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weepingfromacedartree · 1 year ago

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Ten Milestones (Interlude): Aubrey Hall

Hi friends!

Here to share the first interlude chapter for this fic!

Interlude 1: Aubrey Hall

August 2nd, 2010

Monday

“Shotgun!”

“In your fucking dreams.”

Mere seconds before Eloise can wrap her fingers around the handle, Colin steps in front and leans his entire backside against the passenger door.

“Hey —”

“Children in the back,” he says, nodding his head towards the door to his left.

“Children?’” she scoffs. “You are two years older than me. And for what I lack in age, I more than make up for in intelligence and maturity.”

Again, Colin shrugs.

“Age before brains — or whatever it is you kids say these days.”

Exasperated, Eloise turns to their older brother.

“Ben?”

While clearly amused by the situation, Benedict does not want to get involved in it. He shrugs in an even more dramatic fashion than Colin had a moment ago. Before anyone can get another word in, he opens his own door and slides into the driver’s seat.

“Pen?”

The last thing Penelope wants to do is get involved. She mouths “Sorry,” and takes her seat behind Benedict.

After a miffed moment of consideration, Eloise determines that her brother has grown too tall and too sturdy for her to physically extricate from his spot (without resorting to scratching or biting, of course). Begrudgingly, she takes the high road. Rolling her eyes and sliding into her usual spot next to Penelope.

“This whole family is against me,” she grumbles to no one in particular. Her mood doesn’t lift until they get out of the city.

This is the fourth summer in a row that Penelope is accompanying the Bridgertons on their summer trip to Aubrey Hall. It started when she and Eloise were twelve; Eloise had threatened to throw a screaming fit all the way to Kent if she was unable to bring her best friend along for the ride. Violet had not appreciated her daughter’s dramatics, but obliged nonetheless.

By now, Penelope is used to car rides like this one. She’s used to Eloise’s little utterances and jabs. She’s used to Benedict’s giddy laughter and quick comebacks. She’s used to the way Colin smiles and bounces his knee and hums along to the radio, all while the sun seems to point through the window and shine on him and him alone. She’s used to sitting in the backseat and feeling as though she’s observing them all from somewhere far in the distance.

She likes car rides like this.

Right now, the three siblings are discussing their croquet strategies for the annual family tournament. Penelope is looking out the window, watching as the trees go by — until she hears her name called out.

Colin is glancing at her from over his shoulder in the passenger seat. He has an expectant look on his face. Clearly, Penelope’s attention had been lost somewhere in the treeline, because she has no idea what it is that he is expecting from her.

“Hmm?”

“Which mallett do you plan on wielding?”

“Oh. Um… None, I suppose.”

“Sitting out the game another year, Pen?” Eloise asks, a dissatisfied crease in her brow.

Absolutely.

Under most circumstances, Penelope finds croquet to be a rather tedious and boring game. But whenever the Bridgerton siblings get involved…

Stressful and unpleasant would be more accurate words to employ.

Her main reason for not wanting to play in the tournament is simply that it is far more enjoyable as an onlooker than it is as a participant. However, she doesn’t think that answer would go down very well with her current audience, so she only voices a secondary reason aloud.

“Are there not only eight mallets to choose from? I wouldn’t want to intrude and leave someone else without a stick.”

“We can always share,” Colin tells her.

“In fairness to Penelope’s point,” Benedict interjects, “our family does not have much of a reputation for sharing.”

“I meant that I can share with her, dimwit.”

“I don’t seem to recall you being very good at sharing, either.” Eloise laughs maniacally. “Or am I misremembering an incident between you and Daphne and a certain box of Christmas cookies.”

Colin unbuckles his seatbelt just so he can turn around far enough to look his little sister in the eye as he sneers at her.

“You do misremember. If I recall correctly, you —”

“Your recollection has about as much credibility as your penchant for sharing. I, on the other hand, would be happy to share with my best —”

“Oh come off it, El. In the last game, you nearly took poor Gregory’s eye out. Do you —”

“It’s not my fault he didn’t duck.”

“— really think Pen wants to share a mallet with —”

“Will you two knock it off?” Benedict would sound stern, if not for the laugh caught in the back of his throat as he scolds them. “Wait two minutes and we’ll all be free from this vehicle. You two can ignore each other from opposite ends of the estate — or get into a proper fist fight on solid ground. Up to you.”

Moving her head to the left about an inch, Penelope peers into the spot between Colin and Benedict’s heads. Sure enough, there it is. The estate that has been in the Bridgerton family for hundreds of years. The palace on the hill. The gardens and the ponds. The intricately trimmed hedges and the ivy-lined stone. The living quarters that could fit hundreds, but typically only houses a handful of people once or twice a year.

Aubrey Hall, in all its glory.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Tuesday

It’s a warm, albeit slightly damp afternoon in the country. Penelope is spending it in the sunroom with Eloise. (And Gregory and Hyacinth, who are obnoxiously ignoring each other in the opposite corner.)

She’s sitting on the couch by the window, her best friend perched on the opposite end. They both have books in their laps, but the farther Penelope gets into hers, the harder it becomes for her attention to stay put. Her eyes keep drifting upwards. To the scenery outside, to the robin egg blue window frames, to the centuries-old lamp on her left — to anywhere except the book in her hands.

Eventually, her eyes randomly settle on a potted miniature orange tree on the other side of the room; it grows fuzzy in her vision as her mind continues to wander.

Like most people in this world, there are things missing from Penelope’s life that she longs for greatly. Small things, like a puppy — or that powder blue sundress she saw in a window on Dover Street. Bigger things, like a louder voice or a few additional inches of height. Monumental, fundamental things, which Penelope would do absolutely anything, just to be able to say were hers.

Living her entire life in such close proximity to a family like the Bridgertons — a family that loves each member so fully, so unconditionally — one might expect Penelope to be consumed by envy at the ripe age of fifteen. But she isn’t. She can’t.

It’s difficult to be envious of a family that seems so willing to extend that love to outsiders — even if it is only temporary. Even if it’s always a few steps removed. Even if it’s never real.

“Penelope dear.”

Nails digging into the deckled edges of her book, Penelope turns her gaze towards the doorway. Violet is standing there with a soft, expectant look on her face.

“I just wanted to double check — you take your tea with milk and honey, correct?”

“Yes!” She quickly stands from her spot and places the book down. “I can assist you with afternoon tea.”

“Oh, thank you dear,” says Violet, a soft smile still hanging on her lips. “But you sit, I can handle the rest.”

Already stepping closer, Penelope glances over to the copy of Little Women she had left behind.

“I could use the distraction. I just keep reading the same line over and over again.” Which is true.

I do think that families are the most beautiful things in all the world.

One final moment of pleasant doubt crosses Violet’s face, before ultimately accepting the offer.

