#someone remind me to talk more about this tomorrow afternoon if I’m not dead exhausted

[damthosefandoms]

​you open to any given page of the outsiders and ponyboy’s dropping more lore about his friends, family, and the world he lives in than a goddamn soc saturday livestream. and none of it has anything to do with the plot

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 8

Summary: y/n meets the 99th precinct in brooklyn and gets a ride to school with a cop, brad still tries to be friends with her even though she’s told him off multiple times, and pepper potts saves the day, as always

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, trauma, more i’m forgetting

Word Count: 4450

A/N: truly, sorry not sorry. obviously you gotta keep reading tho, it all resolves in the end. 

                                                        //////////

The police were there in fifteen minutes. They had the apartment taped off after five, and two detectives from the ninety-ninth precinct were on the scene after ten. The detectives, Peralta and Diaz, let Dad and I grab a few things before the apartment was entirely given over to the investigation, but there wasn’t much else we could do.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we get the blood results back and if any new developments are made, but for now, just keep trying to find your mom.”

Detective Peralta was talking to me while Diaz took over talking to my dad - he was a little more distraught than I was. (I was 17 years old and had seen a lot of shit, call me heartless.) But something wasn’t sitting right with me about all of this. I looked at the detective with narrowed eyes. “Let’s do everyone a favor and not bullshit, okay? I just want an honest answer: do you think my mom is dead?”

He flinched a little bit and looked around the crime scene, but his eyes looked clear when he answered. “I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies, kid, and you get familiar with how much blood a body has. There’s too much to make me think there’s only one victim here, so we took multiple blood samples. I wouldn’t put the chance of your mom being alive high, but the amount of blood makes me think she might be.”

“Huh. That wasn’t what I was expecting you to answer.” I looked around the apartment though and could tell he was right. “Thanks.”

“If you need anything, give me a call, okay?” I took his card and nodded, then left with Dad again for the second time that day.

“Where are we going to stay?”

Dad scratched the scruff on his jaw and sighed. He looked exhausted, and it wasn’t even two. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know.” He opened the door to the stairwell (he always took the stairs, a real curse when we lived on the twenty-third floor) and let me lead the way down. “We could get a hotel. I can book it before I go to the hospital and drop you off.”

I slapped my feet on the stairs. As much as I scrubbed my hands in the bathroom, I still felt like there was blood under my fingernails. It still smelled like it, too. And the last thing I needed was to be by myself washing my hands until I got so tired I passed out. “I don’t want to be by myself in a hotel, Dad.” I slowed down, thinking about my options. “I could call Jess. I could stay the night with her then we could get a hotel tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to have to bother her...”

“I don’t want to be alone,” I whispered.

His eyes softened immediately and he needed no other persuasion. “Okay, Y/N. Let’s call her when we get to the lobby.”

“Okay.”

She picked up on the third ring. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Can I stay the night with you?”

“Is everything okay?”

“No. My dad’s going to the hospital tonight and—and—” I couldn’t breathe. Holy shit I couldn’t breathe. Who the hell would do something like this? Where the hell is Mom?

My phone was pulled out of my hand. “Breathe, Y/N. Deep breaths, that’s it.” He pressed the phone to his ear. “Jess? Yeah, it’s me. I can drop her off and we’ll talk then? It’s - it’s bad. Okay, see you soon.” He hung up and leaned down beside me. “You okay?” I nodded as convincingly as I could. “Okay.” He helped me off the ground and we walked slowly to the parking garage.

We eventually made it back into Queens and outside Jessica’s house. She and her husband, Brayden, were waiting for us on the porch.

I ran into her arms as soon as I got out of the car. “Hi.”

“Hi, Y/N. Let’s talk inside.”

I didn’t do much talking. Jess got me a mug of hot chocolate and a blanket and I stared into space while Dad relayed all of the happenings in the last few hours to them. But then he had to go to work, and even though I was with Jess and Brayden, I still felt alone. I guess I was more distraught than I thought.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we’ll sort things out, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.” He drove off, and I curled in on myself.

“Come on, let’s talk.” Jess lightly touched my arm and I followed her up to her room. She opened the french doors to the balcony and we both took a seat, but even the blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders couldn’t keep out my chill. “I’m not going to make you go to school tomorrow. But you should probably tell someone so you don’t get behind on work.”

I nodded numbly, then sent Peter a text.

I won’t be at school tomorrow, will you get my work?

Course. Everything okay?

Not enough energy. Thanks Pete

Any time Y/N

Jess nudged my foot with her own. “What’s going through your head?”

I put my chin on my curled up knees and sighed. “There was so much blood, Jess. The detective thinks there might be a chance she’s still alive, but it was everywhere. And I can’t help but think that this person is coming after me, because of everything. Venice, Prague, London, even helping Spider-Man clear his name. Maybe Mom was just in the way, so they got rid of her.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this, Y/N. It’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty,” I mumbled.

The sun started to set and my stomach started to grumble; the only thing I had eaten all day were Sam’s pancakes. Delicious, but not a fix-all. Brayden made dinner - grilled chicken and mashed potatoes - and I got to sit beside their little girl, Hayley, who was getting the hang of small full sentences by now.

“I like you.”

“Well that’s good, considering we’ve been sitting next to each other for the last twenty minutes. I like you too, Hayley. I’m glad we get to be friends.” As much as I hated using a three-year-old as a coping mechanism, Hayley was an easy distraction. She didn’t have to worry about dead bodies and superpowers and the chemistry test on Tuesday.

Shit, the chemistry test. I was still missing some notes. And, as much as it surprised myself, I didn’t want to ask Peter for them. But I knew someone else in that class.

Eugene, will you send me the notes from Monday?

Finally realizing your sleeping endeavors were poorly timed?

Stop using big words and send me the notes

Why don’t you just ask Parker? Aren’t you two attached at the hip?

Believe it or not, Eugene, I’m actually trying to form some semblance of a friendship here, and you’re kind of ruining my plan (okay, I wasn’t trying to make a friendship, but it’s something Taylor’s griped about for months, so might as well try with someone who won’t get offended at my relentless roasting.)

The fact that your grammar is perfect even when you text is infuriating. Whatever, I’ll send them. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the favor you owe me.

Of course not, Eugene. Thanks

I grabbed my backpack and started copying down the notes, but even though I was asleep for some of the class, I could tell Flash didn’t have all of the content. There was one other person I could text before Peter. But we weren’t necessarily speaking.

Hey can you send me the chem notes from Monday?

yeah sure. ready for the test on tuesday?

Hell no, why do you think I’m cramming now 😂

and then we have that english paper due on friday 🤢

If I fall over dead in the middle of the test on Tuesday do you think we’ll all get an A?

i’ll take one for the team if you don’t

Haha sounds good. Thanks MJ

no problem

Thank god MJ actually took good notes. Combined with her’s and Eugene’s, those pages of notes were better than any I had actually taken in class. Maybe I would actually do well on this test. But that was a cramming problem for tomorrow.

///////////

Hayley reminded me a lot of Morgan: too smart for her own good. Jess called in sick to work so the three of us stayed home and watched Disney movies, but Hayley was starting to guess the endings halfway through. I mean, they’re all pretty predictable, but she’s only three. She had just guessed the ending for Brave when my phone started ringing.

It was Peter.

“Hey, Peter.”

“Y/N what the hell is going on?”

My blood went cold. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. I went by your apartment to drop off the notes I got for you and it was covered in police tape and blood. Wha- Is everything okay?”

I couldn’t get the words to come out of my mouth. I couldn’t say anything, let alone answer his question. So I just texted him my location.

“I’ll be there soon.” He didn’t wait for an answer, which was probably for the best.

He pulled up to the curb half an hour later. “May let me borrow her car.”

“I didn’t know you got your license.”

“Right before Europe, actually.”

“Oh.” I sat on the porch steps with plenty of room for Peter, and he just sat and looked at me. Waiting for me to start talking. “Thanks for getting my notes.”

“Yeah, no problem. There’s a review for the chem test in there, too, but it’s not an actual assignment.”

“Oh, okay.” I brought my knees up a step and wrapped my arms around them. We sat in silence for a while, but he came over for a reason, and if I was going to tell anyone about what happened, I’d want Peter to know. “We found it after we dropped you off at your apartment.”

“The blood?”

I nodded. “We opened up the door and there was blood everywhere, and my mom wasn’t home, which was weird, because she’s usually making something in the kitchen on Sunday afternoons. So we called the police, and they took some blood samples, and I stayed with Jess last night because my dad was on-call at the hospital and I- I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Have they called with any news?”

“Not yet. But hopefully they’ll get the blood samples back and know whose it is.”

Peter just sat in silence for a second. “Are you doing okay?”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, trying to put a semblance of a smile on my face. “What do you think?”

The corner of his lip lifted up. “Yeah, I figured.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and let me lean against him. “When’s your dad supposed to get back?”

When was he supposed to get back? It was getting closer to five, and he was usually home around then. I checked my phone, but there were no new messages. “Hold on,” I told Peter, and I called Dad’s cell.

No answer.

I called the hospital. “Southwest Mercy Hospital, how can I help you?”

“Is Doctor Y/L/N in right now?”

“Might I ask who’s calling?”

“Y/N Y/L/N. His daughter.

“One moment please.” A few taps on the other end. “No, he’s not. He was actually supposed to come in last night, but he never showed up.”

“Can you call me back if he shows up?”

“Of course.”

I hung up.

Where the fuck is he?

Why didn’t he show up at work?

There was something warm in my hand, and it took me a second to recognize it as Peter’s own hand. “Hey,” he said softly, “it’s going to be okay.”

“My dad’s missing, Peter,” I wanted to shout, but it was barely a whisper. “My dad and my mom, in less than forty-eight hours. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“We should call the police. If they’re really connected, they’ll be the ones to figure out how.”

I nodded in agreement and pulled out Detective Peralta’s card. “This is Jake Peralta.”

“Detective Peralta? This is Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Wow, what timing, we were actually just about to call you. Is your dad with you by chance?”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” I squeezed Peter’s hand as tight as I could. “My dad is missing.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“He was supposed to work the night shift at the hospital last night and he never showed up. And he’s not answering his phone.”

Peralta was scribbling something down frantically. “Would you be able to come by the precinct, Y/N? We found something interesting in your apartment that you’ll want to see.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, we’ll see you soon.”

I hung up and pressed the palms of my hands over my eyes. “God, when did my life become a living nightmare?”

“Five years ago,” Peter said, “when everyone turned into dust.”

I can’t argue with that. I stood up, brushed off my jeans, and sighed. He stood up beside me, and, completely unprompted, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held on tight. “Thank you,” I mumbled into his neck.

His arms wrapped around my waist. “Call me when you hear something, okay?”

I pulled back and nodded, then kissed him on the cheek. (I was unbelievably upset and needy and decided I was not going to deny myself the simple wants of physical contact with Peter Parker. Sue me.) “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I ran back inside and had a quick conversation with Jess and Brayden (who somehow got into the house without me noticing, weird) and he handed her the keys to his car. We were on the road a minute later.

“It’s not necessarily linked with what happened to your mom, Y/N,” Jess tried to console me as we trudged through traffic to the 99th precinct in Brooklyn. “It could be completely unrelated.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s any less terrifying, Jess.”

“No, it doesn’t. But it could just be a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I said as we reached the parking garage. The man at the front desk told us which floor, and I was too anxious to wait for the elevator so I ran up the stairs. I waited for Jess before I walked in, but it hardly made a difference; I’m sure I still looked like a crazy person.

An extremely muscled man approached us first. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for Detective Peralta,” I wheezed out, still catching my breath.

“He’s the second desk on the left.”

“Thank you.” Detective Peralta turned around and shook both of our hands. “What do you have on my mom?”

He brought over another chair for Jess and sat behind his desk. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get the information for your dad first. Just so we can get an APB out for him as soon as possible.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Okay, when was the last time you saw him?”

“Last night, around 5? His night shift usually starts around 6.”

“And where was he?”

“He had dropped off Y/N at my house, we talked for about ten minutes, then he left for his shift.” Jess told him her address and where Dad worked while I looked around the precinct. Peralta’s desk had a picture with him and another detective and a little girl between them. Detective Diaz’s desk was across the little walkway, and there was a man at a secluded desk in his own office.

I kept looking around at the office until Jess put a hand on my arm. “Sorry, what?”

“We got the results from the blood samples. There were two different bloods in the apartment, like I thought, so I got forensics to use a UV light and some sort of magic I can’t explain to differentiate between the two. And this is what came up.” He slid over a picture and five words were shining against the mass amounts of blood.

I know who you are.

“Whose blood is it?”

He took the picture back. “Your mom’s. But those are the only traces of it we could find.”

“And the rest of it?”

“The DNA isn’t in our system. We contacted the FBI and CIA to see if anything comes up in their systems, but we haven’t gotten any results yet. Y/N.” He leaned forward, extremely serious. “Because of the message left behind and the fact that your dad is now missing, we want to relocate you to a safe house —“

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Y/N,” Jess started, but I cut her off.

“If they’re actually trying to scare me, I’m not going to let them go after anyone else I care about. Let them come for me.”

“Y/N, you could be in serious danger. We shouldn’t take this lightly.”

“I’m not. But this person already took my mom and my dad. They’re not getting anyone else.”

Peralta and Jess looked at each other, but Jess knew me better than most; she knew I wouldn’t budge on this. “Okay,” he conceded, “no safe house. But I’d like to have a detail on you, just in case, okay?” I nodded. That wasn’t the issue. Besides, if I wanted to go to a safe house, I’d just go upstate.

Detective Peralta walked us to the door of the precinct. “We’ll keep a look out for your dad’s car and let you know if it comes up. Officer Mason will be keeping an eye on your house tonight. Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

“Thanks.” It was closer to eight, and I still had that stupid chemistry test tomorrow, but all I wanted was to fall asleep and never wake up.

But that wasn’t how the world worked, and I was up until one studying. Jess handed me a to-go cup of coffee when I walked into the kitchen right before school, and I raised it to her before taking a sip. “See you later.”

“Have a good day.”

I walked down the steps and knocked on the window of the patrol car outside of the house. Officer Mason started and looked around, then rolled down the window. “What’s up?”

“Can you give me a ride to school?”

He looked at me like I was incredulous. He wasn’t wrong, but still. “That’s not really what I’m here to do, kid.”

“You’re here to keep an eye on me, right? So let’s go.” I pulled on the handle until he unlocked the car and let me in.

I got to school with five minutes to spare (shout out to Officer Mason for running that last red light). My Spanish book was so unused it collected dust on it, but I brushed it off quickly before I walked into class. I took my spot among the few in class and looked over Peter’s notes from the day before, just in case there was a pop quiz.

“Hey.”

Shit. Brad.

“What do you want?”

“You weren’t here yesterday, and you showed up today in a cop car. Everything good?”

I rolled my eyes and looked up at him. “Why the hell would you think I would tell you anything personal about my life ever?“

“I was just asking, Y/N, fuck.”

“I don’t like Brad either.” Peter sat beside me and gave me a small smile.

“I think most of that has to do with the fact that he tried to make a move on MJ.”

“And the fact that he took a picture of me in my underwear and was going to show it to everyone in Europe.”

“Everyone in Europe? That’s pretty big, Peter, you could’ve been famous.”

“For almost-nudes I didn’t even take,” he said with a smile. “What did the detective say?”

The bell rang and Peter flinched just slightly. “I’ll tell you after class.”

No pop quiz, and lunch was turkey and gravy. I was feeling slightly better, and I remembered almost everything I needed to study for the chem test. I was halfway through it, feeling good, when Principal Morita was at the door of the lab, asking for me. I looked up, and none other than Detective Peralta was standing beside him, giving me a look full of nothing but pity.

My heart dropped down to my stomach.

I looked over at Peter and his eyes were as wide as mine, his heart racing. But there was nothing he could do.

I left my test at my seat, grabbed my backpack, and met Mr. Morita and Peralta in the hallway. “What did you find?”

“We found your dad’s car, and I had forensics do the same test as the one in your apartment. This is what they found.”

I know what you did.

“I need you to come into the station, Y/N. We need to ask you a couple of questions.”

I looked between the two adults and could feel my heart rate rising. “I, uh — I didn’t finish my test.”

Mr. Morita spoke up. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Phelps and make sure you can finish it later in the week.”

“Okay.” I followed him to his squad car and sat in the back, making me feel like I had actually done something wrong.

Detective Diaz joined us in the interrogation room at the Nine-Nine, and I could feel two others behind the mirror. But none of them stopped me from being set on edge.

“Y/N, I hate for having to bring you out like this, but we need some answers. What is this second picture about?”

I shifted around in my seat. Where to even start? “I’m not going to talk with the people behind the mirror.”

Peralta sputtered. “What? There’s no one behind the —“ Diaz glared at him and he stopped. “We have them there as a precaution, Y/N, they’re detectives too.”

“Either they join us in here or they leave, but I’m not talking to someone without being able to see their faces.”

They looked at each other for a second before Peralta turned to the mirror and motioned for them to leave. I felt their footsteps retreat down the hall until I couldn’t feel them anymore, then I at least let my shoulders drop. Just a little bit.

“You guys remember Quentin Beck from the summer? The Mysterio guy who fought the Elementals?”

“Yeah, that dick that said Spider-Man murdered him?”

“Yeah, him. He kind of... hijacked our field trip.” I told them everything; well, almost everything. “Beck blackmailed me into helping him with his plan, so I, uh... I ended up hurting a lot of people. That’s probably what this person is talking about. It could be a family member, or one of Beck’s crewmen.”

“Why would one of the crew come after you, you’re just a kid.” Diaz hadn’t said much, but she was an observer, like me. I just wish I could shove away my emotions like her.

“I, uh, kind of got them all put in prison after they put up the video of Beck outing Peter Parker as Spider-Man.”

“Oh. Well that would do it.”

Peralta thought for a second then spoke up. “We’ll keep an eye on the families of the crew, see if anyone has a similar timeline to the disappearances. Until then,” he put his hand down on the table and looked me in the eye, “I have to insist that you stay in a safe house, Y/N. Staying anywhere else could put yourself and others in danger.”

Staying in a place by myself made me want to throw up. But I could see how selfish it was.

“One more night. One more night, and then I’ll go. And I want to stay at my own safe house.”

“You have a safe house?”

I shrugged. “I know a — a person.”

They glanced at each other again. “Okay, we’ll talk about it. But I want to talk to them. Today.”

“Fine.” I pulled out my phone and clicked on Pepper’s contact. She picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N. Is everything okay?”

I laughed lightly, even though nothing about this situation was funny. “Not even close. So much has happened in the last three days.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “I, uh, need to come up to the compound tomorrow, but I need you to talk to these detectives.”

“You’re freaking me out, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I’m going to put you on speaker.” I set the phone on the table. “I need to go to a safe house, and I figured the compound is the best place to go. But these detectives have some questions.”

“Okay.”

“Hello, ma’am, my name is Detective Jake Peralta, I’m here with my partner, Detective Rosa Diaz, and we’re concerned for Y/N’s safety. We’ve been trying to get her to go to a safe house provided by the Nine-Nine, but she says she’ll only go to her own safe house. Mostly we just need to verify that the location is legit and we need a squad car there at all times. Would you be able to come to the Ninety-Ninth Precinct in Brooklyn so we can talk in person?”

“Um, I’m not actually in New York right now, but I could be there by tomorrow. Could I come by in the morning?”

“That should be fine. Can we get a name?”

“Pepper Potts.”

They both balked. Their eyes got huge and they looked at me with disbelief. “Pepper Potts?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, we look forward to meeting with you tomorrow.”

“Perfect. And, Y/N? You better call me back within the next hour about what is going on.”

“Yes ma’am.” She hung up and I tucked my phone back in my pocket. “Am I good to go?”

“You know Pepper Potts?”

“I told you, I cleared Spider-Man’s name. I have a lot of connections.” I stood up and opened the door, deciding for myself that the interrogation was over.

“You know Spider-Man?”

“Jake’s loved Spider-Man since the first video came out on YouTube,” Diaz said. “He won’t admit that he has a fan account, but I think he does.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I know Spider-Man.”

“Can you get me his autograph?”

I glanced at him. “Yeah, I guess.”

Officer Wade drove me back to Jess’s, and I happily left her at the curb.

I had an important phone call to make.

tags: @eridanuswave​ @vampirestrawberries​ @yougottalovefandoms​

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

the stars always make me laugh (4/4)

Now complete! Here is chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, and the epilogue.

A year to the day after Ziva departs D.C. to return to Paris and reunite with her family, her newfound contentment is shaken by an unexpected loss. Tony and Tali are right where they belong—safely by her side—but she still finds herself feeling drawn to reflect on the past. She might just be able to use this new grief to bring peace to old wounds, renewing hope along the way for a future with her family... but only if she can find a way to let go of what haunts her.

Written as a combined response to two different challenge prompts; also available for reading on ff.net (chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4) and AO3 (chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4). This is the last chapter; tomorrow, I’ll post a short epilogue.

_________________________

January 12th, 2021, eveningtime

They spend the afternoon at an informal wake at Gibbs' house. Everyone they know and love is there, and it's cathartic to catch up with their adoptive family—despite the heavy occasion. The children, mostly too young to really understand what's going on, play together exuberantly as the hours pass. Tali is overjoyed to spend time with her "cousins," Victoria, Morgan, and Johnny.

As the afternoon wears on and people start to leave, though, Tali is still going strong. She'll certainly crash once they get her in bed, but for now, she has let the busy day hype her into new levels of excitement.

She's restlessly bouncing as they strap her into their rental car after saying their goodbyes, and Tony and Ziva pause before getting in themselves, looking at each other.

"She's practically vibrating. Exactly how many of Abby's Ducky cookies did she eat?"

"More than she needed, that is for sure."

"Do you think we should take her somewhere before we go back to the hotel? She needs to get the rest of her energy out or she's going to turn into a hellion tonight once she starts fighting sleep."

"Yes… I think we should," Ziva agrees, pinching the bridge of her nose to hide her reluctant amusement; through the back seat window, Tali can be seen puffing up her cheeks and squishing them with her hands to make what she calls "pooty booty noises."

Tony is most certainly to blame for that one.

_________________________

They end up at Anacostia Park, exactly where Ari parked and used a rifle to fire into Abby's lab; neither Tony nor Ziva mentions that. After fifteen years, it's time to make new memories here.

They aim for a playground near Pennsylvania Avenue Bridge, but Tali finds something that she wants to play with far more… mud. Today's sun has dried up most of what was left behind by yesterday's rain, but there are distinctly wet patches left in the shadier areas.

Tali is still dressed up for the funeral, and her parents' first impulse is to stop her from destroying it… but they exchange glances and decide without needing to discuss it that Tali will be fine. She'll grow out of the dress sooner or later anyway, and, well… life is short.

They give her the go ahead then, and with a gleeful expression on her face, she immediately squishes her feet in. It takes her only minutes to be covered in goo from head to toe.

As she plays, Tony and Ziva find a drier spot to sit themselves; it's still strangely warm for January, and it's pleasant to lounge on the winter-yellow grass.

At first, they're side-by-side, but between jet lag and several days of heavy emotion, Ziva is worn out. Eventually, she moves to lay on her back, her head resting against one of Tony's outstretched legs. They talk about inconsequential things, simply decompressing.

There's something wonderful about being here again, now happily married and openly affectionate; this is the first time they've been in Washington together since Ziva resigned from NCIS almost eight years ago. Having Tali here, her zest for life as visible as the navy yard across the river, is proof of something hopeful: even the most painful losses and changes can result in beauty. If not for everything her parents went through together, Tali would not exist.

She is and always will be a saving grace, a light at the end of the tunnel, a reason to hope.

Tali makes everything worth it.

_________________________

When the sun starts to set, the David-DiNozzos are still in the park, but things are quieter now. Tali, finally exhausted, is curled up with her parents, nestled under Ziva's left arm and snoring softly. Her parents have fallen into companionable silence, too.

With her free hand, Ziva idly plays with the soft dirt under the grass, letting fine particles sift through the cracks between her fingers as she grabs a handful and releases it. Tony mimics her movements, making her smile; his fingers, however, drift through her hair rather than the earth underneath them. She glances up to see him watching her, contentment written across his features.

"Can I tell you something?" he murmurs, his voice soft to avoid waking Tali.

"Of course."

"I love you."

Ziva smiles at him involuntarily—just as she always does when he says those words.

"I love you, too."

_________________________

The sunset turns out to be an exceptionally brilliant one, its oranges and pinks dancing on the slow-moving river below so that the whole world is lit up as the sun fades away. Ziva watches it with heavy eyes, starting to feel the pull of drowsiness urging her to join Tali in sleep. It's safe to rest with Tony watching over them.

As she drifts off, though, something catches her gaze. In the shade of a tree near the water, backlit by the sunset behind him, someone is watching. The sight should be alarming—the man appears to be staring right at them—but Ziva only feels the familiar warmth of unexpectedly seeing an old friend.

There's a reason for that. Everything about the man—his pose, his silhouette topped by the shape of a safari fedora, even his small stature—is reminiscent of how Ducky looked in the autopsy doorway when he found her on her darkest night. It has to be a coincidence; Ziva knows that Ducky is gone. The resemblance is so striking, though, that for the briefest moment, she thinks it might actually be her old friend.

Then he turns, dying sunlight illuminating his shadowed face. Ziva must be imagining him, but…

It is Ducky.

