ grabs her hand, smiling.

“Yeah, I get it.” 

Scooting closer, he wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tight.

“Good,” Clementine hugs him back. “That brings me to what I really wanted to ask you.”

“What?”

“Do I have your blessing?”

“My blessing?”

“Are you okay with me asking Louis to marry me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? I love you, and I love Louis, too. We’re family.”

Clementine’s throat tightens, and so does her grip on AJ. 

“That’s all I wanted to hear.”

[keelywolfe]

SOS Drabbles: Part 2

Note: Three more short drabbles for our boys! Our funny, sweet, spicy boys who are so much in love. I hope y’all enjoy them!

Part of the ‘By Any Other Name’ series

Read the first three here

~~*~~

For Part 2:

Starting here on AO3

or

Read them here!

~~*~~

Chapter 4: Science!

Ebay could be an incredible thing when it worked as it should.

Edge didn’t generally have much difficulty in dealing with it. After all, he’d spend the first part of his life learning how to handle cheapskates and swindlers, and that was only dealing with his brother. Underfell was a fine teacher in the art of brutal negotiation, a skill Edge brought with him to the Embassy and put to good use.

Today, however, Ebay brought him something on the more relaxing end of the spectrum. A package filled with old, broken action figures, ready to be cleaned up and repaired, returned to their former glory. A different kind of puzzle to be solved and he was sincerely looking forward to it.

Not even the fact that he needed to set up on the coffee table dampened his mood, although he did need to take an extra moment to find a way to situate his injured leg comfortably. Some judicious use of pillows solved that, along with one under him to cushion his coccyx from the hard floor, ah, he truly was getting soft. Once he was able spend hours sitting on the hard ground, even sleeping on it when necessary. It seemed those days were past and Red might have a few venom-laced words about it, but frankly, that wasn’t a skill Edge was interest in cultivating any longer.

There was room in life for being prepared for any eventuality and for keeping from having a sore ass.

The coffee table wasn’t quite a large enough space and Edge was forced to spread his tools next to him on the floor. He laid out a lint-free cloth across the coffee table and carefully set the action figure he was working on upon it, readying it for plastic surgery.

Heh. He’d need to remember that one for Stretch.

The arrangement worked, though it would have been easier if his tools were on the table. One of these days, he needed to set up a workbench, perhaps in the basement alongside Stretch’s laboratory tables, that was where he was right now and—

As if summoned by his thoughts, the basement door suddenly burst open and through it came Stretch along with an alarmingly acrid smell. He was wearing a pair of oversize goggles, a protective apron, and a pair of heavy-duty rubber gloves that went all the way up to his elbows, giving him the appearance of a deranged mortician or perhaps Doctor Frankenstein in his post ‘building a creature’ phase.

“absolutely nothing to worry about, no problems here, i’ve got it all under control!” Stretch said brightly, even as he heaved the fire extinguisher out of the closet, trundling back to the basement door with it. “it’s just a precaution, no need to panic! the overheads got it all, vents at a hundred percent, babe, promise!”

He disappeared back through the door and into the faint wisp of smoke that was starting to gather at the top step, before Edge could even say that worry and panic were both looking like very viable options and under control not nearly as much. The door slammed behind Stretch and left Edge sitting alone.

The entire exchange took perhaps thirty seconds.

Edge stared at the closed door. He looked back down at the much-abused action figure spread out on the towel, awaiting his care, his much safer form of mad science that only required a few small screwdrivers and a paintbrush.

Then he sighed and struggled to his feet, limping to the kitchen to fetch a fire extinguisher of his own.

As Stretch often said, science waited for no one. In Edge’s experience, neither did flames, but the coffee table would.

And when he did end up getting his own workbench, smart money was on keeping it upstairs.

-finis

Chapter 5: Ridiculous

It was ridiculous for Edge to be restless whenever Stretch went into Ebott these days and he knew it. Absolutely ridiculous. His husband went into town often, several times a week in fact, and had for years now.

To the Beanery to spend some time with two of his favorite kind of companions, disgustingly sugary coffee and friendly baristas. To the bookstore, where Jeff no longer worked but Thomas still did, and the old Human still had Edge’s email address from the first time Edge contacted him as a representative of the Embassy to verify his business was Monster-friendly and to inquire if he would be willing to display an official logo stating it as such. That was before he and Stretch were involved; Edge learned some time later that Stretch frequented the place and if he called for a more extensive background check after he did, not a single member of the Security team question him about it, although his brother did radiated a sort of smug approval that Edge refused to acknowledge. Thomas still emailed him occasionally, mostly around holidays with gift suggestions and once with information about a former employee of his that showed worrying tendencies towards prejudice against Monsters. He was an ally of the kind Edge preferred, friendly and useful.

Stretch also went to thrift stores in search of revolting finds to sneak into their home and to the small store by the University that sold laboratory supplies, ventured everywhere, anywhere, by way of the bus route, and aside from one attack incident, Stretch always returned home to him.

Absolutely ridiculous to be fretting about him now simply because Edge was at home rather than at work, with nothing to think about except that his husband was out there in the world where unfriendly Humans existed and Edge wouldn’t even be able to go to him if Stretch needed help, nevermind that he could call an entire Security team to him if necessary or that fact that most Humans were not only friendly but often fond of Stretch and easy laughter, along with his social media accounts. The lingering ache in Edge's leg was a reminder than most was not all and every week he was sent accounting of any incidents within the city involving Monsters. He knew all too well what could happen and the what if's and could be's were buzzing around his skull like angry bees.

Edge was reading a page in his book for perhaps the third time without the faintest idea what it said when the front door opened and Stretch walked in. All six feet plus of him, wearing one of the sweatshirts Edge gave him for Gyftmas last year, the one with an orange body and black arms, discreetly chosen to be slightly more fitted than he normally wore. There were two large cups from the Beanery in his hands, one half drunk, and a collection of bags hanging from his arm.

He managed to drop the bags in a messy pile by the front door without spilling either, toeing off his shoes and making a beeline to Edge to offer him the filled cup. Edge took it wordlessly, the cold sides damp with condensation and the ice dwindled from the long bus ride.

“hey, babe,” Stretch leaned down to give him a light kiss. “miss me?”

Then he let out a startled squeak as Edge pulled him down into his lap. A small wave of iced coffee splashed over his fingers as Stretch struggled not to spill it, dripping down on Edge’s trousers and he didn’t care, didn’t care that his husband was sitting on the book he’d been reading, crinkling the pages, didn’t care about anything but pulling his love closer to take a better kiss. When he finally drew away, Stretch looked dazedly pleased if a little confused.

“Yes,” Edge admitted quietly. “I did.”

That confusion softened, a smile lighting his pretty face and Stretch snuggled in closer, both their coffee cups carelessly set on the side table as Edge chose holding his husband close over the temptation of caffeine for the moment.

Perhaps it was Stretch’s understanding of physics coupled with his ability to teleport that made it easier for him to fold his tall, slender form so comfortably into Edge’s lap. He sighed contentedly and squirmed briefly, somehow finding a way to get even closer. “don’t need to miss me anymore, baby, i’m right here.”

“You are,” Edge murmured. Right here, safe in his arms, and those lingering, ridiculous worries evaporated under the warmth of his husband’s embrace.

They could stay like this, he thought, for a little while yet.

-fin

Chapter 6: Chores

Note: This one gets a little spicy, but nothing too adult!

Stretch generally kept up with most of the daily chores over the course of the week when Edge was at work. Not that Edge ever specifically asked for Stretch to do so; his assumption when he first asked Stretch to move in with him was honestly that it would be similar circumstances as living with his brother, taking on extra laundry and various trash removal. Even then he’d loved Stretch enough to willingly take on that burden and it was with no little shame that Edge learned very quickly that his assumptions were not only wrong but completely the opposite.

There was no question that Stretch’s housework wasn’t up to Edge’s exacting standards, but then, few would be. That he did it at all was welcome and humbling as he made the bed each morning, washing the breakfast dishes by hand, even taking care of what laundry he could, leaving aside anything that needed dry cleaning.

Once, Stretch admitted sheepishly that he’d learned very quickly to check labels when he accidentally put one of Blue’s wool sweaters in the dryer.

“should’ve kept it,” Stretch had said philosophically. “by the time i took it out, it would have fit one of the chickens.”

On Saturdays, Edge still did his own cleaning, following a mental list of things that needed done. for his own peace of mind. Part of him always wanted to apologize, to explain that it wasn’t that he didn’t think Stretch did a good job, but the one time he’d tried, Stretch only kissed him quiet.

“babe, you don’t need to explain,” Stretch told him, gently. “i get it. do what you need to do, okay?”

There were times that the word love was inadequate to describe his feelings for Stretch.

Like today. Edge finished scrubbing the shower stall and was heading back downstairs when he heard Stretch moving around in the bedroom. He looked in, absently thinking of asking what he was thinking about for dinner but he was barely inside the door when he froze.

What Stretch was doing was folding towels, but it wasn’t the chore that had Edge’s attention.

Stretch was wearing a set of oversized headphones and Edge distantly made a mental note to double check that he was not wearing that particular set on the bus, because the noise dampening effect seemed entirely too effective. That thought couldn’t hold his attention for long, not when his eye lights were firmly resting on Stretch’s hips.

For someone who had a unique ability to trip over his feet at any given time, Stretch could certainly dance when he wanted to. Edge leaned against the doorjamb, watching the sway of his husband’s pelvis with hooded sockets as Stretch gyrated to whatever song he was listening to, towels folded along with the beat.

He was humming along almost absently, Stretch had a lovely singing voice, but that didn’t catch Edge’s interest, not with the glimpses of pale, smooth bone winking out from beneath the hem of his sweatshirt every time he moved. That was, until Edge heard the lyrics.

“…sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me…” All sung throatily in Stretch’s deep, smoky voice and the sudden surge of heat that quickly gathered at Edge’s pelvis might have embarrassed him if Stretch hadn’t turned at just that moment and caught sight of him, startling so badly the towels in his hands were flung into the air, falling to the floor in drifts of terrycloth.

“holy shit!” Stretch blurted out, slumping back to sit on the bed. He yanked off the headset and tossed it on the nightstand, wheezing, “you scared the blue fuck out of me!”

“Did I?” Edge asked silkily. He stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. “Well, we can’t have that.”

There was only time for Stretch’s sockets to widen before Edge caught hold of his soul with a gentle grip of blue magic, pushing him backwards and mussing the rest of the towels. Stretch didn’t seem to care about the loss of the fruits of his labors, wriggling around in the nest of cotton until he was comfortable.

Edge prowled over to stand over him, drinking in the sight. Halfway on the bed, his long legs braced against the floor with his bare toes already digging into the carpet. His sweatshirt was riding up, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the upper crests of his pelvis and the beginning of the line of his spine. Whatever greedy expression was surely on his face, Stretch only smirked, wriggling again and that sinuous movement was a temptation all its own. His voice was a low, husky purr as he asked, “and what do you think you’re doing?”

A demonstration seemed to be in order and Edge settled between Stretch’s spread legs, catching most of his weight on his elbows as he nestled their pelvises together. “You said I scared the fuck out of you. It’s only fair that I put it back where it belongs.”

Stretch’s laughter caught on a curse as Edge deliberately rolled their hips together, that low swearing breaking into a gasp as his hands scrabbled against the sheets.

A clean house was well and good, but as Edge leaned in to take his husband’s mouth in an eager kiss, his last coherent thought was that chores could wait.

-fin

[essays-for-breakfast]

Memento

Melizabeth Week Day 3: Precious

As usual during the early evening hours, the Boar Hat was bustling with customers. Meliodas had prepared rounds upon rounds of fine ale from all the outlandish places he had stocked in his wine cellar – out of the absence of a basement located on the third floor –, and none of the packed tables showed signs of slowing down. Most of his clientele belonged to the Holy Knights, easy to identify by the straight way they held themselves even while drinking and the occasional pieces of armor catching the light.

Meliodas rolled his eyes and polished the mug in his hands with more vehemence. His experience had taught him that there were only two types of customers every tavern owner wanted to fill his house with: people with money and people with unhappy marriages.

And if the pathetic salary paired with the grueling workhours Meliodas had endured when he had been a Holy Knight of Liones were any indicator, his current set of customers fit into neither category.

At least the atmosphere was cheerful enough to motivate multiple rounds of booze, which Meliodas gladly filled into another set of mugs placed on the wooden tray Diane was all too eager to shove in his face.

“Another round coming right up,” she yelled, earning herself cheers from the table in the far-off corner, before she disappeared within the crowd on light feet.

Meliodas was lucky to have her today; his assistance waiter only showed up to work on rare occasions these days. No wonder with all these political troubles on her mind about clan fusions, border regulations, and peace treaties. He could call himself lucky to have avoided that particular set of hassles. Life as a tavern-owner sure had its downsides – customers with a drinking habit, or as Meliodas liked to call it ‘drowning habit’, similar to Ban’s loved to grind his nerves –, but at least he had no expectations to trouble himself with.

Well, apart from the expectations of hungry customers of course.

“Hey, where’s my meat-pie special?” one of the loudmouths from the front table asked while shaking his mug with enough élan to spill half its content on the table. Shame about the liquor; the burgundy drink looked suspiciously similar to one of Meliodas’ most expensive offers on the menu. But if that compelled him to order a second serving faster, Meliodas would be the last one to complain.

“I’ll check in with the cook,” Meliodas said to appease the troublemaker. If Ban was slacking in his agency as prized top chef again, he would give him hell on earth. Or he could demand the keys to his booze storage room back – that should do the trick too.

But before Meliodas had a chance to knock down the kitchen door with a commanding stare and the words ‘Captain’s orders’ on his lips, that same door swung open as Meliodas’ favorite person in the world emerged from the kitchen.

“No need, good sir, I have your order right here,” Elizabeth said.

Not even the dim light of the Boar Hat’s oil lamps screwed to the ceiling could take away from her beauty as she slipped into the tavern room, a plate stacked with meat-pie balancing in her hands. Her long silver hair flowed behind her, charmed by the new waiter outfit Meliodas had presented her a few days ago with a sly grin. The scandalously short skirt and ribbon-top enhanced her perfect curves, and Meliodas patted himself on the back for coming up with the design. Elizabeth almost floated into the room on her white slippers, and presented a beam to the customers that made Meliodas forget everything at once, including the urge to scold Ban. All he saw was her as she moved with the grace of a Goddess…

… and stumbled over her own feet.