There are two kettles on in the kitchen, and about a dozen teabags scattered around the counter next to the stove. On the island lies a silver tray and an assortment of food. Penelope attends to the latter as Violet readies the tea.

She barely lifts a finger before the older woman calls over her shoulder, “Are you excited for the school year to start up again?”

The question catches Penelope a little off guard.

Parents usually ask the opposite question. They ask about summer. They assume summer is the topic a teenager would wish to discuss — especially now, when the holiday is still fresh and the school year feels like a lifetime away.

Belatedly, she answers, “Yes. I’m really excited to start co-editing the paper with Eloise.”

“Well, that’s certainly something to be excited about. Although,” she laughs, “I fear my daughter is too busy fretting over your end-of-year exams to enjoy anything in the meantime.”

Penelope feels her lips unwittingly twist together. Though she may enjoy and appreciate her schooling, she isn’t completely mad — she’ll never smile at the mention of the GCSEs.

Violet laughs again, soft and warm. “I know they can be daunting, but I’ve had four children sit their exams and they all survived. I have no doubt you girls will be just fine.”

In response, Penelope can only smile and nod (and think about just how not fine both of her sisters did on theirs).

When the tea kettles start to whine and Violet turns back around, Penelope turns her attention back to the arrangement in front of her — fresh-baked biscuits, honey, jam, clotted cream, milk and sugar. She places them on the platter in front of her, tins and jars in the middle, biscuits going ‘round. She stacks each one with careful fingers, fearing the perfectly circular crusts will flake off beneath her thumb.

Biscuit after biscuit after biscuit after —

“Penelope dear.”

Her head whips around at the sound of her name. Violet is leaning against the counter again, tea seeping behind her. There’s a cautious smile on her face.

“Is something on your mind?”

Yes. Always.

In truth, Penelope’s mind has never been a particularly quiet place. Growing up, her primary school teachers would describe her as “thoughtful” on report cards and in conferences with her parents — which had seemed like an odd attribution to her at the time. After all, everyone is always thinking about something; her capacity for thought is no different than anyone else’s.

It wasn’t until she got a bit older that she finally started to get it. With time, her proclivity to over-analyze and over-worry and over-think about her every action, opinion, and impulse only grew. With such a constant, tangled web of thoughts hanging in the back of her mind at every moment of the day…

With time, it’s become obvious. That not everyone is quite as full of thoughts as she is. That, while seemingly intended as a positive attribution from her teachers, being “thoughtful” isn’t always a good thing. Or, at the very least, not always an easy thing.

But while Penelope generally considers Violet an easy person to talk to (easier than with her own mother, at least), there are some truths that she simply cannot bring herself to voice aloud. To say one word would risk untangling the entire web, and no one has time for that.

“Um… No, I —”

“Pen! There you are!”

Once again, she whips around at the sound of her name. Not that she needed to, to know who had called it.

Colin is walking into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, typical charming smile on his face.

“I didn’t realise I was missing,” she tells him, her voice coming out the tiniest bit flustered.

He doesn’t say anything in response to that. He simply walks around the island to stand beside her. When he lands there, he playfully bumps his hip against hers — which, due to a recent growth spurt on his end (and a stagnation on hers), lands closer to her rib cage than her hip bone.

“Preparing tea?” he asks, picking up a single sugar cube from the dish in front of them and plopping it into his mouth.

“Yes. Still take yours with four sugars?”

Biting back a laugh as he continues chewing, Colin shrugs. “I suppose I could limit myself to three this afternoon.”

“A noble sacrifice,” Penelope teases.

His eyes suddenly point away from her, looking over to the spot where his mum was standing just a moment ago. Violet must have walked into the pantry or somewhere else down the hall, because she is nowhere to be seen.

“You missed all the fun outside,” he whispers, leaning in a bit closer.

“F — fun?”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking. “Daphne’s off to Cheltenham in a few weeks. Ben, Ant, and I couldn't let her leave home without a few self-defence lessons.”

“Self-defence?” she echoes again, evidently losing all conversational skills past that of a parrot.

“Yeah. You know, making sure she knows how to throw a punch or kick someone where it really hurts. Thank god Benedict volunteered to be her test dummy, or else I might have been showing up to Eton next term with a black eye.”

Penelope’s mouth drops open into an astounded gasp, picturing Daphne’s fist colliding with Benedict’s face.

“Oh my —”

“Colin,” Violet interrupts, suddenly reappearing from wherever it was that she disappeared to. She has a look on her face that tells Penelope she caught at least some of Colin’s last few words. “What are you talking ab—”

“Nothing, mum.” With his face the picture of innocence, he picks up another sugar cube, throws it into the air, and promptly catches it in his mouth. “Just helping Pen with tea.”

“Well, that’s very… nice of you.” Penelope has never heard Violet sound so sarcastic before. Clearly, her son’s attempt at charming misdirection had no effect. “And Daphne? Your brothers? Will they be joining us for afternoon tea as well?”

“How would I know?”

Face settled into a faux-pleasant smile, Violet’s eyes turn to Penelope again.

“I’ll take the tea out. Penelope dear, can you do me a favour and keep my son out of trouble in the meantime?”

Automatically, Penelope’s head turns up and to the side. To the boy who occupies such a vast space of her tangled up mind at any given moment of the day. He’s looking down at her, blue eyes peeking through brown curls.

In truth, Penelope doesn’t think she can keep Colin out of trouble, if trouble is what he wants. She doesn’t think there’s a single thing she can convince Colin of that he hasn’t already made up his mind about.

Cheeks suddenly a light shade of pink, she turns her gaze back to Violet.

“I’ll do my best.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Wednesday

It’s hot today. It’s the type of hot that feels sticky against your skin. The type of hot that infects your brain as much as it does your body. The type of hot that draws your footsteps towards the nearest body of cold water.

At Aubrey Hall, there are several bodies of water to choose from.

Almost everyone is in and around the pool situated in the back garden — which also just so happens to be situated directly under the sun at this time of day. After spending approximately an hour in the water, Penelope is now sitting off to the side under the safety of a big blue umbrella. Her hair and bathing suit are still damp. Her skin still prickles like it’s burning. Her oversized sunglasses sit as close to her skull as physically possible. There’s a book in her hands, but her eyes won’t let her get through a single line before they inevitably start to wander.

Colin is still in the water, surrounded by the majority of his siblings. He’s throwing Gregory an inflatable basketball. He’s picking up Hyacinth and throwing her three feet in the air. He’s splashing Eloise. He’s wading through the water. He’s laughing. He’s running a hand through his hair, his bicep growing taught with the motion.

It’s unfair, Penelope thinks, forcing her eyes downward again, how Colin can live under the sun and never sweat beneath its heat. How the sunlight follows him wherever he moves, eternally shining down on him in glorious reflection. How in a space brimming with other people, the light appears to fall on him and him alone.

