#so we have sailed past canon compliance

[allyricas]

Main pairing: Steddie x OFC (or Steddie x Reader)

Summary: Cat finally realizes her feelings are not so easily ignored and that she's been hurting Steve and Eddie. She finally admits she still loves Eddie and wants both of them. But when the upside-down comes back with a vengeance, will it be too late for her to finally confess?

[hallothere]

I broke down and wrote the essay. No, I did not and will not proofread it. I don’t waaaannaaaa

There’s Only One Winner For Isengard

In a perfect world, in a world with no meta requirements that could bend to the will of the player, we would roll up to Isengard level-capped, no debuffs, with one quest-marker on hand: Ruin Saruman’s day. But this is a pre-written sequence of events in which we are only along for the ride. We, the player, and a Ranger are shipped off to Isengard with only one conceivable goal: survive. On a meta level we know what Saruman is capable of. At level 70 or 80-something at best, even we are aware that we are no match for a wizard with a canon fate. Not to mention our Ranger companion! The Grey Company has been through enough (though we don’t know the half of it yet) and we are reasonably distraught at the possibilities.

This is why we, the player character, will lose the game of Isengard.

Beyond the meta rules of the game, where quest objectives are whatever the devs wanted them to be (looking at you, Mordrambor) the player character can not defeat Saruman in any way that’s meaningful. And (again on a meta level) in order for us to get to experience the action at Helm’s Deep and Rohan at large, we have to get out of Isengard. We’d get bored of waiting for Theoden and Co. We’d hurl insults or slap fish at Saruman and realistically incur wrath. Honestly, with the set of circumstances presented to us, who could survive imprisonment in Nan Curunir?

Only one of the Company ever could: Lothrandir of Suri Kyla. 

To begin with, none of the Rangers we have any real information on could have done it. Anyone who’s spent time in Angmar is at a disadvantage due to the prevailing dread (game mechanic or otherwise) that can be manipulated by Saruman. Any Ranger that has a major traumatic past is at a disadvantage (sorry Mincham) because if nothing else, Saruman has proven to be a master of illusion. Even Halbarad for all his leadership ability has a pretty exploitable weakness: eventually Saruman can crack the code with a vision of Aragorn’s demise, the one end Halbarad must fear above all others. Or what bond could more easily be exploited than that of a leader and his men? Lheu Brenin’s in the gang now after all. All Saruman would have to do was send for a few more incentives. 

But Lothrandir comes built with a few key advantages that make him the only Grey Company Ranger qualified to come out of this battle of wills on top. His specific strengths, mindset, and personality traits combined with the circumstances that the game sets up going into Isengard make him the clear choice of Rangers- if a Ranger you must have- to stay behind in Nan Curunir. 

Lothrandir wins because he changes the game. From ‘go’ our co-prisoner does something that either puzzles the player character or sends them into an anxious fit. Lothrandir declares himself fearless and sprints recklessly into the ring. Any way you figure it, this seems like a poorly calculated move. He doesn’t stop to survey the enemy. He doesn’t gather intel. Heck, he doesn’t even bide his time to see if he’ll be killed before he even reaches the dungeons. Lothrandir sprints right in without so much as a thought or a plan. Saruman doesn’t know it yet, but from that moment on Lothrandir has him on the back foot. 

Consider for a moment Saruman’s MO. He’s a wizard, and he uses a great deal of magic, sure, but time and time again we are reminded of the power of his voice and his words. He calls down a storm on Caradhras (in the movies for darn sure), he via-Wormtongue whispers poison into the ears of King Theoden. He doesn’t lead with any kind of grandiose display when trying to sway Gandalf. No, he leads with a persuasive argument. Later on, he nearly talks Theoden back around, after failing to wipe out all of Rohan. After killing the man’s son for goodness sakes. He nearly talks himself out of that one!

But Lothrandir has already changed this from a game of wits to a game of wills. There will be no vying for favor, or biding time, or compliance, or even giving Saruman a chance to ‘talk it over friendly’ first. He’s already spitting on the shoes of everyone he sees. The accomplishment in this is twofold, and it makes a major impact on the rest of his time in Nan Curunir. 