His brain kicked back into action, and in a fit of chivalry Meliodas jumped forward to prevent her fall. He was a man of opportunities, however, and when he caught her, not only did he save Elizabeth from a bruised knee, he was also treated to a first-class look – and more crucial, touch – of her upper body’s unique and soft qualities.

Elizabeth shrieked in a return to old habits, and Meliodas could imagine the priceless redness creeping into her cheeks, but because his face was still tucked into her bust, he missed out on the sight. Not that he would have traded this place for anything in the world.

The rattle of costly china invaded their privacy, and Meliodas steeped back to examine the damage with an unflinching poker face. Elizabeth, still with a blush on her face, stared at him with wide, blue eyes as large as plates. Speaking of plates, Elizabeth’s hands, frozen in the forward motion they had entered when she had lost her balance, were empty; the meat-pie along with its porcelain company had shattered on the floor to cover the stonework with white shards more pricy than Meliodas could afford after a week of double-hours. Out of all the pieces of crockery he owned, it had to be this one.

Elizabeth shocked gaze skipped between Meliodas and the broken plate, the first tears swimming in her eyes.

“Not again!” Ban complained from the kitchen. “I can’t prepare each meal twice just because it keeps raining plates. I want to submit vacation!”

“Shut up, Ban,” King said, followed by a low thud that sounded like Ban’s head had made the acquaintance of the ceramic workbench.

“I’m so sorry, Meliodas,” Elizabeth said teary-eyed. “I know this was your favorite plate. Even after you’ve made me co-owner of the tavern, I’m still no use when it comes to lending you a hand. If there’s a way to make it up to you, I’ll –”

“Sssh, if you keep talking like that, you’ll soon start to believe this nonsense.” Meliodas petted her head, and a glimmer of happiness returned to her eyes. “It took me five years to turn into a somewhat decent tavern owner, and even then, I maybe failed to offer my customers a decent meal once or twice. As I’m sure Hawk will be eager to inform ya. Yo, scraps disposal, there’s work for you.”

The named swine emerged from behind the counter and sniffed at the leftovers on the floor. “Even your best food can’t compare to what Ban cooks on his worst day. The smell alone… and the soft flavors that explode in your mouth with an aftertaste only the gods could have created…”

“Well, help ya’self.”

“Oh, I will,” Hawk said with a cloudy expression; he had already fallen victim to the intoxicating aroma of Ban’s food and used his hooves to shove the remains of the plate aside to dig into the meal that was no doubt too good to be wasted on him.

All these servings of Ban’s cooking had made him choosy, and if Meliodas didn’t threaten him with starvation, he wouldn’t do as much as look at the scraps Meliodas and Elizabeth handed him when Ban was out and busy enjoying his own life. Why did he continue to pay these morons? Well, technically their salary consisted of nothing but a pat on the back, but Ban and the pig enjoyed the luxury of unlimited access to Meliodas’ booze and groceries – and they both knew how to make the most of this privilege.

Elizabeth had dropped to her knees beside Hawk and collected the white shards with her bare hands and more bitterness than Meliodas could bear to see on her face. She treated each piece covered with artistic lines depicting birds and deer and landscapes almost like a lost child.

He bent down next to her and took her hands with soft firmness. “You’ll cut yourself.”

Elizabeth’s hands were shaking when she let go of the shards, but despite the emotional struggle she worked herself through, she had regained enough control to climb to her feet with his assistance. All these curious gazes from the overcrowded tables only added to her unease, and the meat-pie guy made a particularly sour face as he watched his order disappear into the greedy maw of the pig. Elizabeth needed a bit of air to calm herself, and Meliodas would be happy to escape the noise, so why not delegate some tasks to his underlings?

“Yo, Gowther, take over the counter for a bit, wont’cha?” Meliodas said and scooped Elizabeth with the same ease he would have a baby bird.

Gowther left the corner he had occupied with the stiffness that befell him whenever a captivating book found its way into his hands and saluted. “Roger, Captain!” He picked the mug Meliodas had polished to perfection, and rubbed the dirty cloth from the counter over its surface in an attempt to copy Meliodas. Maybe he hadn’t been the best fit for the job, but Meliodas had other things on his mind besides Gowther’s inability to look like a bar tender with any sort of competence.

With Elizabeth in his arms, Meliodas rushed out of the door and trod over dry patches of grass until the sounds of conversation and laughter from inside the Boar Hat had faded to background stereo. Sometime after he had ordered Diane to lighten the oil lamps in the tavern room, the sun must have disappeared; apart from the stars and the beams of orange seeping through the Boar Hat’s lattice window, the landscape was covered in shadows.

Meliodas placed Elizabeth on her feet and reached out to cup her face. “Feeling better?” Her small but honest nod encouraged him to continue. “You shouldn’t get so worked up about this tavern business, we set this up because we both enjoyed the idea, remember? And who cares if that chattering knight in training doesn’t get his meat-pie? I’ll be the last one to complain.”

“Sometimes I feel so useless next to you,” Elizabeth admitted quietly. “In other lives I was a warrior or a knight or a sailor. But the longest time in this life, I’ve spent as nothing but a spoiled princess. Even running a tavern with you is more than I can manage.”

Meliodas studied her with a knot in his throat he couldn’t swallow. “Elizabeth…”

“But,” she interrupted, “no matter how often I fall and how often I let you down, I won’t give up. That’s what you did for me. I want to at least repay you a little, and with more practice, I will do better, I promise.”

“There’s nothing you’d have to repay me for,” Meliodas said with a smile that turned wicked when an idea crossed his mind. “Of course, if you’d ask your crazy wealthy relatives to fund our business every once in a while, I won’t decline.”

Elizabeth laughed that adorable laugh he was so addicted to before her gaze was caught by Liones’ capital glistering in the distance with tiny lights from a thousand windows. The palaces’ outline, a bulk of stone towering above the city, stood out against the hill ranges in the distance. For a moment, the reflections of her old home shone in her eyes, and Meliodas soaked in this beautiful expression like a man dying of thirst.

She surprised him with the question she asked next. “What about the plate was so dear to you?”

“You’re still thinking about that stupid piece of china?”

“No… I mean, of course I am still sorry for breaking it, and if I knew how to mend it, I would in a heartbeat, but what I want to understand is what the plate matters to you. I would like to be able to see the value in those objects that surround you the same way as you do.”

After three thousand years, she still surprised him with how much she cared about the little, unimportant details others would fail to even notice.

Meliodas crossed his arms behind his head and let his eyes trail over the landscape without seeing any of its shapes. “I got this plate from an old woman in Byron, a few years after I opened the first version of the Boar Hat together with a Hawk. There were all these people on the street, trading their tableware, laughing, and shoving around in these idiotic traditional dances. I stopped by the town by pure chance on that day, but Hawk forced me to spent all my hard-earned savings on new plates, so I went to the stall of this woman with the intention to get this trip over with as fast as I could. But even for someone who doesn’t care one bit about how the dishes under the food look, the craft she had put into these things was a sight for sore eyes. And while I was studying this one plate, she told me that she’d give me that one for free. She wouldn’t accept a single coin. I asked her why she would do that for a stranger, and you know what she said?

“She said it was the birthday of the third princess of Liones, a day to celebrate and show kindness to those who aren’t offered sympathy on other days. That one was the only plate I brought with me that day. Hawk was furious, of course. But that plate and the gesture behind it always reminded me of you, Elizabeth, and of your kindness. That’s why it was my favorite.”

When he craned his neck to peek at Elizabeth, Meliodas was met with a warmth that could melt glaciers and a sorrow that could bring tears to the eyes of stone-cold warriors. “Now I regret that I broke that plate even more. It sounds like it was a very precious piece of remembrance to you.”

“Forget that plate,” Meliodas said and stepped closed to take her hand. “What’s precious to me are all these little moments with you – especially when you stumble over your own feet and I’m there to catch you.”

They leaned closer until they lost themselves in the touch of the other. And if Meliodas had been given the choice by some higher entity, he would have traded that plate – that had by miracle survived all the times his tavern had been shredded by accursed strokes of fate to remind him of the kindness he had been granted – for this moment every single time.

[lillibetm3]

All I Want for Christmas is You

Pairing: Nine/Rose

Genre: Romance/PWP/Het/AU

Rating: Teen (with non-graphic sex)

written for #31 Days of Ficmas @doctorroseprompts​

They gave 31 prompts, I went crazy and used them ALL. :)

01.  Workshop                         11. Ornaments                         21. Coal 02.  Tinsel                                12. Family                                22. Ribbon 03.  Cider                                 13. Celebrate                           23. Joy 04.  Tree                                  14. Peppermint                         24. Stockings 05.  Gingerbread                     15. Love                                    25. Unwrap 06.  Eggnog                             16. Naughty and/or Nice          26. Friends 07.  Garland                             17. Wreath                               27. Rooftop 08.  Ugly jumper                      18. Santa and/or Elves             28. Earmuffs 09.  Party                                 19. Chestnuts                           29. Star 10.  Cookies/biscuits                20. Gifts                                   30. Mistletoe                                                                                                   31. Bright

When she'd first told the Doctor about her Christmas plan, his lack of enthusiasm for her 'leave of absence' from the TARDIS had only made her more determined. 

All I Want For Christmas is You

 Rose was sitting on a workbench, swinging her legs in time with the ticking of the clock on the wall, while eyeing it with a determined gaze as it edged ever closer to 6.00pm. The basement storeroom, although strewn with toys, ribbons, gift tags, wrapping paper and tinsel, was empty of people. Everyone else was in the canteen enjoying a staff Christmas party; eating chocolates, mince pies, cookies, gingerbread and other assorted festive 'nibbles'. Rose had mingled for a little while, before escaping to the storeroom in an effort to enjoy some solitude in what had otherwise been an exhausting day of wrapping gifts, handing out gifts and evading the wandering hands of a Santa who clearly had an 'Elf fetish'.

With a heavy sigh, Rose glanced down at her aching feet and asked herself for the hundredth time, why she had insisted this year, on getting her mum's Christmas presents the hard way –  by working ridiculous hours and wearing a ridiculous uniform.

When she'd first told the Doctor about her Christmas plan, his lack of enthusiasm for her 'leave of absence' from the TARDIS had only made her more determined. He'd told her that she'd hate it, and she had been adamant that she wouldn't. Of course she did hate it. She really did. But she had no intention of telling the Doctor that. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. No, as far as the Doctor was concerned, she loved being an Elf. LOVED IT.    

She continued to stare at the uncomfortable Elf shoes she wore. They were bright green, with a shiny golden bell hanging from the curved tip of the toes. Every step she took, all shift long, she jingled. Her tights (uncomfortable, hot and itchy) were red and white broad horizontal stripes. Her short, tunic dress exactly matched the green shade of her shoes, and had large black as coal wooden buttons on the front. Topping off her outfit was a 'jaunty' red elf hat, which was finished with a large, shiny, golden bell that jingled even louder than her shoes. Rose particularly hated the hat.

Working a temporary job in Henrik's (completely refurbished) department store in the run-up to Christmas was always going to be busy, but being one of the Elves in 'Santa's Christmas Workshop' was on another level entirely.

Truth be told, being one of Santa's Elves had never been one of Rose's life ambitions, but she'd remembered a time, pre-Doctor, when she'd seen a poster on the staff room notice board, asking for Elf volunteers. She'd seen this time too that it paid more than shop floor work, and as she needed the extra money for Christmas, she'd quickly decided that becoming an Elf was a career move that made financial sense.

And, despite the long hours, children throwing tantrums, parents having melt-downs, and... jingling everywhere she went, Rose had worked her little elf-socks off, and she'd made enough money to buy her Mum a few really lovely Christmas presents. In fact, thanks to her staff discount, (meagre though it was) Rose thought she'd even be able to treat herself to a top she'd had her eye on for a while. So all in all, her time as an Elf had been worthwhile.

Still... she was glad that it was finally coming to an end, as tonight, her last shift, was Christmas Eve. She couldn't wait to (metaphorically) throw her Elf hat to the wind and be a normal girl again – or as normal as she could be while travelling through time and space in a TARDIS, with a nine hundred year old alien.

Rose glanced up at the clock on the wall and grinned – it was 6.03pm – she was officially free! She jumped down from the workbench and... jingled, but somehow she didn't mind it so much now.

The storeroom door swung open, and Rose glanced over as Joy, a fellow Elf, walked in carrying a paper plate heavy with snacks and nibbles, and what looked like a glass of cider.

"Hi, Rose!" Joy said as she approached somewhat unsteadily. "I thought you'd be in here. I brought you a couple of sausage rolls and a gingerbread man."

"Oh," Rose said. "That was nice of you, but you really shouldn't have bothered..."

"And some cider!" Joy continued, thrusting the glass toward Rose.

"No, really. It was a lovely thought, but..."

"And sausage rolls an' a gingerbread man!"

Rose managed to contain her smile. "Yeah, you did mention that before."

"Did I?" Joy asked, sounding taken aback. She took a sip of the cider. "What about the gingerbread man? Did I mention the gingerbread man?" She waved the paper plate in Rose's direction. "'Cos, look – it's a man made out of gingerbread."

Rose's brow furrowed. "How much have you had to drink?"

Joy took another sip of her cider. "Not enough."

"I think maybe you have."

Joy shook her head. "Nope" She smiled broadly. "We're all going to the pub. Oh, come with us Rose. Us Elves have to stick together, especially at Christmas." She drained her glass of cider then contemplated it mournfully.

"I think I'm gonna have to pass," Rose said. "I'm not an Elf any more – I'm off the clock."

"Off the cock!" Joy said loudly, and spluttered with laughter. Then she sighed. "I know the feeling. I've been off the cock for weeks." She paused and leaned in closer to Rose. "I have a feeling that's all going to change tonight, though." She giggled as if she had a secret. "Between you and me... Santa might be getting a special present before he cocks, clocks... before he clocks out tonight." She gave Rose a wink. "An' by special present I mean..."