He meets Ziva's eye and smiles kindly at her; once he has her attention, he starts to speak, his lips moving soundlessly, and she can somehow understand what he's saying: 'Let go, Ziva. Tell him.'

Shouldn't she know by now to listen to him?

Maybe she'd been right when Ducky died, thinking that he wanted to tell her something—or maybe his memory is only inspiring the inevitable conclusion that she has long avoided. Either way, she understands the message: it's time to let Tony help carry her burdens.

She gives the image of her friend a slight nod, smiling faintly; she can feel his approval. Tipping his hat and winking at her, Ducky offers one last smile before turning away to face the sunset.

Then Ziva blinks, and he's gone.

She closes her eyes for a moment, saying a final goodbye before looking up at her husband again.

"Tony?"

"Mm?"

"If you are ready to listen, I…"

"I'm always ready, Ziva." His hand in her hair moves to rest on her cheek.

Ziva nods, appreciative. "Then I think I am ready to talk about some things that I have kept to myself for far too long. I need… I need to let go."

Tony seems to understand; he goes back to running his fingers through her hair. "I'm listening, sweet cheeks."

She takes a deep breath, lets it out, and starts to speak.

_________________________

Ziva talks until the sun is gone and the stars are visible; it's getting colder, but she doesn't notice the dropping temperature until Tony shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over Tali. He doesn't say a word, though; he only listens, letting Ziva say what she needs to say.

She begins with Somalia, not going into detail but no longer shying away from the truth. Even a decade later, it's painful to talk about, but when each successive word hurts less than the one before it, she starts to realize that there's more she needs to get out:

The first Tali, gone too soon.

Ari, who she still mourns despite who he became.

Sahar, and the search that drove Ziva to desolation, restless and lonely.

With every old scar she gives a name to, she breathes easier, and by the time she falls silent, she feels… empty; the loud chaos of a mind brimming with ancient pain and constant anxiety has gone quiet. It feels like... absolution, perhaps. Even in death, Ducky has reminded her to trust, to let herself live freely without succumbing to fear.

For a year now, Ziva has been with her family, taking happiness one day at a time—because it has always been in the back of her mind that this, too, will soon be ripped away from her. Now she understands how that fearful conviction is a product of every haunting memory that she's kept guarded. It's time to change that.

She's ready to let go, or at least begin to—and when she finishes her tales of old heartbreak, Tony still looks at her the way he always has. There's no pity, no fear, no discomfort... In his eyes, she sees only love.

It's freeing.

When they eventually pack up to leave the park, Ziva abandons burdens of bygone grief to patches of dead grass and a chilly night sky.

She's ready to look forward.

[space-blue]

Blink

I loved this story so much, I made a decent effort of turning it into a multi chapter novella. Maybe one day...

Corpses are everywhere. They're much more common than the average death fearing citizen thinks. It's people like me who are rare. The dead clutter, live together like we do. They converge in morgues, hospitals, research buildings, cemeteries, houses, the odd back alley. I try and live far from human life to keep away from human death, but the lush forests and deep rivers are appealing, and sometimes one of my silent friends come a-visiting, dragged along unwilling, to be left behind, like a bone buried in the big cities' backyard. Then I'll blink and my traitorous eyes open somewhere else, to some vista a corpse is unknowingly enjoying. I've trained hard to keep my Death-Eyes from wandering, but isolation makes me slack, and my dusty morals couldn't keep me from tipping the police.

I assume this is how FBI special agent Lem McCaulkay tracked me down. He came to me with his head bowed and his feet dragging.

"You know I wouldn't be here if it weren't huge, if you couldn't make all the difference in the world."

"I'm retired."

"Have you looked at the news?"

"No. Did you notice the absence of TV? The long, winding dirt roads? I don't want news to find me. I'd rather you hadn't found me either. You're bad news incarnate."

"Lone..."

"That's Sørensen to you, Agent McCaulkay."

He drops the file then, all printed out, old school. It's thick and thumps hard on the table. He flips the cover without saying a word, revealing eight young women, looking up at me with their white, dead eyes from dog-eared photographs. The press coupon taped behind them dubbed their maker the "Last Shadow", after his taste for afternoon abductions. I thumb through the autopsy reports, find a map with details of dates and locations. All the victims were snatched and dumped in a pretty short and even perimeter. Accidental, bold, or stupid? Asking for my help was the obvious thing to do.

"He's just plucked a new one off the street yesterday. We were lucky to learn about it this soon. We believe he keeps them alive three to four days. If you join us, we might catch him in the act."

Agent 'Caulk', fixer of all things gone wrong, had asked me for help before. Some cases just won't patch themselves, some killers are just too clever, or too lucky, too educated, or too odd. I had worked for him, answering my own youthful needs, strongest among them my need to please, to earn approval and notice where there were none. Such drives are long gone, and my own case is another thing 'Caulk' cannot mend. I didn't retire for nothing.

"I suppose you've noticed the numbers in the autopsies, here, such high levels... He does that to them while alive, Lem. Dying. Damn it, you come here to ask me to go with you and look out for this, look down a peeled chest being sawed off and then up the monster's face. Who's gonna pay for my therapy after that, the FBI?"

I fix my inhuman eyes on him then, childishly hoping to make his skin crawl, but all I see is the despair coiled deep within his sunken, red-rimmed eyes. I idly wonder if it's this case that turned all his hair to silver, or if it was gradual, colour leached by a decade of sleepless nights spent hounding the worst dregs of humanity.

"Hell, Sørensen, you know I'd pay to swap those Death-Eyes of yours if I could, anything to avoid involving you. Chasing serial-killers is my calling, not yours. But this," he taps a new picture, not yet stapled down on the Last Shadow's folder, a photograph of a woman alive and smiling, "this is enough for me to come and ask you. Do you think I'm pleased to have you look for a corpse in the making, when we know she's still alive? We have Jenkins and Everyn pulling their hair out over this case, they still haven't cracked it. Please, Lone, we need you. So that this one becomes the last. Join us."

I feel the edges of the silence where he ought to have said "one last time", but refrained from lying. They'll ask me as long as they'll know where to find me. I look around at my house, so cosy and warm, full of hard woods and the flicker of flames, wishing I had the guts to say no.

"Just this once, Lem. Just this once..."

I'll just have to hide better next time.

My job from then on is to blink, and blink is what I do, while some FBI goon drives us around. Decay clouds my sight, so I can browse through bodies, identifying fresh ones, newly hatched from their living shells. I blink, my vision shifts–there is no describing it–and I see a lot of darkness. Blink, a ceiling, blink, a couple of students busy over my chest. Blink, and bright lights, exhausted, masked faces. Emergency rooms and operating blocks are sad places to look into. There comes blurry trees and I tell that to Lem. Oak and chestnut. You've got to know your plants in my line of work.

"White male. Gloving and bloated, weeks old. Looks down a hill on a grey concrete building. Not sure, it's hazy."

"We'll check," Lem says, dispatching the description for someone else to deal with. Decaying male bodies aren't what we're after.

It is late in the night when we stop in an isolated motel. Our driver gets his own room while Lem settles in a bed across from mine, a habit from our days doing cross-country manhunts. I drift asleep, my mind stumbling into dreams of the past, nightmares of corpses I made, where I blink back up at my own blood-speckled face, my eyes like twin black holes amidst a red galaxy. I wake in a cold sweat and listen to Lem's breath in the paling night, its even rhythm calming my nerves, pushing the terrors back down the dark corridors of my mind.

We drive on, making circles in the circle of the Last Shadow's deaths. I can hear Lem sitting by me, juggling paper maps, GPS and ringing phones. I can feel my face pressed against the window, the roughness of my jeans as I rub my thighs in a little ritual to remind me I'm alive, to help me centre myself when I blink back into my living flesh. Blinking away from yourself thinking this was just another stop in another corpse is an experience one learns to avoid.

I blink and look up into the affable face of a mortician busy fixing my eyes closed for some upcoming ceremony of adieu. I blink through the dimness of many morgue drawers, freezers, closed and open casks.

When he kills her, she is so close it draws my eyes like magnets, the vision crystal clear. I cry out, startling everyone including myself.

"Lem, oh shit Lem, he's cutting me up!"

The recorder is pressed to my cheek and Lem's hands cup my skull, brushing my face, my real face, not the one looking down on the surgical saw's movements.

"You're here with me, safe. Talk to me Lone."

There is precious little to say about the butchering happening to her – to me, as I see it – that was not already said in autopsy reports or guessed by the experts and technicians working the case. The Last Shadow, a blond, portly man, has boring features, light baby-blue eyes and a clean, cunning set-up in a mortared cellar, offering very few chances of clues for his pursuers.

It goes on forever, it seems, before Lady Luck gives me what we need. The Last Shadow never quite foresaw that one of his dead women would damn him by looking over his shoulder as he carried her out to his white van.

"Blue roof, two story house, messy garden with a big oak tree. Heck! Lem, there's a church sign down the right side," I roll my eyes, straining, "It's for a Lutheran church, Black Hill County!"

I feel my body sink into my seat as our driver slams his foot on the accelerator. Lem is barking orders in his phone, while I look up into the face of our murderer, framed in his van's open door, unsuspectingly smirking down on his handiwork. I guess he's looking forward to tomorrow's newspapers. What a bad surprise he's about to get. Yet what a cheerless victory, seen from down there.

I close my eyes at last, covering my tear streaked face and willing darkness to bring me whatever relief it can through the blaring sirens, with Lem's palm hot over my bunched fists. Forlorn, I once again find myself wondering whether my eyes will finally cease to see the world when fate in turn makes a corpse out of me.

~~ October 2016 – Theme : Corpses

[jeonsduck]

Smoke and Mirrors pt 4

WARNINGS: gore, graphic imagery. 

a/n: im so sorry

Since getting permission from your new supervisor to work in San’s office, you’d fallen into a bit of a routine. You woke up, got ready, fed Noodles, and San picked you up from your building because it was on his way to work. On some mornings he’d come upstairs instead of calling yo he got there, bearing gifts of a breakfast sandwich (for you) and canned tuna (for Noodles). By now, your elder landlady recognized San and he blew her a kiss when he picked you up in the mornings. 

 When you arrived at the office, you’d hole yourself up in the file room until lunch. Keran or San would occasionally come by to check on you and bring you a little styrofoam cup off coffee and remind you to take a break. Sometimes Byul would break in and walk all over your papers and laptop keyboard until you scratched her behind her ears. 

At 11:45, San would slip a leash on Byul and the three of you would go on a walk to pick up lunch for the whole office. You all ate in the front room, Keran and the bodyguards included. This was of course, if San didn’t have a lunch meeting, which you were learning were reserved only for his most important clients (read: Hongjoong and company). You caught glimpses of them when they came to see San, but you had yet to be introduced to any of them. You were thankful for that because just from what you’d heard about them from Agent Heejin they were men to be feared and taken very seriously.

After lunch it was back to the dungeon to try and make sense of what the hell San’s friends were doing with their money. 

If he wasn’t too busy in the afternoons he might pop in and help explain something to you. As the person who oversaw all these transactions, he was your best bet at explaining some of their more convoluted financial practices. Like Jongho claiming farm exemptions on his martial arts school. Except it WAS a farm, and a school, and apparently Jongho was very dedicated to the fact that his students live seperated from society to focus on their sport or something like that. Either way it was a really complicated way of saying, yes, his 35 acres are eligible for educational and agricultural exemptions. There were at least 5 cases like this for each of them, and your head was pounding from the explanations. The information dump you were going through on this case was worse than college. 

San drove you home after he locked up for the night, or if he was staying late, he’d send you home in a car with the guards. After you’d started at ledgers until your eyes burned, you had to go talk to Agent Heejin. Sometimes she called you, other times she visited your apartment. You’d talk for as long as she deemed necessary, sometimes for upwards of two hours. Occasionally, you had something suspicious to report, but it was a rare occurrence. Usually you ended up chasing the same half a million dollars around in circles for the whole day across different accounts until there was no where else for you to follow it. It was exhausting. And so far, there was nothing groundbreaking to report, which meant you just got to spend a couple extra hours being grilled every night. 

Fun daily routine, right? Not in the slightest. 

Well, that wasn’t completely true. It was a little fun. Especially when you saw San dressed like a trainwreck with his glasses off, frowning down at a stack of papers. Or when you caught him looking at you from the doorway with a pencil held behind his ear. Or when he rolled his shirt sleeves up so he could go get you a document you couldn’t find. Or when he smiled at you in the cutest way, or well, any time San was being cute. Was that kinda super unprofessional? Yeah, but you’d be done with this case eventually and maybe after that something could happen? It wasn’t as though it was completely one sided. Someone didn’t just start picking you up and taking you to work just because you lived in the same direction. And you’d heard the guards gossiping around the water cooler about how they could never convince their boss to let them choose what to eat for lunch, but he always asked you before making a decision nowadays. And then there was that time you‘d turned your head too fast when he was leaning over your shoulder, and you’d both been trapped in that moment with your noses nearly touching for way too long. San had finally blinked and cleared his throat and you’d both awkwardly avoided each other’s eyes for the next hour.

Your mildly flirty and mostly boring routine was broken when your new supervisor asked you to come in for a status report. San dropped you back off at your office, and told you to call him once you were done so he could send a car to take you home, since you’d left yours at your apartment. You went back up to your floor for the first time in weeks, and made an hour long presentation on your progress with this case (which was miniscule to say the least). Your boss thanked you for the update, told you you were doing a good job, and let you know he’d be sending the notes you presented to the administration. 

After you left his office, you stopped by your cubicle to tidy something’s up, grab some extra supplies you needed,

“Y/N! How’s it going?” Jacob said, catching you on your way out.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him, and you gave him a hug. You had missed your cubicle neighbor. 

“Slowly. I don’t know if I’ll ever be done with this case.” you sighed.

Jacob chuckled and patted you on the back.

“You got some time? We could grab dinner, maybe a couple drinks?” he offered.

You checked your phone for messages from San, only to find that it was dead. Ah, might as well.

“Yeah I could do dinner. You had somewhere in mind?”

Dinner with Jacob was…. Nice. You didn’t realize until halfway through the meal that maybe Jacob thought this was a date. But you still weren’t sure. You were sure that Jacob was more than a little nervous, stuttering over a lot of his sentences and fidgeting. But he wasn’t overbearing or making you uncomfortable. He was nice. Jacob was nice.

He drove you home after the meal, walking you to the front door of your building. You told him you had a nice time. He smiled at you and said the same. Then he awkwardly scooted back into his car and drove away.

You headed up to your apartment, putting your phone on charge the second you got in. You fed Noodles, got ready for bed, and put on some TV to watch before you went to bed. When your phone turned on it started buzzing wildly, startling Noodles.

“Who was calling me like that?” you wondered out loud.

Flipping your phone back over, you saw you had 50 text messages, 34 missed calls, and multiple voicemails. All from San. Begining from the time you were supposed to call him, the messages increased in frequency and worry even through your dinner with Jacob. Your phone buzzed to life again suddenly, San’s name and picture flashing on your screen.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Oh, my god Y/N! I thought you were dead in an alley somewhere or something! You were supposed to call me when you finished at the IRS. ” San said, sounding relieved.

“Oh gosh, I didn’t mean to worry you. My phone died and then I went to dinner with my work friend Jacob. Besides, I told you, I could Uber home or something.” you said.

“Yeah, but you would have at least answered my call from an Uber. I didn’t know what had happened to you.” he huffed.

“Well, I’m fine and I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow to make up for it.” you offered.

“Fine. But letting your phone die can be dangerous. What if something happens and you can’t call me?” he says.

“Shouldn’t I be calling the police if I’m in danger?” you counter with a chuckle, but San is serious.

“No, you should call me. So, promise me you won’t let your phone die, and you’ll answer me when I call.” he says.

You sigh and agree.

“Fine, I’ll watch my phone battery and I will always pick up if you call. Are we cool now?” you ask.

San chuckles, “We are, but you still owe me lunch tomorrow.” he says.

“Of course. Good night San.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You shake your head and look at Noodles.

“He’s such a character isn’t he?” you ask him, and Noodles just meows in response. 

You chuckle and turn the TV off, falling asleep.

The next day it’s back to the same grind. It’s like that for most of the week. On Thursday you get an email from your supervisor, asking if you know where Jacob’s gone. You reply that you don’t know, but you’ll reach out to him. When you call him after lunch, Jacob’s phone goes straight to voicemail. Weird, but you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, so you’re not really worried about it.

You see Jacob again on Saturday, but not in the way you were expecting, or ever wanted to see him. You got a call from the police station early that morning, asking you to come in about something. You thought it had something to do with San or the case you were working with the IRS. You never thought that they’d be calling you down to help identify Jacob’s waterlogged corpse. 

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Whoever had done this, had been angry and well versed in the art of murder. His right hand was broken, shattered more like. So were both of his legs, one at the femur, one at the shin. He’d been garroted, a sharp wire choking him and cutting into his neck until he either asphyxiated or bled to death, whichever came first. That the coroner wasn’t quite sure of. What they were sure of, was that Jacob’s body had been beaten and mutilated before he’d been killed. His heart had been carved out of his chest cavity after the fact though. They’d found the charred remains in his car, which had been pushed deep into the woods and set on fire. Jacob’s body had been found in a lake not far from there, only because the killer had messed up when puncturing his lungs to prevent his body from floating. 

You didn’t process this all at once though. You’d walked into the morgue, noted the awful smell, and the coroner had asked you to peel back the white sheet. You had, and nearly fell over in shock. That was your friend on the table. You stumbled back a couple steps, your ears ringing. You faintly heard the officer who had walked you here asking if that was Jacob on the table, and you nodded absently. You’d been handed a file on Jacob’s autopsy and then ushered out of the room by the officer who brought you there. You stumbled along like you were in a dream, not realizing that the cop was leading you to an interrogation room.

“We have reason to believe you were the last person to see Jacob alive, so we have a few questions for you…”

You sat there, shell shocked and more than a little traumatized, while the police questioned you for hours about the last time you saw Jacob. Nervous, but happy. A little excited, like an overgrown puppy. Different officers came to ask you the same questions, and you knew what they were doing. Trying to get you to crack, to admit something that didn’t happen, to find some flaw in your relationship, and easy out, a motive. But after you’d sobbed for three hours, you were too tired to even keep crying, and eventually they released you, emotionally numb and exhausted. 

The sun was still shining outside the precinct, like the day had the right to be happy. You looked at your car, unwilling to drive, and on impulse, you called San.

Y/N?”

“Yeah, San can you come pick me up? I’m at the police station, I don’t think I should drive.” you said.

“What? Why are you at the police station? I’ll be there soon just hold on.” he said.

“Okay.” you sighed and hung up. You sat down on a bench outside, and after a few minutes, it began to sun shower. You snorted, but just sat there, getting soaked as other people ran around you for cover. You only realized San had pulled up when the rain stopped and you heard him fussing over you.

“You’re gonna catch a cold, sitting out in the rain like this. Come get in the car.”

You let San basically manhandle you into his car, realizing that you were about to get in his expensive Italian sports car sopping wet.

“Sorry, send me you upholstery bill.”

“One, no. Two, you can’t afford it. Three, the leather was getting kinda worn anyway. Do you want to tell me why you were at the police station?” he prompted.

You just shook your head, gazing out the window.

“Later. Just take me home please.”

You zone out as San drives, watching raindrops slide down the car window.

“Y/N, we’re here.” San said, snapping you out of a daze.

“Will you come up with me? I don’t want to be alone right now.” you ask.

“Of course.”

San parks his car in your spot, and follows you up to your apartment. Noodles comes trotting out when you open the door, avoiding you when he sees that you’re wet and rubbing uo against San instead.

“Go take a shower, put on some dry clothes. Should I order food?” San asks, scooping Noodles up in his arms.

You don’t want to eat, but you say yes anyway. You leave San to his own devices in the living room and go to take a shower. Maybe you’re crying again, but there’s no way to be sure. You end up standing under the hot water for nearly an hour. When the food he ordered arrives, San knocks on your bathroom door, letting you know that you should get out and eat while the food is hot. 

You towel off and get dressed in pajamas, trudging back out to the kitchen, San is sitting at your island with a large pizza in front of him. You sit down next to him and take a slice, chewing slowly. It’s good pizza. You say as much. When you finish, San puts away the box and stands infront of you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Do you want to keep processing, or do you want me to distract you?” he asks, looking into your eyes.

You answer without even thinking, wanting to stop feeling so awful.

“Distract me, please.”

San smiles sadly, bringing your faces together and connecting your lips gently. You’re trembling a little, and San feels solid and real pressed against you. 

“I’m sorry.” he says.

“It’s not your fault.” you mumble.

San doesn’t reply, just kisses you again, and again, and again.

[ballum-trash]

Keeping a Secret (Ballum Fic)

Author: Myself / ballum-trash@tumblr.com

Summary: Callum Highway’s had a rough start to the summer, and it doesn’t get any easier when he’s on the verge of getting evicted from his flat and he needs to find rent money fast.

Cue a timely offer from one Ben Mitchell. He has the money Callum needs, and is willing to give it to him, but on one condition: Callum has to pretend to be his boyfriend for the summer.

Chapters: 2 / ?? (word count: 5,700k)

AO3 Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591471/chapters/48953240

Chapter one

It wasn’t the first restless night Callum had in the flat. He had been struggling to sleep for a couple of weeks now. It’s happening often enough that he can barely remember how long it’s been going on for, but he doubts it’s much of a coincidence that he can remember as far back as Chris leaving him. He’s what was on his mind most nights; it only made sense that Callum would lose sleep over him while his heart was still on the mend.

But for the first night in a long time Chris wasn’t the man he couldn’t get out of his thoughts. Callum tossed and turned all night, every time he thought about how he agreed to Ben’s deal his stomach surged with anxiety. He knew what he was about to get into was stupid, even for him, but he was desperate. And Ben was just there offering exactly what he needed, when he needed it. Thoughts of fate crept into his mind a few times, but he stopped them before they took him somewhere weird.

Fate. Cosmic timing. The stars aligning. It was all a load of bollocks to him.

Pure coincidence; that’s all it was.

‘But why did it have to be him?’ He agonized, at about two in the morning. He wants to think that it wouldn’t be as bad if it were someone else in Ben’s place - but he can’t picture anyone else in the square who would need him to do something so contrived. But he also doesn’t know why he can’t seem to imagine him being comfortable enough to do it with someone else, someone other than Ben. And that’s not a compliment to Ben - he’s not comfortable doing it with him either - but for some reason it makes sense to Callum that it’s him.

He wonders what Ben will expect him to do in their...arrangement. (Used together the words relationship and Ben sits with him uncomfortably, so he’s avoiding using them both in the same sentence while he can) Until he talks to Ben again he has no choice but to let his imagination run wild. He’ll have to lie to Kathy when he sees her around, which is already hard enough as it is; he was never the best at it. Ian too, though he gets the feeling he won’t give much of a toss. The more he thinks about it, maybe it won’t be so bad. It’s Ben’s family at the end of the day, he’ll probably do most of the lying for Callum. Out of two of them he’s no doubt better at it than Callum.

At least, he comforts himself, Ben doesn’t take himself too seriously. Maybe he won’t actually take the deal too seriously either. He’ll probably just take the piss the whole time and, maybe, if they’re forced into a situation that needs it, he’ll hold Callums hand every now and then.

Well

That image makes Callum’s stomach flip. He’s not ready to hold anyone’s hand, not just yet. Least of all Ben Mitchell’s.

He settles on his back for maybe the fifteenth time, arms sprayed out by his side. He stares miserably at the ceiling above him. He’s so exhausted and so awake at the same time. He considers making a doctors appointment soon; see if he can get some kind of prescription that’ll knock him straight out when he needs it.

His mind is screaming at him and it feels like he’s trying to focus on a thousand thoughts a minute all at the same time. He looks at the clock on his bedside table.

2 : 53 A.M

His eyes have been burning with tiredness for hours now, but he knows he’s not going to be falling asleep any time soon.

So he decides he’s going to tire himself out with an extremely late - or extremely early - run.

He’s never went on a run in the dead of night before. He tries to get in a morning run on the weekends, or during the week when he’s up and able. He can’t recall the last time he had the energy for it. He figures he can kill two birds with one stone; exercising will help clear his head and hopefully leave him tired enough that he can rest when he returns home. He’s down and out of his flat within minutes, throwing on his old running gear and trainers. He opts out of taking his headphones with him, afraid that if he ran into some creeps he wouldn’t hear them before it was too late.

He stops to stretch outside his door. The air was crisp and refreshing. It could almost be humid, if it wasn’t for the light breeze. The weather was perfect; the sky was clear of any clouds, and the moon shone on the streets just brightly enough that Callum reckons he’d be able to see where he was going under the moonlight alone, without the streetlamps.

He couldn’t help but feel he had stepped into another world. It was so quiet, so dark and peaceful. Time seemed to be frozen still at that moment. He felt hesitant to start running; he wanted to live in the atmosphere of Walford at near three in the morning.

Not like he had never been out this late before; of course he has. But all those other times he was drunk, or at least had someone or some people to keep him company.

Now it was just him, alone.

And he didn’t mind it so much right now.

He circles the square at least three times before his legs start to ache and he decides to call it a night. He almost wishes time was really stopped, in that moment. So he can just stay out in the calm and quiet night for a little bit longer. For the first time in a long while he didn’t have to think, didn’t have to worry. It was only him and the moonlight right then. It was what he needed.

He slept soundly for the rest of the morning.