After reading the same line for the sixth time in a row, Penelope abandons her dreams of lazily enjoying a book by the pool. She stands from her spot, throws on a white cotton dress, and tucks her copy of Sense & Sensibility under her armpit.

At Aubrey Hall, there are several bodies of water to choose from on hot days like this, so Penelope ventures deeper into the estate. As she steps forward, she cannot help but think about the things that have changed since this summer and last — since the last time she walked down this very path.

Last summer, she wasn’t alone — she was walking arm and arm with Eloise while Colin and Benedict trailed closely behind. Last summer, Colin was about to leave for Eton and Penelope could think of nothing else but his leaving and whether or not their friendship would survive it. Last summer, she knew her feelings for him were growing stronger with each passing day, and she knew that momentum would not halt once he was out of her view.

Last summer, Penelope was two cup sizes smaller. Last summer, Colin was two inches shorter.

Last summer, her footsteps did not seem so predestined for the shadows. Last summer, she had not been so keenly aware of the way in which the light reflects off of Colin.

Last summer, she felt like a kid. This summer, she feels like a kid with a lot more shit swimming around her brain and body.

Last summer —

Her footsteps (and her train collision of thoughts) stop short when she reaches her intended destination. It’s a small swimming pond, shaded by elm trees and outfitted with a little wooden dock. Positioning herself on the edge, Penelope lets her feet dangle into the tepid water. Then, she looks down.

Free from any visual distractions, she almost makes it through an entire chapter uninterrupted. Almost.

She knows it’s him long before she turns her head to confirm, but when she does…

Colin is walking down the path by himself. He’s wearing sandals and his navy blue swim trunks. And nothing else.

Once he gets close enough, Penelope says, “Hi.” Or, she tries to; the word comes out more like a soundless breath of air.

He plops down beside her with a smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

“Sorry. I, uh…” She closes the book that was previously sitting open in her lap and displays it for Colin to see. “I was having trouble focusing back there. Thought I would enjoy the quiet for a few minutes.”

“You want me to fuck off?” he asks, a hint of cheekiness to his voice as he smirks and nods his head towards the path from which he came.

The quickness with which she answers “No” is a bit embarrassing, even for her. But Colin doesn’t seem to mind. Or maybe even notice.

“Alright.” He leans back from his sitting position to lay against the dock beside her. “You go back to your book. I’ll lay here and enjoy the silence.”

Penelope, who would do just about anything Colin asks her to, does as she’s told and reopens her book. But as determined as she is to keep her eyes focused on the text, she can’t stop herself from continually glancing sideways. She can’t prevent her mind from lingering on the smell of him — the soap and the sweat and the chlorine all radiating off his body. She can’t help but curse the few inches of distance that separate their bodies. And then, when he has the gall to drift off to sleep on a goddamn wooden deck, she can’t hear anything except those soft, even breaths.

Through all of it, she desperately tries to read — to continue forward. But yet again, she’s stuck reading the same line over and over and over again.

If I could but know his heart, everything would become easy.

If I could but know his heart,

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Thursday

It rained today. All day.

It’s the type of rainy day that makes you forget that the sky was ever blue — that the sun still exists somewhere high above you, out of sight from where you stand on the ground.

Everyone spent the day inside. Around 3:00, Daphne suggested that they all watch a movie together to pass the time. By 4:00, she and most of the other Bridgertons had abandoned that plan.

They had drawn cards in order to determine who would pick the movie. Eight-year-old Hyacinth had drawn a Queen, and was thus named the winner. Inspired by the current weather, she had plucked Singin’ in the Rain out of the box of DVDs.

No one was particularly enthused by her choice. Not even Hyacinth, who has since fallen asleep and is now curled up in the armchair in the corner of the room.

Sixty-eight minutes into the movie, the only people still present, awake, and watching it are Colin and Penelope. Well, they’re awake and present — to say they’re “watching” the movie is a bit of a stretch. Penelope’s attention is mainly focused on the notebook in her hands. Colin’s is mainly on his phone. It isn't until the music picks up again and Gene Kelly starts dancing around in the rain that he focuses his attention on the TV.

From his spot on the other end of the couch, Colin nudges Penelope’s knee with his foot.

“When was the last time you ran around in the rain like that?”

Looking up from her notebook, Penelope glances back and forth between Colin’s expectant face and the TV screen. Gene Kelly continues to dance around, skipping in puddles and twirling around lamp posts.

“Never.”

“Never?” he echoes, brows furrowed.

Once again, Penelope’s eyes dart back and forth between Colin and the fantastical scene playing out on the screen. Then, she shrugs. She’s not quite sure where his confusion is coming from.

“Do you have a habit of singing and dancing in the rain, Colin?”

“No.” He quickly throws a glance over his shoulder to confirm that Hyacinth is still asleep in the armchair. “But come on,” he continues, his voice a bit lower than it was before. “There wasn’t a single time in your childhood that you ran out in the rain and let loose?”

Penelope barely considers the question. She could wrack her brain for hours, searching for a memory of a time when she had “let loose” and would come up empty.

“No.”

Just as Colin opens his mouth to say something else, she continues.

“Does anyone really do this,” she uses a ballpoint pen to point to the TV screen, “outside of fictional characters who just so happen to live inside a musical?”

Colin laughs.

“Well, not this exactly. I never expected little Penelope Featherington to have broken out into song on a street corner. But come on — at some point, you must have had the desire to dance around in the rain.”

You don’t know what I desire, she wants to say, but doesn’t.

“No,” she says instead. “Dancing in the rain is just silly.”

Colin’s jaw drops in exaggerated horror.

“How is it —”

“Dancing without music is silly. In a movie, dancing in the rain might make for a good musical sequence, but in reality, there is very rarely music accompanying a torrential downpour. Save for a poorly timed outdoor wedding, I can’t think of many scenarios in which I would want to dance in the rain.”

Still looking a bit horrified, Colin crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“I would argue that dancing in the rain is one of the few times when one would want to dance without music.”

“You can’t dance without music,” she insists, crossing her own arms.

“Yes you can! If you have feet and rain — which, in case you forgot, we have plenty of in England — you can dance in the rain.”

“Why would you want —”

“Because it’s fun, Pen,” he interrupts — evidently a bit too loudly. Hyacinth darts her head up from the side of the armchair.

“Where is everyone?” she asks dazedly, rubbing a fist across her eyes.

Colin sighs, throwing Penelope one last over-exaggerated eye roll before turning his attention towards his sister.

“Nowhere, Hy. You’re still dreaming.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Friday

It’s raining again. Penelope watches streams of water rolling down the window beside her, ignoring the book in her lap. She’s also trying desperately to ignore the scene unfolding a few metres away from her in the center of the room, but that proves to be a more difficult task.