"I know what you mean!" Rose interrupted quickly.

Joy eyed the sausage rolls on the plate she still held. After a minute, she looked over at Rose."Maybe I'll just have a sausage roll instead."

"I think that's the smart choice," Rose said with a smile. "Come on – let's get you back to the others. You don't want them to leave without you, do you?"

"You sure I can't convince you to come to the pub with us?"

Rose shook her head resolutely. "I just want to go home and put my feet up. Maybe watch a Christmas film."

"Elf?" Joy suggested brightly.

Rose glanced at her uniform. "Anything but Elf."

Joy nodded her acceptance. "I can't let you leave with nothing though, can I? Wouldn't be right." And then she smiled. "Oh, I know!" She reached into her pocket, withdrew something and held it out to Rose. "I was saving it for later, but now I want you to have it." She opened her hand.

"A satsuma?" Rose said.

"Wouldn't be Christmas without a satsuma," Joy said wisely.

"I suppose not." Rose smiled and took the satsuma.

Together, Rose and Joy walked out of the storeroom, down the corridor and into the staff room where the rest of the ex-Elves were clearing up the party things, pulling on coats and grabbing their bags to head off to the pub.

Rose wished all her Elf friends a Merry Christmas, then made her way back out into the long basement corridor, and headed toward the staff locker room to change out of her Elf uniform for the last time.

~oOo~

The locker room was empty – as the other girls had either gone home, or were among those clearing up the last of the party bits. Rose headed to her locker, opened it, pulled out her hoodie, jeans and jacket, and quickly changed clothes. Walking across to a wooden bench that ran along one wall, she sat down and put on her trainers. Then, leaning back she closed her eyes and sighed. It had been an extremely long day and she was more tired than she'd realised. She could hear the distant sound of Christmas songs coming from the staff room along the other end of the corridor, and then silence, a door opening and closing, and the sound of hurried feet. Then more silence.

She yawned. She meant to open her eyes, but somehow she couldn't quite. She yawned again. And really there was no harm in just keeping her eyes closed for a couple more minutes, no harm at all in losing herself for just a little while longer in the peaceful calm. No harm in...

~oOo~

Rose's eyes snapped open. At first she didn't know where she was, but then almost at the same time she found she could smell a subtle undertone of wet umbrellas and deodorant, and she quickly realised she was in the locker room.

A second later she realised that she had been asleep.

She reached into her jacket pocket for her phone to check the time, as of course she'd probably missed her bus home by now.

With a groan she saw that her phone was dead. Disgruntled, Rose pushed her phone back into her jacket and left the locker room, heading down the corridor and back to the staff room, hoping to catch one of the girls and beg a lift off someone.

Even before Rose pushed open the staff room door she had a sinking feeling that luck was not on her side. It was far too quiet for a start. And once she was inside the staff room she found it to be completely empty. Disheartened, she glanced up at the clock on the wall, and as she did so her heart sank even further.

Unbelievably it was 9.18pm – she'd been asleep for hours!

Turning on her heel Rose sped out of the staff room and along the corridor to the staircase door that led up from the basement to the ground floor and the exit doors.

Reaching it she grabbed the handle, but it wouldn't turn. It was locked.

"Hello!" she called out. "Hello, is anyone there?"

Of course there was no reply. It was Christmas Eve night and the store had long since closed. Rose's heart sank just that little bit further at the hopelessness of her situation.

She couldn't help but get a sense of déjà vu. Getting trapped in Henrik's basement one time was bad luck – but twice was seriously pushing it. She could only hope that the store wasn't about to be blown up... again.

Infuriated, she hit the door a couple of times with her hand, despite knowing that it was useless. She let out a growl of frustration and kicked the door. This was not how she wanted to spend Christmas Eve!

She turned around, leaned back against the metal door and contemplated her predicament.

And then she heard it. A sound. A sound she recognised. It was the service lift!

She pushed away from the locked door and ran as fast as she could in the direction of the lift. Her thoughts whirred with the possibilities of who might be in it at this time of night, especially on Christmas Eve. Only a handful of people had access to that particular lift, as it needed a security code to use it.  Maybe it was Kelvin the electrician, or Maureen the cleaner, or Derek the security guard. Maybe it was... never mind, she thought; it didn't matter who it was, it was someone, and that was good enough for her.

She skidded to a halt just as the dark grey metal lift doors began to open. She took a moment to catch her breath as the gap in the lift doors widened.

Maybe it was a serial killer.

She glanced around for something weapony – just in case – but all she could see was a mannequin's arm sticking out of a nearby cart. She grabbed it and held it up as menacingly as she could as the lift doors parted to reveal... the Doctor.

"Hello," he said, and waved at her.

Rose was momentarily dumfounded. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm responding to an emergency call from a frantic woman."

Rose frowned. "What emergency call? What frantic woman?"

"Your mum," the Doctor stated dryly. "According to Jackie, you should have been home hours ago. She was worried you might be in danger."

"Why would she think I'd be in danger?"

"If I had to hazard a guess... because you're jeopardy friendly, and it's Christmas and well, we do have a bit of a track record really."

Rose gave an exasperated sigh. "I got locked in, that's all."

"Well, it's a good job I dropped by, isn't it?" He looked Rose up and down. "By the way, why are you holding a dummy's arm? Feeling nostalgic for the old days, are you?"

Rose looked at the mannequin's arm she was still holding. Deciding not to dignify the Doctor's question with a response, she instead threw the arm back into the cart she'd pulled it out of, and charged into the lift to stand next to the Doctor.

"Can we just go?"

"Where to?" the Doctor asked.

Rose set him with a sullen glare. "Home," she said insistently.

The Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver at the lift's control panel. "Your wish is my command," he said, as the metal doors closed with a creak, and the lift juddered into life. The Doctor glanced at Rose. "Ground floor, perfumery, stationery and leather goods, wigs and haberdashery, kitchenware and food. Going up."

Rose struggled to suppress a smile. "Ground floor exit doors – that's all I'm interested in."

The Doctor nodded. "I suppose you want to put your feet up and watch a Christmas film."

"As long as it isn't..." The lift jerked, and at the exact same moment there was a loud 'bang' from the control panel as the lift stopped abruptly.

Rose saw that both the basement button and the ground floor button were lit up, which she assumed meant they were stuck between floors.

She looked accusingly at the Doctor. "What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did something?" the Doctor asked, sounding somewhat affronted.

"Because I didn't do anything, and by process of elimination that means you did something!"

"Let me have a look," the Doctor blustered, as he approached the control panel and hovered his sonic screwdriver over the buttons.

"Do you think you should be doing that?" Rose asked.

The Doctor glanced over his shoulder at Rose. "Are you casting aspersions on my screwdriver?"

"Yes," Rose said firmly.

The Doctor's mouth narrowed. "I'll have you know that my sonic screwdriver is a multi-functional, highly complex analytical tool."

"Oh," Rose said in feigned surprise, "so it's not just for resonating concrete then?"

"Resonating concrete is just one of..." he stopped, took a calming breath, and began again. "It's a technological wonder of my own making – a pocket-sized phenomenon, if you will."

"Then maybe you should be more careful what you wave it at," Rose grumbled.

"I don't wave it," the Doctor corrected witheringly, "It's not a wand."

"Maybe it'd be more use if it was a wand. Maybe if it was a wand we wouldn't be stuck in a broken-down lift on Christmas Eve!"

The Doctor turned his attention back to the control panel. "And maybe if I didn't keep getting interrupted I'd find out what's wrong with the lift," he muttered under his breath.

Rose leaned back against the metal wall of the lift and allowed herself the luxury of watching the Doctor as he scanned the control panel with the screwdriver. His face was intent, his eyes steely, his jaw clenched. His hands were large and his fingers were long, his body athletic in build. His muscles were taut and lean. She couldn't help but imagine...

No, no, no. She couldn't, shouldn't and wouldn't let her imagination wander off on its own like that. Especially not in enclosed spaces. No good would come of that.

The Doctor stepped away from the control panel and Rose forced herself to derail her train of thought and get back to the right here right now.

"Well," she asked hopefully, "do you know what's wrong with it?"

The Doctor slipped his screwdriver into his jacket pocket."Yes," he said. "It's broken down."

Rose wanted to contain her smile, but she really couldn't. "Assets?" she suggested.

"Not even a banana," the Doctor replied mournfully, all the while mirroring Rose's grin.

"I've got a satsuma," Rose said, reaching into her pocket and throwing it to the Doctor.

"Fantastic," the Doctor said as he caught the satsuma and put it into his pocket. "Not as good as a banana but fantastic all the same."

Rose closed the distance between them and looked up into his eyes. "You're an idiot," she said fondly.

"An idiot with a satsuma," the Doctor corrected, his eyes sparkling. "And a plan."

"You have a plan?"

"Rose Tyler, when have you ever known me not to have a plan?"

Rose shrugged. "I dunno... I always get the impression you kind of make it up as you go."

"Yeah well," the Doctor conceded, "I do that too – but only when I don't have a plan."

Rose smiled. "Ok, so what's the plan?"

The Doctor looked up at the lift ceiling, and its square shaped plastic panel. Then he looked back to Rose. "We go up."

"Up?" Rose echoed doubtfully.

"Yes."

"Your plan is that we climb up the lift shaft?"

"Yes." The Doctor grinned.

"To the ground floor?"

"To the third floor."

"No," Rose said.

"We have to climb to the third floor because that's the only way we can get to the roof."

"Why do we have to get to the roof?" Rose asked.

"That's where the TARDIS is."

Rose was silent.

"Well?" the Doctor pressed.

"I'm thinking!"

"And?"

Rose frowned. "Is it safe?"

"Perfectly safe." The Doctor held Rose's gaze for a moment. "Probably safe," he corrected. He sighed. "It's safe-ish."

Rose waved her hand to stop him from digging a bigger hole. "Fine," she said.

"Really?" he sounded surprised.

"It's not like I have much of a choice, is it?" She shook her head. "Ok, so how are we doing this?"

"Ladies first," the Doctor said emphatically.

Rose lifted a sceptical eyebrow. "Seriously? Ladies first? This isn't the sinking of the Titanic, Doctor."

"Ladies first, because you're going to have to stand on my shoulders to get through the hatch," the Doctor explained.

Rose looked up at the ceiling of the lift, and then back at the Doctor. "Oh," she said.

~oOo~

Rose stood on the top of the service lift, carefully balanced to avoid the open hatch as the Doctor climbed up to join her. She peered dubiously upward, silently contemplating the wisdom (or stupidity) of what they were about to do. The shaft was dark, aside from the light that came from the lift below, and it had an oily odour that reminded her of a car engine. She wrinkled her nose in disapproval.  After a second, she looked at the Doctor, only to find him grinning like a schoolboy.

"You're enjoying this," she said accusingly.

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Your gormless grin for a start."

The Doctor glanced around the lift shaft. "I don't know what you're so worried about. This is going to be a doddle. Look," he said, pointing to something behind Rose. "There's a maintenance ladder running the entire length of the shaft. What more could we ask for?"

"A safety harness?" Rose suggested.

The Doctor gave Rose an earnest look. "You don't need a safety harness; you've got me. Do you really think I'd let anything happen to you?"

"No," Rose conceded, "I don't."

"Glad to hear it," the Doctor said as he stepped over the open hatch, so that he was standing next to Rose. "Because that's not the kind of man I am."

"Ladies first then," Rose said briskly as she turned, grabbed hold of the ladder and took a step up.

A couple of seconds later, the Doctor stepped up onto the ladder too and each began their climb.

They made steady progress, and in very little time, they had almost reached the second floor lift doors. It was then that they heard a metallic creaking noise reverberate through the shaft.

Rose abruptly stopped climbing and glanced over her shoulder to the Doctor.

"What was that?"

The Doctor looked down the shaft then back to Rose as another, louder creak echoed from below them.

"We might have a slight problem," the Doctor admitted.

"What kind of problem?"

There was a noisy grinding sound beneath them, as the lift below shuddered into life, moving slowly up the shaft toward them.

"Looks like the lift is working again," the Doctor said somewhat unnecessarily.

"How can it be working?" Rose asked as she climbed another couple of steps higher on the ladder. "You said it was broken-down!"

"Yes, well..." the Doctor glanced back to gauge the lift's progress. "It might not have been as broken-down as I first thought."

"You think?" Rose climbed another three ladder rungs.

"I suppose there could have been a slight delay when I tried to repair the control panel with the sonic screwdriver," the Doctor mused, and then he grinned to himself. "So you can take back all that wand rubbish now can't you?"

"Never mind that!" Rose interrupted. "What are we going to do now?"

The rumbling noise was becoming louder and both Rose and the Doctor could clearly see the lift getting closer and closer.

"We're going to have to jump," the Doctor said decisively. "I'll go first and I'll tell you when it's safe for you to jump down after me."

He smiled at Rose, then let go of the ladder and jumped. Rose heard a thud as he landed on top of the approaching lift.

Rose waited a second, her wide eyes watching the lift move steadily closer and the Doctor balancing on its top.

"Doctor?" As a precautionary measure, she climbed another two rungs of the ladder.  "Doctor?"

"Now, Rose!" the Doctor shouted from below. "Jump now!"

Immediately Rose let go of the ladder and, aiming as best she could she jumped down. As soon as she landed, the Doctor swept her into his arms, holding her tightly against him; making certain that she didn't stumble.

Rose held onto the Doctor too, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck as the lift shuddered beneath them. She looked up and found herself staring into such intense, dark eyes that for a moment the entire world fell away, and they were all that existed. But then, only a second later, the moment was gone as the Doctor scrambled for the open hatch, and Rose followed, lowering herself through the gap as the Doctor reached up to help. She was halfway through, when the lift gave a sudden jolt and she and the Doctor fell into a heap on the floor.

After a moment, Rose pushed herself up onto her hands, realising as she did so that she was straddling the Doctor, who was lying beneath her; having softened her landing as they'd fallen. He looked a little winded and his eyes were closed.

"Doctor?" she asked. "Are you ok?"