Firstly, by establishing a new game, Lothrandir sets Saruman up for a whole lot of assumptions. He does not display any signs of diplomatic ability, wisdom, or even common sense. He very intentionally projects an attitude of reckless disobedience. In the player’s own eyes, it seems as if he ‘doesn’t know any better’. This gives Saruman a clear path to take regarding Lothrandir. He assumes you can’t reason the typical way with someone who has shown zero inclination for listening. The player character demonstrates that the Grey Company (or least their associates) are capable of compliance. For all intents and purposes, this Lothrandir doesn’t appear to be. He’s contrary, fool-hardy, and evidently dumb enough to dive in headfirst and get himself killed. You beat that kind of guy into submission… don’t you?

But Lothrandir has changed the rules of the game. Saruman is no longer fighting with his best weapon, but with a tool to be found in any old villain’s arsenal. When he took the approach of reasoning with the player character and disregarding Lothrandir, he set the victor’s foundation on our snow-pilgrim’s greatest strength. 

Secondly, by establishing a new game, Lothrandir makes this a battle of physical endurance. Unbeknownst to Saruman, this is the one thing that makes him stand out from the rest of the Grey Company. He has walked through the frozen north lands and the fiery south lands and come out unscathed. He has mastered the unarmed combat style of the Lossoth by joining in mid-winter wrestling matches in a place that took down many Elves, Angmarim, and notably one King of Arthedain! Lothrandir has conceivably spent his entire life training for this matchup. Any endurance he has built up, any fighting he can do without access to a weapon, all are assets to the kind of game he just made Saruman play. Lothrandir is uniquely built to survive any physical torment Isengard can throw at him, or at least, better equipped than any of the others. 

To say Lothrandir is the best choice, we also have to rule out the others. Corunir was thwarted by the Rammas Deluon and for all he learned from that, it’s a weak spot in his proverbial armor. Golodir too, resisted a fair degree of torture (palantiri based, even!) in Carn Dum, but it won’t be hard for Saruman to suss that one out and make our old man’s life a living nightmare. Even Radanir, serious and seemingly unattached to any social bonds now that his good pal Elweleth has gone sailing, would be a poor choice. He is too serious, (for lack of a better term) too genre-savvy, and even if he is spitting blood and delivering a witty one-liner, that’s Saruman’s foot in the door! ‘I’ll never betray my friends and kin, you kaleidoscope hack’? You’ve just told him your weakness, Radanir! No, he can’t keep his mouth shut to save his (or Saerdan’s) life. Radanir is the wrong choice too.

We don’t know a significant amount about the others (except Ranger death would move Calenglad to tears, we can’t put him through this) in order to pinpoint their fatal flaws in the Isengard encounter. But, the game puts us in the incredible position of having seen Lothrandir’s Achilles’ heel and letting us take that disadvantage away. 

Lothrandir of Suri Kyla is uniquely equipped to survive any physical encounter that Saruman throws his way. Now, who’s to say the wizard won’t change his tune and go back to his old tricks? In an incredible twist of fate, we are. The game sets us, the player, up to play Saruman’s game from the get-go. We keep our pixelated head down, try and fly below the radar, and express just enough concern over the fate of our fool-hardy pal to get Saruman to cement his estimation of Lothrandir as a pawn in the game in stone. By making ourselves the better target for the words of a wily wizard, Saruman decides that the best way to deal with the spare prisoner is by playing right into his hands. As we all know, the player character escapes. While that might seem bad for someone who Saruman has earmarked for corporal punishment only, it covers Lothrandir’s one weakness. 

Aside from being the only significant unarmed fighter, Lothrandir is also never painted as a loner. He spends his time in Suri Kyla, hanging out with the Lossoth and sharing their campfires. In the new questline in Forochel, he jumps at the chance to make a new Dunedain friend and takes to King Arvedui like a duck to water. They’re instant best pals. It’s minutes before Lothrandir is telling him Aragorn’s life story and pledging to go with him on a buddy adventure to seek peace for a regretful shade. And if that’s not enough canon for you, Lothrandir bears the brunt of the Falcon clan aggression on the way to Isengard. He does it for you, his friend and companion in suffering. It’s a bit meta, but we have to assume in the internal universe he knows you a little. You’ve run your merry adventures to a degree where, were this not a video game, Lothrandir would at least consider you an ally if not a friend outright. 

He exposes his weakness unwittingly to the Falcon clan, but he leaves it at the gates of Isengard in an extremely well-timed move. By sprinting through the gates without a care as to what’s going on with you or anyone else, Lothrandir establishes an emotional distance between you both in the eyes of any onlookers. Whatever affection you have for him, it doesn’t seem reciprocated. This isn’t a major weakness for Saruman to exploit, then. You’re not one of his kinsmen. If he did want to pursue that line, he could always send to Tur Morva for one, right?