The annual croquet tournament was meant to be held this morning, but when the rain didn’t let up by noon, the siblings dispersed to different ends of the property to entertain themselves by other means. Currently, Colin and Eloise are in the library on the east wing, engaging in another family favourite pastime: argument.

Penelope has lost track of what it is they’re arguing about. It had started with Eloise attempting to offer Colin unsolicited advice on his croquet technique, then Colin offered his own advice on Eloise’s “perpetual lateness,” then the Christmas cookie incident got brought up again, then —

Suffice to say, Penelope has since lost the plot. But whatever it is that they’re currently arguing over doesn’t even matter. After sitting in on so many of these sorts of encounters over the years, Penelope has come to accept that the Bridgerton siblings simply love to argue. It’s like a sport for them — one just as blood thirsty as a casual game of croquet.

Sinking deeper into her chair by the window, Penelope casts her eyes downward and lifts her index finger to the page, tracing it across every word until her mind starts to actually register what it is that she is reading. She nearly makes it through the chapter before her ears unconsciously perk up at the sound of something all too familiar.

“Penelope is my best friend. Your need to encroach on everything I hold dear is ridiculous. I suggest —”

“Oh, come off it Eloise. At least I don’t speak about Pen like she’s a piece of property I own. And —”

“I do no such thing!”

“— we both know who she prefers to spend her time with. Of course I’m her —”

“Bullshit.”

“— best friend.”

As they continue down this path, Penelope tears her eyes away from her book and towards her supposed best friends.

This debate started up a few years ago (around the time that she and Eloise started secondary school) and hasn’t let up since. While some might think this a complimentary position for Penelope to be in, in reality, she has always found it quite exhausting.

From the beginning, she has taken the stance that she usually takes when thrown into the middle of a Bridgerton argument: neutrality. In her experience, that tends to lead to the least amount of bloodshed.

But while Penelope may insist upon not taking sides in this particular debate, the answer in her mind and in her heart is far more decisive.

In truth, Penelope has always seen Eloise as her best friend — not Colin. Not because the two of them were closer first. Not because she cares for Eloise any more or less than she does Colin. No, Penelope’s feelings for Eloise are simply uncomplicated.

In truth, to call Colin her best friend is difficult for Penelope. The term is just so final. Best friend — there’s nothing that comes after that. To call him that feels like an admittance that a friend is all she’ll ever be to him. Even if she always — always wants more.

“Pen?”

Penelope blinks several times before focusing her attention back on reality. She’s not 100% sure which of them had called her name, but Colin and Eloise are both looking at her expectantly.

“Sorry — what?”

“We’re gonna go into town — to that ice cream shop with the cows out front,” Eloise says. “You coming?”

Penelope nods, throws her book to the side, and stands fromthe chair. She smooths out her skirt and looks over to her friends. They’re still staring up at her from their spots on the rug.

“Of, uh — of course.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Saturday

Having spent her entire adolescence in London, there are many things Penelope has to adjust to while on these brief trips out to the country. The hardest to adjust to, she has found, is just how peaceful it all is.

In the country, the loudest noise you’ll hear on a Saturday morning isn’t a horn blaring or a disgruntled drunk stumbling home from a late night. It’s birds.

Every other day this week, Penelope had been jolted awake by the unexpectedly deafening sound of a dawn chorus. Most mornings, she had been able to turn over in bed and get another hour or two of sleep in. This morning was different, though; her eyes were already open and alert by the time the birds began their song.

Thirty-seven minutes after her wake up call, Penelope now walks along a bizarrely peaceful path on the edge of the property. She looks up, to a pair of bluebirds dancing in the wind. She looks down, to the grass silently being crushed beneath her trainers. She looks to the side, towards a pond so still that its tepid surface looks as though it’s been frozen over.

That is, until Colin skips a pebble across it.

When exiting Eloise’s bedroom door this morning, Penelope had planned on taking a quick trip around the ponds alone. But when she found Colin in the kitchen eating a “pre-breakfast,” suddenly it became a walk for two.

“Why were you up so early?” Colin (a perpetual early bird) asks her now. He does not miss a step as he doubles over and picks up another pebble from the path beneath them.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Is Eloise’s snoring really that loud?”

“No.” She laughs. “Well, yes. But I’ve gotten used to it over the years.”

And that’s true. Penelope has long since overcome her inability to sleep through disruption. (Save for the birds that have been tormenting her this past week.)

“Just your usual bout of insomnia, then?”

“Yup.”

Also true. And an increasingly common occurrence in her life.

“Is something on your mind?”

“No.”

Less than true. Colin looks as though he’s about to press her further, but before he can, she searches her mind for something to blame for her restlessness. Anything other than her own overworked mind.

“I think the quiet here is starting to unnerve me.” She laughs quietly, a forced breath of nonchalance. “I’m so used to falling asleep and waking up to the sounds of traffic and yelling. The birds chirping in the morning are starting to feel a bit…”

“Antagonistic?” Colin finishes when her voice trails off, looking up to the sky with a slight grimace on his face.

She laughs again, softer and more genuine now.

“Yeah.”

“I know what you mean.” Colin reaches down for another pebble, but doesn’t immediately dispel it like he did the others. He turns it over and over in his palm as he continues speaking. “I’m used to how Aubrey Hall sounds by now, but Eton took some getting used to.”

His mention of “Eton” causes Penelope’s ears to perk up.

After growing up in posh all-boy schools in London, Colin had left the city to attend Eton College for his A-Levels last fall. When he did, for the first time in Penelope’s life, Colin Bridgerton had not lived across the street from her. To Penelope, this change had felt monumental (to phrase it nicely). But to him…

Well, she doesn’t exactly know how he feels on the subject. He never seems to want to talk about it — with her, at least.

“What does it sound like?” she asks him. “At Eton, I mean.”

“Uh… Well it’s quiet, mostly. But loud in its own ways. I think it’s because the halls are so archaic and winding — noises carry differently there than they do here or at home.”

“Are you excited to go back?” she asks when he doesn’t expand any further.

“I…” He chuckles, then finally gets rid of the pebble in his hand. “I would prefer not to discuss the school year during my summer holiday.”

“Fair enough,” she mutters, shrugging her shoulders in acceptance of the brevity of this particular conversation. In its absence, a familiar quiet falls between them. (Save for the wind and the birds and the twigs snapping beneath their feet.)

Unconsciously, Penelope’s fingers pull at the hem of her skirt. It was probably not the best choice for an early morning walk around the ponds, but in fairness, she thought the air would be a bit warmer by now.