"Never better," he replied, then groaned. "On second thoughts, remind me to book an appointment with a chiropractor when we get back to the TARDIS."

Rose bit back a smile then leant in close and dropped a kiss to the Doctor's cheek. "My hero," she teased.

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at Rose as his hand slid to her hip. Rose held her breath for a heartbeat or three and stared at him. It would be easy to lean in again, to kiss him the way she'd always imagined doing. All she would have to do was...

In one swift, easy movement, the Doctor rolled Rose over so that he was above her. Before Rose even realised what was happening, he had pushed himself up onto his feet and held out his hand to her as the lift shuddered once more, but this time, the metal doors opened.

The Doctor shot Rose a broad grin as he took her hand in his and helped her to her feet. "Run!"

~oOo~

The third floor of Henriks was mainly offices and storage space. There was also a canteen and a locker room, but both were strictly for senior staff and managers.

However, one of the rooms had a plaque on the door that read 'CCTV SECURITY'. Upon seeing it, Rose stopped suddenly, let go the Doctor's hand and gestured to the door.

"Doctor, what about the security cameras? The police are going to turn up at my door on Christmas Day! My mum's gonna go mental!"

The Doctor shook his head. "This isn't my first rodeo, Rose. I took care of the cameras when I came in from the roof. I don't want to go viral on YouTube any more than you do."

Rose let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's ok then."

"Did it with my sonic screwdriver if you're interested."

Rose struggled to contain her smile. "Ok," she conceded, "I take back everything I ever said about your screwdriver. Now, how do we get onto the rooftop?"

"This way," the Doctor said as they continued down the hallway, passing office after office, each one decorated with garlands, tinsel and shiny Christmas ornaments. "It's the door at the end."

The door at the end of the hallway was an unassuming white metal door. The Doctor turned the handle easily, and the door opened without a sound. Rose and the Doctor walked through, closed it behind them and walked up a set of seven metal steps that brought them out onto the rooftop itself.

Rose looked up at the night sky, which was a deep midnight blue, scattered with a thousand bright stars.

"Wow," she said softly, "it's beautiful." She looked at the Doctor and saw that his eyes shone just as brightly, except that he was looking at her and not the stars.

"Never gets old, does it?"

Rose shook her head. "Never," she agreed.

The Doctor looked up at the night sky. "Look," he said, and pointed. "It's a shooting star! Make a wish!"

Rose looked up and wrinkled her nose in consideration. "It's probably not a shooting star, it's probably just space junk, or a satellite," she reasoned, then she shook her head. "Actually with my luck, it's more likely to be the first ship of an invading alien fleet."

"Or it's a shooting star," the Doctor countered. "Do you really want to take the chance?" He leaned in close to Rose and gently brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear as she stared up into his eyes. "Make a wish," he said softly.

Rose's eyes fluttered closed and she held her breath for a moment. She imagined that she could feel the turn of the Earth, she imagined she could feel the Doctor draw her into his arms, and despite her previous misgivings she made her wish with all her heart.

A shrill noise broke the moment, and Rose opened her eyes to see the Doctor rummaging through the pockets of his leather jacket for his phone. The expression on his face when he looked at the screen, told Rose exactly who was calling.

"Hello Jackie," the Doctor said as he answered the phone. "Yes, yes of course I found her. She's here with me now. No, she wasn't abducted by aliens..."

Rose took the phone from the Doctor. "Hi Mum, it's me. Yes, of course I'm ok.  Yes, I'm sure." Rose rolled her eyes. "I just got a bit delayed at work, that's all. Nothing to worry about. I would have rung you, but my phone's dead." She hesitated for a moment. "But I thought we were gonna watch a Christmas film and..." She shook her head. "No, it's fine. Really. I don't mind. No, really I don't. You have a good time. Yeah. Love you too. Bye." She hung up and handed the phone back to the Doctor.

"Everything ok?" he asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Rose said. "She's off out with her mates now that she knows I'm not in mortal danger. There's an ugly jumper contest on at 'The Grapes' an' she thinks she's in with a chance of winning." She shrugged. "She's going to stay the night at Karen's."

"Come on," the Doctor said gently, as he took Rose's hand in his. "Let's get you home."

And hand in hand they walked together toward the TARDIS, which was standing on the far side of the rooftop.

~oOo~

The door to flat 48 Bucknall House on the Powell Estate, boasted a large Christmas wreath trimmed with red tinsel, holly and tiny silver bells. The bells jingled slightly as Rose put her key into the lock and pushed the door open. She stepped inside the flat, switched on the lights and glanced back at the Doctor.

"You really didn't have to walk me home you know."

"I couldn't risk you being abducted by aliens, could I?" the Doctor teased as he closed the door and followed Rose inside.

Rose shrugged off her jacket and hung it up. "Well in that case, the least I can do is make you a cup of tea."

"I've never been one to refuse a cup of tea," the Doctor said, "especially if it comes with a biscuit," he hinted.

Rose laughed. "Well you're in luck – mum bought a tin of posh biscuits yesterday. In fact, I might even be able to stretch to a mince pie. It is Christmas after all."

"Rose Tyler, are you trying to tempt me with Christmas pastries?" the Doctor asked, as he followed Rose into the sitting room.

Rose glanced over her shoulder, her tongue slipping to the corner of her mouth as she smiled. "Might be."

As Rose went into the kitchen the Doctor looked around the sitting room, which was heavily decorated with tinsel. Two stuffed Christmas stockings hung on the fireplace, and festive cushions were on the settee. He walked over to the Christmas tree, which was decked out with multi-coloured fairy lights, baubles and red and white peppermint candy canes.  He looked at the pile of gifts laid under the tree, all wrapped in bright, colourful paper and ribbon.

"Kettle's on," Rose said as she returned to the sitting room.

The Doctor smiled at Rose, then glanced back to the Christmas tree. "It's not hard to tell if you've been naughty or nice this year."

Rose shook her head. "They're not all mine! Some are mum's, and there's a few there for Mickey an' a couple for you."

"Me?" the Doctor said, sounding genuinely surprised. "Why do I have Christmas presents?"

"Because Christmas is a time to celebrate. To spend time with family, with friends, with people you... love. Gift giving is a tradition," Rose explained. "It's part of Christmas, like crackers and chestnuts and mince pies and eggnog."

"You have eggnog?"

Rose stared at him. "No," she said after a moment. "We're out of eggs... and nogs."

"Oh," the Doctor said.

"Doctor," Rose continued, "You are coming tomorrow aren't you?"

"Tomorrow?" the Doctor echoed.

"Christmas Day."

He shrugged. "I didn't think I was invited."

"Of course you're..." Rose stopped and began again. "It wouldn't be Christmas without you."

"You said Christmas was a time for family and..."

Rose took a step closer to him. "You are family." She smiled up at him. "Weird, alien, nine hundred times removed family, but family all the same."

"Well, when you put it like that." The Doctor grinned.

"I almost forgot," Rose said as she beamed at him. "You get to open one Christmas gift on Christmas Eve."

"I do?"

Rose reached under the tree, and picked up a box wrapped in shiny blue paper and a silver ribbon. "It's tradition," she said, as she handed it to the Doctor.

"What is it?" the Doctor asked as he shook the box experimentally.

"Open it an' see." Rose laughed. "Do you have any idea how hard you are to buy for? I mean, what do you get the man who has everything?"

The Doctor unwrapped the box as Rose watched. Wrapping paper and ribbon fluttered down to the carpet, revealing a plain cardboard box. The Doctor opened the box to reveal a pair of fluffy earmuffs in baby pink.

He looked at Rose and bit back a smile. "Very amusing."

"Put them on!"

"No."

"But pink might be your colour."

"I'm making an effort not to be insulted."

"They were mums idea, not mine," Rose confessed as she swallowed down her laughter. "I like your ears."

The Doctor stared at Rose for a moment then put the earmuffs back into their box, and set them down onto an armchair. "I think maybe I should go."

"You're not staying for a cup of tea? The kettle should be boiled now..."

The Doctor shook his head. "It's late."

"I suppose it is." She held his gaze for a moment. "You will come over tomorrow though, yeah? For Christmas."

The corner of the Doctor's mouth tugged up into a crooked smile. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Rose smiled back at him. "I'll see you out then," she said, and they walked together the short distance from the sitting room, out into the hall to the front door of the flat.

At the door they hesitated and the Doctor glanced up to see a spring of mistletoe hanging from a red ribbon.

"Another Christmas tradition?" he asked quietly.

"Oh," Rose said a little awkwardly. "Yeah, I suppose so."

The Doctor stepped closer, put one hand on Rose's hip and leaned in to press a slow, soft kiss to her lips, before drawing back slightly to look into her eyes.

"You're wrong, you know," he said quietly.

"Wrong about what?" Rose asked.

"I'm not the man who has everything." He let out a breath of confession. "And... all I want for Christmas, is you."

Wide-eyed, Rose stared at the Doctor for a moment, half convinced that she'd imagined... and then impulsively, she slipped her arms up and around his neck. Drawing him closer, she finally kissed him the way she'd always wanted to.

What started out so innocently, so gentle and tentative, quickly became hungry, passionate and desperate. They clung to each other, their hands frantically pulling their bodies closer, but somehow failing to reach the singular intimacy they needed.

Their kiss broke and Rose gasped for breath as she felt herself being lifted up, turned, her back pressed against the wall. She wrapped her legs around the Doctor's hips, raked her fingernails through his cropped hair, sought the ferocity of his kiss.

She had dreamed of this so many times, night after night, but even her wildest dreams hadn't come close to what it felt like to know that this was real.

They moved again, this time she was pushed up against a door as the Doctor lifted her higher, pushing into her body, tasting and seeking and learning with a desire he had never before allowed such freedom.

Again they broke the kiss. The Doctor found the secret hollow at the base of Rose's neck and pressed his lips to the pulse that raced beneath her skin. Rose's eyes closed and she felt her blood burn.

"I want you," he confessed, the words falling through kisses against her fevered skin.

Rose felt her smile grow wide with satisfaction. "Want you too."

She reached behind her, her hand searching for the door handle. Frustration and desire and need made her clumsy, and she groaned because of it. Eventually she found the handle and her fingers wrapped around it, pushing down.

They stumbled into the bedroom, but clung together, finding the bed in the shadows of the room, and falling into its soft welcome.

The Doctor pulled back, his eyes intently searching Rose's. She stared back at him, instinctively understanding the reason behind his sudden hesitation. She knew that he was certain, even now, that if he looked close enough, deep enough, he would see doubt in her eyes. A reason to walk away.

Her hand cupped his face and she smiled, wanting so much for him to see everything that was in her heart.

She watched his doubts fade away; seeing them disappear before her eyes. Her heart filled with her love for him, and she drew him close to her as he moved toward her body, seeking and finding his place there.

They pushed at their clothes, and between caress and kiss and trembled breath, they revealed their bodies, naked skin to naked skin. They moved together, breathless, restless and desperate for the completion they both needed.  

Their bodies arched together. The Doctor pushed inside Rose and as she cried out his name they began to move into a rhythm as old as time. Bliss came quickly for them; as everything they had ever hoped and dreamed, they found in one another. Together they burned in a fire brighter than any sun.

Afterwards, tangled and breathless, the peace of perfect oblivion claimed them both.

~oOo~

"Rose?" Jackie called as she closed the front door and walked into the flat.

"I'm in the kitchen, mum!" Rose reached for a mug and set about making a strong coffee.

Jackie walked through the sitting room and into the kitchen, where she wrapped Rose up into a hug. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

"Merry Christmas, mum."

Jackie picked up the mug of coffee and took a sip, before letting out a long slow sigh of satisfaction. "You're a mind-reader Rose, you really are. Coffee's just what I need to make me feel human again."

"Thought it might be," Rose said as she walked into the sitting room with Jackie following behind. "Did you have a good night?"

"Yes, it was brilliant," Jackie enthused. "You should have come down. You would have enjoyed yourself."

Rose shook her head. "I wanted a quiet night."

"I won the ugly jumper contest!" Jackie announced, as if she'd only just remembered, and took another sip of coffee.

Rose looked at her mum's garish red, green and white Christmas jumper. "I'm not surprised."

"So how was your quiet night then?"

Rose smiled to herself for a moment. "I saw a shooting star and made a wish."

"Shooting star," Jackie said with a not so subtle roll of her eyes. "It was probably a satellite."

"No, it was definitely a shooting star."

"Oh yeah?" Jackie said sceptically. "Wish come true did it?"

Rose said nothing, she just took a sip of her tea.

"I'm gonna have a lie down for a half an hour. Then we'll do presents," Jackie announced. "You don't mind do you, sweetheart?"

"'Course I don't mind," Rose said as she sat down in the armchair and picked up the TV remote.

Jackie dropped a kiss to Rose's head, then she took her coffee through to her bedroom as Rose started flicking through channels until she found what she wanted to watch.

A minute or so later Jackie walked back into the sitting room. "Rose?" she began, sounding somewhat confused.

Rose glanced up and immediately bit back a smile of surprise. "Yeah?" she said, as innocently as she could.

"Why is there a satsuma in my bed?" Jackie asked as she held up the offending fruit.

Rose struggled to contain her smile. "Wouldn't be Christmas without a satsuma."

Jackie hesitated a moment as if thinking over Rose's reasoning, then she shrugged. "I suppose not," she said, and headed back to bed.

Rose allowed herself a broad, secret smile and, wrapped up in her fluffy pink dressing gown, she settled down to watch 'Elf'.

[citrinekay]

(who’s been keeping a list of their fav headcanons? not me) 1. holden wants to get a puppy 2. hurt/comfort about age gap 3. their firsts 4. their love language (“things that say ‘i love you’”). anyway. totally not a list i’ve been adding to every now and then

These are all really good, but that’s first one 😍😭 So, this isn’t exactly fluffy and got a little darker than expected but hey that’s my brand and I gotta stick with it!

Chilly, spring rain tumbles from the thick, gray clouds in driving sheets, glazing the crumbling asphalt of the narrow, residential lane and catching the reflection of a dozen red and blue police lights flashing out into the night. The steady drum of it against the roof fills the hollow silence of the house that’s broken only intermittently by the whine and click of the camera shutter. 