-----

‘Meet me at the Prince Albert at 5pm’

That’s all he’s heard from Ben all afternoon. He’s lost count how many times he’s read the text. Callum hated how blunt and vague it was, and was unsure of why he chose the Albert for their meeting place instead of somewhere with a little more privacy, like the car lot or one of their own homes.

He’s sitting at the table in the middle of the Undertakers, a folder open in front of him with sheets of client information, but he’s staring at his phone laid out on the table. The anticipation of their meeting was clouding his mind. Dealing with Ben was exasperating a lot of the time, but he knew it’d be worth it once he gets his hands on the money and can put all this rent stress finally behind him.

And then maybe look for a new flatmate.

He didn’t want to before, not so soon after the breakup, but he knows he doesn’t have a choice now. He can’t afford to live in the flat by himself. But that’s a situation he can deal with later.

“You alright?” Asks Jay emerging from his office. They hadn’t gotten the chance to talk much that morning with Jay needing to catch up on work he missed yesterday.

Callum nods, probably a bit too enthusiastically to seem genuine. “Yeah I’m fine, just looking over this new client coming tomorrow.”

“Right yeah, when are they due in?”

“About half three they said. Shouldn’t be any issues, they just want to talk about the costs and that.”

Jay nods, listening to Callum while also looking into his own folder.

Callum continues, “Hey, how was your night, anyway? Went well, by the sounds of it.” He ends his sentence in a genuine chuckle. He enjoys talking to Jay. Most of the time it seems like he’s the only one around here with his head properly screwed onto his shoulders.

“Yeah we had a good time.” He starts, taking a seat across from Callum, “Took her to a nice restaurant out of town, had a few drinks at a bar.”

“Few too many?” Callum jokes, sitting back in his chair.

“Could say that, yeah.” Jay huffs a laugh before rubbing his right temple for a few seconds. “Can still feel it, mate, I don’t remember gettin’ this old.”

“Yeah but it’s worth it though, innit? For Lola.”

Jay smiles at just the mention of her name, like he’s a little schoolboy with a crush. “I can’t believe we’re getting married soon. It’s mental. Feels like it was just yesterday when we was kids, y’know?” He’s not looking at Callum but instead just into the space between him, like he’s relieving the memory right then and there.

“You’s two were made for each other.” Says Callum, trying to ignore his heart beating a little more than it should. He hates that he can’t even talk about his friends relationships without being reminded of his own failed one. “Not long now, is it? ‘Till the wedding.”

Jay becomes immediately exasperated at just the mention. “Jesus yeah I know, about less than a month now. Hope you’ve got your suit ready, mate, because Lola wants us all lookin’ as fit and fancy as we can.” He laughs, and Callum joins him.

“Actually, speaking of relationships,” Jay interrupts himself before Callum can say that his suit is hanging in the wardrobe ready for the wedding. He levels Callum with a look like he’s trying to figure out a riddle. “I was talking to Ben earlier.”

Callum frowns for a moment, not sure what he means by that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “He mentioned that he was taking you out on a date later, or whatever. Are yous two up to something?”

Callum’s eyebrows shoot up and his pulse quickens. He’s not sure how to answer that question, or what exactly Jay might mean by asking it. He shakes his head, mouth opening and closing while his mind races for the right response.

“I - um - H-He” He starts stuttering. He thanks God sometimes for never having him end up in a hostage interrogation scenario because he would be absolutely useless. “I’m meeting him, um, for a drink later on, yeah. Wants to chat about...something.” And he shrugs and tries to put on a convincing smile.

Jay has a look of confusion and slight concern on his face. “Did you just short circuit there, Highway?”

Another question Callum’s not even sure how to answer because, basically, yes he just did. Why? Completely unsure how to explain that one.

He fakes a laugh, “I just got tongue tied there. Tired, didn’t get much sleep last night.” He tries to explain. It’s enough for Jay, thankfully, he just nods.

“Right. Well. I’ve got to get back to work. Old Widow wants to arrange a coffin viewing for tomorrow morning, need to give her a call.” Jay says as he stands and makes his way to his office.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course. I’ll chat to you in a bit.” He smiles politely and as soon as he hears the door to Jay’s office shut he drops it immediately.

‘Idiot’ He’s not sure if that angry thought is aimed at himself or Ben.

This deal, a deal they haven’t even made yet, already has him in a tizzy. Not that he’s ever made plans for a drink with Ben before, but if Ben had referred to meeting Callum as date before all this started he would have shrugged it off, tell Jay that Ben was just being daft and teasing him like he always does.

He hopes that once he knows what he’s supposed to do and what he’s supposed to say he can stop worrying so much about it. He doesn’t want to muck things up for himself before they’ve even had a proper chat first. He can’t risk it, not right now.

--

Five o’clock rolls around much faster than he would’ve liked. He pops into Jay’s office to tell him he’s leaving early to meet Ben. Jay waves him off, tells him to enjoy himself. He doesn’t feel bothered to go home and change out of his work uniform first, he’s afraid of leaving Ben waiting too long, so he makes a start for the Prince Albert once he’s out the door.

Once he’s there, it's not hard to spot Ben in the corner of the bar, given that he’s one of the only four patrons there. The Prince Albert was lively and fun at night, but very quiet during the day. He inhales and exhales a deep breath first, and makes his way over. He catches Tina’s eye behind the bar and offers her a polite smile and small wave. She smiles happily back, but eyes him curiously when she sees whose direction he was heading in.

Ben looks up from his phone then, and gives Callum a nod.

“You alright?” Callum greets first nervously. He’s not really sure how else to approach Ben other than being his normal friendly self. He’s never been in this situation before, he feels like he’s not aware of the proper etiquette.

Ben says nothing when he sits across from him, but he smirks just a little. He reaches down to his side and drops a bulky brown envelope onto the table. He slides it forward just an inch for Callum to take.

Callum stares at it and raises his brows.

“Right to it then.”

Ben nods. And then he raises a finger to point at the envelope. “In there you’ll find two grand.”

Callum’s already reached for the envelope and was just about to open it when Ben’s words hit him.

He looks at him deadfaced, hoping that maybe he didn’t hear him right. But he knows he did. Ben’s not smiling, not exactly, but he looks smug nonetheless.

“I asked for four.” Callum says, confusion plain as day in his voice.

Ben nods again. “Right. I’ll give you half now, and the rest when I’m finished with ya’.” And then he smiles that little shit stirring smile he does when he knows he’s done something to piss someone off.

Callum’s gripping onto the envelope tightly, his knuckles turning white.

“I asked for four - I need the four now, Ben.” He wants to yell at him but he can’t. It starts to make a little more sense to him why Ben didn’t choose the car lot or somewhere else private. He knew Callum might want to cause a scene when he screws him over.

“Relax, you’ll get it. In time.” Ben’s leaning back comfortably in his chair, hands folded over his stomach, and completely unbothered by how upset Callum was.

Halfway on the other hand is speechless. Really, truly, doesn’t know what to say without cursing the Mitchell out of it and telling him to shove the money where the sun don’t shine.

But ultimately he knows that two grand is better than the nothing he has right now.

Not that it made him any less angry.

He runs a hand stressfully through his hair. “Why? Why not just give me the money like I asked?”

Ben huffs out a laugh and raises a brow, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. He licks lips and leans forward. “Have you ever actually made a deal before, Halfway?”

The way he says it irritates Callum only further, he says it like Callum’s too slow to understand, like he’s stupid. He glares at Ben. Not offering any kind of answer. Ben doesn’t need one to continue anyway.

“If I gave you all you wanted, how would I know you’ll keep your half of the deal up?”

Callum shakes his head and shrugs. “I’d give you my word.” And he says it so earnestly that it’s hard to miss Ben’s features soften momentarily. Ben sighs and doesn’t meet his eyes for a second.

“That’s not how I do business, Callum. I give you half now, you help me out, I’ll pay you the rest when we’re finished.”

Callums heart sinks. He knew it couldn’t be so easy, nothing ever is. He doesn’t want to throw a fit. He should have known better than to think Ben Mitchell would be oh so generous and stop being a self-obsessed business man for five minutes. But, then again, Callum thinks, why should he think Ben would do him such a favour. After all, they weren’t even mates at the end of the day.

He wants to hate Ben for it, but he can’t.

He can’t find it in himself to hate anyone. Linda used to tease him sometimes, tell him that his heart was two times too big for his own body. He always laughed it off. But he knows there might some truth in her teasing. He wish it wasn’t the case. Hate’s that he can be such a soft touch sometimes.

He decides that he’ll take what he can get.

He almost needs to find the strength for it, but he nods, and slips the money into his inner coat pocket.

“Fine.” He can’t stop his voice cracking and winces to himself at how weak he sounded. Maybe his landlord will be understanding. Two grand is still a large sum of money, and it’s more than half of what he owes.

They’re both silent, and he knows it’s only been minutes, but it drags on for what feels like hours. He looks at Ben, and Ben is staring right back. Callum can’t quite tell what way Ben was looking at him. Like he was thinking, trying to figure Callum out. Ben blinks away, realising finally what he was doing.

Callum’s not sure what just happened. He takes a deep breath and exhales.

“So. The fake, um, boyfriend, thing.” Callum tries, manages to say boyfriend at just above whisper level, “Know what you’re doing?”

It breaks the weird tension in the air at least, even if he’s dreading what Ben might say.

Ben sits up straight and clears his throat. “Right, yeah.”

His air of smugness takes no time to return, much to Callums disappointment. He might have preferred the silence.

Definitely. Definitely would have preferred the silence.

“So, I’ll start with a better explanation with what’s goin’ on at home.” Ben starts, leans back in his chair. “As you already know, I’ve been gettin’ a bit too busy between the sheets.”

Callum rolls his eyes on cue, really not needing the finer details; details he already knows.

“But I haven’t really emphasised how busy”

“You don’t need to.” Callum interjects quickly, Ben ignores him.

“It’s been a few months of it. I won’t lie, I ain’t really havin’ much of a hard time finding arse ‘round this side of London.” He can tell too well that Callum’s getting progressively more uncomfortable with the details of his sex life. And he’s having a bit too much fun with it.

Callum feels like he’s in the company of the Cheshire fucking cat with the way Ben’s grinning at him from across the table.

“Yeah- I know, Ben. You said as much in the Undertakers yesterday.” Callum snaps.

But he may as well be adding fuel to the fire that is Ben Mitchell, because all Ben does is bark a laugh back at him.

“And yeah, like I mentioned, Mum - and sometimes, Ian - has accidentally walked in on me a few too many times. I think the last time was about a month ago, maybe?”

Callum was half-listening at this point, but that caught his attention. “A month ago? You made it out as if it were more drastic than that.” He feels like he’s almost accusing Ben, of what he’s not sure.

Ben shrugs and makes a face that reads to Callum as ‘Oops’

Callum frowns. “Why do I feel like you’re not telling me everything, Ben?”

Ben looks sheepish. Callum knows he’s not getting the full story.

“You remember when I said that I told her the other night, about you, us, going out, yeah?”

Callum nods. Hard to forget when it was only yesterday and it nearly gave Callum an aneurysm.

“Well…” Ben drawls. Callum frowns. “I might have lied. I may have actually told her about three weeks ago, now that I think of it.” He has the audacity to say it so casually, like he was remembering the date of someone's birthday, or the last time he went on a weekend long bender.

Callum’s not sure how to take it. Confused, definitely. But mostly very worried that the whole square has thought he and Ben were an item this entire time before he was even made aware of it.

So he asks the only question he can think of.

“Why?”

“Well I told you why. I needed to calm down Mum. Remember? Told you about the intervention and all that.”

“Why,” Callum asks again, “has this lie been going around for three weeks and I only know about it now?”

“Oh right, yeah. Well, see, I thought I could just throw your name out there and she’d just take it, right? Leave me alone for a while.” He stops mid sentence to sigh. “Except she hasn’t. In fact, she’s worse now.”

Callum frowns. “What do you mean?”

“It -” Ben starts, and then stops, not really sure how to say what he needs to say. “It’s been... a while since I’ve been with a boy longer than just a hookup, alright? Been a while since my last relationship.”

It clicks with Callum now, why Ben’s struggling to explain. Callum didn’t know much about Ben’s ex- boyfriend. When Callum moved to the Square Ben had already been out of Walford for a while. When the Mitchell made his return, Walford was awash with rumours and whispers for that entire week. Callum knew about Ben before he ever said one word to him. He picked up bits and pieces, but he knows just enough about Paul, and about Paul and Ben, to understand Ben’s behaviour.

So he says nothing and he nods, letting Ben continue.

“When I told Mum that I might have been seeing someone she got so...excited. Just, really happy for me, right? I haven’t seen her so pleased for me since...well, since…” He leads off, and before Callum can so much as offer another nod he’s continuing again, “a while, alright? So I didn’t have the heart to tell her.”

Ben’s almost off in his own world, staring at the ground rather than at Callum. It’s silent between them again, for a minute.

And Callum feels sympathetic for him, before he remembers a fine little detail that Ben has failed to bring up.

“I thought you was getting kicked out?”

“Hm?” It’s brought Ben back to earth and back to the conversation. Callum raises his brows.

“You told me yesterday that your mum and Ian was threatening to kick you out. Or did you lie about that too?”

Ben rolls his eyes and smirks again.

“No, that wasn’t a lie. Like I said, I told her that three weeks ago. If you know my Mum at all, you should know that’s not the kind of lie you can tell her and just get away with it.”

“But you -”

“Yeah, I know now, Callum. Look, I didn’t tell her it was you, not at first. The other night, what I told you about, did happen. I came home, I was drunk, and she ambushed me. Started going on about why she hasn’t met my boyfriend yet and started throwin’ accusations around that I was lying to her and that I only told her that to shut her up.”

“But -”

Ben raises a finger. Callum shuts his mouth.

“She said if it was the case that I was lying to her and that I was still sneaking boys back into the house under her nose, then I can pack my bags and find my own place.” He shrugged. “So that’s when I panicked. She was angry, and I didn’t know what to do, and your name was just the first thing that popped into my head. So that’s what I told her.”

Callum’s still trying to take in the flood of information before Ben continues again.

“So, now that she has a name, and that name happens to be yours, she will absolutely not leave me alone about it. Any time I’ve ran into her since then she’s been begging me to let her meet you.”

“But she’s already met me-”

“As my boyfriend, Callum, keep up.”

Callum shuts his mouth again sheepishly. But then he thinks.

“I’ve seen Kathy around though...she’s never mentioned anything.”

Ben sighs.

“Because I told her that you and me, we was keeping it a secret. And I told her specifically not to go near you because you’d be mad that I opened my mouth.”

He really thought of everything.

“So. Lying to her about having a secret boyfriend hasn’t worked out much in my favour. And I’ve gone and fucked myself by telling her it was you. Made it a bit more difficult to keep lying about it when you live practically ten feet away.” He chuckles humorously, mostly to himself. “It’s only a matter of time before she catches on that somethin’ isn’t right and she kicks me out for lying to her even more.”

And he exhales, finally finishing the full explanation as to why he’s dragged Callum into his mess. He’s searching Callum’s face for a reaction, his right hand on the table, mindlessly tapping his index finger against the surface. A stress quirk, possibly. But Callum doesn’t react, still taking in all the information. Until finally he shrugs,

“So what are you going to do?”

“We. It’s ‘We’ now, callum” Ben corrects with a smirk.

Callum rolls his eyes “Right yeah, because I had anything to do with this.” It earns him a chuckle from Ben, before he talks again,

“She wants you around for dinner on Thursday. Family thing. Like I said, she wants to meet you properly as my boyfriend. She’ll probably start badgering you with questions about us, all that mushy meet-the-parents stuff, you know the deal. It’ll be easy.”

Callum huffs out a humourless laugh, “Easy, yeah, when it’s a proper relationship. Which we ain’t in, we’re lying.”

“Ooh nothing gets by you quick, does it?” Ben grins.

Callum’s jaw tightens at the teasing. There’s a time and place when he can put up with it but it wasn’t now. “I mean’t how are we going to act? Will she catch on if we, y’know...just act normal?”

Ben’s eyebrows raise and Callum can tell he’s in for another jibe. “Wantin’ to get up close and comfortable already, Callum? I’m shocked, but flattered, truly.” And he smiles a little too sweetly. Callum's not sure if he has any patience left for this.

He wonders briefly how any man could stay with Ben longer than one night and feels thankful for a moment that this relationship is fake, thinks that it would only take a week in the company of Ben Mitchell before all his hair would turn grey with stress.

And maybe Ben can tell he’s at his wits end and, strangely, seems sympathetic. “I know what you mean’t.” He clarifies, “Look, we may have to do a bit’a hand holding here and there, maybe a little cuddle on the couch. Just to save face. Think you could handle all that?” He still has a faint smirk on his face but his question, for a change, was genuine.

Callum swallows a lump in his throat. The idea of already being that level of intimate with Ben when he barely knows (or likes) him already had him feeling nervous.But he nods hesitantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Right, so the dinner will probably be at around seven. So clear that little schedule of yours up.” He smiles smugly. Callum frowns at the rudeness of his request but nods at him nonetheless.

“So are we done here?” Callum asks. Ben’s taken the energy out of him and he feels like he needs a rest.

“Oh leaving so soon?” Ben asks, “Let me buy you a drink, ‘least I can do.”

It surprised Callum, genuinely. It may have been the nicest Ben’s been to him all evening.

Or, as long as he’s known him even. But maybe it’s promising. If Callum can at the very least build a friendship with Ben, then it might make the next couple of weeks that much more bearable. So he nods.

Ben raises his arm, catching Tina’s attention from where she’s at at another table, flirting with one of the punters. Callum narrows his eyes at Ben, thinks it a bit rude to not just wait at the bar for her.

Tina’s happy to come to the table regardless.

“You alright, gentlemen?” She asks brightley, eyes darting between the two of them. Still clearly bewildered that the two men were together when she’s barely seen them talk before.

“Yeah we’re havin’ a great time, ain’t we?” Answers Ben, and smiles pointedly at Callum.

Callum’s taken off guard by Ben’s sudden change in behaviour, but smiles at Tina anyway. “Y-yeah, yeah, ‘course.”

“A pint, please, Tina.” He starts. “You want a pint, Callum?”

Callum eyes him suspiciously. “Uh, yeah sure.” He’s still unsure of what Ben’s angle is now, he’s acting a little too friendly for comfort.

“And a pint for my wonderful boyfriend here.” And there’s that too too sweet smile of his, and for emphasis he reaches out and lays his hand on top of Callums over the table.

Callum’s not sure if what just happened was real or if he was having a stroke.

Tina’s eyes have widened. He reckons he and her are wearing matching expressions.

“Well well, when’s this happened then?”

“Oh a little while now, we just wanted to keep it a secret. Didn’t we, babe?”

Callum’s looking at Ben like a deer in headlights and feels like he was just suckerpunched three times in a row. Ben’s hand feels like it’s burning on top of his own, so aware that it’s still there.

His mouth feels sewn shut so he just nods quickly to Tina and tries his best to force a smile.

She’s practically grinning ear to ear. “Y’know I was wondering why you two was in here together! All makes sense now.” And she looks at them both like the cat that caught the canary. Ben smiles back at her. “I’ll get those pints for you now, boys. Enjoy your date.” And with that, she’s away to the bar.

Callum nearly rips his hand from out under Bens and feels like he could spontaneously combust.

“What was that!?” He whispers aggressively so Tina won’t hear, not that she’d be able to over the music anyway.

Ben just shrugs but is obviously amused by Callum’s outburst. “Just covering some ground.”

Callum stares at him confused, his brows furrowed. So Ben clarifies,

“We’re supposed to be going out, Callum. For a few weeks, yeah, but people are going to hear about it eventually.”

“It’s just to convince your Mum, Ben! Tina ain’t need to know, she’s going to tell everyone!”

Ben nods knowingly. “I know. Why’d you think we’re meeting here? Wanted to get it out of the way.”

Callum’s eyebrows shoot up well near his hairline. “What?”

Ben rolls his eyes at Callum’s refusal to get where he’s coming from. “It’s Kathy, Halfway. She works with Tina, she wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret anyway.”

“She could have!”

“I know my Mother, Callum, she wouldn't’ve been quiet for long.” Ben states, clearing growing bored of this conversation. “Look, we’re not going to be at this long. There’s no need stressin’ yourself over it.”

It almost makes Callum want to laugh. They haven’t even started yet, not really, and Callum’s already been stressed over it for more than a day now.

Tina drops their pints down in front of them, and leaves them alone with a wink. It makes his stomach feel uneasy, her knowing (thinking) that he and Ben are in a relationship. It sits with him weirdly.

He touches the glass of his pint tentatively, not sure if he can stomach it anymore. He watches Ben quietly under his lashes. The other man has his attention on his phone now, and already has started drinking his larger. Callum can’t help but observe him.

He’s an enigma to him. He can’t understand how Ben is so sure of himself all the time, so confident, so cocky. Doesn’t he feel guilty for lying? Or at the very least, nervous that he’ll get caught and have to face the consequences?

They’re too very different people, Callum settles on. Polar opposites. And he’s glad for it.

__

He finishes is pint in personal-record time. Ben, at least, had the decency to pay for both their drinks. Callum departed with a stiff goodbye and left for home as soon as he could get away. Ben may have made a joke or crude remark after him but he ignored it.

Sitting in his living room now, the weight of the situation really hits him. He can’t stop replaying the moment of Ben calling him his boyfriend and resting his hand on top of his own. The way Tina’s smile grew three sizes and the wink she gave him when she arrived with the pints. His blood is bumping with anxiety, because now that Tina knows everyone will know and he worries what they’ll think.

It’s only then when three faces appear in his mind, when the realisation of Tina’s impact will have on him.

Jay. Mick. Stuart.

They’re all going to hear second hand that he’s, of all people, Ben Mitchells boyfriend.

His stomach is doing somersaults and he can’t stop the blush of embarrassment that fills his cheeks when he thinks about how they’ll react, what they’ll say when they see him next. The looks, the laughs, the teasing, and the chastising (because, well, it’s Ben Mitchell. The bad boy of east Walford. They’re not going to let that part go.)

And in that moment, Callum can’t help the feelings rising inside him.

He hates him.

He hates Ben Mitchell for what he’s making him do.

But he’s reminded, with the envelope sitting on his coffee table, that really, Ben’s not making him do anything.

He’s agreed to this.

So maybe he hates himself a little more too.

[specialagentsnark]

Marriage of Convenience - Chapter 4

It’s Fili Friday! You know what that means. Chapter 4!

Chapter 4

They met weekly after the midsummer festival. Magnus grew quickly and by Durin’s Day, he stood as tall as the bottom of Fili’s ribcage. He knew various commands for everyday behavior but soon learned that he was also to be a guard dog for Sigrid, ready to attack and chase off anyone she indicated, unrelenting until she called him off. They practiced with Fili and Kili in full armor and heavily padded clothing until they were sure the dog would guard Sigrid against anyone when she gave the command.

With the first snows of winter, the parade of suitors dried up almost entirely. Only one or two showing up in a month. Fili and Sigrid also had to call off their weekly meetings to train Magnus as the snows obliterated their paths and made the trek up the mountainside too difficult.

The weather was harsh in Dale and Erebor as well as the surrounding lands. Wolves started circling close to the cities. Extra guards were posted at the gates and people scrambled to secure their homes against all beasts.

One particularly wintery day, Sigrid and Magnus left her home to aid a local woman who had just had a child. Sigrid puttered around the much smaller house, cleaning and cooking while the young mother cared for her newborn until her husband could return from his duties on guard on the city wall.

When he finally returned, it was already dark out.

“Perhaps you should stay here for the night, My Lady,” the woman said after she laid her baby down for the first part of the night. “It’s getting late.”

“It would probably be for the best,” the man said. “The wolves are close to the city walls tonight. The winter is harsh for us. It can only be worse for them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to enter the city tonight.”

Sigrid smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but my home isn’t far. I have my sword and Magnus with me. We’ll be all right for the short distance.”

“My Lady, are you sure? It’s snowing as well.”

Sigrid glanced toward the window. Indeed, fat snowflakes fell outside, limiting visibility. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted as she reached for her coat.

“Be careful, My Lady,” the woman said. “If the weather is this bad tomorrow, we’ll expect you to stay home or stay here for tomorrow night if you insist on coming again.”

“I understand,” Sigrid said. She snapped her fingers and Magnus trotted to her side. “Good night,” she said, receiving the same wish in return before closing the door behind her and stepping into the cold.

“Well Magnus,” she said. “Let’s head home.”

The large hound wagged his considerably fluffy tail and gave a soft but deep woof in return. Still a puppy in heart if not in size, the hound romped in the snow around her as they walked after she gave him the go-ahead to walk as he pleased as long as he stayed in sight. Sigrid listened, noting that the guardsman had been right. The wolves were near the city.

Magnus stopped in his romping suddenly, just a street away from her home. He planted his paws where he stood and started barking loudly, his hackles rising.

“Magnus?” Sigrid asked, her hand going to the hilt of her sword. The dog shifted, standing between her and the rest of the road back the way she’d come.

He snarled and lunged forward a few feet, still barking. She was about to call him back to her and to stop his barking when a pair of wolves slunk into her limited sight. She swallowed and drew her sword.

“Wolves!” She shouted. “Wolves in the city!”

The larger of the two beasts lunged toward Magnus.