As the quiet continues, Penelope’s eyes dart all around, pointing everywhere, except to the person walking directly beside her. She looks down, noting how the whites of her converse are starting to turn brown. She looks up, curious about the colour of the sky, but unable to make out much between the trees. She looks to the side, to the nearest pond; she watches as the still surface begins to sputter.

“We should head back,” she murmurs, voice soft as she feels the first few drops of rain hit her bottom lip. Colin nods his head, then alters his footsteps accordingly.

The very moment that they step out of the cover of trees and into the open field, Penelope wonders if it was the right call to make. Her head swivels back and forth, from the wooded area behind them to the house ahead. The latter is about an acre of land away, but looks much farther from her current position.

Before she can make a decision, Penelope’s eyes settle on Colin. She does so looking for some sort of guidance forward. The only problem is that he isn’t looking at the woods or the house.

He’s looking at the sky.

He’s smiling.

“Should we —” Penelope starts, but stops after realising her tentative words aren’t quite audible above the rainfall.

Colin finally looks down, moving his attention away from the sky and directly onto Penelope. With a smile still plastered on his face, he tells her, “I think this is what some people would call a sign.”

“What —”

“Ready to let loose, Featherington?”

He extends his hand towards her, though Penelope cannot even begin to fathom why. Then it hits her.

There wasn’t a single time in your childhood that you ran out in the rain and let loose?

“No,” she answers for the second time that week. Which may be a new record for her.

“Oh, come on Pe—”

“This is silly.”

With a huff, she lightly slaps away his offered hand. Realising she needs to make this decision on her own, she starts walking in the direction of the house. Unfortunately, Colin’s footsteps are quicker than hers; he gets in front of her, blocking her path forward within seconds.

“How is it ‘silly?’”

There are many extensive, reasonable answers Penelope could give in response to his question. But due to the rain beating down on them — quick and gaining speed by the second — she defaults to brevity.

“No music.”

“I thought we already refuted that point.”

“Colin —”

“But if music is really so important to you, I could always sing.”

No. No no no no no no no.

Penelope feels her eyes go wide and her body go rigid as her brain briefly short circuits. In some universe, she could maybe — just maybe — handle dancing in the rain with Colin without having her heart explode. But there is simply no chance in any universe she could survive him serenading her while doing so.

“No,” she says again. Definitely a record.

“Pen —”

“No singing. That’s far too silly.”

“Okay, okay, okay…” A goofy, albeit expectantly charming smile graces his lips. “Fair enough — no singing. Out loud, at least.”

“What are —”

“Just sing a song in your head. I’ll sing one in mine.”

Again, there are a million questions and objections she could voice aloud. The one she lands on is: “What song?”

“Whatever you want. It’s your head.”

“But what if we sing different songs and our footsteps are all mixed up?”

“Then the world will end.” Colin tilts his head back as he laughs. “Nothing! Nothing will happen — other than a bit of fun.”

Once again, Colin offers her his hand. And god — for all her consternation on this ridiculous, utterly absurd offer, she can’t bring herself to deny him any longer.

Unsurprisingly, the dance begins with an awkward start. Their hands interlock with gripping fingers, continually adjusting to the rain slipping between them. All other points of their bodies remain separate; their arms form an oval shape as their feet pick up speed.

At first, they swing around each other like two little kids playing Ring a Ring o’ Roses. And while Colin laughs like this is the most fun he’s had in years, Penelope can’t help but bite at her lip; she feels even more exposed and awkward and utterly silly than she had expected. Just when she thinks they’ll follow the nursery rhyme and fall into the muddy ground beneath them, Colin alters their movements.

Dropping one hand, he raises the other to twirl her around — twice. By the second time, she actually has a smile on her face.

“This isn’t too bad, is it?”

“Oh! Uh, no — I —”

She doesn’t get the chance to finish that sentence before Colin spins her around again, this time out and away from his own body. When her arm extends fully and she’s as far away from him as she can get with their hands gripped together, she once again fears that her feet will give out from underneath her and send her crashing downwards. But just as the Earth tilts and she feels herself falling, Colin pulls her back in.

Her right shoulder hits his sternum with a bang — hard enough that she fears either one of them could leave this encounter with a bruise. “Sorry!” she yelps, but suspects that Colin can’t hear her over the rain still pouring down around them.

She moves her feet just enough to extract herself from Colin’s center. She then finds his left hand and interlocks it with her right so they’re in a similar position to where they had started. This time though, their arms hang lower and their bodies aren’t so far apart.

As a low rumble of thunder starts beating in the distance, the two of them continue dancing. Their movements feel less awkward to her now, but just as silly. Which, Penelope finally realises, isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Feeling lighter and freer than she has all morning, Penelope’s head tilts backwards with laughter. Unfortunately, such lightness is short-lived, for Colin misinterprets her unconscious movement as an attempt to dip backwards.

Following her unintentional lead, Colin’s left hand leaves her grasp and shoots to her lower back. The movement inadvertently pulls her pelvis right up against his leg.

“Fuck!” she yelps, too caught off guard to stop herself. This time, Colin can easily hear her above the raging storm.

“Pen, are you o—”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish that sentence.

Caught off guard not just by Penelope’s expletive, but also by the way her body went rigid in his arms and against his middle, Colin loses track of his own footsteps. His left foot trips over his right ankle. He barely manages to let go of her before tumbling unceremoniously to the ground.

Still frozen in the position he had just held her in, Penelope can only watch as he falls into a particularly muddy patch of grass. His entire right side is instantly caked in mud.

“Oh my god!” she finally manages to get out. “Colin!”

She gets down on his level just as he rolls onto his back. As he opens his eyes and looks up at her, she expects them to squint in annoyance — the fall was her fault, after all. At the very least, she expects them to go wide, in shock or in pain.

What she does not expect is for them to crinkle. For his entire face to light up with humour as his head falls back even deeper into the mud and he starts laughing.

Laughing.

“Colin?” she repeats, tentatively this time; she fears he might be suffering from a concussion.

“That’s what I get for trying to show off,” he mutters, still laughing. Still laying in the mud.

Mouth opening and closing several times, Penelope takes in the state of him. Every inch of his back and right side — from the tip of his white trainer to the crown of his head — is coated in a murky brown sludge.

“I — I’m sorry,” she finally manages to say.

“For what?” He finally sits up, wiping his hands against the little bit of clean fabric left of his shorts. “I didn’t expect you to catch me before I hit the ground. No offence, but I think that could have only resulted in both of us covered in muck.”

She opens her mouth again, but before she can say anything, lightning strikes directly over their heads. A deafening boom follows less than a second later.

Though not at all a religious person, Penelope has to assume that flash of light was a message sent directly from God, telling her to keep her mouth shut.

What could she have said, anyway?

Sorry. I can’t get that close to you without losing control of all bodily functioning.