Bill and Holden survey the cramped living room that’s littered with empty beer bottles, pizza boxes, and dozens and magazines and newspapers. The scene in the kitchen is just as filthy and depressing - plates piled high in the sink, garbage can overflowing, refrigerator reeking of spoiled milk and God knows what else. 

“I want to see the basement.” Holden says. 

Bill draws in a deep breath, and nods. 

They make their way carefully past the officers collecting evidence and down the hallway to the door leading into the basement. 

The mystery of three dead women spanning two decades in this small, West Virginia town had at last been broken when the unsub’s most recent victim managed to escape this house, formerly her prison. The man had kept her here, locked up in the basement, for the last five years, raping and torturing her as he saw fit. 

Nothing could have prepared Bill for the dense, sick weight that settles in the pit of his stomach as he and Holden descend the narrow, wooden stairs into the basement. The unsub’s torture chamber is a cement-walled dungeon, musky and dark. A cage shoved in the corner of the room is meant for an animal, but had housed four victims over the course of twenty years. A workbench is littered with instruments of torture and restraints. A hook bolted to the ceiling in the center of the room had once provided a display of the victim for his amusement. 

Holden reaches over to turn on the light switch. At once, the basement is flooded with sharp, yellow light, but neither of them have a chance to comment on the horrifying details as a growl and a rattle of chain from the corner draws their attention away from the scene of torture. 

Holden backpedals into Bill’s chest, a gasp leaping from his chest as black dog lunges from it’s restraint in the corner. The animal is growling low in its throat, teeth bared, frothing at the mouth, it’s entire, scrawny body shaking. Right away, Bill can tell it’s some kind of mutt, another breed mixed in with pit bull based on the ears and the size of it’s head. 

“Jesus Christ.” Holden says, “He was keeping a dog down here, too?”

“We need to call the dog warden.” Bill says, clutching Holden’s elbow. 

Holden shuffles forward despite Bill’s grasp on his arm. He holds out a non-threatening hand as he approaches the dog. The dog whines, then barks, pacing back and forth against it’s short leash. It’s dark gaze is trained on Holden, mistrust shining clearly past the unhealthy film glazing it’s eyes. 

“Hey there, buddy. It’s okay.” Holden says, crouching down, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t get close to it.” Bill says, “It’s gonna bite your hand off.”

“He’s starving.” Holden says, shooting a glare over his shoulder. “Poor thing. He’s probably been down here as long as Kristen was.”

“Yeah, and if it’s been abused it might try to bite you. Come on.” Bill says, leaning down to grasp Holden by the arm. “Let’s just call the warden.”

Holden rises to his feet, shaking Bill’s grip off. “Fine. But he goes to the vet, not the pound.”

Bill suppresses a sigh. It’s late, and they’ve been working this case off-and-on for the last year and a half. They both know the details backwards and forwards. They know everything Kristen, the last victim, and all the rest went through. They know every depraved thing the killer did to these women. And Holden is worried about the damn dog. 

“Fine.” Bill says. 

~

When Bill and Holden were first contacted by the local authorities in Marling, West Virginia, their relationship had been infantile and fledgling. Bill can remember crawling onto the bed and slipping his hand under the back of Holden’s t-shirt while Holden opened the case file on the mattress in front of him. Their bodies were warm and connected while the first, horrific details crossed their minds. 

Bill had resigned himself to the fact long ago that death and depravity was always going to come second-nature to their relationship. The darkness seeps into every crevice, every available space in your mind. Eventually, it houses itself right next to the good things, the light beside the dark. Gray areas in between are fleeting, and he tries to keep everything separate, but he can’t help but glimpse the way their work affects Holden - and in turn, them. 

Maybe they’re both overworked. Bill thinks as he lights a cigarette outside the police department’s bullpen. 

He checks his watch to see that it’s almost ten o’clock. He’d filed the last report while Holden took the unsub’s dog to the vet. He hadn’t stuck around to see the warden coax the poor, starved animal out of the basement, and now he wonders if Holden had sustained a bite trying to get the hardened beast to trust him. 

After smoking the last of his cigarette, Bill goes back into the bullpen to find the chief of police’s office. Waters is hunched over his desk, necktie undone. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. None of them have. 

“Anything else you need from me?” Bill asks. 

Waters glances up from his reports, offering a weak smile. “Nothing but a sincere ‘thank you’, I suppose.”

Bill nods, “It was our pleasure.”

Rising to his feet, Waters offers Bill a handshake. “Truly, Bill, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

“We were glad to help. This one’s been a long time coming.”

“You ain’t kidding.” Waters says, shaking his head. “I’m gonna go home, kiss my wife, have a drink, and celebrate. We don’t get these days every day.”

“You deserve it.”

“What are you gonna do?” Waters asks, “I feel like you’ve been in this as long as some of my guys.”

“About the same, I guess.” Bill says. 

The drive across town the veterinarian’s office is brief, but the downpour forces Bill to stay on high alert despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs. When he reaches the office, there’s only two cars in the parking lot, and he figures nobody else is bothering the vet at this time of day. 

Bill goes inside to find the front desk and waiting area deserted. The faint sound of voices from down the hall leads him to the exam room where the vet has the skinny mutt lying on the table. The animal seems more sedate now, and Holden is hand-feeding him cut up pieces of meat. 

Bill clears his throat in the doorway. 

Holden glances up, a smile fixed on his mouth despite the dark circles under his eyes. 

“Bill, come on in.” He says, nodding for Bill to join him. 

“How’s he doing?” Bill asks. 

“A lot better.” Holden says, “Dr. Cormick looked him over, gave him his shots, a bath, and now he’s letting me feed him. I think he’s gonna be okay.”

Dr. Cormick nods, and strokes a hand down the dog’s back. “No doubt he’s been through a lot, but surprisingly, there aren’t really any serious health concerns aside from fleas and worms.”

“Great.” Bill says, “What about his behavior, though? He’s calm now, but what about if some kid scares him or he feels threatened?”

“He’s definitely a special case.” Cormick says, “He’ll need a good, understanding home.”

“You know anybody?” Bill asks, offering a faint chuckle. 

Holden draws in a deep breath. “Bill, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.”

Holden gives the plate of food to Cormick, and leads Bill back out into the hallway. 

“Holden-” Bill begins, seeing the look in his eyes. 

“What? I haven’t said anything yet.”

“But I know what you’re going to say.” Bill says, “And we can’t take this dog home with us.”

“Why not?” Holden asks, crossing his arms. “The doctor just said he needs an understanding home, and who better understands what this animal has been through than us?”

“We’re never home.” Bill says, spreading his hands in disbelief. “How would we take care of a dog, Holden? Come on, think this through.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Holden says. 

Bill exhales a strained sigh, and shakes his head. 

“They’re just going to send him to the pound, Bill.” Holden says, “Then what? Nobody is going to adopt an animal that looks and behaves like this. Chances are he stays locked up for a couple of weeks, maybe a few months, and then gets put down because they don’t have enough room to keep him around.”

“Maybe so.” Bill says, “It’s just a dog, Holden. We caught a killer today. A woman, a human being, got to go back to her family after years of imprisonment and abuse. This is what you’re concerned with?”

Holden turns to lean against the wall, and lowers his head. Bill can see his jaw working against emotion. 

“You don’t get it.” Holden whispers, his voice strained. 

“Get what?”

“Never mind.” Holden mutters, shoving away from the wall. “Forget it. If you say we can’t keep him, then I guess that’s that.”

“Holden-” 

Holden is already marching back into the exam room, leaving Bill standing alone in the hall. He lets out a sigh, and rubs a hand over his forehead. Maybe he’s exhausted, or tired of arguing. Maybe he just wants to go home already, and Holden isn’t going to let him rest until he gets his way. Maybe there’s some soft place left in his heart that hasn’t been ravaged and turned to scar tissue by death and destruction. 

Letting out a grunt of disbelief, Bill strides back into the exam room. Holden and Dr. Cormick look up at him, and he spreads his hands in defeat before he can stop himself. 

“Okay, what do we need to do?”

“Do?” Cormick asks. 

“To take the mutt home.” Bill says, “Is there some kind of adoption papers we have to sign?”

“Ah, yes.” Cormick says, “Let me get it together. Then we can all go home.”

“Sounds good.”

Cormick leaves the room, and Bill catches Holden smiling brightly at him. 

“Don’t say anything.” Bill says, shaking his head. “I’m already regretting this.”

“You won’t.” Holden says, “It’s all going to work out exactly the way it should.”

[datenightfright]

I know I asked for the angst and depressing content but now I am so sad that Thomas is hauling the dead girl back home after she confessed ;-; Do you hate me for requesting it? And do you hate me even more for asking if she actually manages to survive but just avoids Thomas until he has to come to terms on what to do? ;-; I need angst and sadness but now I just want a happy ending >.

*glares at you* The culprit is back again….You are SO LUCKY I love a good happy ending! In truth, I was gonna do  part two of this anyway, cuz like…this was such a good prompt. I love the ‘one sided pining until someone gets hurt and the other realizes their feelings’ trope. It’s such a good trope. 

This one kinda got away from me too. I put most of it under the cut. Thank you for such a cute request! 

Pt one: Here

Well, this was embarrassing. Instead of going out with some dignity you managed to survive your knife wound. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but, ironically, the only thing that hurt worse was your heart. 

You groan as the water passes over your wound. Hoyt stitched it as best he could, which was pretty damn good actually, but they had to be undone once you realize the damn cut was infected. Now you were trying to wash it out as best you. Lots of warm water and peroxide. It stung so bad you damn near puked. You inhale deeply, taking a break from tending to yourself. Looking at the ceiling of your bathroom, you have to wonder if the plan for your death was the slow and painful kind rather than the quick kind. 

Whatever the case, you were hear now, in a dingy bathroom, trying to take as long as possible tending to your needs. The floorboards creaking just outside the door makes you grimace harder than bandaging your ribs. Tommy was out there, waiting for you.

Thomas had changed. He doted on you hand and foot. Fed you, helped you get dressed in the morning, rubbed your feet even though they didn’t need to be rubbed. You were tired of it. There was no meaning behind it other than his attempt to assuage his own guilt. 

You press your lips together, holding the edge of the sink. How the hell had things gone so fucking wrong? Scrubbing at your eyes you manage to straighten out. You unlocked the door. Yup, there was good old Tommy, worriedly waiting for you. He reaches for you, but you slap a hand away. “I’m fine,” You say, not daring to look at him, “Just leave me alone,” You rush past him as quickly as your injury allows. Before he can follow, you close your bedroom door and lock it. Things were hard enough as it was without him complicating everything.

*

Nightfall sees Tommy in the basement. For once in his life, he’s loud. Throwing things against the wall, yelling, punching, upturning his workbench. All the frustration, the pain, the hatred, all of it unleashed in one massive tantrum. He’d fucked up so bad. 

He loved you from the moment he laid his eyes on you. Of course, he never allowed himself to fall for you completely, not at first anyway. He couldn’t allow himself the indulgence of infatuation. He managed to keep his head screwed on straight…for the most part anyway.  

You hadn’t reacted with the others, not with fear. Shock, of course, which was understandable, it isn’t every day someone rushes at you with a chainsaw, but not a trace of fear. You were so gentle with him. Smiling at him, hugging him. He slides down the wall, all energy spent for the time being. Once…he brings his hand up to his cheek, once you had even kissed him. 

He recalled the memory perfectly. He’d been getting ready for the day, frantically looking for his mask. You were the one that found it. He left it on the counter when he came home from getting dinner. He’d been so tired, and his face hurt so bad he just dropped it on the first surface he came across. 

You were kind to him, smiling at him so warmly. He’d froze in front of you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see his face. “I found your mask Tommy,” You say, handing it to him. He takes it, frantically trying to do damage that’s already been done. Before he could put it on, your lips were at his cheek. Your lips had been so warm, so soft. He wanted  thousand more, a million more. “You’re very handsome Tommy,” You told him. 

It was at that moment he fell for you completely. You thought he was handsome! You kissed him! Surely you must love him too! He waited for a sing. Anything that gave away your affections, but he could find nothing. You were the same as always. Cooking food, making sure he had enough to eat, repairing his clothes. He waited weeks, then months, then years. Nothing.

He realized that maybe you didn’t love him like he loved you. Maybe you loved him like Luda Mae loved him. Like a mother, or a friend. He cried for days when he realized it. He wasted so much time on a stupid fantasy. He came to a decision one night, if no one as beautiful as you was going to love him, then he’d take it from the next girl.

The next one wasn’t pretty like you were. She wasn’t smart or capable. She was loud, whiny, and altogether irritating, but Tommy was sure he could take care of that. Even so, no matter how much time had passed, she simply didn’t fill the void that you left. 

At night, when he went to sit with her, sometimes he’d put his head in her lap, pretending it was you. He even made her read the same books you read to him, and run her fingers through his hair. He made dresses that looked like yours, made her brush his hair for him. In the end, it just wasn’t you. 

Now things were worse than ever. You really did love him! You had all along, he was just too wrapped up in himself to see. But then he went and stabbed you, nearly killing you, now you hated him. He tried to make up for it. He took care of you as best he could. Feeding you, helping you get dressed, brushing your hair. He’d been nothing but gentle. The damage was done. There was no going back.

He pulls a small bunny from his pocket. He kept it with him always, you made it for him. He sniffles, staring at it. Normally, the little rabbit calms him, because he knows at least someone at home likes him enough to be kind to him. Now, it’s just a representation of what he’s destroy. Within moments his sniffles become sobs.

*

You stand at the top of the stairwell. Hoyt, who’d had enough of all this, barged into your room and laid it all on the table. Tommy’s been in love with you for years, but moved on when you seemed no closer to reciprocating his feelings, now he was crying in the basement. 

You hardly believed him. If Tommy loved you so much, why had he rejected you? But, here you are, listening to the heart wrenching sobs of a man that most definitely had his heart broken. 