“Magnus, Inkhir!” she ordered. The dog turned and bounded back to her. The wolf followed on his heels and Sigrid darted in, holding her sword with both hands. She slipped on ice and sliced the wolf along its side instead of stabbing it clean in the chest as she’d intended. It yelped and backed away, blood dripping from the cut but its eyes still fixed on her as she scrambled back upright. Magnus barked a challenge at them.

The second wolf attacked and the first followed right behind it. Grimly, Sigrid reset her feet in the treacherous snow. This time, when she brought her sword up, she hit true, burying it into the wolf’s neck when it jumped at her. Its weight pushed her back, falling on top of her and sending her sprawling under its bulk.

“Magnus! Igrid!” she cried, trying to push the dead wolf off her even as the wolf she’d first injured bore down on her.

Her dog, though not full grown lunged to the attack, bashing into the side of the wolf and clamping his jaws on its neck and hanging on. He dug his paws into the snow and started jerking backward, trying to pull the wolf off balance. The wolf twisted and squirmed, trying to sink its teeth into Magnus.

Sigrid pushed the body off her and clambered to her feet. “Inkhir!” she shouted to her dog. He released the wolf and backed away. The wolf tried to follow but Sigrid swung her sword again, this time hitting true and cutting deep into the wolf’s neck, partially severing its head.

“Sigrid! Sigrid! Are you alright?”

She looked up from where she stood, chest heaving and adrenaline quickly leaving her system.

“Da,” she said as her father reached her side. “I’m fine.” She turned her eyes back to the wolf she’d just killed. “They’re so skinny,” she said absently. “No wonder they came into the city for food.”

“Come,” Bard said, wrapping his arm around her. “Let’s get you inside.”

She nodded and barely took a moment to call for Magnus. The dog followed her and her father the rest of the way to the house. Dimly, she heard her father ordering others to take care of the corpses and to search the rest of the streets for wolves or anyone outdoors.

The next day, Bard ordered a curfew for the safety of his citizens, sighting the wolves that had attacked Sigrid the night before. That afternoon, a contingent of dwarves led by Prince Fili arrived in the city. The prince himself came to visit Bard in his home to discuss the quartering of dwarrow soldiers to help in the defenses, considering Dale’s walls still weren’t completely repaired and to check on Sigrid.

“I’m all right,” she said for what felt like the millionth time that day. “I didn’t even get scratched.”

“Well done,” Fili said with a grin. “You truly are a warrior for all you haven’t trained long. Do you know your people have already started calling you Wolf’s Bane?”

Sigrid looked to the side, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t want such a title. I feel like I should train more after last night,” she admitted.

“Then do so,” Fili said. “There is nothing wrong with more training.”

Sigrid nodded and vowed to stay at the guard post for extra training every day. It would take some rearranging of her schedule but she felt the need and so she would do it.

“Magnus did a great job,” she said, turning the attention away from herself. She told him how the dog had warned her and then protected her and followed all the commands she’d given him. Fili grinned as she spoke and then scratched the dog’s ears, complimenting him on his good work.

“I miss seeing you,” Fili admitted once they’d exhausted the topic of her fight with the wolves the night before. “Would you mind if I wrote to you until the snows melt enough for easier travel between here and Erebor?”

‘I’d like that,” Sigrid admitted. “Not many people my age want to talk like we did when training Magnus.”

Fili laughed. “I imagine not. Men don’t seem to be as interested in running a kingdom as you seem to be.”

Sigrid blushed. “My father is going to be crowned king,” she reminded him. “I need to know how to support him but that’s not all I meant. I miss the ease of talking to you. Everyone here is too conscious of my title.”

Fili sighed. “I understand,” he said. “I’ll write you a letter as soon as I get back to the mountain. I’ll instruct the raven to stay until you write me back. Just remember to feed them or they get irritated.”

She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

~*~*~

Unfortunately, the title Wolf’s Bane stuck. A few days after Fili left, leaving dwarrow guards to supplement Dale’s own guards against the wolves and attacks from other dark creatures, Bard called her down to the sitting room. Someone had skinned and cleaned the wolves she’d killed and brought the hides to her as trophies. The pelts were warm and would be a nice addition to the blankets on her bed until she decided what to do with them.

~*~*~

To Sigrid, Lady of Dale, Daughter of Bard the Dragonslayer

Sigrid,

As promised, I’m writing to you my first moment of time away from others since I returned to the mountain. I’m sure you’ve noticed the falling snow and the severity of the blizzard outside. Due to the weather, uncle has closed Erebor for travel for the foreseeable future. No one is allowed outside the mountain unless on the most urgent business that must be approved by Uncle. He will be sending a letter o Bard shortly to inform him of the lack of trade coming from the mountain and will be urging him to do the same for the citizens of Dale. The squad I left behind with your guards will be staying until the roads are more easily traversed as well. They will be notified but if you were to go and speak with them, offer my personal thanks to them, I’d be grateful. Hopefully, they can help with your wolf problem.

There is a benefit to all the snow at least that I think you will agree with. With the roads unpassable, foreign dignitaries and thus prospective spouses will not be able to visit. I, for one, am glad for the reprieve of watching Dwalin beat dwarrowdams in combat. He beat the last one in under a minute and left her crying like a wounded orc child. It was rather pitying, to say the least. Perhaps it was a kindness though. In my experience, the ones that fight so poorly also offer up the poorest gifts of their craft. If this were true for this particular dam, I would have had to refuse her upon sight of the gift. It’s always more distressing when I have to turn them down personally instead of Dwalin or whatever guard is with Uncle for the day. I don’t understand why they always make crowns as their gifts as well. I already have access to more of those than I could ever need. I would much rather receive something useful, like a new sword or something.

But I digress.

I just received word from a trusted source upon my return. He looked into the suitor that you had Magnus chase off most recently (at least that I’m aware of. Have you had others since the one?). Apparently, you made the right choice. You’re not the first lady of noble standing he’s attacked. There have apparently been two others that reported his actions. Luckily, both were saved by passersby. We will be sending word to his people in order to inform them of his dishonorable actions and warn them that if they do not take action, we will and they will lose Erebor’s support and trade.

Nori (do you remember him? He was part of the Company) was quite impressed with how you handled him and the wolves when he heard of it. He seems to have a soft spot where strong-willed women are concerned. I’d take advantage if I were you. He asked me to tell you that if you ever have another problem with a suitor again, he’ll take care of them for you. I don’t know if he means they’ll meet their end in a dark alley one day or if he’ll destroy their reputations. I’m sure you could ask him to do either and he would. I think he’s bored in the mountain. He has been running Dwalin ragged with his shenanigans. He loves to make a point about only being a partially reformed thief.

I told Kili about your adventure with the wolves. He doesn’t believe me. Please do us a favor when you visit and bring the wolf pelts with you. I want to be able to see the look on his face when you prove him wrong. Tauriel was more inclined to believe the story but then, I’m sure she has more experience with just how fierce Women can be, having had more personal dealings with them than Kili has. Speaking of whom, he’s just entered the room and has asked me to extend his greeti (Hello Sigrid! It’s me, Kili. Did you really kill two wolves with nothing but your sword and Magnus? I think Fili’s trying to put one over on me. He’s been awfully grumpy lately. Can you do something about that?) Please ignore him. Everyone else does when he gets like this. As I have nothing else to address in this letter, I’ll send it off to you now. I hope you are well.

-F (and K!)

PS- I’m entirely serious. Fili’s too gloomy. Cheer him up a bit, would you? Ignore him. Please feed the raven. She’s a good sort but does get a bit crotchety when she’s hungry.

~*~*~

To Fili, Son of Dis, Crown Prince Under the Mountain

Fili (and I’m guessing Kili as well?)

Thank you for your letter. I am glad to know you returned to the mountain safely, despite the blizzard. Da did receive a letter from the King Under the Mountain and has agreed that closing trade routes, for the time being, is for the best. However, we will still be sending out hunters. As we have lived our lives in these conditions (out on a lake no less!), we know how to survive. Our hunters will be fine and will hopefully bring in more game. They do not travel alone, always in small parties with hunting dogs for safety against predators such as the wolves or from wandering orcs and goblins. The rest of us will stay in the city and make do with the goods we have stored away for the winter.

Da has added a curfew for our people, requesting that everyone be inside within the hour after the sun sets to keep everyone safe from the wolves. People have also started making sure their animals are inside closed buildings. Not everyone has places in their own homes but much of Dale is still unsettled. People have started housing their sheep or goats or chickens inside some of the empty buildings. We hear the wolves at night, howling and prowling outside the city. There have been no more reports of them coming in the walls but there have been a few attempts. The guards have caught them each time. Luckily, none of either of our peoples have been killed in the attacks. I think a priority for reconstruction once the weather cooperates will be to rebuild the gates. The carpenters are already working on them as much as they can with our limited resources.

Your raven has been perfectly well-behaved since she arrived. I did feed her and that seemed to make her grateful. I’ve heard the Line of Durin can speak directly to them. Is that really the case? Can you? I wonder if it’s some sort of magic or something that some people have, such as blue eyes or red hair. Da can talk to thrushes. Honestly, so can I. I couldn’t tell anyone when I was younger. The Master of Laketown didn’t like anything he deemed unnatural so Da and I had to keep it hidden, just in case. We didn’t need anything else to set us apart from others. Now though, I speak with them frequently. Tilda, Bain, and I created a little shelter for them in our garden to keep them warm during the winter. Tilda puts fresh seed out for them daily. She chatters away with them for hours when given the chance. Bain has never indicated if he can understand them or not. I think he does but I’ve never seen him talk to them but he sure seems to listen.

I was at the guard house this morning where I took a few moments to do as you asked with the dwarrow there. They are grateful to hear your words and that you would take the time to remember them in your letter. When Captain Smytheson informed them I killed two wolves and often came to train among the guard, a few of your people offered to teach me some of their fighting techniques. I know your people can be secretive so I wanted to make sure such a thing was all right before I accepted their offer. I don’t want to create any problems.

Please give Master Nori my gratitude. The few times I’ve met him he has seemed kind and clever. His offer is one I will think on. I don’t feel well, knowing some of those that have behaved poorly with me are free to do so with someone else that doesn’t have the protection that I do. Again, I thank you for Magnus and helping me train him. He is getting stronger and larger every day and is unfailingly loyal. I hope to always remain worthy of his loyalty.

It appears that courting for your people and for mine is very different. I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what some of the things you mentioned entail. Someone must fight Master Dwalin before they can court someone? And they must make a gift? Our rituals do not require such, just the girl’s parents’ approval. Gifts may be exchanged while they court but are not required. If the couple desires to be married, the girl’s dowry is discussed but that is the closest thing to a gift, other than the engagement ring. Is it very different for your people? Are you allowed to tell me or is that a dwarf secret?

I hope the snows relent enough for the midwinter festival. It feels like it has been many years since the last time we had the opportunity to celebrate it properly. Da is planning on inviting your family and the entire Company that retook the mountain as well as other local dignitaries. Will you come if the snow isn’t too bad? Magnus misses you.

Tilda wants to go outside and build snow creatures which means Bain will instigate a snowball fight. I’ll end my letter here so that I have something to write about next time. I hope you are safe and warm in your mountain.

-S

~*~*~

To Sigrid, Lady of Dale, Daughter of Bard the Dragonslayer

Sigrid (Hi! I’m here too!),

I’m glad the raven was well-behaved. Yes, I can talk to them. You could too actually. Our feathery messengers speak Westron. For some reason though, they are selective about who they will talk to (Crotchety creatures that they are). They’ll talk to Uncle Thorin, Kili, and myself. They’ve spoken to various members of the Company (Except Bifur but he doesn’t speak Westron either) but no one else that I’m aware. They can be rather irritable so we don’t spend a lot of time just talking to them. We give them shiny things and food to entice them to help us (Manipulative little scavengers).

Thank you for talking with the guards. There is no secret to our weapons training. You are more than welcome to take them up on their offer. It may be interesting to see how our style differs from yours as well as how they are similar. I look forward to seeing your progress. Perhaps a rematch from the summer festival is in order? (Fee says you’re good with a sword and I quite agree. I saw you almost best him over the summer. Ever try archery? Any other weapon?)

As for courting, yes, it does seem like our rituals are different (So glad I don’t have to deal with this. I found my One so I only have to cover the basics which is fun. Who wouldn’t want to give gifts to their intended?). Usually, a dwarf waits for a dwarrowdam to approach him. Only about one-third of all dwarrow are women so they initiate courtship so as to not waste her time by unwanted advances (Seems a bit backward to me. I’d think they’d like attention from multiple dwarrow so they know all the options they have). Usually, she presents her intended with a gift to show her mastery of a craft. If the dwarf accepts, they begin the actual courtship which consists of gift exchanges, negotiations, and time spent together (Rather tedious if you ask me). For the more old-fashioned families (Read stuffy) or the royal family (Again read stuffy), the dwarrowdam must challenge for courtship before giving her gift. She will fight a member of the family or, in the royal family’s case, a representative (Usually Dwalin in our case. He almost always stands as Uncle’s guard). This displays her determination and battle skills. More and more families are moving back to this tradition as times become more perilous and battle skills are becoming more and more important (Rather silly if you ask me. We all are trained to fight since we’re dwarflings).

It’s interesting to me that so little is needed for a courtship for you. Do you not have a say in it?

Is your midwinter festival like Yule? Or is it like your midsummer festival? Granted, part of Yule is like that with dancing and feasting (So much food. I wonder if Bilbo will help with the baking for our family), but it’s also for families and other traditions. It lasts for twelve days. I will encourage Uncle to accept your invitation when it arrives if travel to Dale is possible (Even if the snow isn’t great we may still try to come). Give Magnus an extra scratch from me. I miss him too (Me too! I miss the ball of fluff).

You were correct in assuming that Kili read your letter over my shoulder, as you can see (Hope you don’t mind but I saw my name on it). He saw your words about Tilda wanting to build snow sculptures and it sparked his own desire (It was a great idea. I love snow). He gathered as many dwarrow as he could, including me before I could finish reading your letter, the twit (Oi!), and dragged us all outside the front gates. We built snow dwarrow and other things and then had a rather large snowball fight (So epic! You should have been there. We had at least twenty people involved). Bifur and Bofur put everyone else’s sculptures to shame when they built a giant Smaug (It really was amazing). So many were impressed by it and others claimed they could do better that we’re now going to hold a competition with ten gold coins for the winner. Kili thinks there should be multiple categories as not everyone is a trained artisan (Well it’s true). He believes those with such training -carvers, masons, etc.- will have an unfair advantage over those that don’t. I reminded him that he and I both have artisan training and to stop complaining (I wasn’t complaining, just making a point). He threw a snowball at me for that comment (Got him right on the side of the head too. Snow in his ear and down his collar. Ha!). I shoved him into a drift. You should have seen him come spluttering out of it, snow clinging to his hair and what whiskers he has. Made him look as old as Balin but much more rosy-cheeked (It was horrible. Got snow down my trousers and everything. Some big brother he is, right?). Even Bilbo came out to join in the fun. He’s not a big fan of winter (He doesn’t wear shoes. No wonder he hates it. I bet his feet are always freezing in the mountain), but he is pretty good at throwing snowballs. I think he won that fight (I’m pretty sure he could take on the entire mountain and win). Then again, I remember him being a good shot with the flaming pinecones we hit the wargs and orcs with too before the Eagles came.

We hope you’re still warm in Dale. Stay safe from the wolves.

-F (and K)

(PS- Your letter really cheered up Fili! Good job!) Ignore him.

[tetrakys]

Trois Allumettes - Chapter 1

What if Lysander never attended Sweet Amoris and he and Candy met for the first time in college? Starts between Episode 3 and 4 and will rewrite each MCL UL episode with Lysander as the main route.

“Ugh! This tuna sandwich sucks!”

It was just another Tuesday afternoon. Rosa, Chani ed I were having lunch in the dining hall.

“We both know you are going to eat it anyway” I laughed.

“You know what, Candy?” Rosa said pensively while biting into her sandwich “You look really tired. Is everything okay?”

One of my friend’s most charming qualities, she never beats around the bush.

“Everything is f-fine.” I said yawning “Yesterday I stayed up late watching a horror movie.”

“Oooohhh which one?” asked Chani, eyes shining with interest.

“Just a crappy one about a haunted mansion I found on Netflix. It was really bad but I was hooked and had to know how it ended. It freaked me out though.”

“I know that one” said Chani “it isn’t scary at all.”

“Of course you would say that.”

“It really isn’t” she added passionately “haunted mansions are not scary, they are really fascinating, all that mystery and the amazing ancient architecture… you would know it if you came urbexing with me. Tonight I am going back to that amazing place I told you about.”

“Uhm… no thanks.”

“Also” she added “that movie is very inaccurate, ghosts are not evil. They are just lost.”

“I can see how being lost for a few hundred years could make anyone grumpy” I said smiling.

“Oh crap!” we both turned to see Rosa looking at her watch “The keys! Sorry girls I have to run, I’m so late. I have to meet with…” she stuffed two sandwiches in her mouth and mumbled something we couldn’t understand while running towards the door.

For a few moments we both stared silently at the door where she had just disappeared, then Chani turned in her chair and said “You know what would be really scary? Being late for Mr Lebarde’s class.”

We both rushed to finish our meal.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It was a cold windy night, I was coming back from the gym after one of my sporadic and exhausting work out sessions and, thanks to Kim’s drill sergeant ways, I was feeling sore everywhere. I couldn’t wait to have the shortest shower ever and jump into bed with a box of cookies, effectively nullifying all my hard work.

I was just about to open the dorm door when I heard a strange noise from the right side of the building. I looked around. Like any weekday night, the campus was basically desert. It had rained earlier that evening and a eerie mist surrounded the large open area. I really don’t like this… I thought. Last time I had heard a strange noise out there it was just Nath with a girl. Trying not to focus my thoughts on that scene, which was still quite upsetting, I headed back towards the door.

I heard it again. All of a sudden my conversation with Chani from the a few days ago came back to mind. Ghosts are not evil, they are just lost… No! Ghosts do not exist! I blamed my freakout on the stupid movie I had watched the other day, never again I was going to watch horror movies late at night.

To prove myself brave I headed towards the source of the noise, it seemed to originate from that little black door that lead to a basement at the back of the art department. With steady steps and led only by the moonlight, I made my way to the building. I was just about to grab the handle when I heard the noise again, louder than ever. The door suddenly opened with a bang and a tall dark shadow emerged on the doorway.

I ran to my room without looking back.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“OMG that’s just too funny!”

Sometimes Alexy could be really annoying.

“Quit it! I’m not joking, it was the scariest shit I’ve haver experienced.”

We were having a drink at the Snake Room and he was laughing his ass off without a care in the world.

“Yes Alex, stop teasing Candy, she looks quite upset” said Priya, patting me on the arm.

“Thank you!”

“Even though…” she continued cautiously “you should admit that a ghost is not the most plausible explanation.”

“Why not?” Chani interrupted “ghosts are perfectly natural. We are made of both flesh and spirit, some of us just stick around a little longer than what our perishable bodies allow.”

Alexy started laughing even louder.

“Come on Chani, do you really think that a dead guy would waste his time haunting a deserted dusty storage room? Personally, if it was me, I would set up home in the male locker room.”

“It could have been a girl, you know?” said Priya “and we have no idea what’s in that room at the back of the art building, anything could be going on there.”

“Nothing is going on there” I said “I went back in the morning. The door was locked and I found no indication of anyone ever being there.”

It wasn’t totally true. I did go back in the morning when lots of sunlight and passerbys felt like the best shield against whatever I had seen the night before. The door was indeed locked but I found a piece of paper lying on the floor that I didn’t think was there before. It was a page from a notebook where a poem was written in an elegant and slightly ancient-looking handwriting. For some reason I didn’t feel like sharing this detail with my friends. It may have had nothing to do with my ghost anyway.

My ghost… that sounded ridiculous even in my head, but I didn’t know how else to explain what I saw.

“I am going back there tonight and will get to the bottom of this!”

“Please let us accompany you, I hadn’t laughed so hard in days, we are all going back to the dorms anyway” said Alexy while we all got up and put our coats on.

This was secretly what I was hoping for, and the real reason I had brought up the incident in the first place. Strength was in numbers. Alexy wanted to get a good laugh out of the situation, Priya was the voice of reason and Chani was just interested in anything mysterious.

“Too bad Rosa was busy tonight, she is going to miss a real ghost hunt” he sniggered.

“Quite fitting” said Chani “it’s almost Halloween.”

Once on campus we made way to the dorms. The place was again desert.

“So… where is this haunted broom closet?” Alexy joked.

“Right over there” I pointed to the back of the art building.

“I hear no gruesome sounds”

“I know…”

“No scraping of chains”

“I know…”

“No dying screams”

“I know…”

“No…”

“Enough Alex” Priya said calmly “stop tormenting Candy, she feels enough mortified.” She turned to me and added “Don’t worry Candy, this place is dark and the wind is so strong, anyone could…”

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the noise. Everyone froze. We looked at each other with wide eyes. Ah! I wasn’t crazy, this time I wasn’t the only one who heard it.

“What the…” said Alexy.

We heard it again, louder. It was a metallic sound, it did remind a bit of rusty chains scraping the floor.

In that moment three things happened almost at the same time: with the same loud noise the black door burst open and crushed against the wall, the tall dark figure raised against the doorway more imposing and majestic than ever, and a piercing scream split the air.

“You were right I would have never been able to open this rusty door by mys… Guys? What are you doing here? Alexy, why are you screaming like this?”

Rosa rushed out of the building and ran towards Alexy who was crouching on the floor with his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard her voice, a moment passed where he seemed to pull himself together, got back to his feet, dusted his clothes and said with a too-bright-to-be-real smile

“Ahah I was just teasing Candy, she has been telling everyone she saw a ghost here yesterday. It was you all along, great prank Rosa.”

“It was me, actually.”

A deep voice said from behind Rosa’s back. We all turned towards the door to see a tall man step into the light. He had slightly long hair of different shades from white and grey to dark, and the most beautiful heterochromia of the eyes I had ever seen, one golden brown and one deep green. He was wearing clothes in what looked like a gothic or Victorian style, a long black coat and a dark green cravat at his neck. He was… striking, and he was looking at me with those unsettling eyes.

“Guys, this is Lysander, Leigh’s brother.”

Everyone got out of their stupor and started saying hi and giving their names. I felt like my tongue was tied.

“He just moved in town to study at Anteros, he stayed with Leigh and I for a few days while the university sorted the mess they made with his dorm room. The idiot admin officer apparently mixed up his documents and assigned it to someone else.”

“What are you going to study, Lysander?” asked Priya with a smile.

“Poetry” he simply replied.

“He is doing his fifth year specialising in poetry, he has a real talent with words.” Rosa replied proudly patting his back.

“And what have you been doing in this building at night?” asked Chani curious.

“He is collaborating with the music department as a lyricist, they do lots of rehearsal at night, as I said he is really talented.” Why was Rosa talking in his place? If he really was so talented at putting words together he apparently wasn’t as much at expressing them. Also, why did he keep staring at me?

“Okay, good, mystery solved. I’m going to my room. Nice to meet you Lysander” Alexy said walking towards the dorms still looking a little unsettled.

“I have to go too, I just came to bring a few stuff my dear brother in law forgot” she said laughing “I swear Lysander, if your head wasn’t on your neck you would lose that too.”

“I am going to the library, goodnight.” Chiani waved and walked away.

Priya, Lysander and I headed to the dorms together.

“Well, this is me” she said looking at me a little apologetically, I had totally forgot her room was on the ground floor! “Nice meeting you Lysander, see you tomorrow Candy, goodnight.”

Lysander and I were now alone in the deserted hall of the dorms. I felt really awkward, why was I feeling so awkward? I pushed the elevator button, a part of me hoping he also had a room on the ground floor, but no, he was waiting right next to me. At some point the doors opened and we got in. I pushed seven and he pushed nine.

Was this the longest elevator ride in history? The silence was deafening. I was rummaging through my brain trying to find something, anything to say when, to my surprise he spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

“W-what?” I stuttered.

“For yesterday, for scaring you. It wasn’t my intention. The door of the basement where we compose is very old and rusty, it needs a good push to open up. I apparently applied too much force and smashed it into the wall. I must have terrorised you, like that in the dark… I tried to explain but you run away, I am really sorry.”

I felt heath rising in my cheeks, God I was such an idiot.

“No, I should be the one to apologise, for acting like a child and thinking you were a…”

“A ghost?” he said and smiled. He actually smiled and it was… enchanting.

“I admit that’s pretty funny” was he teasing me? “but Casper was one of my favourite movies when I was a child so I’ll take it as a compliment.”

The elevator doors opened and, with a mental shake, I stepped out of the elevator mumbling a goodnight.

“Candy?”

I turned around surprised.

“See you around” he said with a small smirk on his lips. The doors closed, hiding his beautiful face.

Wow… I had so many questions. Who was this guy? Leigh’s brother yes but… where had he been all along?

And that intense aura surrounding him… those incredible and slightly sad eyes… I was intrigued and wanted to know more. Much more.

See you around he had said, I smiled a little.

Looking forward to it.

////////////////////////

Go to Chapter 2

[catalinda04]

Carried Away Chapter 51: Playing Hooky

Masterlist

NSFW

“What is he even doing with her? She’s not even pretty. He could do so much better.”

“He looks so happy.”

“How could someone that looks like him be dating someone who looks like her?”

“I’ll sum it up in 4 words: He’s hot, she’s not.”