This is where the game comes back in to shift the tide in Lothrandir’s favor. We escape. We play the game, we nearly lose the game, and had we not been given an out the power scaling makes it difficult to conceive of an outcome where we the player can win Isengard. Sure, we’ve been released from prisons before (Delossad to name one) but this is the climax of Dunland. We make a daring escape, and move south towards the Gap of Rohan and all sorts of bad times. 

Back in Nan Curunir, Lothrandir is getting the daylights beat out of him, and taking a victory lap. He’s cemented his position as ‘the prisoner we’ll break with violence’. The uruks have seen him insubordinate and disorderly. In the Lothrandir interlude, there’s not only the canon (stated outright!) reality of past and present torture. There’s also zero hesitation in Lothrandir taking that one on the chin. There are no other objectives on his mind than making the next few minutes as miserable as possible for everyone around. He has no other goals. And he doesn’t need them. Nobody is surprised that Lothrandir is signing his death warrant within nanoseconds of being presented an offer to comply. He spits on the offer. He tips over the slop bucket. He beats bloody any orc (and gameplay purposes aside there are very few that dare come forward) that actually tries to kill him for it outright. 

He’s built up a non-rapport with Gun Ain. She talks about killing him and he doesn’t say anything. They’re all playing his game and he’s winning. In the conversation with Saruman, we’re not given the opportunity to watch Lothrandir ‘resist’ in the same fashion the player character did. We don’t need to. Saruman has bigger and better things to worry about- killing a prince, wiping out a nation- than one Ranger who he’s just going to order well-flayed again. By setting himself up as the punching bag, Lothrandir has managed to fly beneath Saruman’s priority threshold. He’s been relegated to the responsibility of Gun Ain, and still with somewhat protected status because they haven’t wormed anything useful out of him yet.

All of these moves have culminated to an impasse. Saruman is not winning points in the game like he expected. One ‘meathead Ranger’ has managed to resist all the torments of Isengard, and he’s gained nothing from this. The other prisoner escaped, word had doubtless reached him that the Tur Morva Thirty-Odd are free and raring to be a thorn in his side again. He has no external leverage to apply on Lothrandir and it’s become increasingly obvious that our Ranger friend is not engaging like the player did. But still, Saruman has his pride. It’s his downfall in the end, and it’s his downfall in his fight against the one Ranger who’s already beating him. Lothrandir can’t be killed outright because Saruman hasn’t won yet. And with that guarantee of protection, Lothrandir can coast all the way to the conquest of Isengard. 

He can keep playing the game and stalling for time. It’s morbid, but what better way to waste someone’s time and energy than convincing them slow, drawn-out torture is the way to go? A little extreme, Lothrandir, but it’s still his game to lose. He wastes Saruman’s time. If he is eventually rescued, total victory. If he’s killed in the end, he definitely didn’t give the wizard the satisfaction, so a less resounding victory but one in the win column nonetheless. 

With a little help from our usually Ranger-cidal devs, Lothrandir reprograms Saruman’s game of chess to a boxing match. He takes out all his disadvantages, gets Isengard to attack from a point of... if not weakness then at least neutral ability, and then devotes his every waking breath to violent disobedience.

Sure, you could have taken any of the Grey Company with you to Isengard. Lheu Brenin could have swapped out for Braigar or Amlan or Mithrendan or Culang- but only one of these guys has the brute strength, commitment, and sheer audacity to pull it off. 

You take Lothrandir to Orthanc. There’s a different prisoner of Nan Curunir when he leaves.

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [6/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who, not either of our boys!), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro.

Author’s Note: In which baby gets a name, and Tim is a bit of an arrogant rich boy (and gets called on it).

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Technically, they can both leave.

It’s not as if they can take the baby from the hospital until the paternity test results officially come back. Which is probably a good thing, because Jason’s clearly going to need a little more time for all this to settle, judging by the way he’s sitting in front of the baby’s crib. He’s watching her like he’s waiting for a sign this is all hallucination.

If his brain doesn’t move past ‘reaction mode’ soon, there’s going to be a problem.

Especially since the longer they hang around the hospital, the more likely they are to attract attention, baby or not. Someone’s bound to notice Tim Drake-Wayne wandering about, and that’s usually enough to get Vicki Vale’s attention; she’s never really given up on trying to out him as Red Robin, even after a year of moving about on crutches.

Add an apparently secret relationship and baby to the mix...actually, that’s an important point.