“I think that’s a sign to cut our dance short,” Colin announces. When he fruitlessly wipes at his brow and peels his legs from the Earth, Penelope lets out a semi-forced laugh.

“Was the mud caked all over your body not enough of a reason?”

Now standing above her, he shrugs.

“Eh. It’s just a bit of mess,” he says. “The rain will clean me off before we get back to the house.”

With that, he extends his hand down to her. And god — how could she not take it?

They run back to the house together, feet sinking deeper and deeper into the grass as they go. Just as they land on solid ground, Colin halts both of their footsteps by placing a hand around her elbow.

“I forgot to ask,” he starts, his voice warm but still raised. They’re technically out of the rain and under the cover of the back terrace, but the storm is so loud that they may as well be in the middle of it. “What song were you singing?”

“What?” she asks, genuinely not sure if she heard him right.

“When we were dancing — what song were you singing in your head?”

Like a lightning bolt, it hits her all at once that Colin was right. That she did not, in fact, need music to dance in the rain and have a bit of fun.

She didn’t sing a song in her head before, but he’s looking at her so expectantly with that goddamn smile on his face…

She can’t bring herself to admit the truth, so she says the first thing that pops into her head.

“Yellow. You know, that song by Coldplay.”

Tearing her eyes away from his, Penelope looks down to her dress — a chequered yellow and white sundress that flows down to her knees. It’s one of the few unsolicited pieces of clothing from her mother that she actually likes. Loves, even.

Though it hadn’t been her intention when looking down, Penelope can’t help but take in the state of her attire. Every inch of her is dripping with rain. And though it’s nothing compared to what Colin’s sporting now, there’s mud speckled all over her. Her dress is probably ruined, but truthfully, she couldn’t care less.

Turning her attention back to the blue eyes already fixed on hers, Penelope laughs.

“Funny how that song always gets stuck in my head.”

Colin laughs too. She can’t quite make out what he says next, but she thinks she hears the word “good” somewhere in all that noise.

He turns away from her slightly, body pointed towards the nearest entrance into the house. But before he can step away, Penelope taps him on the elbow.

“What song were you singing?”

Though his lips part immediately, he does not answer her question right away. Just when Penelope wonders if he forgot the answer, he leans in closer.

“Your song was better,” he insists. “That’s the song.”

Before she can muster up a single word in response to that, Colin turns and walks towards the door, his backside very much still painted brown. Penelope stays behind for a moment, feeling stuck in her place on the edge of the terrace, heart beating in her ears and raindrops pelting into her sideways.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Sunday

“Do you think time moves faster in the country?”

Penelope looks over and up, catching a glimpse of Colin’s face in the sun. It’s unusually sunny this morning — not a cloud in the sky.

“Don’t people usually say the opposite? That the days are longer in the country than in the city.”

“Yeah, I know that’s what ‘people’ say,” he mutters, rolling his eyes down at her with a smile still pressed into his cheeks. “But doesn’t it feel like we just got here?”

While her feet continue forward, Penelope looks over her shoulder, towards the building not so far in the distance behind them.

Aubrey Hall was built in the 17th century and has remained relatively untouched ever since. Thus, any 21st century cars have to be parked in the garage hidden behind a cluster of trees, about a quarter-mile away from the home. Eloise and Benedict are making the trek with them, walking about five paces behind them. (Although the pair seem so engrossed in conversation that they may as well be a hundred steps behind.)

Turning back to Colin…

“Isn’t that how all vacations go? Each day feels long, but then when you look back it’s like the whole week was a blur.”

He considers this a moment.

“That’s very apt, Pen.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she mumbles. “That’s just another thing people say. Honestly, I don’t have that much experience with vacations, other than a few trips to see my family in Ireland. And here, of course.”

Looking up towards the sky, Colin sighs.

“Yeah, I don’t have much experience with those, either. I’ve never travelled much farther than here.”

All at once, it strikes Penelope how true and how surprising his statement is. Since they were children, Colin has talked at great length about the places he dreams of travelling to one day. Paris, Vienna, Athens, New York, Venice…

The list is long, to say the least. But at seventeen, the number of countries Colin has visited is rather brief. For most teenagers, she would attribute that disparity to limitations in money or freedom — but neither of those are in short supply in the Bridgerton household.

“Why is that?”

Colin quickly throws a glance over his shoulder before answering, “Dunno. Probably has to do with the guilt that comes with owning such a massive estate. I mean, it barely gets used as it is. To spend our holidays somewhere else would just be… wasteful.”

Penelope also looks over her shoulder. She steals one last glance at said massive estate before turning the corner that leads to the hidden garage.

“It is a rather nice place to spend your time,” she remarks. “But there are a lot of amazing places out there in the world. Aubrey Hall will always be here to return to.”

It takes Colin a moment to respond to that. Though his footsteps continue forward, he turns his attention down and to the side. To her. His eyes squint softly in those last few fleeting seconds before he voices his response.

“Very apt, Pen.”

Though not a religious person, Penelope thanks God that Colin’s eyes flick forward just as a blush bursts up her skin and paints her cheeks bright pink. She opens her mouth, feeling a sudden urge — a need to say something to fill the air between them. But before she can, someone else’s voice fills it for her.

“Shotgun!”

She turns her head just in time to catch Eloise running up from behind them; her eyes are fixed on the car sitting a few metres away. When Penelope turns back to Colin, she expects to see him manoeuvring himself in front of his sister, just as he did when she pulled this same trick earlier in the week.

(Knowing the Bridgertons, she half-expects him to stick his foot out and trip her.)

But no. Colin’s footsteps remain even as Eloise rushes past. When Penelope throws him a questioning glance, he smirks.

“Sometimes, you have to let her get a win in,” he explains. “Otherwise, we’ll all pay.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Penelope mutters, doing her best to conceal the smirk forming on her own lips. Before either of them can say anything else, she quickens her pace and closes what little distance is left between herself and the car.

Mere seconds after she takes her spot behind the driver’s seat, Colin slides into the spot beside her. When their eyes catch, Penelope remembers what they were discussing before Eloise had interrupted them.

Leaning over the middle seat by a few inches, Penelope asks in a hushed tone: “If you had to jump on a plane right now and spend a week-long holiday anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

Colin smiles before answering, “Greece.” He raises one eyebrow before asking, “Where would you go?”

“Paris,” she says, not realising how true her answer is until about a second after it leaves her lips.

Both of Colin’s eyebrows lift. He looks like he’s about to ask another question, but before he can, the ignition kicks on and Eloise turns the radio all the way up.

During the remainder of the trip home, Penelope resists the urge to dwell on the events of the past week — to recall how Colin looked beneath the sun or how he felt in the rain. She also resists the urge to fester on the future — on the upcoming school year and the absence of Colin from her life again.