“She’s a lucky gal, but she’ll have to drop some of the weight if she wants to keep his attention from wandering.”

“She looks sweet, and she obviously adores him.”

“How could someone who spends so much time at the gym be with someone who obviously hasn’t been to a gym this century?”

“Well, he’s definitely not into looks.”

“She won’t last long.”

“So glad he’s found someone, he deserves to be happy.”

Lucy had been torturing herself with internet comment sections since returning from New York two days ago. She and Henry had been inundated by paparazzi when they arrived at the airport on Thursday afternoon. Henry had warned her they would probably be there, and Dany presented her with a pair of sunglasses to wear.

She knew it wasn’t healthy for her to be reading the comments on the pictures of Henry and herself from the premiere, but like a car crash, she couldn’t pull her eyes away. The comments seemed to be an even mixture of “good for them” and “what’s he doing with her?”

Lucy’s phone played the sweeping piano music that was Henry’s personalized ringtone. She dragged her eyes from the screen to reach for her phone.

“Hi Darcy,” she answered on a sigh.

“Darling, what’s wrong? You’re not reading more internet comments are you?”

“I can’t stop! They’re like potato chips, can’t have just one! How can people be so mean?”

“Darling, please stop reading them. No good will come from reading those.”

“They’re not all bad! Some mention how happy they are that you look happy. More than one has congratulated me for ‘landing’ you, like you’re a trophy walleye in a fishing contest not a human being.”

“Well, you are quite a-lure-ing.” Henry joked.

“Wha, whaaaa. Stick to acting, comedy isn’t your strong suit.” Lucy laughed.

“I agree, that was a bad one. But seriously Cupcake, you’re not letting those comments get to you, are you?”

“I’m really trying. I know the majority are really just jealous of me, which I can’t quite wrap my head around, and I know that those people don’t know me, they don’t know you, they don’t know us. They’re just shouting into the void.” She sighed again, “but what’s really gotten to me is the number of phone calls and emails I’ve gotten. I’m hearing from people I haven’t talked to since college or even high school. It’s crazy.”

“That will happen,” he confirmed “Are you terribly concerned by it?”

“No. I know if I haven’t talked to them in over a decade, there’s probably a reason for it. Though I did want to run something past you.” Lucy said hesitantly.

“What would that be?” Henry asked.

“I was thinking, now that we’re out and official in the press and what not, I might make it Facebook official  and change my status and profile picture. I want to use the one of us kissing on the London Eye. What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever you want to do, but it won’t bother me if you do. I like that picture, just know that it will make the rounds too once you make it public.”

“I think I’m fine with that. Did I tell you, I had to make my school Instagram account private? I gained over a thousand followers in a day. I had to go in and remove them, it took like an hour!”

Henry chuckled, “That will happen too. If you haven’t already locked down all of your social media, you might want to look at that.”

“I’ve already got that as locked as I can make it, but my school account is for parents and family to see what we’re doing in class, and for the travel club. It took people less than a day to find me.”

“Have you gotten any threats or anything of that nature?” He asked worried.

“No, just the random Insta-followers.”

“But you will tell me if you get anything like that, won’t you?”

“Probably…” Lucy shrugged.

“Lucy, this is serious. If you get any threats, you need to tell me.”

“Ok, I will.” She reassured.

“What are you doing today?” Henry asked, changing the subject.

“It’s Saturday, so I’ve got some stuff to do around the house, but then this afternoon I have our big pre-trip meeting with all the parents of the kids going on the trip. They need to sign a bunch of paperwork, and I collect tip money for guides on the trip. It’ll probably take about 3 hours.” she made a face.

“I would imagine that parents can get quite nervous when sending their children on a trip without them.”

“Nervous doesn't even begin to describe some of these parents. But it’s my job to allay their fears and remind them that everything will be fine.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

“Thanks,” she laughed sarcastically. “Will I get to see you again before we leave for Europe?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I think I can make some time on my way to Hong Kong.”

“I’d like that, but if you can’t I understand. I looked at the schedule Dany sent me, and we’re going to be in Madrid at the same time.”

“Any chance I could get you to accompany me to the Madrid premiere?”

“I don’t think so. We’re so exhausted by the end of the day on these tours, all we want to do is sleep. Though I’m sure I could get you an invite to dinner with us, or maybe a seat on our day trip, if you want to come.”

“We’ll see what my press schedule is like,” he promised, though in his head he was already rearranging his commitments.

Lucy’s head popped up at a noise in her house, “I have to go, my laundry is beeping and I haven’t even showered yet. Say hi to Kal for me. Tell him I miss him.”

“I will. I love you, and I’ll talk to you later. And stop looking at internet comments!”

“I love you too. And I’ll try.” She smiled, disconnecting the call.

May passed like it always did for Lucy, much too quickly. Besides getting all of the arrangements finalized for her trip with her students, she also had final projects to oversee for her classes and then grade when they were handed in.

In the end Henry had only managed to get a day in Minnesota on his way to Hong Kong. He flew into the small local airport on a Tuesday night, and Lucy picked him up.

“So Darling, I was thinking, as I only have one day here, why don’t I come to school with you tomorrow?” Henry suggested as they drove back to Lucy’s house.

Lucy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t think that will work.” she said sadly, watching Henry’s face fall. “I’m not going to work tomorrow. I took a sick day.” She said and faked a cough. “I just don’t think I’m going to be able to get out of bed tomorrow,” faking another weak cough.

“Why Ms. Claussen, are you playing hooky?” Henry asked playfully.

“Damn straight I am. I was serious about not being able to get out of bed. I don’t plan on leaving the bedroom. Unless of course we get more adventurous, there’s always the sofa, or the kitchen, we tried the shower, that doesn’t work.”

Henry visibly swallowed, and coughed, “You’re going to want to drive faster, darling.”

“Oh, really. And why is that?” She asked on a laugh.

“Because I plan on ravishing you in about 10 minutes, and I’d really like you to not be driving while I am.” He explained, his hand snaking up to her neck, to rub at the spot he knew made her go weak. He felt the vehicle accelerate.

As they neared Lucy’s house, Henry leaned closer to press a kiss to her neck. His lips searching, teasing at the sensitive flesh behind her ear. Lucy moaned in response, before lifting her shoulder to dissuade his ministrations. “I’m going to get into an accident if you don’t stop that.” She warned.

“I said you had 10 minutes.” He teased.

“We can’t ravish each other if we’re dead. And Dany would kill me if you got injured in a car accident while I was driving.” She said, pushing his face away. “Now be a good boy for 5 more minutes, and I promise you’ll get a reward.” She placated.

“As you wish.” He smirked. She stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t stick that out unless you intend to use it.” Henry warned.

“Oh, I intend to.” She teased.

“Henry! Please!” Lucy panted, gripping the pillow under her head. “Stop teasing me!”

Henry’s only reply was to slowly curl his fingers inside of her. His thumb brushed lightly against the bundle of nerves he’d been teasing for the past 15 minutes. Keeping her right on the edge, but not allowing her to fall.

They’d fallen on each other as soon as they entered Lucy’s house, and after two quick yet explosive orgasms, Henry was determined to take his time.

He removed his fingers slowly, before entering her again just as slowly. His lips claimed hers in a deep soul searing kiss, before raining kisses down the length of her body. Stopping to cherish her breasts.

His mouth claimed her nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth, teasing with his tongue. Lucy moaned her response, her voice becoming hoarse from his prolonged teasing. His lips made their way to her other breast to lave the nipple with his tongue, before sucking it deep into his mouth.

When his mouth finally left her breasts, Lucy felt on fire. She could feel her climax building, but Henry wouldn’t let her go. When she tried to take matters into her own hand, he brushed it away. “Stop that now, keep your hands on your pillow. If you don’t behave, I’ll have to tie you up.” He said sternly.

“Please, Henry. I can’t…” Lucy begged, unable to finish her thought as his mouth closed over the button he’d been teasing and sucked hard. His fingers increased their speed and intensity. It was mere seconds before Lucy flew over the precipice, her entire body tensing with the pleasure finally coursing through her system.

As she started to come down from her high, Henry’s lips traveled back up her body, before joining them in one smooth thrust. Lucy gasped at the deluge of sensations flooding her already overloaded system.

“Come on darling. I know you have another one for me.” He coaxed, thrusting heavily, rolling his hips to hit every nerve ending she possessed. Lucy’s climax built until Henry’s frantic thrusts pushed her over the edge again, just before he spilled himself into her.

He collapsed on top of her, both panting for breath. They laid, a sticky, sweaty, tangle of arms and legs while they caught their breath. Eventually Henry rolled off of Lucy to lay beside her.

“I don’t think I can feel my legs.” Lucy said.

“That’s ok. I can’t feel mine either.”

Lucy and Henry made love off and on through the night and the next morning. They lived in a sex-fueled bubble that only included the two of them. Sometime in the early afternoon, they took a rest on the sofa, snuggled together, watching one of Lucy’s favorite movies.

“Henry?” Lucy asked.

“Hmmm?” Was his only response.

“What’s going to happen this summer?”

“What do you mean darling?”

“I mean, are we going to see each other? What’s your schedule like?”

“I’m not 100% sure, I’d have to look at my calendar, but I know I have publicity for U.N.C.L.E. through June. I’m not certain how far into July it goes. Then I don’t think I have anything, other than training, scheduled until November, when I need to be in Jordan for filming.”

“And I have workshops to attend at least during the last week of August. I don’t think I’ll have any other trainings.” Lucy said.

“So, it would seem we have about 6 weeks. Would you want to spend at least some of that time with me in London? It would give you a chance to see what living there would be like. Experience London like a local.”

“I’d like that. I can finally spend a day in the British Museum. I should see if there are any shows I want to see.” Lucy said, thinking out loud, Henry could practically hear the gears turning in her brain.

Henry laughed, “I seem to remember your New Year’s Resolution being something along the lines of not planning so much.”

“No one keeps their resolutions.” she shook her head.

The final two weeks of school were a blur to Lucy. She and Henry talked almost everyday, usually from some exotic locale that was on Lucy’s list of places to experience. She missed him interminably, but knowing that they would be together soon made the separation easier.

Henry tried again to get Lucy to attend the Madrid premiere of U.N.C.L.E. with him with no success, Lucy had contacted her tour leader and asked about him joining them for a meal, or an excursion, and he’d agreed it should be no problem. Lucy couldn’t wait to see Henry in Spain; her favorite person in her favorite place.

Lucy sat with the other staff members at graduation. She thought back to the previous year’s graduation. She had sat with these same people, wondering if she was going to be alone forever, ending up the Old Maid teacher, teaching these graduating students’ children in 20 years, and looking forward to her trip to Europe. This year, she had another trip planned, with her students, and then would be returning to Europe, to essentially live for 6 weeks. “What a difference a year can make,” she thought to herself.

Chapter 50           Chapter 52

[lfthinkerwrites]

A Riddle for a Bat, pt. 12

A Riddle for a Bat, pt. 12

Surprise early update!

Title: A Riddle for a Bat

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Riddlebat

Rating: T

Chapter Summary: Two weeks after ending their partnership, Bruce meets Edward again.

Previous Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11

AO3 Link

It had been two weeks since the murders that had rocked Gotham's criminal underworld. Two weeks since O'Reilly, the confessed murderer, had been killed himself. Two weeks since Bruce had last seen or spoken to Edward Nigma.

It felt like longer.

He'd spent the first few days in the Bat Cave, going over every detail he could find of O'Reilly's life, trying not to waste time looking at Edward's profile, Edward's picture. That was done.

O'Reilly had been a courier, had served time in New York for arson and assault, and at the time of his death, had a little over $22,000 in his bank account, $20,000 of which had been a cash deposit the day before the bombing of the Maroni restaurant. If there was a direct link between him and Thorne, Bruce hadn't been able to find it. He'd hit a wall after three days. He'd finally left the Bat Cave on the morning of the third day, looking for O'Reilly's girlfriend, but she'd disappeared back into the shadows of Gotham City. Bruce could only hope that her disappearance was voluntary. Falcone had been moved to an undisclosed hospital somewhere in the city limits and Maroni had been taken into federal custody on tax evasion charges. The Maroni and the Falcone crime families were as good as dead, which left Rupert Thorne as that last mob boss of any significant standing in Gotham City.

So for most of the past two weeks, Bruce waited and watched. Most of the foot soldiers of the Maroni and Falcone crime families had gone underground or joined Thorne's organization with little violence. Now that his hired gun was gone, Thorne had seemed to go back to his previous, more cautious demeanor, but sooner or later, he'd slip up. He'd get overconfident, he'd make one fatal mistake, and then Bruce would have him. So he waited.

That wasn't what kept him up at the wee hours of the morning though.

Every night before he returned to Wayne Manor from patrol, he would stop the Batmobile by Edward's office and look up, to make sure that the light was on, that Edward was still there. Each night, the light would be on, and Bruce could just make out a figure pacing through the office. Each night, he'd be tempted to go up that fire escape, to open that window, to tell Edward that he was sorry, to tell Edward that he-but each time, he'd remember Harvey and Andrea and he'd drive on.

Exactly two weeks to the night that he'd called off their partnership, Bruce was sitting in the Batmobile, craning his neck to look up at Edward's office and waiting to catch a glimpse of the man in the window. He hadn't caught sight of Edward since telling him to back off the case, but somehow Bruce knew that he was still investigating. He'd almost hoped he'd catch him out on patrol, so he would at least have an excuse to see him again.

"Master Bruce?"

Alfred's voice on the Batmobile's communications brought Bruce out of his trance. "Go ahead, Alfred."

"It's after 2 am Sir. How goes it out there?"

Bruce caught movement in the office and he sighed. "Quiet. I'll be heading back shortly." He let his gaze linger for a moment longer before he shifted the car into drive. 

He heard Alfred's voice continue. "It's just as well. We do have that charity function we're hosting at the manor tomorrow afternoon."

"Don't remind me," Bruce groaned. A charity function was the last thing he wanted to be involved with right now, but he'd hosted this gathering to raise money for his mother's charity for the past ten years. He couldn't cancel or choose not to make an appearance. "I'll be home in about thirty minutes."

"Very good." There was a pause before Alfred spoke again. "Did you at least speak to him tonight, sir?"

Bruce didn't answer.

Twelve hours later, the cream of the crop of Gotham's upper class was gathered under the roof of Wayne Manor. At least twenty people were gathered in the main hall, while others were scattered about the outer grounds. Dick was sitting on the sofa, dressed in a tuxedo and entertaining the younger women with tales of made up exploits and having his cast signed. Bruce himself was in the living room, making the rounds. "Nice to see you again, Mark. Looking good, Rita. Thank you for coming Paul." It was routine hand-shaking and small talk, but Bruce felt exhausted. As he shook another hand, a flash of red caught his vision. He turned around, dropping the hand in his haste. Was it-The man with red hair turned around and Bruce recognized his old school friend Tommy, who waved. Bruce waved back, trying not to let his disappointment show.

"Bruce! Darling!"

Bruce had to let out a smile when he saw Veronica pushing her way through the crowd. "Hi, Ronnie."

Veronica grabbed his hands and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You've outdone yourself this year, Brucie. The home looks beautiful! And Alfred outdid himself on the Hors d'oeuvres this year."

"I'll be sure to tell him that," Bruce said. "How have you been?"

Veronica laughed. "I can't complain! Oh, it seems like forever since we've seen each other! How's Dick?"

Bruce nodded towards the sofa. "He's fine. I think he's enjoying the attention."

Veronica laughed, then her face fell a bit. "What's wrong?" Bruce asked.

Veronica played idly with her necklace. "It's Eddie. He's been a bit of a funk the last two weeks. He won't go out, he won't talk to anyone. It's almost like he had his heart broken."

Bruce felt his stomach drop. I think he's in love with you. "And you have no idea what happened?"

Veronica sighed. "None. I actually dragged him out here today to see if a change of scenery would do him any good, but he's hardly said two words to anyone-"

Bruce raised his hand as Veronica's words finally sank in. "Edward's here?"

Veronica nodded. "Yes. Last time I saw him, he was heading out to the balcony." Veronica turned to point to the glass doors in the living room that led to a balcony that overlooked the bluffs. "You know what? Maybe you should try talking to him!"

Bruce shuffled. "Ronnie, I don't think-"

"Oh come on, Bruce! You two seemed to hit it off well enough at my party! Maybe he'll be more comfortable talking to a man than to me about whatever happened."

Veronica clearly wasn't taking no for an answer and there was no way Bruce could tell her that he was the absolute last person who had any right to talk to Edward. So Bruce gave Veronica a quick tight smile and walked towards the balcony.

Sure enough, Edward was standing out on the balcony looking over the bluffs to the sea, his back to the doors. He was only wearing a green suit coat today and no hat, leaving his auburn hair free and blowing in the breeze. For a long moment, Bruce stood behind the glass doors, watching the man he'd broken the heart of, the man he'd wanted more than anything to see the past two weeks. Finally, he opened the doors. Edward jerked up a bit when he heard the noise and hastily raised an arm to wipe something off of his face.

"Edward Nigma, isn't it?" Bruce asked in his practiced jovial tone. "It's been a while." Edward slumped a bit, not looking behind him. Bruce frowned a bit, then continued on. "I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm-"

"Bruce Wayne," Edward said absently. "I remember." His voice was hoarse, far from the confident, brassy tone he usually possessed.

Bruce sighed, then walked to the edge of the railing right next to Edward. "How have you been?"

Edward slowly looked up at him and Bruce quickly sucked in a breath. There were large dark circles under Edward's eyes, stubble on his jaw and his eyes, his brilliant green eyes, were dull and red-rimmed. He looked at Bruce with a glare. "I remember when we last met," he said. "And you didn't want anything to do with me. Why are you checking up on me now?"

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. He'd have to be careful in what he said to the man. "Ronnie's been worried," he offered as an explanation. "She's a friend of mine and you're a friend of hers, I assume."

Edward seemed to deflate, then turned his gaze back towards the horizon. "Ronnie's a sweet woman, under that society girl nonsense," he murmured. "But she couldn't understand."

Bruce stepped a bit closer. "Understand what?"

Edward sighed, then looked down at his hands. "You're a renowned playboy. Tell me," he said in a small voice. "Have you ever met someone who makes you feel alive? I mean, really alive?"

Bruce looked down at his own hands and thought of Andrea, of Edward himself. "Once or twice."

"I've always had a bit of trouble connecting with other people. Finding people who really understand me, people who I can fully engage with." Edward let out a small laugh. "And then one day, he shows up at my fire escape and it was like a lightning strike. It was so easy to converse with him, it was like he knew my every thought before I could even think it, it was..." he let out a sigh. "It was the most alive I've ever felt. And then as soon as he was there, he was gone, and it's like he took a part of me with him." He shook his head. "Just my luck, I'd have to fall in love with the Dark Knight. I must be either the biggest lunatic or the biggest idiot in all of Gotham."

There it was. The confirmation of Edward's feelings for him. This should be a problem, but instead, Bruce felt almost...elated. He wanted to take the man into his arms when he remembered. It was Batman that Edward loved, not Bruce Wayne, and Batman couldn't be with him. "You wouldn't be the first to fall for him," Bruce said. "I think Ronnie had a bit of a crush on him a while back."

"Why am I not surprised?" Edward asked. His face darkened. "Did he break her heart too?"

Bruce fiddled with the cufflinks of his dress shirt. "Not as far as I know. What happened?"

Edward stared at him from the corner of his eye for a moment, before he continued. "We were working on a case together, I won't bore you with the particulars, but we were making progress. He said he trusted me. And then, he told me out of the blue that not only was our partnership over, but he also didn't want me to be involved in the case at all anymore. The case I've spent so long working on! How could he do that to me? How could he go from trusting me one night to not wanting anything to do with me the next?"

"Maybe it wasn't about trust," Bruce said. "Maybe, he was trying to protect you. Maybe he did what he did because he wants what's best for you." That was what Bruce told himself on the nights he was out of the car and had his grappling hook aimed at the fire escape outside of Edward's window. It was for the best. Edward deserved more, deserved better than to be dragged into the dark with Bruce.

Edward's voice cut through these thoughts like a knife and his words were just as sharp. "The best for me? How would he know what's best for me? He's never bothered to ask me!"

Bruce looked at Edward and was surprised at the look of anger on his face. "Arrogant, self-righteous-" Edward made a frustrated noise. "I'll admit, I don't have quite the physicality he does or the flair for the dramatic, but I'm not some helpless damsel in distress either! If he had genuine concerns for my safety, then he should have at least had enough respect for me to have a conversation with me, not dictate orders!" Edward folded his arms in front of him. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he must have had some kind of trauma in his life. No man would put on a suit and fight crime otherwise. Whatever it was, it's clearly affected his ability to really interact with people. I wish I knew what it was. Maybe I could have-" Edward's voice trailed off before he spoke in a softer tone. "If what you say is true, then I don't think he was trying to protect me. I think he's trying to protect himself. I think he's trying to spare himself any more pain."

For a long moment, Bruce didn't know what to say. Was Edward right? Before he could say anything, Edward let out another sigh. "I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"Alright," Bruce said. "What do you want to talk about?"

Edward gave him a wry look. "You don't have to mind me, you know. I'm sure Ronnie will understand if you have a few more rounds to make."

"It's no problem at all. To tell the truth, I think I've made small talk with just about everyone else here. How about I show you around the manor?"

Edward rubbed his chin in thought. "Well...alright. I'd like that, Mr. Wayne-"

Bruce held up a hand. "Please. Any friend of Ronnie's is a friend of mine. Call me Bruce."

Edward smiled a bit and Bruce felt his own heart lift at the sight of it. "Alright. Bruce. Lead the way."

Bruce led Edward off the balcony and back into the Manor proper, giving only cursory waves to the people inside. "So where exactly are you taking me first?" Edward asked.

Bruce hadn't actually thought of that. He knew he shouldn't linger so long in Edward's company, but he didn't know when he'd see him again. A part of him wanted to take advantage of this. "I guess the library would be a bit cliche, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Edward agreed. He shrugged. "But I'm not complaining."

Bruce grinned a bit. "Great. It's just down this hall." Across the room, Bruce caught sight of Alfred passing out drinks to the other guests. Alfred glanced his and Edward's direction and gave Bruce a knowing smirk. Bruce ignored him.

Edward let out a low whistle when he saw the sheer amount of books kept in the library. "No offense," he said. "But I never pictured you having a collection this size."

Bruce shrugged. "None taken. Not all of them are mine. Some of them are Dick's."

"Your ward, right?" Edward's eyes darted between the shelves, before he settled on one hardcover in particular. "Does he or you like to read Chandler?"

"Both of us, though that copy's mine," Bruce admitted. "Do you read Chandler?"

"Do I?" Edward said, opening the book and flipping through the pages. "Only once a year. Double Indemnity is my favorite. You?"

"The Big Sleep. I got into pulp detective fiction for a bit when I was younger, after I watched The Grey Ghost."

Edward looked up, his mouth open slightly. "Did you and I share a childhood? I used to watch The Grey Ghost too! I've got a signed poster from Simon Trent in my apartment."

Bruce had missed that when he'd been in Edward's apartment. He smiled fondly at the other man. It seemed that they had more in common than either could have anticipated. "I used to watch it with my father."

Edward's face grew serious and he placed the book back on his shelf. "You were close to him?"

"Yes. To him and my mother."

"Ah." Edward pulled at his fingers a bit. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

"It's alright," Bruce said. This wasn't what he wanted to dwell on in Edward's company. "What was your favorite episode?"

"The Mad Bomber, of course," Edward answered the lightness back in his voice. "I figured out how the bomber was committing his crimes before the end of the episode, of course."

Bruce chuckled. "Of course you did. You know, I've got the whole run of the Grey Ghost on film, if you want to borrow an episode."

Edward's face fell slightly. "I'm too busy now, but believe me, I'd love to take you up on it." Edward fidgeted with his hands again before he spoke. "You know, you're not at all like how I imagined you were."

"Oh?" Bruce asked. "I get that a lot."

Edward smiled a bit. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost think that the playboy image was an act."

Bruce nearly did a double take, before he willed himself to relax. Edward was a detective, past and present. Of course, he'd pick up on things. "I could say the same about you," he countered. "Having an autographed poster of The Grey Ghost doesn't exactly fit with your image of 'genius private detective'."

Edward shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a man of hidden depths. You are too, I think."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Bruce chuckled. Edward joined in a bit. Whether he was fully thrown off the scent, Bruce couldn't say. "You know," Bruce said. "When I first saw you on TV, I thought you were a smug jerk."

"Rude!" Edward admonished. "But not entirely inaccurate I suppose."

"I was wrong," Bruce said. He licked his lower lip before he continued. "I don't think that anymore. I think you're a good man."

"Well, thank you, I-" Edward's eyes went wide. "Wait. What did you say?"

Bruce realized that he'd said too much. Edward was looking at him, his brow furrowed as if he was putting the pieces of a puzzle together. "I-"

"Ah, there you are, sir!"

Bruce and Edward both turned to see Alfred at the doorway. Bruce had never been happier to see him. "Ms. Vreeland was wondering where the two of you had gone."

"Well, best not to keep Ronnie waiting," Edward said, walking over to Alfred. He held his hand out to the old butler. "Edward Nigma, Private Investigator."

"Alfred Pennyworth, the butler. I've heard quite a bit about you." Alfred shook Edward's hand politely, then scrutinized his jacket. "Chiefly about your taste in attire."