You take the steps slowly, wincing as you did so. With as long as it took you to stop in front of Tommy, you’re surprised his sobs hadn’t let up. He isn’t paying attention to you, simply holding the Easter gift you’d given him long ago. You aren’t sure how to get down to his level, so instead, to settle for nudging him with your toe. “Tommy,” you mutter. His sobbing stops, yet, he only curls into himself more. You aren’t exactly sure what to say. “Tommy, my side hurts, help me sit down will you?” Tommy does as asked, gently bringing you to the cold, wet floor. Yes, this environment is definitely going to help the healing process. 

Tommy scoots away from you. “Come back here,” You mutter, tugging at his sleeve, “I need to lean on you.” He does as asked, allowing you to use his arm as you wished. For a long while, all you can hear is Tommy sniffling. You run Hoyt’s tirade through your head. No, you think, there’s no way Tommy has been in love with you for years. You outright laugh, bitterness beginning to overtake the heartache. “Oh Lord,” You sigh, “I can’t believe I bought into Hoyt’s dumb speech.” Tommy looks at you, curiously. “He thinks you’re in love with me! Isn’t that a hollar and a half? You? In love with me?” You scoff, not registering the hurt in Tommy’s eyes. “As if someone could fall in love with me.” You let out another chuckle, shaking your head.

Tommy worries at his lip. He DOES love you! More than anything. He just doesn’t know how to show you! “What am I compared to a busty blonde anyway?” Your head plops itself in his arm, feeling pathetic about it all. “I think maybe I should leave once I heal up. You know? Take one of the abandoned houses in town? A trailer maybe. I could find work in the next town over, I’m sure of it. What do you think Thomas?”

You crane your neck to look at him, sitting straighter when you notice panic in his eyes. You aren’t exactly sure what to say, but Tommy has a plan at least. He grabs your face and presses his lips roughly to yours. Unsure of how to kiss, he pulls back immediately. Shaking his head he kisses you again, and again, and again. 

This time, you laugh for a completely different reason. Now everything seems just so incredibly silly and inconsequential. “Ok, ok,” You giggle, “Maybe I’ll stick around for a while.” Tommy nods, his kisses getting softer. “But there’s one condition,” He still, listened to you intently. “You get me to my bed as quickly as possible, I’m so tired, Tommy.” 

He lifts you gently into his arms and carries you to the bedroom, giving you kisses all along the way. 

[meetmeinthematinee]

Torn

AN: Probs going to be a multichapter fic so have no fear, while this is fluffy there is a 100% chance of smut in the future. 

A botched bookbinding attempt leads to a meet-cute for John Wick and small paper shop owner Kristen.

“Motherfucker!” John was frustrated. He had just ripped a page in the book he was supposed to be restoring. He leaned back hard against his chair and covered his face with his hands. He stayed that way for a moment, not quite ready to survey the damage. As he slid his hands down his face he opened his eyes and leaned forward, taking in a breath as he looked over the ragged inch long tear. It’s not too bad he thought. It wasn’t great, obviously, considering it was a pricey tome that he had planned on keeping for himself -- but it was fixable. He sulked for another moment before getting up and gathering the supplies he’d need for the repair job. He kept everything neatly arranged in the cabinet under the counter top across from his workbench. He pulled out the paste and brush he’d use to seal up the tear but came up empty handed when he went to grab the vellum needed to smooth everything out. “Fuck!” He exclaimed as he slammed the cabinet shut.

Normally he ordered everything from an online paper restoration dealer but he really didn’t feel like putting the project on hold for the week it would take for shipping. He glanced at his watch. It was 11:30AM. Plenty of time to go hunt down some vellum from somewhere he thought as his stomach growled. “And lunch.” He said that last part aloud to no one in particular. Since losing Helen meals had become a chore -- one he often forgot about entirely. He spread his hands out in front of him and leaned against the counter for support. It had been a year and change since he’d lost her and the dog and the car and the house and ultimately his retirement. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth slowly. Trying to fight against the wave of grief crashing over him. He laughed bitterly to himself as he realised he was using his tactical training -- box breathing -- to regain his composure and slow his racing thoughts. After a minute he pushed away from the counter and headed upstairs.

None of the big box craft stores had what he needed. As a last ditch effort at salvaging this disaster of a day he pulled out his phone and searched for a paper store. There was one not too far from where he was now. “Perfect.” He muttered before slipping his phone back into his pocket and peeling out of the parking lot.

He was hungry and irritated by the time he got into the shop. He didn’t even hear the friendly greeting called out by the person behind the register when he walked in. An entire wall of the shop was filled with wooden cubby like shelving that held what seemed like hundreds of kinds of paper in every colour one could ever think of. That’s a hopeful sign he thought as he made a beeline for it. He scanned the wall for what he was looking for and was startled when he heard a voice next to him. “Are you looking for something in particular?” “Vellum” he replied a little bit sharper than he intended. He was rattled. How the hell did she get so close without me noticing? He wondered. Was he quiet, yes. A Man of few words? Notoriously so. The kind to not pay attention and get crept up on in a fucking paper store? Absolutely not. “Uhh, ok.” She replied. “Is there a particular colour you’re looking for? All our vellum is in this section here.” She pointed and when he nodded in response she walked back over to her spot at the register. He went over and pulled out a stack of plain white vellum and then did a bit of browsing around before settling on a couple of Japanese brush tip pens to go with his paper. She was behind the register folding up a small bright green piece of paper. He watched for a moment before stepping forward and putting his items down. “Does your boss mind you making things on the clock?” He asked. She groaned inwardly, looked up from her small project and laughed. “That’s one of the many perks of owning your own shop” She said with a tight smile. He looked sheepishly away from her. She must think I’m a gigantic asshole he thought to himself. “So, do you draw?” She said eyeing the thick stack of vellum. He looked at her again and said “I bind and restore books.” Her eyes widened in surprise and lit up with delight. “That’s fascinating! I’d love to see your work sometime.” She blurted out. He nodded. “I can do that.” He said after a moment. He paid for his items and she handed him the tiny, bright green origami dog she had made along with her business card. The bells over the door tinkled as he stepped back out into the world.

John was still feeling off balance. Food. You need to eat he thought to himself. He stopped at his favourite cafe, a French spot that had the best ham and cheese sandwiches and a cozy walled in patio out back of the place. He ordered a sandwich along with an iced coffee and an almond croissant for later on. I mean, I’m here -- I might as well he decided. There was a free spot on the back patio so he settled into a chair and made quick work of the sandwich. He enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his shoulders as he finished the rest of his iced coffee occasionally swirling the ice around in the glass absentmindedly while he watched the only entrance from behind the safety of his dark sunglasses.

He pulled out his house keys to unlock the door and caught a flash of green as something fell out of his pocket. He bent down and picked up the origami dog that the woman from the paper shop had given him. He turned it over in his hands and shook his head as he stepped inside to be greeted by an overexcited Dog. Kicking off his shoes he dropped everything on the counter and knelt to give Dog some much needed attention. “Yes, I’m home.” “Good boy.” He said as he scratched behind Dog’s ears as the pup desperately tried to lick his face. He stood up with a huff and headed back down to his basement workshop.

The fact that the tear was so ragged actually made the repair job easier. A clean slice was much more challenging to fix. He thought about how the opposite held true for human beings. A clean slice was easy to stitch up and would heal nicely. A ragged tear would be a challenge to close up and would heal into a very visible scar. There was some overlap between the skill set he used for work and his hobby but the differences were what made it so fulfilling. Work was all precision and speed, brutal and visceral destruction. Book binding also required precision but it allowed him to take something that was on the verge of destruction and pull it back from the brink -- restoring it lovingly and giving it life anew. It was slow, meditative work that was tactile and creative but in a very structured way.

As he waited for the paste to dry he found his mind wandering again to the woman at the shop. How she had flown right under his radar? How had she made him feel so vulnerable without even realising it. What the hell was that about? He could barely admit to himself that something in his chest jumped when she smiled so warmly with excitement in her eyes over his hobby -- especially after he had been so rude earlier. That off balance feeling returned again and this time well fed and safely alone at home he realised he had felt it before. When he had met Helen. Fuck.

He threw himself into work for the next few weeks. Taking job after job hoping that the more time that passed since his visit there would mean he’d think about her less and would shake that feeling. It hadn’t worked. At night, when he was alone, his thoughts would drift to her and he’d feel ridiculous for it. He was a grown man not some heartsick teenage boy. He knew absolutely nothing about her aside from the fact that she owned a business. For all he knew she wasn’t even single. He hoped she was and at the same time desperately hoped she wasn’t. Especially since there was no getting out this time. That much had been made crystal clear to him and was part of the reason he had so many jobs. He had killed so many people in the weeks after Helen’s death that many of the best had been eliminated from the business. The high table was struggling to find good, qualified help so they eventually stopped sending people after him. He had single-handedly wiped out a generation of killers and not an insignificant number of their trainers either.

John was sprawled on the couch with a book when Dog trotted into the room making some munching sounds. He was a good dog but he did love to chew the occasional thing when John had been away too long. A bit of bright green was poking out of Dog’s teeth. “Give!” John got up and pulled the now drool soaked paper from his mouth. “Where did you get this?” he wondered aloud as he pinched the slobbery little origami dog between his fingers. He threw it in the garbage and stood for a moment thinking about her. It’s time to put a stop to this nonsense he thought grabbing his car keys. Padding down into the basement he picked up the now fully restored book he had been working on when he’d met her and slid it into his leather bag.

The bells over the door jangled as he walked in and narrowly avoided tripping over a small dog that was wandering around near the door. “Gremlin, bed!” She said and pointed toward the counter. The little thing sauntered away from John slowly. “Sorry about that, vellum” she said with a smirk. “Gremlin over there is a cautionary tale on why you should name your pets carefully. He lives up to his name a little too much sometimes.” John shook his head a little and arched a brow. “Vellum?” He asked. “Yeah, you never introduced yourself when you were here last.” She said as a hint of pink spread across her cheeks. “John.” He said warmly and extended a hand. “Kristen” she said as she slid her hand into his for a shake. Her grip was firm, confident and that smile returned to her face. “So John, what do you need today?” She asked letting go of his hand. “Just you.” He thought, but it actually came out of his mouth instead. He froze realising what had happened. Kristen was taken aback at his directness. In the weeks since this handsome but brusque man came into her shop she found herself hoping he’d reappear, newly bound book in hand. She wasn’t prepared for this though. He cleared his throat. “What I meant was” he said slowly, staring down at her. “I was just about to leave and get a coffee. Would you like to join me?” She said cutting him off mid sentence while gracefully letting him off the hook at the same time. He was quiet for a moment, relaxing the death grip he had on the strap of his leather bag. She could have sworn she saw a slight blush ghost across his face. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He replied. Kristen turned and called out “Steph!” “Yeah?” Came a voice from somewhere at the back of the shop. Where’d they come from he wondered. He hadn’t even noticed that someone else was in there with them. “Steph, I’m going to take my break now ok? Be sure to keep an eye on Gremlin. He’s trying to trip people again.” A short dark haired and heavily tattooed 20 something popped into view. “You’re not taking him with -- oh.” She said when she looked up from the box she was carrying and saw John standing somewhat awkwardly by the counter. “Gotcha boss, take your time.” Steph said with an amused smirk. Grabbing her purse Kristen headed out the door with John.

There was a small cafe a few doors down from the shop. Noticing a table was free Kristen gestured to it. “If you snag the table I’ll get our stuff, what would you like? They have really great scones here.” She offered. John held up his hands. “No. It’s on me. What’s your usual?” He countered with a smile. She shook her head slightly. “Fine, but only because we’re holding up the line.” She laughed. “I’ll have a coffee and a lemon poppy seed scone, please.” He smiled and headed off to put in their order as she laid claim to their table.

He reappeared with both coffees and two scones balanced in his hands. “Show off.” She teased playfully as he set everything down. He just shrugged and smirked at her. Her hand brushed his as he passed her the coffee and Kristen’s heart sank when she caught sight of the wedding ring on his finger. She hadn’t noticed it before. Of course. She thought to herself. Of course he’s married. She felt incredibly foolish all of a sudden. She pointed at his scone “Goat cheese and chive?” John nodded. “I’m more of a sweet over savoury guy but this looked too good to pass up.” He said with a smile. “Are you a sweet guy though?” She asked him rather pointedly. “Depends on who you ask.” He said heavily, his smile vanishing from his face. She could see how hurt he looked but she continued anyway. “I mean, maybe I read this whole thing wrong and if so that’s on me but I’m 99% sure this is halfway to a date, yes?” John’s face clouded with confusion. “You’re not wrong.” He admitted staring into his coffee. He finally made eye contact with her and watched her grow irritated. “I don’t understand.” He said. “Listen John, people have different arrangements and that’s fine but I’m not interested.” She cast a pointed glare at his wedding ring and went to stand. Before she could he grabbed her hand quickly. “Please stay” he said quietly, almost shyly. “I’ll explain.” The amount of pain in his eyes was clear enough for her to see. Either this guy is a sociopath and is about to tell me some next level lies, she thought, or he’s been through some shit. She was hoping for the latter. “I’ll stay but I would like my hand back.” She shot him a hesitant smile. I’m really fucking this up he thought. He let go of her hand and took a long sip of his coffee.

“I was married and those five years we had together were the happiest in my life. She meant absolutely everything to me. Everything.” He said quietly. He was talking so lowly that she could barely hear him over the din of the cafe so she leaned in closer, not wanting to interrupt him. John cleared his throat and looked up at her. “Helen died a year and a half ago.” Her name caught in his throat and he felt like someone had just landed a crushing blow against his sternum. “I’m still wearing my ring because I.” The pain in his eyes was almost unbearable to witness. Kristen felt relief followed immediately by a wave of guilt for it. She put her hand over his and gently ran her thumb across his knuckles. “I’m sorry for your loss John.” She said simply, not to cut him off but to make it clear she understood. He covered her hand with his and she smiled softly at him but didn’t move away. They sat like that for a few more moments until he chuckled softly. She eyed him curiously, not knowing how to respond. “If this is halfway to a date your scone choice is a bold one.” he said stealing a piece off of it and popping it into his mouth. “What’s bold about lemon popp--oh” she broke off and laughed. “After accusing you of being a philanderous scoundrel I think poppy seeds in my teeth are the least of my worries right now.” She grimaced. John laughed warmly at that. He leaned forward and grabbed her hand. “Never apologise for having boundaries. You look out for yourself. I respect that.” He said, squeezing her hand. She grinned broadly at him and her eyes crinkled softy at their edges, happiness illuminating her face. She was absolutely stunning.