She does her best to focus only on the now. On the music. On the treeline. On her friends. On Colin, sitting beside her, humming a tune and bobbing his knee and smiling in that way that will always make her stomach flutter.

Now is good.

#there's about 45 minutes left in the day where I live #so technically this update is not late #:)#fanfiction #bridgerton #polin #fanfic #weepingfromacedartree #ten milestones #penelope x colin

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superlarva · 1 year ago

Text

"You've got a mustache."

Hey guys! Sorry, my art style is like the least consistent thing on this planet... I just like trying new things out :)

Anyways, continuing on our Rex parenting journey we have Chapter 4 - Pancakes and Apologies.

Prologue: 00 Previous chapter: 03 Next chapter: 05

Summary: Rex gets some news on Echo, pancakes are made, tantrums are thrown.

CW: Implied/referenced child abuse, talk about injuries from landmines (nothing too in depth)

Chapter 4 – Pancakes and Apologies

Rex sunk down into his couch with a sigh, leaning his head against the armrest. Fives had been tucked in and the hallway light was left on. One kid taken care of, one to go.

Rex pulled out his phone and opened a text from Cody: I have some more info. Call me when you’re ready.

The phone only rang once before it was picked up.

“Cody, is he okay?” Rex tried to keep his voice down so he would not wake the boy sleeping in the next room.

“He’s…” Cody trailed off and Rex could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“What? He’s what?” Don’t say dead. Please, don’t say dead.

“He just got out of surgery. They had to amputate both legs and an arm,” Cody was trying to keep if voice calm and leveled, but the words came out a little choked. “I’m so sorry.”

Rex stared across the living room and into the kitchen, he’d know the boy’s injuries would be bad if he had landed himself in the ICU, but the loss of three limbs? That was too much.

Cody continued, “Echo’s okay for now. He hasn’t woken up yet, so there could still be some complications, but they are optimistic about how the surgery went.”

“Both legs and an arm?” Rex asked, still processing his brother’s statement.

“Yes,” Rex heard Cody take a deep breath on the other side of the line, “He stepped on a landmine.”

“Wh- How?”

“I don’t know. No one told the hospital how it happened either.”

Rex was silent, but his mind screamed.

Screamed in anger.

In sadness.

In pain.

In guilt.

It was his fault. His.

“Rex? You still there?” Cody’s voice cut through the phone.

“Yeah,” Rex said a little absently. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Alright,” Cody said, tone laced with worry. “You should get some rest. I’ll text you any developments, but don’t stay up for them.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to be able to sleep tonight?”

“I- I’m not sure.”

“Try, okay?”

“I will.”

“I love you, Rex’ika.”

“Love you too, Codes,” Rex dropped the phone from his ear as he disconnected the call.

He rolled onto his side and curled up on the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest and letting the world melt around him as tears spilled down his cheeks.

Rex woke, panicked from a dream he couldn’t remember and drenched in a cold sweat. From what he could tell it was early morning, the living room was washed in a dim warm light. He was not sure when he had fallen asleep, but he could not have gotten more than four hours.

He reached for his phone on the coffee table and found it, bringing the screen close to his bleary eyes. He had some texts from Cody from around 3 am:

Just found out Kix is Echo’s doctor!

He came into the waiting room to tell me that Echo seems to be responding well to the surgeries.

He’s sleeping now, but he woke up for a bit while I was in there and asked for Fives.

Kix said he thinks you guys should be able to visit today.

Rex felt a surge of relief, Echo was going to be okay. He was going to be alright. Not only that, but Rex had known Kix since he’d been in a group home with him and he knew the boy was in capable hands.

Rex swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up to type out a reply, thanking his brother profusely.

“M-mister police officer, sir?”

A small voice cut through Rex’s thoughts, and he jerked his head up. Fives stood stiffly on the other side of the coffee table. Rex was taken aback, when had the boy slipped into the room? At least the kid looked like he had slept well, “Yes? And Rex is fine.”

“Would you like me to make you breakfast?”

Rex was initially going to deny the request and insist that he make breakfast for Fives instead, but realized he could not assume Fives was only offering because it was something required of him previously. Perhaps the boy really enjoyed cooking. Rex wouldn’t know so instead he put down his phone and smiled, “Why don’t we make ourselves some breakfast together?”

Fives’s eyes widened a bit before he nodded consent.

Rex stood and stretched, “What should we have? I’ve got eggs, pancakes, oatmeal, cereal, or bread for toast.”

Fives seemed to debate something before looking up at Rex, “What are pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” Rex parroted, a little shocked.

Fives blushed and turned away, muttering a quiet apology.

“No, it’s okay, it’s good to ask questions,” Rex tried to amend quickly. He hurried over to his pantry and grabbed his box of pancake mix, showing the box to the boy, “This is what they look like. They’re really good and you get to put maple syrup on them.”

Fives whipped his head around to Rex at the mention of maple syrup, an excited grin plastered onto his face, “Maple syrup is from Canada.”

“Uh, yeah?” Rex said taken aback by the random fact.

Fives turned back to the pancake box, “Echo had a book about flags. Canada’s is a maple leaf because of all the maple trees there and maple syrup comes from the maple trees.”

“Do you and Echo like to read a lot?” Rex asked.

“Echo does,” Fives said, shoulder’s tensing. “He tried to teach me, but I’m no good.”

Rex didn’t like the boy’s defeated tone, “You know, I didn’t learn how to read until I was a little older than you.”

“Really?” Fives asked. “Because Echo learned when we were little.”

Rex wondered what “little” meant to the boy because in his eyes the twins were still very much just little boys. “Different people learn different things at different times, it’s not a contest.” Rex shrugged, taking the pancake mix from Fives, “Do pancakes sound yummy? They’re one of my favorites.”

Fives nodded, then shrugged, “But I don’t know how to make them.”

“That’s okay,” Rex said grinning. “I can teach you.”

Fives had been a surprisingly competent chef for a seven-year-old boy. He knew how to measure ingredients and pour things without spilling, and, once Rex had helped him up onto the counter, had proved that he could work a stovetop. Rex made sure the boy was aware he was not to be climbing on things or using the stove without permission first.

Rex watched as Fives took his first bite of pancake. The boy chewed slowly and then grinned up at Rex.

“Good?” Rex asked, taking his first bite as well.

Fives nodded enthusiastically and began shoving the rest of the plate into his mouth as fast as he could. He was finished before Rex had swallowed his third bite.

Rex pushed the glass of milk he’d poured the boy closer to him, “milk first, and then you can have more.”

Fives eyed the glass suspiciously before carefully taking it in both hands and downing it, seemingly without stopping for breath. When he put the glass down, he had a little milk mustache. Rex couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“What?” Fives asked, looking down at his plate, searching for whatever was so funny.

“You-” Rex broke out into another chuckle, “You’ve got a mustache.”