Edward looked down at his jacket. "Well, I do have an aesthetic to maintain. So, you've been here for a long time, I take it?"

"Before Master Bruce was even born," Alfred answered. "I have many stories I could share about his youthful misadventures-"

"None of which we have the time to get into right now," Bruce said, almost pushing Edward out the door. "Let's go find Ronnie."

Edward pouted a bit. "You're no fun anymore."

"There was something I've been meaning to ask you about Ronnie," Bruce whispered as soon as they were down the hall and out of Alfred's earshot.

"Ronnie?" Edward asked, a confused expression on his face. "What about her?"

"You know she has a crush on you, right?"

Edward's face turned a bright pink. Ronnie had been right all along. The man was adorable. "She-really? Oh. Oh my."

"You really didn't know?"

"I-well, I thought she seemed a bit friendly, but oh my," Edward stammered. "Poor Ronnie. Maybe if she were a Ronald, but-Oh dear. I've never been the one to do the rejecting."

"Don't worry. She'll get over it," Bruce said. "She'll probably still drag you out on the town though."

Edward laughed, dissipating his nervous energy. "There are worse fates, I suppose." They were about to walk back into the crowded living room when Edward reached out to touch Bruce's shoulder. "Thank you. Not for telling me about Veronica, though I did need to hear that, but thank you for talking with me. You really did make me feel better."

Bruce smiled, but inside, felt nothing but regret. "You're welcome, Edward."

Edward smiled again, then walked off to join Veronica, who was engaged in an animated conversation with Dick on the sofa."

"Eddie, darling!" Veronica called out, waving him over. "There you are! I was afraid you'd left me!"

Edward flushed a bit at the endearment but recovered. "Never, Ronnie. Who's this?"

"Dick Grayson, I'm Bruce's ward," Dick said, holding out his hand. "You're the Private Eye, right? I've seen you on the news a lot! Nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you," Edward said. Bruce realized that his attention was solely on Dick's cast. "How did that happen?"

"Some jerk ran a red light and hit my car a few weeks ago," Dick answered without missing a beat. "Want to sign?"

Bruce watched Edward rub his chin. "A few weeks ago..." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. "Why not? You can keep it as a souvenir." He leaned down and signed his name with a flourish. "There you are."

Bruce watched from the corner of the room as Dick and Edward engaged in banter, with Veronica chiming in ever so often. After today, he didn't know when or if he'd see Edward again. He wished he didn't have to leave. Bruce was so wrapped up in watching the scene he almost didn't hear Alfred walk up behind him. "He is quite a character, isn't he, sir?"

"Yes, he is," Bruce said softly.

"I can't help but notice that you seem to be in a better mood than you've been for the last few weeks. And I don't think Mr. Nigma's presence here isn't related to that."

Leave it to Alfred to notice. Bruce sighed. "I can't be with him Alfred," he said. "I want to be, more than anything, but it's too dangerous."

"For him, or for you?"

Bruce stiffened. He felt Alfred place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know how many people you've lost, Bruce. I know that you've been thinking of Harvey and Andrea. But Mr. Nigma is not Harvey or Andrea. He does not deserve to be treated as if he is."

"I know he doesn't Alfred, but he deserves better."

"Isn't that his choice to make?"

He didn't want to admit it, but deep down, he knew Alfred was right. Bruce watched as Edward laughed at a joke Dick made. "What should I do, Alfred?"

"Go to him. Perhaps not tonight. Perhaps not tomorrow, but go to him. Tell him everything you feel and then leave it in his hands. Let him decide for himself."

Bruce watched for a few minutes more, until Edward and Veronica got up, and headed towards the door. Edward turned back to Bruce and waved. The light in his eyes was back. Bruce never wanted to see that light go out again. He'd do it. Tomorrow night, after patrol. He'd go to him and tell him that he was sorry. He'd go to him and tell him he wanted to make their partnership permanent.

He'd go to Edward and he'd tell him he was starting to fall in love with him.

Across town, a very different man was having a very different gathering.

"Cheers boss," a crony in a cheap suit toasted, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. "To being the only crime boss in town!" A chorus of cheers came up from the crowd of men sitting around a long oak table.

At the head of the table, Rupert Thorne held his hand up. "Gentlemen. Thank you for everything that you've accomplished, but our work's not quite over yet. There's one more thing we have to do before we can truly take over this town."

"What, boss?" The man seated to his right asked. "Maroni's going to Club Fed and Falcone's a dead man walking. Who's left to stop us?"

Thorne's black eyes narrowed. "Batman, that's who. If we're going to be the Top Dog in this town, we need to take him down."

To his left, a young woman dressed in red leaned forward. "I may have an idea for how to go about that Rupe." She pulled out a newspaper from her briefcase and set it down in front of him.

Thorne took a glance at the headline. 'Private Detective Edward Nigma cracks the case of Vreeland Jewel Robbery'. The rotund gangster smiled. "I see. Very well. Stop by his office tomorrow Candace and tell him he has a new client."

[intergalacticwartimespace]

Scorpio Rising Chapter 2

Author: @intergalacticwartimespace  (somelikeithoth on a03!)

Title: Scorpio Rising

Pairings: Poe/Finn, Rey/Rose, minor Finn/Rose

Summary:  Poe has a panic attack after an unpleasant conversation with Finn triggers a wave of emotion he hadn't realized he hadn't been feeling. Afterward, General Leia asks Poe to lead a memorial service for those killed by the Dreadnought and on Crait. Leia can see Poe is struggling but she struggles herself how to connect with him when she and her son are partly responsible for his pain.

TW:  Panic Attacks, nightmares, memorial services/funerals.

A/N: I have a busy day tomorrow so I am posting chapter 2 early so that I don't forget. Ahhh more angst. I really need to write a fluffy fic for how angsty this is going to be. It's gonna get worse before it gets better, but I promise a happy ending. There is a nice dose of Damerey friendship solidarity. Enjoy & leave a comment if you have anything to say! I am looking for a beta for this fic, so if you or someone you know is interested, let me know.

The emotions came quicker than Poe could possibly feel them. Poe walked quickly through the halls of the base, each step becoming harder to calculate. The lights seemed too bright and everything in his vision field distorted like a fish eye lense. His feet felt out of step and his whole body tingled. Finally Poe made it to the cool outside night air. Poe staggered off base and sat beside a large durasteel supply crate in the grass. Poe’s heart raced and his veins flowed with ice. The tears just kept coming.

I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming. Poe pulled his knees to his chest and buried his head in his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. Kylo Ren was in his brain, right there. He remembered the moment Kylo got it out of him. He hadn’t been strong enough. Shame threatened to swallow him whole right then. It’s my fault, it was all my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t given up the base.

“Fuck,” Poe sobbed. “ Fuck , it’s my fault.” His chest heaved. I shouldn’t even be feeling this way, he thought. I can handle rejection and this has nothing to do with Finn-

Finn. He remembered with a certain clarity the moment Finn removed his stormtrooper helmet. “ This is a rescue. ” He remembered Finn wearing his jacket, and the careful way that he had tucked the blanket under Rose’s chin. Finn was so good . But for a split second, Poe thought it might have been better if he had never been rescued at all. So many less people would have died at his hand. Rose’s sister would still be here.

Poe Dameron did not want to be Poe Dameron anymore. It turns out that being the best pilot in the galaxy weighed heavy on one’s shoulders. All he wanted was to sleep, to just sleep and forget and not wake up.

Distantly he heard BB-8’s trademark warble calling out for him. [ Poe, Master-Poe; where are you? Don’t make me alert the general. ]

Poe huffed and stood up. He quickly wiped snotty tears on his shirt and wrung out his hands. He couldn’t let BB-8 see him like this. Slowly he walked to his droid.

“I’m over here buddy,” Poe knelt down and hugged his droid.

[ Poe… ]

“I’m fine, buddy. Let’s go to bed.”

[ Poe does not seem ‘fine.’ ] His eyes were red and his hair was a mess. His hands trembled and his voice quaked. [ Was Master-Poe having a panic attack? ]

“I’ll postpone your matienience if you keep this you yourself,” Poe offered.

After some careful consideration, the droid beeped, [ Deal. ] BB-8 happily rolled back to base.

Poe fell asleep quickly once back in his quarters, exhausted from his crying fit. He slept peacefully for a few hours when he was awoken by the sound of his door sliding open.

He tried to lift his head and call out but no words came. A tall black figure stood in the doorway. For several minutes the figure stood, unmoving, and Poe could not break his stare. He tried to move, to do anything, but his body wasn’t responding. The black figure took several slow steps towards him. He was at his bedside now, but Poe still could not see his face. He heard a click. Kylo Ren’s lightsaber roared to life. Leia Organa's son raised his arm ready to strike.

Poe was awoken by his own tongue-tied shout. It took a few moments for his eyes to focus. He was facing the wall of his bunk but he could sense something standing beside him. He was afraid of what he might find if he turned his head.

[ General-Leia wants to see you right away, Master-Poe. ] BB-8 beeped helpfully. Poe groaned and flopped onto his back. He did not want to fight with Leia.

“General,” Poe stood at attention. “You wanted to see me?”

“At ease, Captain.” Leia smiled at him, and though Poe had relaxed, there was an uneasy tension. He could not meet her eyes more than a few seconds at a time. “Please sit. There is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Poe obeyed, taking a seat at across from Leia at her desk. Poe looked past her at the Rebel flag hanging on the duracrete wall behind her.

“Now that we have settled into the new base, I was thinking it was time we honored our dead.” Poe nodded. “I was hoping you would say a few words.”

Poe didn’t respond.

“Poe?”

“I don’t want to.”

She sighed. “Poe, Crait happened. The Dreadnaught happened. It’s time to cut our losses and move on.” Leia said.

“All due respect,” Poe said bitterly, “But if I recall you criticized my choices, and now you want me to memorialize them?”

“Poe.” Leia said sternly. His jaw tightened. He did not want to fight with Princess Leia, his mothers oldest friend.

“Fine.” Poe said. “May I leave?”

Leia inhaled. There was still so much more to say. So much she still needed to apologize for. But this was so much bigger than one fight. War, was complicated and messy, and she needed to find words that were enough for that. “Poe. I,” she paused.

Poe would rather be anywhere else but here. Leia knew this. It was easy to talk through the most logical action when you weren’t holding up the roof and knee-deep in it, like Poe had done on her behalf so many times. It was easy to call off an attack from the safety of the bridge when your best friends weren’t dying in real time around you.

“You may.” As Poe got up to leave, Leia shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Surrogate sons were no easier than biological sons, Leia had discovered.

Later in the day, Poe contemplated his new task while he repaired old equipment on the previously abandoned rebel base. He was laying on his back underneath inside a dusty durastele cabinet, rewiring colorful circuits. It was not unusual for the general to ask the impossible of him. It’s just that if you do the impossible once, he had found, they don’t stop asking. Poe was tired. Broken like a scratched holovid, replaying the same scenes over, and over, and over again, ad nauseum. His conversation with Leia skipped in his head, superimposed on images of that week.

Kylo Ren, her son, had tortured him; an abuse that had left him on his side. And she protected him. Of course, she had. It was a bitter reminder who was Leia’s true son. She had slapped him, humiliated him, and finally shot him. Maybe he half deserved it, he wondered.

He zapped himself on one of the wires. An expletive escaped his mouth. He couldn’t say he was surprised that had happened. It seemed the Force’s way of reminding him of his place. He hadn’t forgotten; it was so shameful to say that Leia had in any way been inadequate. War was a profound sacrifice. Parenthood was a profound sacrifice.

But goddamn his mother and his father, this life that they had set him up for. He half loathed them, and fully loved them for it. He wanted to so badly to be able to blame someone, blame his mother for leaving him behind, for leaving him looking for mothers in inappropriate, authoritative positions. But he couldn’t blame her. Whether she lived or died, Poe would have likely still found his way to the resistance; that’s just the kind of person he was. He probably would have loved Leia just as fiercely because that’s just the kind of woman she was.

Poe swore again, and this time not because the wires had shocked him. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, after all.

The next afternoon, Poe had tasked Rey with helping him search the basement of the old Rebel base for supplies for the memorial. Lights flickered in damp tunnels underneath the base. BB-8 quietly rolled alongside them, projecting a shining light. “So do you know where this supply closet is?” Rey asked. She idly kicked a pebble as Poe ducked his head into a room, he and BB-8 giving it a once over.

“Leia said it would be somewhere in one of these rooms,” Poe called from inside the room.

“Right. How is that, by the way, you and Leia? Finn told me what happened on the bridge.” Poe stepped out into the hallway again and gave her a dead-eye stare. “Oookay, forget I asked.”

Rey brushed her fingers over cobwebbed walls. These halls bore too much resemblance to the one she had found Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber in.

“Have you ever held a memorial before?” Rey changed the subject.  Poe shook his head. “I spoke at my mothers funeral.”

Blast, she thought. “ Oh, Poe. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you had…” It suddenly made sense, his relationship with Leia. She was clearly more to him than a commanding officer.

“S’okay Rey, you didn’t know.” He said with a weakly reassuring smile. He clapped her on the shoulder. “We’re at war. Everybody’s lost somebody.”

Rey pressed her lips together. “I know. I mean- My parents, they left me on Jakku.” Rey said.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Rey.” he said.

“Were you close with your mother?” Rey asked as she ducked her head into another room. Then, “Poe, I think this is it.” Her hands fumbled in the dark and found an exposed lightswitch. The fluorescent lights flickered over head. They were in a medium sized room with aluminum shelves lining the walls. On the largest shelf on the far wall, a stack of Rebel flags sat folded. On the shelf above them, several scraped up helmets left over from the Rebel Alliance sat covered in dust. Poe stepped forward and picked one up, dusting it off.

“I learned how to fly on my mother's knee.” He said, placing the helmet on Rey’s head. It was too large for her and fell to one side. Poe bopped her on the head, which only exaggerated the tilt. “There. Fits like a glove.” Poe grinned, and Rey grinned back. Rey didn’t know what a brother, or a friend, for that matter was supposed to feel like, but she thought that Poe must be pretty close to the real thing.

Rey and Poe had, with the help of BB-8, dragged crates of helmets and flags to the main hall of the base. At the front of the large room, Poe arranged the crates in a horizontal line, one for each of the transports and main fleets that had been taken out by the First Order.  Traditionally, Poe had said, that a kind of battlefield cross would have been made for each fallen member of the resistance. However, it was glaringly obvious that they didn't have nearly enough resources for the kind of large-scale loss they had suffered. Rey was unsure of what to expect for a Resistance memorial service. But as she helped Poe set up for it the afternoon of, she couldn't shake the weighty feeling of tradition and ritual. Rey watched as with great reverence Poe draped the Rebel flag over each crate, the Rebel insignia hanging in front. Then, Poe took a helmet and placed one atop each draped crate.

With the stage set for the memorial, Poe left for his barracks to go over once more what he had planned to say. This was not to say that he something planned at all. What could he possibly say?

The thing about war in intergalactic space is that while there were often casualties, there were not often bodies. In his more halcyon, hopeful days, Poe liked to believe that if we were vaporized in war, then whatever weird, vague, nebulous shit we were made of would join with the Force or some Luke Skywalker shit like that.

Now, however, Poe questions what an “instant” death really means. He wonders about the nature of matter and if we really are greater than the sum of our parts. Nihilism never looked good on him, but he isn’t quite sure this whole Force thing means anything. Maybe we are all fighting for nothing, delaying nothing, he thinks. But he has to believe anyway because if it really is all for nothing, if Rose’s sister died for nothing, that might be worse than not knowing.

After setting up the display, Poe returned to his room on base to prepare for the service. When he entered the room Poe didn't bother flicking on the lights; he knew just what he would see. Bed sheets hung halfway off the bed in a tangled mess, a small pile of dirty clothes at the foot of the bed. Poe's usually fairly neat desk was strewn with loose papers, garbage, and spare parts for BB-8. The trash overflowed. Poe's holo-communicator blinked on the nightstand next to his bed. In the dim light of the early evening, Poe went to his closet and rifled through a basket of clothes. Poe picked up a grey button up shirt and sniffed it. Deciding that it met the bare minimum requirements, he swapped it with his other shirt. Poe quickly ducked into the bathroom, raking his fingers through his curly dark hair, but he couldn’t be bothered to do much more than that. It was good enough; appearances hardly mattered when everyone else feels like shit. Poe yanked on his jacket and went out the door.

Quietly the Resistance filed into the hall that evening. Rey and BB-8 had made quick work of setting up enough chairs for everyone in two columns. Poe paced about nervously greeting members of the Resistance. He played the part of ‘fearless leader,’ but inside he felt sheepish.  Leia wore one of her glorious robes. She graciously walked from person to person, shaking the hands of low-level Resistance members, offering condolences, sharing memories. ‘ She truly is royalty,’ Poe thought. It occurred to Poe then that Leia had lost someone dear to her too.

The ceremony started on time, though Poe wished he could have delayed it just another moment. Quietly Leia took a seat behind the small tribute Rey and Poe had arranged.  Rey sat in the first row, BB-8 seated next to her on the inner edge of the aisle. Beside her sat Finn. Rose cast her eyes downward as she walked into the room. She sat beside Finn. Finn gently placed an arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. Finn placed his hands in his lap, fidgeting.  There was a chasm between them.

Leia climbed to the podium to give an outline of the evening's plans. "We are gathered here to mourn our dead. After a few remarks from Captain Dameron, we will leave time for those who wish to spend a moment. Afterwards, there will be refreshments. We also invite anyone who is struggling at this time to visit the medbay for counseling." Someone in the audience scoffed. "Captain Dameron, the time is yours." Though Poe was a few steps from the podium, the journey seemed to take an eternity. Perhaps for those who did not know him well, Poe seemed to be coping, but the way he carried himself was louder than silence.

Grimly, Poe looked over the audience. Leia and Admiral Holdo were in the back of his mind. He is dangerous. He is volatile. And goddamn he has no right to be here. Finn looked to Rey. Rey merely shrugged. Poe had not told her what he had planned for the memorial, but something told her this was not it. In the silence, one could hear three things: BB-8 quietly whirring, a few idle coughs, and several sniffles and choked sobs. Rey silently communicated with Poe the best she could. She wasn't exactly sure how the Force worked in a lot of ways, especially regarding mind reading and such, but she hoped and prayed that her thoughts were loud enough for Poe to hear. 'You can do this.'

Finally, Poe lifted his head and cleared his throat.

'Reckless flyboy.'

“I know that this has been a hard few days, hell, it's been a hard few months... There has been more than enough to go around lately." then Poe laughed uncomfortably. Rose did not look up when Poe began speaking.  

"There will be more to come. But listen to me,” Poe raised a finger, and nervously licked his lips. “I was aboard the ship of the First Order. These bastards don't care about anything. They will do what they must to get what they want. They are cynical and calculating. I know the odds are stacked against us…” Poe clasped his hands, he started and stopped again. Finally, he said, “This loss hurts. It hurts because it matters."

Rose finally raised her head, but Poe could not hold her gaze for more than a few seconds. He looked to Finn. Finn’s gaze held steady. "Don’t let the First Order take that away from you. If we are to have a fighting chance, you cannot become like them. You must refuse to join them. This hurt is the difference between us and them. On the memory of those taken from us, every night we survive, even if it is just one more day, it is total victory again and again. If you make it to midnight tonight, you can make it tomorrow.” Poe said the words with shaky confidence. He believed them, yeah, he had to believe his own words because the survival of the resistance depended on it, but even they could not fix the bottom line: He can’t look Rose in the eye because he got her sister killed and he’s in love with her boyfriend.

Poe returned to his seat at the front next to the general. Leia stood and dismissed the mourners. Poe sat hands clasped in his lap, head down low. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You did good, Poe,” Leia said. Poe said nothing. She seemed so much older than she had weeks ago. Poe looked past her and saw Rey smiling gently at him; Finn comforted Rose. Poe could hardly be mad at him, Finn was a good man.  A tear missed his cheek and hit the floor.

Poe felt like a walking wound.

After the memorial service, the majority of the rebels shuffle to the mess hall for supper. Leia watched as Poe slunk away from the group and walked lonely down the hall to his quarters. Not even his faithful droid was with him.

The walls seemed to close around him as he walked. Leia felt an ocean of distance from where he needed her to be. From the back of his head, Poe looks so much like her, Leia thinks. She knows this is hardly the life Shara Bey would have chosen for her son, after all, she sacrificed for a better world for him.

But watching Poe walk down the back of the hall, his head of dark curls and the way he carried himself each gifts from his mother, Leia can’t help but feel that Poe is so himself that in past lives and future lives, it would always end the same: He would get himself killed fighting for a cause that he believed in.

Leia wondered now if her old friend could see her son now. Shara do you know you have a beautiful son? She wondered.

[vagrantblvrd]

Bird on a Wire (1/1)

Summary: If he thought he could get away with it, Gavin would just steal a plane and damn well fly back to Los Santos.

Notes: Anon wanted myan or freewood in the FAHC AU with “trust me on this. please.”

AO3

If he thought he could get away with it, Gavin would just steal a plane and damn well fly back to Los Santos.

Unfortunately, the Fakes have a heist planned at the end of the week and the delicate nature of the heist in question necessitates them staying under the radar until everything's in place, which -

“Geoff, Geoff,” Gavin says, all cheerful and carefree as Geoff has a bit of a shit fit all the way back in Los Santos, halfway across the country from Gavin. “I'll be there in time. This is...just a little setback. Clear skies and all that once things are seen to here.”

Metaphorically, at least, because it's not enough that Gavin's flight was delayed by weather before takeoff earlier that morning, no. There was some form of engine trouble that forced the pilot to reroute to an airport in the way of a monster storm that looks as though it's going to ground all flights until sometime tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.

On the other end of the line Geoff's quiet. Months of planning for the heist teetering on the cusp of falling apart thanks to Gavin's travel woes.

“I'm going to kill Burnie,” Geoff says finally, the way most people comment about the weather. “I'm really going to do it this time.”

Gavin laughs, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window looking out over the runway. Ground crews bustling around the planes parked near the terminal, work lights illuminating the area. It's closing in on midnight where he is and he's exhausted. Feels tired and wrung out and wants nothing more than to be back in Los Santos.

He presses his phone against his ear and to better hear snatches of noise aside from Geoff's quiet breathing. Faint yelling interspersed with laughter. Loud and raucous and Gavin's hit with a sudden wave of homesickness because he's been helping out Burnie and the Roosters for a few weeks now.

Away from Los Santos and the city that's gone and dug its claws in deep, people he's come to call family that he misses with an almost physical ache.

“You always say that,” Gavin points out, because Geoff does.

Mutters darkly to himself whenever Burnie calls them up, this certain tone to his voice when he needs the glitz and glamour of the Fake AH Crew's Golden Boy or someone with Ray's skill with a sniper rifle. Michael's deft touch when it comes to demolitions, Jack's sheer brilliance behind the wheel of a car or the in the pilot's seat of any kind of aircraft imaginable.

All the way down the line until Geoff grumps and grumbles and has so clearly had enough of Burnie trying to steal his people away the way he does from time to time, little bit of a smirk on his face at the way it riles Geoff up, ruffles his feathers just so.

Geoff seeing right through Burnie's little games – this push and pull they have because they're both assholes – and the rest of them caught up in this bizarre little flirting ritual of theirs.

“Yeah, well,” Geoff sighs, tired and exasperated and fretting over the heist like he's wont to do at times. “I'm fucking serious this time.”

Gavin grins, because of course he is.

“Look, Geoff,” Gavin says, eyes drawn to movement behind him in the window's reflection. “If it comes down to it, I'll get a car and drive back. Pleasant little road trip and all.”

Geoff snorts,  and Gavin's shoulder come down the slightest bit.

“Five days, asshole,” Geoff reminds him, as though Gavin's somehow forgotten.

“You worry too much, Geoff,” Gavin says, something fond in it as he tracks a pair of figures, broad-shouldered bastards doing a terrible job of blending in.

There's a long moment of silence, and then Geoff sighs. ”Yeah, well you never worry enough, asshole.”

Geoff's not wrong about that one, is he?

Still.

“Five days,” Gavin says, a promise and acknowledgment all in one and finally, finally Geoff seems to believe him, or maybe it's the fact that the yelling on Geoff's end has gotten a bit more...exuberant.

“If you're late, we're splitting your cut of the take.”

Gavin rolls his eyes, turning to get a better look at the figures he's been watching. Something not quite right to them that's tripped the warning bells in his head, have him taking notice when they head over t the ticket counter to speak to the woman behind it.

“I've got to go, Geoff. Looks like they're about to make an announcement.”

There's a little pause, Geoff picking up on the tension in Gavin's voice or something else, and then, “Be careful, dickhead.”

“You too, Geoffrey,” Gavin says, listens to Geoff's quiet laugh before he hangs up.

Slips his phone into his pocket and wanders along the row of windows. Ostensibly watching the goings on outside while keeping an eye on the men surreptitiously searching for something, someone.

Paranoia finely honed after a lifetime of ducking people bigger, meaner, than him who'd love to see him dead. Some annoying bug who somehow manages to slip through their grip time and again, cheeky little grin and jaunty salute and it's rarely steered him wrong in the past.

Has him keeping just outside their periphery, uneasy about being on his own like this, too much time spent running with a crew. People he can rely on to be there covering his back, give him the freedom to focus on what's in front of him without leaving himself vulnerable.