“I brought that book I bound -- if you’d like to see it.” He offered. Kristen checked her phone. “Oh shoot! It’s nearly closing time -- would you mind showing me at the shop?” She asked. “No, I don’t mind at all.” “After you.” He said.

The bells jangled over the door as they walked in and Gremlin came scrambling over. John laughed as the tiny dog slid on the floor. “What is he?” He asked furrowing his brow. “He’s a chug.” “A what?” “A Chihuahua - Pug” You and Steph answered in unison. He smiled and shook his head. “I think my dog is at least 5 of Gremlin” “Oh! What kind of dog is it?” She practically cooed. “It’s a pit-bull, his name is...Dog.” John said with a laugh. Kristen grinned again. “They’re such sweethearts!” Steph cleared her throat “Well, I’m off! See you tomorrow, 10AM right?” “Yep! Thanks for your work today, I’ll see you tomorrow Steph.” Kristen said with a wave.

John waited by the counter while Kristen flipped the sign and locked the door. He watched the way she moved across the shop. Her confident stride punctuated by the sway of her hips. She was much shorter than him and her dark jeans hugged her in a way that had John thinking about what it would feel like to wrap his hands around her waist and feel her soft skin under his fingers as he pulled her against him. Fuck. It had been a long time since he had felt this way about anyone.

She appeared at his side with Gremlin not far behind. “Let’s go to my office -- I don’t want people to think the shop’s open.” She suggested. She grabbed his hand and lead him through the door at the back of the shop. They settled onto the small couch across from her desk. John carefully pulled his book from his bag and took out his phone to show her a couple of pre-restoration photos and explain his process. “Wow.” She marvelled. “May I?” She asked with her hands poised over the book. John smiled and nodded. She gently ran her hands over the oxblood leather, traced her fingers over the gold leafed vine pattern and then gently lifted the cover. The first page read ‘This book was bound by John Wick’. She smiled up at him and bumped his shoulder with hers. “This is so gorgeous John” “Thanks.” he replied sheepishly. He never knew what to do with the kind words of others. Even with Helen he always shrugged them off but now that she was gone and those kind words were absent from his life he realised how much he missed them. Kristen brought him back from his thoughts by reaching out and gently cupping his face with her hand. “Hey”, she said softly “Thank you for showing me your book.” The feel of his beard and his strong jaw underneath against her hand lit a fire inside her. She imagined him pressing his face into her neck, his hands lifting her up onto the counter and. Her daydream was interrupted by the feeling of his mouth gently pressing against hers. The distant but lusty look in her eyes hadn’t escaped his notice. He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her closer to him with the other. Their kisses were hesitant and slow at first -- almost as if they were waiting for the other to pull away. Neither one did and when John gently took Kristen's lower lip between his teeth she slid her arms around him tightly, opening her mouth and deepening their kiss. It was only when Gremlin growled that they parted and Kristen blushed deeply. “Sorry, Gremlin gets uh, overly protective sometimes.” She said with a tight smile. “He’s doing his job then.” He murmured before leaning in to kiss her on the forehead. He knew if he didn’t leave right that minute he wouldn’t leave at all. “I should go.” He whispered softly before kissing her again. Everything in his body was screaming STAY but he just couldn’t. Not yet. She nodded in reply. He took her hands in his and squeezed them. “I’m sorry. I’m just not--” He stammered until she cut him off “John, there’s nothing to be sorry for. I understand.” His eyes widened a little. How was this woman so generous and so clearly fine with making herself vulnerable? He wondered to himself. It pushed him to give it a shot. “I’d like to see you again.” He stated. If anyone else had said that Kristen would have thought they were blowing her off but something in his eyes told her that he was serious. “I’d like that John. Very much.” Her eyes crinkled softly at the corners as her mouth spread into another wide grin. They exchanged numbers and gathered up their things. She leashed up Gremlin and all three walked in comfortable silence as they left the shop. As she locked up outside John slid an arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll text you.” He said with a grin. Kristen beamed back at him not quite believing the turn this day had taken. “You better!” She teased. “Thanks again for the coffee.” She leaned up and kissed him before turning and setting out with Gremlin, heading for home.

[reallyautomaticvoid]

Calling It: Good Intentions

Chapter 1: Calling It: The Beginning

Characters (in order of appearance): Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Conner Kent, Tam Fox, Bruce Wayne, Ra’s al Ghul

 Summary: 

Timothy Jackson Drake has been Red Robin for nearly three years now.  Ever since he was summarily kicked out of the Batfam (no matter what anyone in the Batfamily said), he’s been taking care of himself.  He has his own back and doesn’t need anybody else help, no matter what the Titans may say (and they have a lot to say on the matter).  He doesn’t need a safety net when he flies.

Note:

This was inspired by @iphoenixrising beautiful piece, Fractured, which everyone should read because, frankly, it’s incredible.  I would also like to thank them for all of the help they gave me when I was starting to write this piece.  Seriously, they're a wonderful person who deserves all the lovely thing in their life.

Serene and Gotham do not go together.  It was almost peaceful so long as you ignore the racket of car alarms and traffic.  It was excellent for Gotham.  Anytime there was peace (and Gotham was not on the verge of an alien invasion) was a blessing.  

Something to celebrate.  

A reason to be happy.

Drumming his thumbs on the concrete roof under him, Red Robin waits in the chill.  There was always, always something to do in Gotham.  Punching Two-Face in the face?  Great.  Foiling the latest Joker scheme?  Fantastic.  Catching Ivy before she releases the latest version of her plant toxin?  All in a days work.  Hell, usually there were muggers throughout Crime Alley that Red could punch.

Quiet nights, like tonight, grants a sense of false hope.  Like Gotham could do this every day.  That maybe Gotham could be like any other city.  

It couldn’t be.

Red Robin knew that.  

The worst part wasn't the boredom (which, don't get him wrong, was fucking awful.  Shit, he'd almost welcome a Ra's attack, but that wasn't due until later this week), no it was the stealthy asshat sneaking his way over to Red because, clearly, Tim couldn't see him coming.

“Hood.” Red's thumbs accelerate their drumming.

“Damn, Red, and here I was tryin' ta be sneaky.” Red Hood sinks onto the roof next to Red Robin.  Red could see Hood surveying him.  

"Next time, leave the steel-toed boots at home then."  

Jason snorts.  "Ya need a hair cut."

Red ignores Jason.  “You know it’s immensely stupid to sneak up on somebody in Gotham, right?”

“Whada ya going do? Shoot me?  I'd love to see you try, Babybird.”

Red scoffs as his thumbs continue to play their beat, “oh yeah, I’m the one with a history of shooting people.”

“One time.”

“Three times.”

Red ignores Jason's flinch, too busy shoving his own unwelcome memories back into their black box.  One of many.  Hood slitting Red's (then Robin's) throat.    The hot, dry Arabian desert.  The cock of a pistol.  Death.  Gotham rooftops.  Blood.  Unknown basements.  Pain.  

Jason bumps Red, nudging Tim out of his thoughts, Hood forces a chuckle, “eh, the first time was barely a graze.”

For the first time, Tim's thumbs froze as his head swivels around to look at Hood.  Tim gave Hood one of his best Red Robin glares which only appears to amuse Hood.

“How in the Hell do you figure?”

Red could tell that Hood was grinning at him under his hood, “yer still breathing.”

Tim shakes his head, suppressing a smile.  It had been over a year since Red Hood had last tried to kill him.  Well, really tried to kill him.  Without the Pit pulling strings.  

Enough time passed so Tim 'replacing' Jason wasn't a raw wound anymore.  It didn't hurt that Red had also been replaced at this point too.  Shoved out of the way to make room for the family.  Like Jason.  Like Damian.  Like Dick.  The real sons.  

Mostly though, Tim thought Jason finds it more useful to keep Red breathing instead of trying to stab him with a Batarang.  

Again.  

It's moderately difficult for a person with a slit throat to track the drugs trade in Gotham.

Shaking his head, Red resumes drumming his thumbs. “You have a terrible sense of humor.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s to die for,” Hood snickers more to himself than Red.

Red closes his eyes briefly, resisting the urge to sigh (because, damn it Hood, that shouldn’t be funny, but it was, so fuck you) before asking, “how’s Roy?”

Tim internal wince when he hears Jason swoon.  

He’s fucking swooning.  

Like a goddamn Disney Princess.  

Oh Gods, when did this become Red’s life.

“He’s fukin’ fantastic.  No, really Replacement,” Hood continues loudly over Red’s groans, “he does dis thing, with his tongue, dat makes me c—”

“SO, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?”  Red’s voice came out harsher than he intends in order to cover Jason’s gushing.

Red’s rules for dealing with the Bats:

1. Find out what the Bats want.

2.  Give it to them.

3.  Get the Hell out of Dodge.

The less time Red (Tim) had to spend with the Bats, the better.  It wasn’t like he was a welcome part of the Batfamily anymore.  

Hell, the only Bat member Red ever communicated with (outside of the job) was Jason.  Even then only on the rare occasion Tim was in Gotham.  Red put up with it because if Tim starts avoiding Jason, Hood would go out of his way to find and talk to Red.  Or Tim.  Either would work.  

The Titans were not enthusiastic about having the formerly dead Robin on their doorstep, asking after Red and what kind of beer they had.  ("PVR?  Shit, Replacement, I thought you had class.")

Besides, it was better this way.  Everyone was happier in their designated roles.  It's easier than trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.  Tim is done trying to shove that peg in anymore.  

And Red's perfectly fine with it.

“B wants ya ta come ta the Manner for dinner,” Red controls a flinch that Hood graciously ignores.  “Alfred making pizza.”

“Can’t.  I have to run a trace on a weapons shipment,” Red lies.  

It's a white lie, really.  The trace on the weapons cargo (a trail Red had been working for fucking weeks now) had long since run cold.  Since there were not any criminals out and about, Red should call it a night.  

Oblivious as ever, Hood suggests, "do it on da Batcomputer.”

Red stifles a groan. Yes, it made a lot of sense to do it on the Batcomputer. Red hates (and he really, really hates to) to admit it, but the Batcomputer is faster than any setup that he has in Gotham. Plus, it is already hooked into Gotham PD meaning Red wouldn't waste hacking in.

For some reason, the GPD was forever upgrading their systems. It woulda been annoying except for the sense of pride Red got every time he wormed his way back into the database.

Logically, Red should do it on the Batcomputer.  

But, returning to the Batcave?  Ugh.  

For the sake of argument, Red entered the idea of going to the Batcave.

The facts:

1.  Batman would be there; that would be…unavoidable.  

2.  Robin would defiantly be there along with his newest pet.  Through the grapevine, Red heard that somehow Robin had convinced both Batman and Agent A that he should be allowed to keep a cow in the Batcave.  A cow.  And to think, Bats and Agent A nearly had an aneurysm when Red had bring a guinea pig back to the Manner for a science project.  It had been in a cage for Heaven sakes, but it had still been a fight to get it through the front door.  

Red briefly considered if Robin was keeping the cow (dubbed Batcow for some unholy reason) was being kept in his old workspace before banishing the thought.  It wasn’t any of Red’s concern what was happening in the Batcave anymore.

3.  Oh fucking hell, Nightwing would be there too, come to think about it.  N had moved back to Gotham after the Battle of the Cowl and the ensuing chaos that followed.  As far as Red knew, N hadn't gone back to Blüdhaven nor would he after 'Haven had fallen.  Nightwing would be inescapable, that is, if N even noticed Red was there.  Red started drumming his thumbs again, Gods, he was beginning to sound like an angsty tween.  He was twenty, not twelve for fuck sakes.

As much as his stomach yearns for Alfred's pizza, Red didn't want to go through the tedious process of expulsion from the Manor.

Not my place anymore Hood, remember?

"No, I already have all the info synced on my systems.  Next time.” The tone that came out of Red's mouth was nothing like his usual tone.  It was smooth.  Unemotional.  Insincere.

If Hood noticed the change in Red's tones, he didn't comment.

*    *    *

“Where were you?” Dick flips off of the high training bar, landing lightly onto the mat near Jason. Jason fought a grimace at Dick’s smirk. He had never been able to achieve Dick’s level of grace and dat fuckin' acrobatic knew it. And Jason would be damn (again) if that fuckin' asshole didn’t rub it in ta Jason’s face every fuckin' chance he got. Dick strolled pass the Demon who happened to be busy practicing with his katana (and who da fuck's bright idea was it ta give that back ta the kid?  Jason, really, really didn't want ta have ta get stitches again) ta invade Jason's bubble.

“Talkin’ ta Tim,” Jason slams his helmet down onto his workbench before starting ta clean his guns.

Each of the members of the Batfamily had their own work area in the cave.  Jason’s area near da garage which made it great fer a quick escape.  Goldie's has his workbench next ta da mats.  Demon Brat's was between Bruce's (next ta da Batcomputer) and Dick's.  

The only bench dat had never been touched was fer da Replacement.  It stood, damn near gleaming next ta the back of the Batcomputer where the person who was supposed ta be workin' there would have easy access ta da Batcomputer if they (Tim) needs ta repairs it.

Goldie hardly took any notice of what Jason was sayin' ‘cause he was distracted by da Brat.  In fairness, it did look like the Demon Brat was tryin' ta hack the practice dummy ta death.  

“Oh, that’s nice. Is he coming to dinner?”

“Busy,” Jason grunts.

“Huh, he’s been busy a lot recently,” Dick replies, still starin' at da Demon.  “Damian, what on Earth are you doing with that katana?  I only gave it back to you because you promised not to hurt anything with it.”

Jason misses da Brat’s response as Dick went over to correct (bicker with) Damian about the katana.

Sometimes, Jason thought, Dick was a fuckin’ idiot.

Replacement—Damn it, Tim, not Replacement (Jason was working on that)— hadn’t been near the Manner for over a year.  He hadn’t been near the Batcave in almost half that time.  