“No, I don’t,” Fives said, folding his arms.

“Yes, you do. Go look in the mirror.”

Fives gave Rex a confused look before heading off to the bathroom.

Rex shook his head and finished up his breakfast, smiling to himself.

Fives emerged from the bathroom a minute later with a clean, smiling face.

“It was from the milk,” the boy explained, as if Rex didn’t already know.

Rex nodded as Fives joined him in the kitchen, “Do you want some more pancakes?”

Fives shook his head as he sat back down in his chair, then he looked up a Rex, “Could we bring them for Echo?”

Rex shook his head, giving himself a few seconds to figure out the best way to explain to Fives, “Right now Echo’s in the ICU. Do you know what the ICU is?”

“Like the hospital?”

“Yeah, it’s a part of the hospital where they put the people who need a little extra help to get better. It stands for intensive care unit.”

“Is he going to die?” Fives had clearly picked up on the fact that someone already in the hospital needing extra help was bad. His voice was so small.

“We think he got through the worst part. He woke up last night and asked for you, which is a really good sign, but we can’t bring him anything from outside the hospital because he had to have some really big surgeries and we don’t want him to get infected.”

“Oh,” Fives’s eyes darted back and forth before they made their way back to Rex’s. “Can- can we still-? Are we allowed to see him?”

Rex nodded, “We can head on over after we get dressed and brush our teeth.”

Fives jumped up out of his chair in excitement and made a beeline for Rex’s bedroom. Rex marveled in the boy’s ability to switch his emotions so quickly, and his inability to hide any of them.

As Fives got dressed, Rex washed all the dishes as quickly as he could so he wouldn’t have to keep the boy waiting for long. Not surprisingly, Fives finished getting ready before Rex put the last dish on the drying rack. The boy bounded into the kitchen, bouncing on his toes and grinning.

Rex couldn’t help but match his grin, “Alright, get your shoes and coat on while I get dressed.”

Fives nodded and hopped over to the entry way where his tiny set of shoes sat next to Rex’s boots.

Rex threw on his clothes and swished some mouthwash around in his mouth (brushing took too long) before joining Fives in the entry way. The boy was practically exploding with energy and Rex had to tell him multiple times that his shoes were on the wrong feet before he stopped jumping up and down and sat so Rex could fix them.

As soon as they got onto the road Fives asked how long it would take to get to Echo, and not wanting the entire 45 minute car ride to consist of 45 “are we there yet?”s, Rex made Fives his navigator. He knew the way to Kamino General well enough that he would tell Fives to remind him to turn right when they got to the next intersection or get off the highway when he saw a green sign with the number 79 on it. It kept the boy surprisingly occupied as he seemed to take his role very seriously.

As they neared the hospital and sat waiting in city traffic, Rex glanced at Fives in the mirror, “Fives, there’s something I need to tell you about Echo before we see him.”

Fives twisted forward to look at Rex from his position analyzing the city outside his window.

“He got really hurt and he- his-” Rex started to explain, struggling to find the right words.

“His legs were gone,” Fives interrupted, eyes wide.

Rex stared at the boy in his mirror, “You saw?”

Fives nodded, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Rex didn’t know what else to say.

Fives shrugged, “Green light.”

“Huh?” Rex gaped before he realized what Fives was referring to as the car behind him honked, “Shi-oot!”

Rex slammed on the gas and turned into the hospital’s visitor parking lot, “Sorry about that.”

“S’okay,” Fives mumbled. Then his head shot up with excitement, “Are we here?”

“Yep,” Rex said, pulling into a spot.

Before Rex came to a complete stop, Fives unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door, ready to leap out. Rex stomped on the breaks and lunged back to grab the boy’s wrist, lest he fall out of the car, “Fives!”

The boy yelped as Rex dragged him back away from the door.

“No!” Rex yanked the boy towards his face, “No. You do not get out of the car until it’s stopped moving! Do you understand?”

“I’m s-sorry,” Fives stared at Rex, face going pale.

“Do you understand?”

Fives tried to yank his arm away, but Rex had him in an iron grip.

“Do. You. Understand?”

Fives’s tiny fist came up from where it was clenched at his side and struck Rex on the cheek. Rex was so surprised he almost let go of the boy as Fives began screaming “sorry” repeatedly, flailed his captive wrist around, trying to bash Rex’s hand down into the console, and used his free hand to hit Rex’s arm with as much force as he was capable of.

Rex caught Fives’s other arm to prevent any further damage to either of them and held him still while he struggled. Even though Fives’s eyes were screwed shut, Rex tried to soften his expression from the angry one he was sure it held a few moments earlier to one as neutral as possible.

Eventually Fives’s struggles grew weaker, and his apologies died down to a faint whisper. Rex realized the boy was crying, tears leaking out the corners of his shut lids.

“Fives?” Rex said softly, loosening his grip on the boy so if he wanted to remove his arms he could.

Fives opened his eyes and tears gushed down his cheeks, “’m ssssorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad, see?” Rex held up his hands.

Fives stared up at Rex with big watery eyes before slowly reaching out one of his own hands and placing it against Rex’s opposing palm.

Rex curled down his fingers so his hand enveloped Fives’s, “Are you okay?”

In response Fives pulled his and Rex’s hand towards his chest.

“Hug?” Rex asked, remembering last night.

“Please?”

“Alright, come here,” Rex said, hoisting the boy up over the console and into his lap.

Fives held Rex’s hand to his chest as Rex held him to his and they sat just breathing in silence together until Fives shifted to look up at Rex, “Are- are you very mad at me?”

Rex squeezed Fives a little tighter and smiled sadly, “I’m not very mad at you.”

They sat together for a few more moments and this time it was Rex who broke the silence, “Can I explain why I got upset?”

Rex felt Fives nod against his chest.

“Cars can be very dangerous if we aren’t careful in them or around them,” He felt Fives nod in understanding and continued, “One of the rules when you’re in the car is that you always keep your seatbelt on and you never open the door unless we are parked in a driveway or in a parking lot, does that make sense?”

Again, Rex felt Fives nod against him.

He continued, “When you opened the door, I was scared that you might get hurt, so I got upset. But I was more upset that you might get hurt than I was upset at you.” Rex rubbed Fives’s arm, “I’m sorry for yelling at you and for grabbing you.”

“I’m sorry, too. For- for breaking the rules.”

“It’s alright. You were excited, I get it. But next time we don’t jump out of moving cars.”

Fives nodded, sniffling.

Rex grabbed a tissue and handed it to the boy, “Ready to go see Echo?”

Fives smiled, blowing into the tissue, “Ready.”

@marierg @stressed-cherry @ffdemon @renton6echo @bambambunny @tearfulsolace @rndmpeep @brokenphoenix99 @xylionet @tazmbc1