But his crew is thousands of miles away and Gavin has the sinking feeling all the delays, mechanical troubles may not have been, strictly speaking, on the up and up.

The overhead comes on, ticket agents making an announcement or other that Gavin doesn't hear because one of the bruisers happens to turn around and looks right at him.

Eyes narrowing as he starts toward Gavin, something predatory in his gait and that uneasy feeling Gavin's had since spotting the man and his friend intensifies. Turns into this sharp flare in his chest that has him looking for an exit, surrounded by people who are tired and grumpy after sitting around for hours waiting for news about their flight. Groups of them making their way to the ticket counter and refusing to give ground when he tries to slip by them. Put some space between Gain and the bruisers, find a way out of whatever mess he's managed to land himself in this time.

He's uttering apologies and tossing out little smiles here and there as he steps around, past people. Gets tangled up in knot of people at the edge of the crowd thanks to a little old lady with her lapdog in a carrier blocking his way. An arrogant businessman in a three-piece suit who looks down his nose at Gavin in his old hoodie and jeans, scuffed sneakers and the battered messenger bag slung over his shoulder. (Illicit goodies inside because money talks if you know the right people.)

A dozen others who look at Gavin and the sense of urgency quickly taking hold of him, but don't bloody budge.

He hears someone's voice, loud, triumphant and sees the bruiser signaling his friend, eyes locked on Gavin as he pushes his way towards him.

“Christ,” Gavin says, hand tightening around the strap of his bag because he can't start a shootout in a damn airport, not with so many civilians around. (Not without anyone to watch his back if he wants to make it out alive.)

Fingers wrap around the wrist of his other hand, tugging firmly, insistently, and when Gavin looks to see who it is, finds himself looking into blue, blue eyes set in a nice enough face.

So damn amused about something with a hint of a smirk playing about his mouth as he shoulders the people around them aside, pulling Gavin with him.

Gavin allows it because the man's leading Gavin away from the bruisers. Is putting the crowd between them, and buying Gavin the time he wanted, needed. Is, it seems, taking him down the corridor where the lights have been dimmed in deference of the late hour, people hoping to get what sleep they can.

“Not that I don't appreciate this,” Gavin says, tripping over someone's carry-on and stumbling into his (alleged) rescuer's back. “But I don't believe we've met?”

Gavin's (alleged) rescuer looks over his shoulder at him, and something about it – the way the light hits his face, stray strands of hair escaping the neat little bun he's got it in – hit Gavin as oddly, strangely, familiar.

“Are you sure about that?” the man asks, purrs, and Gavin's heart does this ridiculously stupid stutter-skip-stop thing in his chest.

“You,” Gavin breathes, feeling like some character out of a period romance novel as he stares stupidly.

Realizes that while he hasn't seen the man's face until now, he should have recognized the bastard the moment he saw those damn eyes of his. (Always so amused about something.)

The Vagabond grins at him, looking less like the bastard who loves to make Gavin's life a misery and more like some scruffy douchebag hipster out trying to “find himself” on a trip around the world.

“As much as I'd love to catch up with you,” he says, eyes ticking over Gavin's shoulder to the commotion taking place behind him. “I really don't think now is the time for that, do you?”

Gavin's eyes narrow, and he takes a step back. Feels the Vagabond's hold on his wrist tighten briefly before he releases Gavin, lets him go.

“Well, I mean,” Gavin says, “we didn't exactly part on good terms the last time around, now did we?”

And now there are people following him, odds extremely slim that it's for a good purpose when he's separated from his crew and in unknown territory. Hardly ideal, really, and even more unlikely that the Vagabond would just happen to be here as well in some kind of bizarre coincidence.

“Look,” the Vagabond says, sounding a bit sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “There might have been some misunderstandings - “

Gavin takes a step, two, forward so fast the Vagabond stumbles back a step, stares at Gavin with wide eyes as he jabs him in the chest.

“'Misunderstandings'?” Gavin hisses. “You shot me! You call that a misunderstanding?”

The Vagabond holds his hands up placatingly, looking of all things surprised that Gavin's not exactly thrilled about that part.

“Just a little! Flesh wound, really,” he says, and keeps looking over Gavin's shoulder to where the commotion is getting louder. Going from loud and confused to loud and angry. “And I'm very sorry about that, I swear.”

Gavin eyes the Vagabond, who stands there watching Gavin.

“Really.”

The Vagabond huffs, wry twist to his lips as he  glances to the side, eyes lifting to meet Gavin's after a moment.

“I may not have made the best decisions the last time we met,” he says which is just a bit of an understatement, “but I need you to trust me on this when I tell you I'm not your enemy.”

Gavin cocks his head, instinct and that bit of paranoia telling him that that would be a terrible idea on Gavin's part. That the last time he did trust the bastard he ended up shot and bleeding down in the subway tunnels under Los Santos. Police closing in, and the Vagabond plucking files Gavin had spent weeks and a good chunk of money and burned favors to get before disappearing on him.

His traitorous heart, however -

“Please, Gavin,” and it's not the Vagabond asking this time, it's Ryan. (There's very little Gavin's ever been able to deny him.)

Gavin sighs, hopes he won't regret this as he reaches out to Ryan, extends him the trust he's asking for because Gavin can't do anything else. Knows Michael and the others will never let him live it down if this all blows up in his face.

Ryan looks back at him and smiles, small and uncertain, and Gavin feels his heart do that odd little maneuver again.

God's sake, he really is an idiot, isn't he?

"As long as you don't shoot me again," Gavin says, and isn't at all surprise when Ryan laughs.

Gives him this little smirk, so damn amused and says, "I'll do my best not to, but no promises."

And really, given the way things go for him with someone like Ryan involved, that's all Gavin can ask for.

Liminal

[allthephils]

Repose

Read on ao3  

Word count: 3592 Rating: M (language, adult themes, drinking, mentions of sex, sleeping beauty au)

Chapter 4

It rained the whole way home. Phil watched the water dribble down over the window. He was glad the sun had disappeared behind grey clouds. It’s exhausting being sad in good weather. Louise was kind enough to let him alone on the drive, except for the occasional pat to the knee when she noticed him wiping a tear. Phil felt so much grief, like he was walking away from Dan forever. He’d already been through this process and those old wounds stung in a new, deeper way.

When you’re in love with a member of the royal family, you don’t have to try to stay abreast of that person’s well being. Phil had actively avoided any news about Dan but he still had constant reassurance that he was was alive and well. Now, there was no guarantee that Dan would be either of those things. If all this curse nonsense was true, one of those eligible women could well be his destiny. The royal decree had been clear, whoever delivered the kiss that woke Daniel from his sleep, had the right to marriage and all that entails. The other possibility was that none of those women were Daniel’s true love and he would stay locked in sleep forever. There was a third option as well, that there was no curse and Daniel was just in some sort of unusual variety of coma. He could be lost before they even knew what was happening, and not to sleep, but truly lost. Phil couldn’t fathom the last one, but he honestly didn't know which of the first two was worse.

Louise had to get home to Darcy. She gave Phil a tight hug at the curb with promises to check in and reminders that he could call her anytime, day or night. He tried to tell her how grateful he was for her but the rain came down and they were cut short. Phil brushed his teeth and took a shower. He really just stood under the water, trying to feel something other than grief and sadness and frustration. Phil just wanted to climb into bed but it was only 3 in the afternoon and he didn’t want to risk causing himself a sleepless night in the state he was in. He pulled on his Star Wars pajamas and went to grab t-shirt from his drawer. He dug to the bottom to find a really old, soft one. When he saw the green pattern, he wondered which shirt it was for a moment until he realized it was Dan’s Versace. It had been left behind in the laundry but Phil always thought Dan left it on purpose. He knew Phil hated that shirt. It was hideous and spending over 100 pounds on a t-shirt was just wrong. Now though, as he slipped it on, it felt precious to him.

Phil padded in socked feet down to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. He carried the mug to the sofa and turned on the television. He couldn’t be bothered to put in a DVD so he scrolled through amazon video and played Jurassic World. Watching Chris Pratt flex and fight dinosaurs sounded like an ideal distraction. Just as he pulled a blanket over his legs, his phone rang, like actually rang. He almost ignored it, completely unwilling to take on human interaction right now, but he didn’t get many calls, it could be urgent. It was Phil’s brother, Martyn.

“Hey Martyn.”

“Hey buddy.” His voice was overly kind.

“What’s up Martyn, I’m kinda busy.”

“Yeah I see you’ve had a busy day. You’re quite the hero on Twitter and Tumblr. Mum’s not loving it but I think she is secretly a little proud.”

“Excuse me?” Phil wanted to throw the phone across the room. Couldn’t he get one day off from all of that? “What are you on about?”

“Phil, I saw the video of you at the castle gate. It’s pretty impressive, I have to say. I don’t want to say I’m surprised but I’m surprised. You stood up for what’s right. The hashtag was bound to happen, it’ll blow over.” Martyn talked to someone on his end for a moment. “Cornelia says to tell you she ships it.”

All at once, Phil remembered, #Phaniel. He hadn’t told his family about Dan, he couldn’t. They knew he had had a boyfriend and that it ended badly. Martyn had come to see him in those dark post break up weeks. As far as Martyn was concerned, Phaniel was no different than Phimmy or Philirific. There was a knock at the door, a merciful interruption. It was the first time in his life, Phil had been happy someone was at the door, except all the times Dan had knocked of course.

“Thanks Martyn and tell Corn I love her. I’ve gotta run, someone’s knocking on my door.”

Martyn tried to argue but Phil hung up, pretending not to hear. He got up and hoped whoever was at the door was ready for the stunning outfit he was sporting. It was a courier of sorts, or was it a process server? “Philip Lester?” He asked, looking down at his clipboard.

“Yes?” Phil felt a twinge of nerves, what was all this about? He really hoped he hadn’t been sent a stripper as he was really not in the mood. They handed over a rather impressive looking envelope with Phil’s name and address written in beautiful calligraphy. The clipboard was shoved into his hands, “Sign for receipt please.” Phil was baffled but he signed, hesitating a moment because he almost wrote amazingPhil. The courier nodded a thanks and turned to leave.

Phil closed the door behind him and sat on the sofa. He turned the envelope over in his hands. There was an honest to god wax seal on the back. He peeled it away, opened the flap, and pulled out the letter. The paper felt wonderful in his hands, it was weighty, and soft to the touch. He held it up to the light and saw the fibers of cotton dispersed throughout. The black ink was deep and rich and Phil marveled that the letter was hand written. He expected some kind of royal decree, an order to cease and desist, or maybe even a restraining order, but that’s not what he read.

Mr. Lester,

It has come to our attention that your presence at Prince Daniel’s bedside may have had an effect on his well being. The queen requests your return to discuss your visit with the royal physician. Your continued involvement may or may not be desired by her majesty and any further invitation will be extended at a date and time yet to be determined. A car will be sent for you tomorrow morning at 8.

With regards,

Virginia Richards

Senior Secretary

to her Majesty the Queen

Phil snapped a photo and sent it to Louise, who responded simply, with WTF? After Jurassic World, Phil watched an episode of Black Mirror and ordered Thai food. He went to bed early since he’d be getting up in the morning like a normal adult human, for the second day in a row.

Sleep came easy and he dreamed of dragons and enchanted swords, of thorny vines that wound their way up and over Windsor Castle. He saw pink roses, the color of Dan’s lips, bloom between the thorns. Phil, in his dream, approached the gate, his sword dragging behind him, and the thorny tangle unwound and opened to him. He walked through and climbed a winding staircase, dropping his weapon somewhere along the way. Dan lay in repose in a tower surrounded by an artificial night, the moon shone down on his face, and stars drew constellations around him. Phil leaned over to kiss him and Dan’s lips felt cold against his. As Phil stood, Dan’s arm dropped off the bed, limp at his side. Phil woke with a start and checked the time, 6am. He didn’t feel rested, he felt like he’d run a marathon. Nevertheless, he got out of bed and into the shower. He made coffee and forced some cereal down. He took his time dressing but wore his usual plaid shirt and jeans. Phil had no idea what was ahead but he wasn’t feeling particularly eager to please. Seeing Dan again was his only incentive to cooperate and he held on to a sliver of hope that maybe Dan was doing better, maybe he could help him.

Louise practically bounced in her seat, Phil’s phone in her hand. Opposite her, Phil was stress eating, inhaling pizza. He was already on his 3rd slice.

“You have him programmed into your phone as Dan?”

“He told me to call him Dan! What was I supposed to put, Prince Daniel, Duke of Cambridge, future king of England, the one with the nice arse?”

“That’s more accurate, so yes.” Louise thought out loud, “He’s clearly into you. You need to seem interested but not overly excited. He probably gets all kinds of crazy attention.”

“What do you mean, clearly? We said 2 sentences to each other and I was a bumbling mess. Anyway, he said he hoped we’d be friends.” He started on slice 4.

Louise looked Phil dead in the eye. “Are you serious? So you think a prince who has been skirting gay rumors since he was 16 gave his bodyguards the slip and stalked a super cute guy with a matching haircut because he wanted to be friends? You think he hands his phone number out to strangers on the regular?”

Phil blushed, “Guess not.” Louise hit send and handed the phone back.

“Oh my god, you sent it!?"

Phil: Hi Dan, It’s Phil, from the bakery. Sorry you had to run. Can we pick up where we left off?

The phone vibrated and Phil jumped, slamming it face down on the table with a small yelp. Louise rolled her eyes and picked it up, reading aloud.

Dan: Phil! You texted me! I wasn’t sure you would. Does this mean I get to see you again?

Phil put his head down on the table to hide his burning cheeks. He was terrified and giddy and insanely flattered. Louise leaned over and shook Phil by the shoulders.

“Oh. My. God. Philip!”

Phil played it as cool as he could, saying he’d love to hang out but he did have a lot to do this week. This was an absolute lie considering Phil had literally no schedule and no one to answer to but himself. Dan told Phil that he’d be spending the next 2 days in Hackney, helping primary school kids plant a vegetable garden, but that Saturday would be a perfect night to meet up.

Saturday night at 8:30, there was a knock at the door. Phil looked in the mirror, repaired his splinges, and unbuttoned his top button. He opened the door and waved stiffly at Dan who waved back in a sweet attempt at breaking the tension. He followed Dan out the front door to a waiting car. A strong looking guy in a suit held the door open for them and they climbed in. Phil recognized him from the bakery and Dan introduced him as Dennis. Dennis did not say hello, but leaned in and handed Phil an Ipad. “Standard non-disclosure agreement, sign with your finger please. And I’ll need to see your ID.”

“Nice to meet you too, Dennis.” Phil snarked. He pulled his ID out and showed it to Dennis, then signed the screen. Dennis shut the door and walked around to the front passenger seat.

“Sorry about him, he really is a nice guy.” Dan said.

Sometimes, YouTube sent cars to take Phil to events. He tried to pretend this was no different, that there wasn’t a bodyguard in the front seat and a prince sitting next to him.

“So, where are we going?” In an effort to avoid staring longingly at Dan’s beautiful face, Phil watched the scenery go by through the tinted window. It was going to take some time to see him as flesh and blood and not the heartthrob Phil had been stanning for months.

“Knightsbridge.” Dan said, “A few of my friends are having a party in this amazing apartment. You’ll love it. There should be food there if you’re hungry.”

Phil liked a very particular kind of party, the kind with a few close friends playing board games and eating pizza. What Dan was describing sounded like Phil’s own private hell. There’d be weird food he’d never tried, expensive furniture for him to spill drinks on, and loads of new people to judge him for looking awkward and uncomfortable the whole time. Normally, these types of parties wouldn’t be a problem because Phil would never be invited to one but now he had unwittingly agreed to attend. He was just going to have to be brave, there was no way he was giving up this chance to spend time with Dan.

They pulled up in front of a smart looking building. Dennis got out, exchanged some sort of secret lad handshake hug with the doorman, then leaned against the hood of the car and lit a cigarette. Phil followed Dan into the building and to a private elevator. Dan punched a code into a keypad on the wall and they went up. And up. And up. Phil leaned on the railing and closed his eyes as his stomach traveled into his throat. He took a few deep breaths to recover from the elevator induced motion sickness and straightened himself up. The doors opened onto an opulent lounge the size of Phil’s entire apartment. The longest sofa he had ever seen stretched along the length of two walls, dotted with couples and clusters of people. The sofa was white and Phil vowed to stayed far away from it. A huge wall of windows revealed a balcony with a firepit in the center. Across the lounge, there was a banquet table covered in food. Phil took a step closer to Dan, who leaned in to his ear. “Don’t worry, I hate parties too. This is just one of the few places I can be without hiding. Let’s go loiter by the food.”

Phil exhaled and the two of them hurried through the scattered crowd. They grazed on tiny cakes and Dan served up some strong smelling punch. They drank and chatted about nothing and soon the party disappeared. It was just Dan and Phil, not a prince and a YouTuber, just a couple of dorks debating which is the best Mario Kart. Phil refilled their glasses and eyed a small card set on a plate of hors d'oeuvres.

“Dan, what exactly is an artisanal pickle? And why does it need to be said that it’s gluten free?” Dan laughed, covering his mouth to keep from dribbling. ”Don’t ask me mate, I’m a royal not a hipster.” He handed Phil his glass, moving in close enough that Phil could smell the cherry vodka on his breath. “I need to powder my nose. Be right back.”

Phil watched Dan walk away with perhaps just a bit too much attention, but soon snapped back to realize he was stood alone, at a party, full of posh people he doesn't know. He backed himself into the kitchen and leaned on a counter, staring into his punch. There was a couple making out against another counter but the kitchen was so big, it didn’t seem an issue. Phil began absentmindedly playing with a set of crystal salt and pepper shakers next to him, naming them Dan and Phil, and walking them down an imaginary aisle. Just as he said the second I do, someone sidled up next to him and he jumped, shoving the shakers away so fast, one tipped and spilled.

“You’re amazingPhil.” He was as tall as Phil with a mop of curly hair that hung down into his striking green eyes. Phil was hastily brushing salt off the counter into his hand. He threw a bit over his shoulder to avoid angering any malevolent spirits and let the rest fall to the floor.

“I am. Hey.” He really hoped this guy would walk away but that didn’t happen.

“I’m PJ, so good meeting you.” He shook Phil’s hand briskly and spoke just as fast. “Love your videos. You came with Dan, yes? Dan and I met in grammar school. He’s a grave disappointment to his parents as am I, so we bonded right off the bat. Can I pick your brain about YouTube? I find it fascinating.”

“Hi PJ, It’s eh, good to meet you too but I feel like I should see where Dan ran off to.”

“Oh Dan? He’s right over there.” He gestured over his shoulder. “He got ambushed on his way back from the loo.”

Phil looked over to see Dan talking to a very pretty young woman in tiny shorts and a bolero jacket. Her heels were so high, she could look Dan right in the eye. Her right hand rested on his forearm and the other gesticulated wildly, spilling drops of her drink onto the cream colored rug. Dan caught Phil looking for him and he rolled his eyes and grinned before going back to feigning interest in her non-stop talking.

“So,” PJ drew Phil back in, “you guys a thing then?”

“Me and Dan? Oh no. We only just met. We’re just friends.”

“Really? Hmm. Didn’t look like friends over here canoodling in the corner.” PJ crunched a tiny pickle.

“Canoodling? We weren’t… he’s not interested in me like that.” Phil moved to get himself more punch and PJ followed, standing beside him.

“You see the girl he’s talking to? That’s Iris Spencer. She comes from just the right sort of family and has been educated in all the right schools. If Dan’s father could choose anyone for him to marry, she’d be it.”

“Marry? He not even 19.”

“Well, they’d wait till after university of course. To call her Dan’s ex-girlfriend would be a stretch so let’s just say they’ve spent some time together and she’s not accustomed to being turned down. Anywho, she’s been talking his ear off for a good 20 minutes and he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you.” PJ slurped from his cup of punch to drive his point home. “He’s into you.”

Phil kept his head low but glanced up, trying to discreetly watch the interaction. Dan nodded occasionally but his eyes stayed fixed over Iris’ shoulder, across the room, on Phil. Their eyes met and and Phil bit his lip to keep his smile from spreading too wide. He looked at PJ who grinned and slurped again.

“He’s out of my league.” Phil said, shaking his head softly.

PJ leaned in close and whispered, “Phil, he’s looking at you like you’re a damn buffet and he’s not sure which end to start on. Go. Get. Your. Man.”

Phil sputtered a laugh and looked at PJ with wide eyes. He couldn’t argue with that so he tipped back the rest of his punch and stood up as straight as his nerves would allow. He marched right up to Dan and took his hand.

“Phil! This is… Oh!” Dan was cut off mid-sentence as Phil pulled Dan along with him, never stopping.

Iris fumed, “Oi! Dan!”

Dan looked over his shoulder, “Sorry Iris, got a better offer!” They drew some attention as Phil led Dan out onto the balcony. Phil spotted a huge tub of beers and grabbed two. Dan did the same. They followed the balcony around the side of the building and squeezed past a stack of extra patio chairs to find a few feet of blessed empty space. They both sunk to the ground, giggling. Dan popped the tops of his beers on the slats of a chair and handed one to Phil, who held his own two beers up, “Great minds,” he said as he put them aside.

The clinked their bottles together and Dan opened his mouth to give a toast but paused, “I just realized all the toasts I know are dirty, I don’t want to offend you. You got one?”

Phil though for a second, cleared his throat, and said, “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me then a frontal lobotomy. Cheers!”

Dan chuckled and drank. “Phil, I’m sorry I brought you here. I wanted to go somewhere I could be myself but this scene is garbage, I know that.”

“I dunno. I’m actually having a really good time, Dan. I met your friend, PJ. He’s… interesting. He’s actually pretty cool. I don’t care where we are as long I’m...” Phil stopped himself just in time but Dan wasn’t gonna let him off that easy.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dan stared at Phil, eyebrows raised, hand over his heart. “Phil Lester, were you gonna say, as long as you’re with me ?”

“No. I mean, that’s weird. We just met. I… I just...”

“You were gonna say that!” Dan was getting such a kick out of Phil’s utter embarrassment. “You cheesy mother fluffer. You were playing it so cool, but I broke through, didn’t I? Admit it, you like me? You think I’m fit.” The emphasis Dan put on the word fit had Phil completely flustered. He put his forehead on Dan’s shoulder and groaned. Dan laughed a little to loud.

“It’s ok, Phil.” Dan’s voice softened, “I like you too.”

[kalendraashtar]

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part IX)

You can find every previous part here.

Section 2

Part IX – “I’m walking after you”

Twenty-eight

Coming the following Christmas, I knew what gift I’d hope for. What I’d wish for, with all my heart, as I stepped ahead with my right foot, crossing the threshold as my ancestors did countless times before, Hogmanay blooming in the mantle clock and in the sparkling of champagne.

I wanted to walk inside her dreams.

Because her dreams took her away from me. Every night she went a little more, a little further – until I have started to fear I’d lose her altogether, to that strange land where past becomes present, where every outcome is again possible.

In her dreams Claire was shot every night – again, again, again. She cried out and I held her against me, as powerless awake as she was sleeping. Doomed to pay witness to the woman I loved being hurt by her own mind, replaying the events of that fatidic day, trapped inside it like a mouse in a deadly trap. Sometimes I wondered if the phantom bullet would go straight through her heart, if she would bleed out through those invisible wounds, robbing her of all rest and peace of mind.

Once the ghosts vanished with the rising sun, ebbing away in waves of darkness, she blatantly refused to talk about it – as if her fears were successfully compartmentalized, existing only in the wee hours between sundown and sunrise, never to be spoken about in broad daylight. Every attempt on my part to start a conversation on the subject, would end with her leaving hurriedly to an appointment with Denzel or to check the mail in her own apartment. Defeated, I would spare my strength, and resignedly prepared to the night-time hostilities.

Under my careful supervision, her body had healed – but I suspected her mind had not. Once the relentless war to reconstruct skin, muscle and organ was well on its way, something inside her had found the space to be properly broken.

“Talk about it?” I brushed a curl away from her face, slightly damp with sweat – God, please, let it not be from tears.

“It was only a dream.” Claire whispered on the other side of the bed, her voice so cracked I had a hard time understanding her. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

I didn’t mention how she had woken me with her screams. How I had to restrain her inside my arms, when she tried to blindly fight me off, clawing and screeching – her nightmares didn’t seem to recognize that she loved me.

We stayed awake that night, both pretending to be asleep, grasping each other – to keep the rising tide, threatening to cast us away, at bay for one more night.  

I taught my classes and supervised a test feeling as if I was still roaming on the waves, the roar of wind somewhere in the distance. I was a coward – the worst kind, a coward in love. Claire had been lost to me more than once and I refused to believe I could be losing her, while she dwelled in my own bed.

Denzel Hunter had told her that she needed to gain weight, to reacquire some muscle, before he could even consider deeming her fit to work again. But despite my best efforts – researching recipes which I thought might appeal to her and even calling Jenny to ask for some cooking tips -, she had barely gained an ounce. When I caressed her body, my hands still found the spaces between her ribs, the too-deep hollows in her hips. I longed to trap her in those moments of liberation, of dissolution, when she would be entirely free for a multitude of heartbeats after our joining.

I entered my apartment rushing, slightly shaking my drenched umbrella, after being caught by an afternoon shower.

“Sassenach!” I called out, undressing my overcoat. I had called Denzel earlier and he finally had allowed Claire to drink a glass of wine, so I was intent on serving her one of Lallybroch’s finest vintages in order to work her appetite for some fragrant mushroom risotto.