“Short-term or long-term, we can’t just keep calling her ‘the baby’,” he points out, once more breaking the heavy silence while firing off a round of texts to his team.

‘Won’t be back for a few days. Maybe a week or so. Bat drama.’

“I’m not naming her,” Jason says immediately. “That’s how you get attached.”

“I think that only applies to pets,” Tim answers dryly. “Besides, legally, you can’t leave the hospital with her unless she has a name.”

“Legally, I’m dead and this whole situation shouldn’t be happening.” Jason scowls, and when Tim raises an eyebrow at him, he huffs in reluctant agreement. “Fine. Any ideas?”

“You’re asking me?”

He tries not to let his amazement show through the surprise. Tim can’t remember the last time—if ever—that Jason has sought his opinion on anything. He wishes this was a topic he knew more about, so he wasn’t floundering for an answer.

He spares a glance at his phone (Cassie has texted back, ‘when isn’t there bat drama?) and then offers, “We could call her…April. Since it’s, you know, April.”

“Fuck no,” is the immediate response. “That’s so cliché I’m ashamed of you. And considering everything I know about you, it takes a lot to do that.”

“Well, it’s nice to see your winning personality is making a comeback. Must be the shock finally wearing off.”

“There’s no wearing off when it comes to this kind of shock.”  

“Well, if you’re able to make snarky comments about name ideas, you’re not in enough shock to—”

He is interrupted by a sudden commotion outside the receiving room. It sounds like the nurse from earlier, arguing with someone—another woman, sounds like—and it’s getting louder and closer.

“—Ma’am, you can’t go in there—”

“Just watch me!”

“—it’s family only—”

“I am family, I don’t care what—”

“—already called security—”

Jason tenses immediately, hand reaching for the sidearm Tim’s been pretending he doesn’t know about, and Tim automatically puts himself between the baby and the door. The infant in question merely shifts and frowns in her sleep but doesn’t wake.

A second later, the door swings open—not hard enough to hit the stopper, thankfully—and an unknown woman enters, tailed by the frustrated looking nurse.

The stranger is petite and young, maybe late twenties or early thirties, and wears a hijab; her eyes are snapping with anger and desperation, fists clenched as she takes in the scene. When her attention falls upon Tim, she appears to startle, the way her ire falters, but it’s back in an instant.

“Why is he permitted to be here?” she demands of the nurse. There’s a hint of an accent in her words, familiar to him only because Damian has a similar way of speaking. She also seems to be overenunciating. “You let a stranger in here just because his family owns the hospital and half the city?”

“That’s really none of your business, ma’am if you could just—”

“No, I can’t just.”

“What’s going on here?” Tim asks coolly, motioning for the nurse to take a step back from the stranger. “And keep it down, the baby’s sleeping.”

Some of the wind is taken from the woman’s sails, eyes flicking to the crib. A fresh flicker of pain pinches her expression, and with an effort she meets Tim’s gaze.

“What’s going on here is that you are not the baby’s father and should not be here,” she replies, quieter but with no less venom. “You barely look old enough to shave, let alone father a child.”

Tim bristles, and there’s a snort that draws their attention, and they look at Jason, who has straightened up and is no longer reaching for his gun. “You’re right about that, at least. Not too sure about everything else.”

The stranger purses her lips, eyes roving over the larger man, and then crosses her arms. “You, however, are exactly her type. You are Jason then.”

What.

“You know me.”

“I know of you. That you existed. Isabel would mention you on occasion.”

Tim perks up at this; finally, they might be able to get some answers.

“You knew Isabel,” Jason says, all his attention on the woman. “Who are you?”

Tim’s already got his phone out, thumb hovering and ready to key in the woman’s information to assess her threat level. She looks like a civilian, but he’s had too many encounters with the League to leave this sort of thing to chance.

“My name is Safiya Amin. I am Isabel’s…I was Isabel’s friend” She swallows as if around a lump in her throat. “I live next door to her. And I’m the one who’s been there for her this whole time. I even drove her here while you, you deadbeat, were nowhere to be found.”

That’s directed at Jason, the woman’s anger returning. However, now that the surprise of her arrival is fading, it’s less intimidating. It has also, seemingly, roused Jason, who is glaring at her and taking a step away from the crib.

“I can’t exactly be around if I don’t know I’m supposed to be,” he snaps back as Tim’s search for the woman’s information starts up. “I’ve known about this for a grand total of two hours.”