Yet, neither Bruce nor fuckin’ Goldie seems ta have a goddamn clue about the fucking kid.  Sure, they knew what fuckin' CEO: Tim Wayne was doin’.  But fuckin' really though, what tabloid didn’t?  

Tim though?  Ickly Baby Bird though? Dork wonder? They didn’t have a fuckin’ clue.  What's worse, neither of them seem ta have a clue dat they didn't have a clue.  World Greatest Detective?  Shit, they couldn’t see what was goin’ on two inches from their fuckin’ face.

Jason glares down at his workbench.  Shit, when had the Replacement—shit Tim— wellbeing been become fuckin’ Jason’s problem?  

About a year ago, Re—Tim had gotten Jason’s nuts out of the fire.  Not that Jason wouldn’t have figured a way out.  He had been pinned down by drug dealers before.  Sure, Jason mighta gone in a little hot (and without enough bullets and he mighta been ridin' da pit a bit, but who needed to know that?).  He didn’t like drug dealers who would push their crap onto kids.  It rubbed 'em the wrong way.  

But Tim (fuck yeah, he got his name right)—icky Timmy-wimmy—swung in like it was noth’ and kicked some major ass.  He managed to knock all the fuckin’ dealer and tied ‘em up before Jason could say shit.

Then Tim did something that Jason never expected.  

He fuckin’ dragged Jason’s sorry ass back ta one of Jason’s safe houses (which Jason still doesn't know how Tim knew about dat one.  It wasn't one on any of B's radar) and patched him up before leaving.

“Da fuck you do that for?” Jason slurred.  

Blood loss was always a bitch.

Tim shrugged.  It mighta been da blood loss, but Replacement- Tim's eyes seemed empty.  “Couldn’t leave you there to die, could I?”

Tim left before Jason could respond.  

It wasn’t long after dat Jason gave in to Bruce and Dick and started hanging ‘round the bats again.  

Jason had expected to see Tim around the cave.  After a month of not seeing Tim, he finally cracked and asked the Demon about it.  

“Where’s Replacement?”

Dami looked around at him.  “Tt.  If you’re talking about Drake ,” he sneered the name which made Jason’s eyes roll, “he doesn’t live here anymore.”  

"Isn't the kid only like, eighteen?"

Damian stared blankly at Jason.  "And your point, Todd?"

Dat was da last time Jason had asked any Tim question ta any of da Bats.  He did, from time to time, still yanked on Timmy’s chain, ta make sure the kid was still kickin’.

Alfred's voice pulls 'em from his thoughts as the butler calls them up fer dinner.  

*     *     *

Tim took a deep breath in as he parked his Ducati before entering his Perch.  

It had been a long week.  If Tim saw one more proposal to sell WE tech to Lexcorp, he was going to scream.  Some of the ideas people were having….  Tim had begun to worry about the intelligence level of those who worked for him.

Tim heavily sigh before sliding off his cowl and tunic.  He glances down at the rainbow of bruises that were blooming over his torso.  No need for (new) stitches tonight.  Yay.

Maybe Tam would let him have an easy day tomorrow...?  Tim snorts at that idea as he pokes a particular large bruise that's three different shades of purple.  He was the CEO of a major company who, on average, spent less than a week a month in the office.  So when Tam got him in the office…well, there was lots of paperwork.  Tam likes to claim that if he was here more that there’d be less paperwork.  Tim disagrees with this.  If Tim were in the office more, he would have more paperwork.

Tim finally gets his costume off and pulls on his sweats.  Sweats were, in Tim's opinion, one of the best things ever invented.  They allow him to feel a bit more like Tim rather than Mr. Wayne or Red Robin.  

Tim hums to himself as he left his perch to go up to his apartment.  

Unlike his perch (where everything was in prestige condition) Tim's apartment is a disaster.  While in Gotham, he was also almost always too busy to clean.  After the fourth (or was the fifth?) time Tam had entered his apartment to find it in shambles, she suggested (ordered) Tim get a cleaning service.  She even offered to do it herself.  Tim had declined the offer because of, well, Bat.  

That's how Tim found himself (at three o’clock in the fucking morning) washing his coffee mug before setting up his coffee maker for the morning.

As Tim washed the cup, he debated with himself about whether he needs to sleep tonight when he heard his phone buzz.  He glances down to see Conner had sent him a text.

GO TO BED.

Tim grinning types back:

How do you know that I wasn’t snug as a bug in bed and asleep until my phone went off?  

Tim sent the message off.  Less than ten seconds later (which, crap, that means Con means business), his phone buzzed again.  

Because I know you.  Go the fuck to bed or you're grounded all weekend.

Tim snorts at that.  It isn’t like the metas in the Titans would (could) ground him.  He had escape plans for every one of grounding.  Although, Raven had threatened she’d poof in his room and take all his Red Robin uniforms.  He didn’t want to test that.  So Tim texts back:  

Fine.  Going to bed.

Tim barely gets the coffee grounds out before his phone buzzed again.

NOW or I’m flying over there.

Tim rolls his eyes at his best friend before sending back:

My God, I need to get your cameras out of here.  I’m making coffee for the A.M. then straight to bed.  Night, worrywart.  

As Tim put the finishing touches on the coffee, his phone went off again.  

Night, reason why I have an ulcer.  Oh, and don’t forget to take your vitamins!

*     *     *

The next morning at WE was not as bad as he was expecting.  

It was so, so, so much worse.  

As soon as he got in, Tam grabbed him to tell him that an investor was waiting in Tim’s office.  The investor wanted to discuss why his product wasn’t in production yet.  

Tim's ears were still ringing as, an hour later, he heads to a board meeting.  Trying to get the board to make a decision was like trying to get Bart to slow down.  Frustrating and ultimately useless.  

By the end of the meeting, Tim wasn’t sure what the meeting had been about or if a decision had even been made.  This all happened before lunch.

“You want the usual, Tim?” Tam asks, as Tim was about to reenter his office.

“That sounds fanatics, Tam, thanks.” He gives her a grateful half smile.  

Tam hums back.  “Oh and Tim, Mr. Wayne requested a meeting with you.  Again.”

Tim suppresses a sigh.  “What’d you say?”

“That you were going back out of town tonight and I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.  Which isn't a lie because I don’t know when you’re going to be back."

Tim rubs his temples ignoring Tam’s glare.  A migraine had been threatening to form for the last hour and a guilt trip from Tam was the last thing that Tim needs.

“I promise Tam, when I know, you’ll know.”

She huffs.  “Fine then.  I’ll get your lunch for you.”

Tim smiles at her.  “Thanks, Tam.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t thank me yet.  Once Mr. Wayne found out that you were going out of town again he—” but the rest of her sentence was cut off by Bruce.  

Bruce coming out of Tim’s office.

Great.

Tim felt his best CEO mask slip into place.  He hadn’t seen Bruce since…well, Tim wasn’t sure when the last time that he’d seen Bruce.  Let alone been close enough to talk to him.

“There you are, Tim!” Brucie came out in full force this morning.  

Great, this is exactly what Tim’s head needs this morning.

“He decided to stop by for a bit.  See you in a few, Tim.” Tam shoots him an apologetic look before leaving.  

Tam may not know all of what went down between Tim and the Bats, but she did know that it was best to keep them separate if possible or, if not, to get out of the way.

“Bruce.  I wasn’t expecting to see you today.  How’s Selina?” Tim keeps his voice detached as he processes these new turn of events.  

What he wouldn't give for a cup of coffee...  

Tim strolls into his office with Brucie following him, the door squeaking shut behind them.

“She’s great! So, son,” Tim suppresses a flinch (not your kid, remember? Just the placeholder between kids.  We’re all clear on that, right?  Right.).  “I didn’t even know that you were in town.  I thought you were still in San Francisco.”

“I’m headed there tonight,” Tim begrudgingly informs Bruce.  Though neither his expression nor tone changes from the CEO mask.  “So, what can I do for you?”

Bruce extracted some files from his jacket (Where did those folders come from? Red did not like not knowing that.) before thrusting them at Tim.  

“Can you run the data for me on this case?”

“Not a problem.” Tim flips open the top file.

“Alfred wants you to come for dinner.”

It was a statement.  Not a question.  

“Can’t, sorry.  I’m going to the Tower right after work.  Maybe next time.”  Tim replies automatically without looking up.  

Brucie, however, didn’t seem to notice the tone.  He was already on his cellphone, checking something.  

“Right then.  Next time.”  Bruce left before Tim gets a chance to respond.  Tim drops the files next to his desk before walking around it and sinking down into his chair.  He lightly raps his head against the desk for a minute.  

Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Tim thinks to himself.  He tries to make it a point to not tell the any of Bats of his coming or goings.  Really, though, it wasn’t like any of them cared.  

A voice in the back of his head (that sounded suspiciously like Con) whispers that it must be the sleep deprivation, which didn’t make any sense.  Tim had gotten almost two whole hours of sleep this morning.  And that's like ten normal people hours of sleep.  

It really isn’t Tim’s fault that the police reports that he had been waiting weeks for had finally been put on to the Gotham server last night.  Of course, he had to read them last night just to make sure they were the right ones.  He wasn’t going to send the Titans, his team, off on a wild goose chase.  So, he had read the report and made his own before going to bed last—this morning.

Tim's pulled from these thoughts by a knock on the door.  Tam was standing there, holding a carb salad with raises eyebrows.

“Here is the thing you claim is lunch.”  Tam crosses the room and places the box onto Tim’s desk.  

Tim sniffs, shuffling Bruce’s papers away.  “There is nothing wrong with eating a salad for lunch.”

“It’s not the salad itself I object to.  It's the fact that it's your only eating a salad for lunch that weird."

“Who doesn’t like salad?”

“Most sane people.”  

Tim snorts.  “You realize calling your boss insane isn’t a good idea?”

“Tim, if you fired me, then you’d have to do all the paperwork,” Tam smirks at Tim’s horrified expression.  “Yeah, I think my job is safe.  What did Mr. Wayne want?”  She nonchalantly asks.

Tim stiffens at the question.  “He just wanted some data.”  Tim flips the lid off the salad to see a full family sized salad sitting in front of him.  “I think you may have gotten too much.”

“No, I didn't.  You'll need the energy.  The Lexcorp officials are coming after lunch for an impromptu meeting.  Don't worry,” Tam continues at Tim's groan, "I've already told Steve down at Security to run interference."  Tam turns to leave.  “And I expect all of that salad to be gone by the time I get back mister,” she adds in her best mock motherly voice.

“Yes, Ma’am.”  And Tim took an exaggeratedly large bit at Tam’s glare.

*    *    *

The rest of the day at WE went by relatively smoothly.  Tim's even able to get out at a reasonable hour.  

Miraculous, Tim had been able to finish the whole salad.  Or, maybe it wasn’t a miracle; just Tim failing at remembering to feed himself.  Tam was always good at making sure Tim ate.  She claims that he was just too skinny and would attempt to force-feed him every chance she got.  

Tim hums to himself as he unlocks the front door to his apartment.  He was supposed to be at the tower by midnight.  For once, he didn’t have to rush to get there or run the risk of being late.  

There were even times that Tim thought that his three-floor apartment a little…much.  

When Tim had bought it, he'd never expected that all of the space would bother him.  Spending most of his childhood alone at the Drake house and then at the Manner, large empty space had never been an issue.

And Tim had been fine with it until he had started to spend more time at the tower.  Tim smiles at the thought of the other Titans while dumping his briefcase onto the couch and throwing his suit jacket down too (his mother, or Alfred for that matter, would have been horrified that Tim had just thrown a custom made Armani suit onto the ground, like trash? but, hey, they weren’t here so what they do?).  Tim heads down the hallway towards his bedroom, taking off the pieces of Tim Wayne: CEO costume off so he could put on his Tim Drake: Red Robin uniform on instead.  

The tie went on the guest bathroom’s doorknob, and the shoes get kicked down the hallway ahead (making a small crashing noise) of him into his room.  By the time Tim reached his bedroom, he was just in his undershirt and pants.

Red stills.  

Something wasn’t right.  

Red looks around, trying to figure out what was misplaced.  His eye roved over the neat mess also known as his closet.  He really should get somebody in to clean it but who has the time to vet a new hire?  His dresser was pulled open with clothing spilling out of it.  

Tim did have a ridiculous amount of clothing.  

Tim’s eyes froze on his bedside table.  There was the usual clutter (empty soda cans, coffee mugs, Chinese food containers, etc.) but there, sitting neatly embedded on top of all of the disarray was a gleaming knife.  

A blade used personally by the Demon’s Head.  

Tim had only seen that dagger a handful of times before.  None of those memories were pleasant.

A bubble of panic began to form in his chest.  Shit, shit, shit.  I do not have time for this today Ra’s.  Tim casually reached towards his distress beacon.  

He hadn’t even moved an inch before pain met him.  

Tim was hurled forward before slamming down onto his bed by a force behind him.

“Now, now, Detective.  We can’t have you spoiling all the fun now, can we?”  Ra’s voice came from a spot a few feet in front of Tim where he'd magically appeared.  

Fucking hell.  I don’t have time for this.  

“We wouldn’t want you to call those pesky Titans, now would we?”

“Go to Hell, Ra's.”  Tim's voice was somewhat less intimidating, what with the three ninjas smashing into his back and a pillow smothering him.  

“Tut, tut.  Language, young Detective.”  Tim feels the stab of a syringe going into his neck followed by a burning sensation.  The world began to get fuzzy.  “It wouldn’t do for the next Demon’s Head to insult his predecessor.”

There's a rushing noise in Tim's ears which is only drowned out by the steady beat of his heart.  Lights begain to dim.  Tim's arms were getting heavery as he struggled to move.  Tim give a weak kick towards the person pinning him down wich barely rocks the bed.  The world is quickly closing in on Tim.  

Before he completely passes the fuck out, Tim manage to say, “What would you prefer Ra’s, Real Housewives of Gotham or Metropolis?  Because one of those will be playing on a loop for days before I’m done.”  

The last sound Tim hears before sleep overtakes him is of Ra's laughing.

Thanks for reading!

AO3 link here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106355/chapters/42802829