As I entered the living room, I immediately saw her, sitting on the couch like a marble statue. Her eyes were glazed, her hands shaking; a fine tremor that sent a chill down my spine, as if a powerful draft had suddenly hit the both of us.

“What happened?” I swiftly knelt in front of her, grabbing her hands – so cold. “Mo nighean donn?”  I added more softly, as she didn’t seem to have noticed me. I touched her cheek, my eyes coming within inches of hers, blocking everything else from her sight. “Claire?”

“There has been a robbery.” She blurted and from the corner of my eye I noticed the television, the colours of the news channel shining bright and alarming. “Another jewellery store. They – they killed a woman.” Her voice wavered. I squeezed her fingers, until I could almost feel the blood pumping in her small vessels. Alive, still. Thank God, alive.

“I’m here.” I said foolishly. I had been there on that day and had prevented nothing – we were both heartbreakingly aware of our frailty, of how quickly blood could run away, how a smile – and all promise of laughter to come – could die in a second.

“They were caught. The getaway car hit a truck on the crossroad.” Claire stared at me, her eyes darkened to well-aged brandy, just the colour of the last Autumn leaves. “The detective in charge of my case called me just before you arrived. They want me to go in and do an identity parade.”

“Alright.” I started to get up, prepared to get her coat and shoes from the bedroom. “It’s close enough, do ye want to walk there?”

“What do you mean?” She looked at me, surprised, as if I had just suggested a roadtrip to the moon for the weekend. “I’m not going!”

“What?” I stared at her, dumbfounded. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her lips pursed – her face was a mask of barely supressed anger and I should tread lightly for both our sakes – but I had tried gentleness and had seemingly achieved nothing.

“You heard me.” Claire repeated heatedly, crossing her arms. “I won’t go. I – I have nothing to say.” She got up from the couch and nervously walked to the window. “He was wearing a ski mask, so I never saw him. I have nothing else to tell the police.”

I strived for patience and empathy, even if somewhere within me an irrational anger – fear – was building up. “I ken ye’re afraid, but I –“

“I’m not afraid!” She hissed, almost biting her lip in fury. “I just don’t see the point of going there to tell them I know nothing. And don’t you dare pretending you have the smallest clue of what I feel.”

“Dare?” I snarled, blood thrumming in my ears like demons possessing me, whispering profanities in my head. “Dare? Must I remind ye that the first time we saw each other as adults, I had been laying in a hospital for weeks after being blown up in my own bed?” I tried to breathe and calm myself, reaching to touch her arms, but she stepped away from me. “I ken fine how it is to feel so vulnerable, so afraid that ye could weep just from thinking of it, every memory as raw as the scars on yer body, ready to bleed again at the smallest probing.”

“Those were your feelings and experiences – not mine.” I could hear the echo of tears in her voice, as coming rain forming on grey and heavy clouds. “I have been fine, I just don’t want to –“

“Ye are not fine!” I pointed an accusing finger at her. “Ye might pretend during the day, but yer dreams ken the truth of it. I share a bed every night with ye, Claire, and there ye canna lie to me.” There was a clear plea in my voice, but the look she gave me revealed how cornered – terrorized – she felt, that we were finally addressing the subject.

“I won’t be ordered around – not again.” I immediately knew she was mentioning Frank and his inability to accept her as she was. The mere comparison between us made me pale in dismay. “If you don’t enjoy sharing a bed with me, perhaps I should sleep elsewhere.”

“I dinna say that!” I brushed my knuckles against my eyes, exhausted and defeated. “Ye won’t talk to me, Claire, and you’re not healing properly. Perhaps ye should see someone – a therapist or a support group - “

“That is ridiculous!” Her hair was escaping her bun and she looked lost, frazzled, burdened. “I think it’s best if I go back to my apartment tomorrow – I can take care of myself now, so you can have your rest.” She tried to soften the blow, but I felt it in my gut, a dagger only she could yield to wound me as deeply. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed now.”

“Fine.” I replied mechanically, turning my back on her.

She didn’t kiss me goodnight and I didn’t go into the room to speak to her. I improvised a bed on the couch and wallowed in misery, always a welcoming companion.

I stared at the shadows on the wall and waited for her dreams to come.

***

I was already on my feet when I heard her sobs, the soft wailing that made her sound like a scared girl, the curly and lovely creature she had been in the graveyard, when love had found me never to leave again.

I padded softly, feeling the coldness of the tiles on my naked feet, trying not to frighten her. She was trashing against the sheets, her body contorting in a physical fight against unseen things, her mouth slightly open to breathe heavily.

I crawled to a position next to her and touched her forehead. “Claire.”

Claire opened her eyelids, her eyes rolling, following distant images. I repeated her name and grabbed her hands, avoiding her masterful attempts to hit me. She seemed to finally awoke, her eyes still glassy, restless.

“Fight back.” I whispered against her ear. “Fight me.”

“What?” She babbled, shaking her arms to try to free herself from my hands, like vines around hers.

“The gun is pointed at you. You can see his eyes in that ski mask. He is going to kill you.” I continued in a dangerous tone, applying more pressure to keep her in place. “Are you going to let him?”

“Get off me!” She trashed like a wild beast, her knee coming ever closer to my groin. I escaped with a faint groan of relief.

“You won’t fight.” I accused her, as she hissed in my face. “You’re afraid, and rightfully so - but he is coming and ye’ll just pretend to be dead?”

“I lost!” She sobbed in earnest, tears now streaming down her face, glistening in the silver light of the witching hour - the hour when I had come to evoke her demons, a modern warlock, so she could begin to fight them. “I don’t want to fight anymore!”

“You’re alive!” I said between teeth, having trouble keeping her underneath me – she was remarkably strong for such a scrawny thing and I didn’t intend to hurt her. “Fight back! Tell me you’re afraid and then fight me!”

“I’m afraid!” She roared and, as her eyes seem to blaze with renewed fire, she rolled and managed to get on top of me, trapping me with her thighs. “Damn you, James Fraser! Damn you!”

“Fight, Claire!” I urged her, feeling the pressure of her nails on my wrists. “Tell me what you see!”

“I’m bleeding.” She looked up as if she was struggling to breathe, tendons and muscles on her neck taut to the point of breaking. “Your hands are on me. They are warm, I can feel you shaking. I don’t want to let go of you. I just found you.”

“Good.” I lightly pushed her and my arms locked around her, so she was straddling me like a spider. “Keep going. Fight.”

“I – I’m cold.” Claire swallowed hard. “I hear sirens, people screaming. You’re saying my name and I know you love me just from the way you say it.”

“Yes, I do.” I breathed out, slightly brushing her back as I hugged her tightly. “What else?”

“He laughed.” She whimpered, trying to get away from the memory, but I held her there, forcing her to see. “His eyes – they were green. But there’s something strange about them.” Claire grimaced and I pressed my forehead against hers, steadying her. “His right eye – has a brown spot on its iris. It must be there since he was a child.”

“Ye did good. So good, mo ghraidh.” I soothed her, as her body was wrecked by urgent sobs, that broke my heart while hers started to mend. “Ye’re so brave. You fought. You fought, Claire.”

I lost all sense of time, as our entwined bodies – our battle positions turned into comfort – sought refuge in each other. Eventually she was calm, spent, almost peaceful and I laid her down beside me.

“I’ll go to the police tomorrow.” She said in a hoarse voice, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “I’m still afraid – but now I know that I can identify him.”

“Aye, ye can.” I kissed her temple, afraid that if I stopped touching her something we had conquered, so fragile and breakable, would slip away through our fingers. “Do ye want me to go with ye?” I asked cautiously.

“Yes.” Claire played with the curls on my nape. “Thank you for fighting for me, too.”

“It’s the only battle my heart truly kens.” I held her face between my hands. “I’ve known fear and loss and despair – but I’ve known love, too, through you. It will always bring me back when I need it. I hope mine can do the same for ye.”

“One day, I hope to tell our child our story.” She said softly, tenderness in her eyes.

“Including this?” I kissed her lips, savouring their moistness, the words she had just told me. A child. Our child, one day.

“Including this.” Claire nodded. “I think I hoped you would come, when we fought earlier.”

“You found me”. She had told me once. “I think I had been calling out for you”. Had I heard it again? Those silent calls her heart seemed to send into mine, luring me to her, a beacon guiding me home to her harbour?

“I’ll always follow you, wherever ye need to go, mo nighean donn. I’ll always walk after you, no matter the risk or the cost.”

“And when you’re not following me?” Claire asked with a small smile, her hand sliding on my chest to push me against the mattress. “Where will you be?”

“By your side – always.” I said in a husky voice. “Or inside ye, whenever ye want me.”

End of Section 2

[obscureoperations]

I really need to clean out my archives. Alot of my stuff is simply labeled “untitled” I cant even be nostalgic without the effort. lmao I found this old thing I did, slightly angsty. It was written from the “I” perspective which was weird. I don’t want to start dumping alot of old stuff here, maybe just a few. Bear with me dudes...

Careful: Martin/oc

In a way I regretted my words the second they fell from my mouth. Well maybe not my words per se but more so the way they came out. I didn’t mean for them to sound so cruel, I was merely stating a fact. He was selfish, he was sick and I did love him… The last part I really could have left out, but I was not in the most rational state.  After last night, the reality of the entire situation started to sink in,and I think I was more upset with myself than anyone. I was supposed to be the sane one, but at this point I was no longer so sure. If only I could reason with him… convince him to go get  some help. I kept telling myself that I’d get through to him soon enough, he’d finally listen to my advice… and then maybe. Why did I have to be so harsh with him… I was supposed to be on his side. 

I almost couldn’t get myself to look at him. He looked as though he had just been struck. Tears brimming his eyes, threatening to spill as he averted his gaze towards the window. His lip trembled lightly and he looked like he was about to speak.

“Do you...Jill?” his voice falters just a bit “Love me I mean?” 

Pins and needles… heat rising to my face. I had almost hoped that he missed that last part.

I raise my hand to stop him. “ We can't talk about this right now Martin… I have to go to work…” 

His face falls immediately and my stomach contracts. I resist the urge to reach out and touch him. He nods his head, a stray tear escapes but he quickly brushes it away.  Please stop crying

“I couldn’t go to a hospital… “ 

“I know…”

“That would be too hard for me…”

“I know.”

I can already hear Cuda bumping around in the kitchen, and I quickly spare a glance at my watch. 

“I’m really sorry.” He offers quietly.

“I know you are Martin…. Me too.” 

I want to hold him, I mean really hold him, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Instead I brush my fingers across his tentatively. “We’ll talk later… okay?” I struggle to meet his gaze, but his eyes are glued to the floor-- another tear falls, he’s silently begging me to hold him. 

I didn’t. 

~~~~~~~~

For the most part, he had been doing quite well.  He hadn't been out in well over a month. He didn’t go out all the time. Just when he absolutely had to... When he got too shaky. And even then there were rules set in place. No one with any ties or connections. No one with a family. No more of the ladies…According to him none of the really looked pretty anymore. It was sweet of him to say but I’m sure that was just for me. He mostly stuck to the bums and vagrants that littered the streets on Main. He took just as much as he needed and left. He never let them see his face-- he always stuck to the shadows until it was time.

He did go out last night however, I could hear his footsteps on the roof. It was odd to say the least, he always told me when things were getting bad-- when he started to get too shaky. I really appreciated that he was making an effort, if not for his own sake then for mine. If he didn’t care about himself, I cared enough for the both of us. And If he refused to get help, I had to keep him safe .. he had to be careful.

I didn’t sleep a wink after I heard him leave. It was always that same horrible sinking feeling that got progressively worse as the hours rolled on. Everytime the floorboards creaked or I heard sirens in the distance I would wonder. What If he went too far… and someone actually ended up dead. What if he made a mistake, or neglects to pay attention to his surroundings?  What about the police? He was swift but there were gangs… they had knives... what if he ever--- That was usually when I’d try to sleep, there was not much I could do. I remember one night in particular,there must have been a drug bust, a robbery... something big. The sirens in the distance were unrelenting, getting progressively closer to the house.

 Filled with the worst sense of dread, heartbeat pounding out of my chest, I actually contemplated going out to try and find him. I realized I was pretty much in over my head.  I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting, and that he couldn’t be gone for much longer. The minutes rolled on, thoughts and scenarios muddled together each more horrific than the last. It felt as though someone was standing on my chest, but I couldn’t find it in me to cry…I was physically unable to. It wasn't until I heard the familiar sound of pebbles rolling off the rafters, slight footsteps from above that I was finally able to breathe. Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, I turned over onto my side clutching a pillow to my chest. I could hear him bumping around in his room and I began to shake, tears rolling down my face. So so stupid  

~~~~~~~~~

Work went by in a haze, it was five pm before I knew it. I had somehow convinced Kathy to see to the front end while I stayed in the back to crunch numbers. I didn’t want to see anyone, be around anyone or listen to their voices. I needed something to do...something monotonous and so that's what I did. By the end of the day, all deposit receipts were verified and up to date. I had rearranged back stock several times, and put in part orders to the warehouse. I left notes for the closing cashier and a reminder to make sure the pick up log was up to date. All in all it was a very productive day, I hardly thought about Martin at all, but then it was time to leave.

My temples ached and my back was stiff. I barely had anything to drink all day. I paused for longer than I needed to at the water fountain, contemplating which route I wanted to take home. I could continue up the street on cedar sticking to the main road, that usually took a solid fifteen minutes. Or I could head around to the back of the shop cutting through Gum street, that way took me about ten. 

Despite wanting to delay the inevitable, I decided on the latter and soon enough I was standing in front of the door. I could already hear Cuda’s voice booming from the kitchen, my grip on the key instinctively tightened. God what was he on about now? With a deep breath I cracked open the door, relief from the air conditioning was instant.

I cautiously peered around the corner into the kitchen. Cuda was standing at the sink, cigar in hand rolling up his sleeves.

“He wanted to leave… so he left!”

“ But did you have to be so hard on him? You saw him this morning.. He’s probably just getting sick.” sighed Christina.

“ Laziness.. That’s what it is! What kind of example is that? I will not have the other workers believing I will pay them just to stand around! “

“ Well what will he do for money?” 

“I’m not firing him… he knows this… I just wanted him out of my sight for a while. He may return to tomorrow, if he wishes… and he better be prepared to work.”

I clear my throat lightly before entering the kitchen. “ Is- ah Is everything alright here?” 

“ Good afternoon child… Yes everything is fine…” said Godfather giving me a light embrace.

I spare a brief smile at Christina before she interrupts. “Grandfather is just giving Martin a hard time.. He sent him home from work. I found him sitting out on the front porch when I came home for lunch.”

“ On the porch couldn’t he get in?” I asked

“He said something about getting some air… He looked so down, I was worried. I still think he might  be coming down with something.” 

Cuda mutters something to himself as he turns on the faucet, busying himself at the sink. 

“ Well where is he now..upstairs?” I ask

“ Yes... in his room.”

“If the two of you spent as much time keeping up with the house as you do fussing over the boy I think we would all be better off.” 

With a sigh, I raised my hand gesturing that I was heading upstairs. The staircase seemed to elongate, my heart raced every step closer I got to his door. I paused right in front of the door frame, noting the bells were securely in place. I lean in pressing my ear to the door, it was completely silent. “Martin?”

It was still completely silent and for some reason I started to panic. I knock again, a bit louder this time “Martin, are you okay?” I can hear the bed springs creek, slow footsteps get closer to the door. I had no idea why I was so nervous, what did I even have to say? I was sorry, in a way he already knew that. All of this was such a terrible idea. I needed to find a way to break it to him-- us being together at all could never work. At least not here. The simple fact that I loved him was inadvertently putting him directly into harms way. I couldn’t allow it, it would be completely selfish of me. Before I knew it he had slowly cracked the door open.

He looked almost surprised to see me before he averts his eyes, leaning against the door frame. I could already see that his eyes were red and swollen,  damp lashes glued to his cheeks. I felt something contract inside, how could I even consider giving up on him. It was too late now, in a way I needed him just as much. 

He mumbles something under his breath. I couldn’t hear him. “What?” he shakes his head. 

“ I’ve got to talk to you… can I come in?”

Slowly he cracks open the door wide enough so that I could slip in. He was barely looking at me, he seemed almost frightened. Like I was about to lash out at any minute. He was trembling slightly as he absentmindedly wipes at his eyes, lips still formed into a small pout. If this was the way he was all day, I truly regretted not hugging him goodbye.

“I’m so sorry…” I whisper.

His head snapped up instantly, he looked genuinely surprised. “No.. I am. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Was that why he was so upset?

“What?”

“I know you hate it when I have to go out. I’m sorry that I scared you.”

I reach forward instantly wrapping my arms around him tightly. He practically melts into the embrace. He was mumbling something that I couldn’t quite understand, so I simply held him all the tighter.

“I meant it Martin.. I really did.”

I can feel his fingers dig into the hem of my shirt. He was shaking again, I hoped to god he understood what I meant.

[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Way Down We Go (I)

You could have screamed as the healer spread the cool salve along your ragged flesh, or what was left of it. From shoulder to finger tips, your skin had been burned away, leaving singed black remains tinged with the mottled red and black of your muscles. You gritted your teeth as the elder, Lorath, finished plying his medicine, the act of wrapping your arm even more painful.

“You are more fortunate than many,” He sighed, fatigue showing despite his elvish stoicism, “Two more succumbed to the fire’s ravages this night.”

You nodded grimly, letting your arm fall to your side, your silken sleeve falling into place over the dressing. “And the king?” You asked.

“He is as he was,” Lorath stood, “It would seem however, the damage is more than superficial.” He packed away his bandage and salve, another deep breath let out slowly as his chest compressed, “I must be off.”

You watched the healer depart, his head held high despite his exhaustion. You dug your heel into the carpet as you thought, the searing still nipping at your flesh. The last you had seen Thranduil, he had been shrouded beneath a cloak, hidden from his soldiers as he was carried from the battlefield. He had been burned as many others had but the extent to which was carefully concealed.

Even you, his own sister in law, had not been permitted to see him. Not that you had seen him often before. Since his wife’s disappearance, your sister Ileen, he had been scarce. Hiding away in his solar or chambers, giving order through his chaplain and barring most from his presence. It was a wonder he had chosen to appear to fight a war. A war which had taken its toll.

You rose from your chair, pacing the carpet until it was warm beneath your bare feet. You tucked your toes into silken slippers, awkwardly shoulder a cloak, and set off down the desolate corridor. You were restless, as you had been for the days since the battle, and it was better to distract yourself than linger in your despair.

Ileen’s face appeared before you as you roamed carelessly. You missed her. Her fair hair, her rosy cheeks, her ever-present smile. There was nothing left of her. Nothing but her son, who was just ahead of you, sneaking around past his bedtime. His long silver hair was tangled as he pattered along the hallway, his hand upon the wall and his footsteps light. You tisked and he turned to you startled.

“Legolas,” You greeted, disapproving but not unkind, “What are you doing wandering around on your own?”

“I wanted to see my father,” His voice was willowy, “But he won’t let me in.”

“Well, sweetie, your father’s sick,” You put your hand on his shoulder, “But you can see him soon. Just not tonight.”

“Why not? Lorath goes to see him and that dumb footman,” He whined, “He doesn’t love me…not since naneth—”

“He loves you,” You assured him, “More than anything. You’re his son, Legolas. He loves you.”

“Is he—Is he alright?” A shadow of fear fell over your nephew’s angelic features; he looked so much like his mother, “No one will tell me what happened and Lorath just shoos me away.”

“Your father is just fine,” You offered your uninjured hand to the young prince, “Come on. How about we get you to bed and I promise I’ll talk to your father and make certain all is well. If I can, I’ll make sure you see him within the week. Alright?”

“You promise?” He eyed your hand suspiciously.

“Have I ever lied to you?” You did your best to smile, “Now, let’s go. It’s late and I haven’t got time to waste, have I?”

“Fine,” He took your hand reluctantly and let you lead him down the hallway, “Aunt Y/N,” His voice was perilously quiet, “I miss naneth.”

“Me, too,” You tried not to frown, keeping your gaze ahead of you as his words stoked your own grief, “Me, too.” You inhaled deeply as he tightened his grip on your hand and you looked over to find his eyes sparkling with tears, “Do you remember how she used to take you to the woods and practice with you?”

“Yes, I remember,” His voice nearly cracked as he answered and he sniffled, “I dream about it every night.”

“What do you say we take your bow and go tomorrow morning? First thing,” This time you found yourself squeezing his hand, “We’ll pack a basket and eat there, too.”

“I—I’d like that,” You were gladdened to see his lips twitch upwards, “Will you bring your bow, too?”

“I will…though I’m not sure I can use it as of yet,” You shook your head, “You’ll make a fool of me out there.”

You said good night to Legolas with a kiss upon his forehead before watching him disappear behind his chamber door. You were relieved to see him off with a smile rather than tears. All too often the elfing was somber in his demeanour. Though he held the same stoicism as his father, his gloom was all too apparent in his pale eyes. Before his mother had perished, he had been the most cheerful child you had ever seen.

Out of habit, you made to cross your arms in your anxiety, pondering your looming meeting with the elvenking. You withheld a shriek, instead grunting through your clenched jaw as your arm was consumed with pain. You had vowed to Legolas to see to his father and yet you knew it was not so easy done as said.

Not far from the prince’s chambers, you stopped before the king’s. In the days before your sister’s disappearance, the corridor was ever bustling with the business of the realm. Counselors and their attendants met with Thranduil and carried out his orders. Since, Mirkwood had grown lifeless and nobles went about their work carefully, waiting for their monarch to rise from the ashes and rule again. Waiting, or at least, hoping.

You knocked with your good hand, teetering on your toes as you awaited a response. None came, and you knocked louder, still without answer. As your nerves fluttered, you reached out and slowly pressed the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked. You pressed inward and stepped into the darkened chamber with a suppressed gasp. The air was still and cold, a sense of melancholy so palpable it was suffocating.

You looked to the canopied bed and it appeared to be empty. You neared the carved oaken posts warily, holding your breath as you came in sight of the king in his lethargic repose. His face was wrapped in bandage, his silver eyes piercing from between the gauze and his mouth barely visible. The only hint of his identity was his long silver hair which streamed out from below the dressings.

“Who’s there?” He hissed and turned to you, his movement slowed by pain, “Oh, it’s you. By what authority do you sneak into my chambers thus?”

“The prince’s,” You replied plainly, “He wants to see his father.”

“Well, I don’t want to see him,” Thranduil retorted, “Nor you. You’ve always been far too brash. The gull of you coming in here without—”

“With all due respect, you’ve not a right to scold me when you refuse the presence of your own child,” He was right in his accusation, but you were no less in your intrusion, “You’re all he has left. His mother—”

“His mother is gone,” Thranduil snapped, “I know it well and I needn’t be reminded. I’m in no condition to be harangued.”

“I will be bringing your son to see you tomorrow afternoon,” You declared without hesitation, “Whether you will it or not.”

“The doors will be barred,” He sat up and you noticed the bandage down his chest and across his shoulder peeking out from beneath the silk of his robe, “I don’t want to see him.”

“Oh? Or do you not want him to see you? You’re his father—”

“I’m his father and he should not see me like this,” He fell back against the headboard, “No one should…You shouldn’t be here.”

“Well, I am,” You looked around at the dim chamber, the only light was that of the moon streaming in from between the drawn curtains, “Someone needs to be.”

You found a lamp as you paced the floor, lighting it wordlessly as you inspected the tray of food untouched by the king. You crossed to the hearth and struck up a fire, warming your fingers momentarily before turning back to the king. He remained in his bed, unmoving as he leaned against the headboard though his eyes followed you.

“Are you going to eat?” You picked up the fork and poked at the cold carrots, “I’ll have a warm plate brought up.”

“I’m not hungry,” He insisted as he watched you pick up on of the half dozen empty bottles of wine; the odor of alcohol stringent in the frigid chamber, “Wine would be appreciated, however.”

“I daresay you’ve had more than your fill,” You counted several more bottles littered around his bed, “If you had the sense to eat, you’d likely bring it right back up at this rate.”

“Do not lecture me,” He looked away, examining his long fingernails with disinterest.

“I’m not lecturing, I’m merely telling you what you should already know,” You reprimanded.

“Your relation to my wife does not grant you the right to speak to me so,” He growled, “She is dead, as it is, so I see little reason why should linger in my kingdom.”

“I could think of one,” You were want to cross your arms once more but caught yourself before committing the agonizing mistake once more, “And you would refuse to see him.”

Thranduil rolled his sharp eyes, the insolent gesture obvious even through his dressings. You scowled at him as you neared his bed once more, a hand on your hip to cull your displeasure. You bit your lip as you considered him and shook your head, “You’re more of a child than Legolas.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” He scoffed and closed his eyes, “Now, I haven’t the energy for you. I must sleep.”

“Hmm,” You narrowed your eyes, “Surely you must. You’ll need it if you’re to receive the prince tomorrow.” You smirked though he could not see it, “I should expect this place tidied by then…perhaps, open the curtains and let some sun in, too.”

“You may go,” He dismissed with a wave of his fingers, “You tire me.”

“And you, me,” You contended, “Until tomorrow.”

You turned on your heel and marched to the door, looking back briefly as Thranduil let out an exaggerated sigh. Ileen would be proud of you, though her own approach would have been gentler. She had always chided you for the friction between you and her husband, but for her sake and her son’s, you would endure him.