The woman—Safiya—seems to have a retort on her tongue, but as his words sink in, she pauses, confused. There’s some rapid thinking going on behind her eyes, and then her lips part in realization.

“She didn’t tell you.”   

“No shit.”

The woman’s shoulders slump. “I told her she needed to tell you. That she shouldn’t be doing this on her own. I can only do so much and she… She told me she had, and that you weren’t interested.” She puts her hand to her forhead as if sensing a headache coming on. “That was five months ago. She refused to tell me the details, and I never brought it up again.”

“Months…” Jason repeats.

Several files are popping up on Tim’s phone screen, everything at a glance seemingly normal. Birth certificates, social security number, high school, and university diplomas.

No immediate threat, then, but it’s only an overview. Enough to get rid of our unwanted audience, at any rate.

“I think we have a lot to discuss,” Tim says politely. He turns to the nurse, and the two security guards that have manifested behind her, and frowns. “Is that completely necessary?”

“We weren’t sure if she meant harm,” one of the men mutters.

“Maybe if you’d taken the time to listen to her,” Tim replies icily. “If someone brings another chair for Ms. Amin, then I might not mention this to HR on my way out. There should be better protocols for this sort of thing, especially in a city like Gotham.”

The three staff members are quick to leave then.

Safiya gives him an unimpressed look. “'Might’? Is that how you run your hospital?”

“Technically it’s not my hospital, we just fund it. But I’ve already sent an email about it,” Tim replies, waving his phone.

“Can we get back to the important stuff?” Jason interjects. “Like how apparently Isabel went out of her way for me to not be involved, but somehow I’m still on the hook for an entire human being?”

As if to remind them that she’s there, the baby gives a piercing whine, her little face grimacing as she smacks her lips. Her eyes are still shut, but Tim’s not sure if that actually means she’s asleep or not.

All Safiya’s prickly demeanor vanishes, replaced with a look of such grief Tim finds himself losing any major doubt about her story.

You can’t fake a look like that.

The woman takes a step forward, and then pauses, glancing at Jason, before grudgingly asking, “Can I…?”

Jason’s eyes dart at Tim like he knows the checking up he’s been doing since Safiya showed up, and Tim nods. No actual threat here.

“Yeah, sure,” Jason says, and they watch her move over and pick up the infant with ease.

I wonder if it’s a woman thing, that they just inherently know how to do that.

Safiya holds the baby with care, and the anger fades from her again; tears well in her eyes now. “She is beautiful.”

Tim will take her word for it; all babies kind of look like wrinkled potatoes to him.

Safiya murmurs quietly to the infant, rocking her in her arms. No doubt she could stay here indefinitely doing that, but they don’t have time for that.

Jason appears to think the same, because he asks, “You were close to Isabel, then.”

“I’ve been friends with Isabel since she moved into the building,” Safiya agrees. “She is—was nice. One of the only people there that doesn’t look at me like I’m about to pull a bomb out of thin air.” She glowers at them as if expecting the same look from Tim or Jason, but when none comes, she continues, “We’re both used to keeping odd hours. Her flights come in at any time of day, and I’m a grad student at Gotham University.”

Tim half expects Safiya to keep hold of the baby as she sits, but something pained flickers across her face and she carefully places the infant back in the crib.

“I was there when she learned she was pregnant—or rather, when her boyfriend walked out because he figured out the child wasn’t his,” she says. “Once Isabel decided she was keeping the baby, I helped her out when I could. It’s a lot of work, getting ready for a baby.” She looks like she wants to glare at Jason again but holds back now that she knows it’s not his fault. “She only ever said you were a former passenger. And that she couldn’t take the stress that came with your lifestyle.” Safiya studies him as if that will give her a clue. “I assumed you were a mobster or something.”

This time it’s Tim who snorts.

That’s actually pretty close to the truth.

“And you still barged in here looking for a fight?” Jason asks.

“There aren’t many things left in life to scare me,” she dismisses, which is a bit puzzling. “I’ve been going with her to her birthing classes, and I drove her here when she went into labor. It happened so fast—she’d been having the false contractions for two days, but we thought that’s all it was. She wasn’t due for another two weeks.”

“Where were you when she…?” Tim trails off.

This time, Safiya does glare.

“I had to park the car. I dropped her off at the Emergency and they took her in a wheelchair. By the time I got back and found my way around this awful maze, she had already delivered. It was so fast…” She clenches her fists. “No one would tell me anything. I found a doctor, but he said there were…there were complications. That Isabel had passed.”

There’s a long beat of silence, grief evident on both Safiya’s face, as well as Jason’s.

“I asked after the baby,” Safiya says eventually. “I wanted to know if she was alright, and they said she was fine. In good health. I wanted to see her, and they said I wasn’t family. I could see her through the glass if I wanted, but that was it. And when I tried to see my friend, to say goodbye to her, they told me I had to wait. That the birth father had been contacted.”

Her eyes snap with anger again.

“Because apparently a man not even in her life has more rights to say what happens to my friend than I do. And every time I tried to speak to someone and explain the situation, they passed me off to someone else. They said someone would speak to me with information eventually, but that was hours ago. Apparently, there’s something about me that makes people nervous.”

Sarcasm drips from her words.

“That’s unacceptable,” Tim says. “I’ll look into it personally. If you can remember the names of the people who spoke to you, I can deal with it right away.”

She looks doubtful about this.

“How did you know we were in here?” Jason asks.

“I was watching her through the window, but then the nurse came and removed her. I heard them say the father was here, and so I followed. But then I saw you,” she concludes, indicating Tim, “and thought something wasn’t right. Why are you here?”

A question I’m still asking myself.

“I’m with him,” Tim replies, electing not to go into detail.

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything to that.

“You said Isabel was preparing for this,” Jason says. “Was she…did she want to keep the baby?”  

“The baby has a name, you know.”

And that’s news.

“Which is?” Jason prompts.

“Isabel decided on Luisa,” Safiya informs them. “After her mother.”

Tim recalls the name from his earlier perusal of Isabel’s file, and that at least makes sense.

“Luisa,” Jason repeats, staring down at the baby.

“Would you happen to have contact information for her relatives?” Tim asks.

“She has none. No brothers or sisters and her parents died when she was young.”

Which is the same story Jason gave him.

“Of course,” Tim sighs. “Well, at least there’s some good news, she’s not entirely alone if she has you, Ms. Amin.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, hope causing him to perk up. “I mean, if you’re here to ask to take her, we could—”

“Hold on a minute,” she interrupts, holding a hand up. “I think you’ve misunderstood my intentions. I’m not—I can’t take her.”

“Why not?” Jason blurts.

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Tim asks at the same time.

“I’m here to ensure my friend and her daughter are taken care of properly,” Safiya says, aggrieved. “If I could, I would take her in a heartbeat. But I have health conditions which make caring for an infant…difficult.”

“Health conditions,” he repeats, realizing he only skimmed her records quickly. An oversight, it seems. No matter. “Whatever your situation is, I would be willing to pay for help.”

Jason’s nodding along.

Safiya gives them both an unimpressed look. “It’s not about throwing money at the problem, Mr. Wayne. I was diagnosed with Juvenile Huntington’s five years ago.”

Tim’s heart sinks.

“Life expectancy for that is about ten years,” he says faintly.

No wonder she’s not scared of a potential mobster; she’s living with a death sentence.

Safiya nods. “I’ve been lucky, so far. It has not been aggressive and most of the time I’m still able to function. I can still drive, for example, though based on my last assessment I won’t be able to for much longer. But there are days I’m so fatigued, I can’t muster the energy to get out of bed. It’s true—assuming the courts get over their phobia of letting a single woman of color adopt—that I could take care of her, as long as I had help. But in a few years, I won’t be able to. And then there will be a small girl having to bury another mother. I would not wish that on any child.”

Both Jason and Tim flinch at that; they both know what that’s like.

“I told Isabel I would help however I could on my good days,” Safiya continues. “But I can’t commit to anything more than temporary care.”

Damn. There goes that option.

“Do you know anyone in her circle of friends who might do it?”

“She mentioned some friends more than others. I can give you their names and find you their contact information, but to be honest, outside of our friendship, we didn’t move in the same circles. I only just met a few of them when she had her baby shower last month.”

“She had a baby shower,” Jason repeats, strained. “She really was planning for all of this.”

“Yes,” Safiya confirms and then grows sad. “She was not planning for death. I don’t think she even had funeral plans.” She hesitates. “I would like to make sure her body is treated properly, but the staff here…”

“I’ll make sure they don’t give you any more trouble,” Tim promises. “Out of anyone here, you probably know what she’d want more than we would.”

Safiya purses her lips like she’s holding back saying something, and then tilts her head to consider Jason. “What do you intend to do with Luisa?”

Silence hangs heavy in the air.

“That’s the question of the day,” he replies wearily.

Next Chapter

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❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels