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moody-alcoholic · 6 months ago

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Chapter 4 - The Stalker

Summary: 5.2k words. 141 learn about your stalker situation and Simon makes a plan to help, but things escalate faster then expected and you end up having to come to terms with things a lot quicker then you expect.

CW: mentions of trauma, mental health, abusive ex, stalking, talking about physical abuse, alcohol, angst, hurt/comfort (kinda).

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AO3

Enjoy <3

“Let’s debrief, then maybe you will get some answers.” John says standing up straight.

“How did the Renfolds job go?” He asks looking over at Simon.

“Easy, needed his weapon cleaning. Built a shooting range in his basement.” Simon explains.

“Anything we should be concerned about?” John asks.

“Don’t think so, seems like it’s just for personal use.” Simon says. John looks down at you.

“What do you think?” You look up at John confused. He want’s your opinion?

“I-I don’t know, I was a bit distracted by the guns, and the shooting range.” And how good Simon looked. John nods looking over at Johnny.

“What happened with you?” He asks.

“Well it was all going according to plan until the supposedly empty building was no longer empty.” Johnny explained smiling.

“You were only supposed to be gathering intel how did it end in a gunfight?” John asked.

“They didn’t take kindly to me snooping around their stuff.” Johnny says shrugging. “You should have sent Ghost in.”

“I needed you to confirm the cargo. I gave Ghost the Renfolds job so he’d be near by.” John explained. Johnny nodded.

“Well they’ve got enough explosives in that place to blow London to pieces.”

“Is it secure?” John asks.

“About as secure as it can be, I found shipping manifests, I assume they’re planning on moving it when they get the chance.” Johnny explains.

“Hang on a second.” You interrupt. “You had a gunfight in a building with enough explosives to blow up London?” Simon chuckles behind you.

“Johnny’s being dramatic. But yes unfortunately we weren’t left with much of a choice.” John says. He looks over at Johnny and Gaz for a second.

“Johnny, and Gaz go back tomorrow secure the place then hand it over to the Met. The quicker we can get everything destroyed the better.” John says as you watch Johnny and Kyle nod.

“The Met? As in New Scotland Yard as in the metropolitan police?” You ask. John nods.

“It’s expensive for the Met to plan a sting, collect the legal evidence, wait for warrants. When we can just sneak in and get all the evidence they need and maybe even shut it down for them. We’re cheaper too.” John explains.

“So you work for the Met?” You ask. You hear Simon laugh again.

“No, we don’t work for anyone, but sometimes they ask for our help and we’re usually more then happy to oblige.”

“Besides means they turn a blind eye when we make people disappear.” Johnny laughs winking at you. You can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. There’s a few seconds of silence before everyone turns to you.

“You said you were recommended us, why?” John asks. You suddenly feel nervous, you start rubbing your hands together. They’ve cleared up somethings now it’s your turn.

“I have an ex.” You say looking down at the floor. Great start.

“We broke up about a month ago, it was messy. I don’t think he’s quite over it yet.” You remember the break up. It was messy, in multiple ways. Lot’s of shouting, screaming, the police being called. You hoped it would be the last time you’d ever have to explain away bruises. You locked him out your flat and he sat outside the door begging to be let back in. How sorry he was, eventually you caved letting him fearing your neighbours would report you to the police for noise disturbance. It was the worst decision you made.

You feel a hand on your shoulder pulling you out of you head. You look up Johnny has moved closer to you. It’s Simon’s hand on your shoulder, you almost can’t believe it, he gives you a gentle squeeze. You thought he hated you. Or at the very least was annoyed by your presence. Maybe you misjudged him.

“Is he stalking you lass?” Johnny asks. You don’t know what to say, you don’t exactly have proof just a feeling. You can’t get all worked up over a feeling. You know he’s been trying to contact you, creating accounts on social media to message you to the point where you needed to deactivate all your accounts. You know he’s been finding your number every time you change it, and you know he’s in contact with your family.

“He just won’t leave me alone. I think it’s making me paranoid. He keeps getting my number every time I change it. He managed to get a key to my flat after I kicked him out. I came home one day to find him moved back in. He..” You stop yourself. They didn’t need to know how that story ends. Simon's hand is warm on your shoulder, you don’t want it to leave. You sigh looking up.

“I don’t have proof, if that’s you want it’s just a stupid feeling.” You say looking at John.

“When was the last time he contacted you?” John asks.

“Saturday.” You say, John hums his eyes flick up to Simon. You look over at Johnny and Kyle, they’re leaned forward in the sofa looking at you.

“I’m assuming this relationship was not the best?” Simon asks. You shake your head. He squeezes your shoulder again then his hand leaves.

“C’mon, lets have a chat.” He says. You get up confused. All of a sudden he wants to talk? You follow him and he takes you into John’s office, closing the door behind you.

“Sit,” he says pointing at the sofa in the corner of the room. He drags over one of the chairs and sits in front of you. There is a coffee table between you both, you look at him as he leans forward in the chair.

“I thought maybe you would like some privacy.” He says. You sigh and go back to rubbing your hands.

“Let’s start easy. What’s his name?” Simon asks.

“Joe, Joe Sharp.” You say.

“How long were you together?”

“3 years, we lived together for 2, that’s when things changed when he moved in.” You say, hanging your head again.

“Abusive?” He asks. You nod.

“Physical, verbal?” You nod again. You hear him sigh.

“Why do you think he’s stalking you?” He asks you look up at him. His eyes are soft, kind. Even the way he’s holding his body, he’s like a different person.

“I don’t know I think I’m just paranoid, he’s been so desperate to keep in contact with me that I think I just over think everything. I feel like I see him when I’m sure he’s not there. I feel like I’m being followed whenever I’m alone. The nightmares about him breaking into my flat don’t help.” You stop yourself.

“It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It’s not stupid.” Simon says. “Hey look at me.” You look up at him.

“It’s not stupid. You would be surprised how many times people think they’re being stalked only to find out their intuition was correct.” He says. You nod.

“First things first though we need proof.”

“I don’t have any.” You admit. He nods.

“That’s okay, the best way to get a stalker out is to make them jealous. Do you have social media, Facebook, Instagram? Whatever one people use now-a-days.”

“I’ve deactivated them but I can get them back.” You say reaching for your phone. He nods.

“Make a post, something along the lines of ‘I’m so happy in my new relationship.’ If you want to make it extra believable I can hold your hand you can take a picture?” He says, raising an eyebrow. You nod and he gets up moving next to you on the sofa. He lays his hand out palm up and you slip your fingers between his. His hands are big, and soft. Not what you were expecting. It sends shivers down your spine. It’s the first time you’ve held anyone's hand since your ex.

This is not the same though, this is not romantic. Why does it feel so nice though. You bring your phone up and snap the picture. Looking up at him, his eyes look deep into yours, he has such beautiful eyes. You look away taking your hand out his so you can get back to typing. You pick Instagram, it’s most likely the one he would check the most. You type it out and attach the photo.

“Should I unblock his accounts?” You ask nervously.

“It would be helpful, you can always block him again after.” He says. You hover over the post button. You turn to look at Simon.

“You don’t have to do this but trust me it’s the easiest and quickest way to bait him out.” Simon says. You take a deep breath in and post it.

“Good now we wait.” Simon says getting up. You follow putting your phone back in your pocket.

“What do I do?” You ask.

“Get on with your day act like everything is normal. I’ll give you my number. He tries to contact you, you think you see him, you get a feeling that he��s following you, anything. You call me immediately.” His voice is commanding, he’s looking you in the eyes. It’s not hairs standing up on the back of your neck anymore it’s a new feeling, like a warmth deep within you. You swallow hard handing him your phone so he can put his number in. You take it back putting it back in your pocket.

“Simon, I can’t afford to hire you guys, I heard you’re pretty pricey.” You say as he turns to leave the room.

“Don’t worry about that.” He says. That doesn't exactly put you at ease but it’s better then them demanding payment. They’re helping you, they don’t need to. Besides what if you’re wrong and it is all just your paranoid mind playing tricks on you. Then you’ve just wasted their time. You try to push the thoughts away, especially now you’ve basically just kicked the hornets nest.

When you get back out Simon explains the situation without going into too much detail. He tells Johnny to walk you home. This time when you go to protest you’re shut down by John who insists it’s necessary. You don’t argue it’s been a long day. You let Johnny take you home, he keeps you at ease, back to his bubbly self as he spouts off more stories from his army days. He keeps your mind occupied, you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder.

“You know you did good today. Most people would have freaked out.” Johnny says once you reach the building.

“I don’t know if I’ve processed it really yet.” You say chuckling. He nods.

“Well you have my number if you need anything.” He says.

“Thanks, you take care of that arm.” You say.

“‘Cause lass it’ll be good as new by tomorrow.” He says patting you on the shoulder then turns to leave.

——————————

By the evening you had calmed down and you were sat watching TV. You couldn’t help but think back to holding Simon’s hand. You find yourself opening your phone and checking the picture. It was a nice picture even though you only snapped it quickly. God were you really that lonely that holding someones hand is enough to have you craving touch. You smile anyway letting yourself enjoy the feeling. It had been a while since you could imagine yourself being touched, or held like that again, let alone falling in love. Maybe this was healing, maybe the dark thoughts bought on with receiving any amount off affection were gone. It’s not long before the peacefulness of the moment is shattered by a sharp knock at the door. You panic almost instantly, holding your breath.

“Babe it’s me.” You freeze as he knocks again. You look down at your phone, your fingers working their way to your contact list. You can’t think. Maybe he’ll think you’re out. You crawl off the sofa to the TV and the light to turn them off as the phone rings.

“Hello.” It’s Simon’s voice, it snaps you back into reality. You can still hear him calling at the door. You crawl into the bedroom leaning up against the bed.

“H-He’s at my door Simon.” You say hearing your voice break.

“Okay where are you in the living room?” He asks, you can hear keys jingling down the phone.

“Bedroom.” You say as quiet as you can so you’re sure he won’t be able to hear you.

“Okay, I’m on my way can you stay were you are?” He says as you hear a car door close. You’re too scared to move, even if you wanted too.

“Yeah, I-I’m staying here.” You say. The knocking has stopped but you’re sure you can still hear his feet shuffling outside.

“I’m going to hang up now but I’ll be there soon okay.”

“Okay.” You reply back tears are streaming down your cheeks now. You hear the call end and you clutch the phone.

“Baby, we need to talk. Are you seeing someone else? Is he here now?” You hear him say, there’s an edge to his voice, something you haven’t herd in ages, it’s anger. You want to scream, yell at him to go away but you’re still trying to cling on to the fact he might not know you’re in. You sit there for what feels like hours hugging your legs. Eventually after a few more pleas and knocks it goes silent and stays silent.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you feel sick. Where is Simon? It’s hard to keep track of time. You start spiralling, thinking of the worst possible things. This was the first time he has been back to the flat since you had the locks changed. That was almost 4 weeks ago. This is the closest he has been to you since you broke up with him. It felt too close. Like not even a deadbolt on the door or changing the locks could stop him. There is another knock at the door. You freeze again almost want to scream at him to leave. Why is he here why is he back?

“It’s me, it’s Simon.” For a second you don’t believe it what if it’s a trick? No you called him and now he’s here. You force yourself to stand up walking over to the front door still clutching your phone in your hand. You unlock the dead bolt, then the lock, then open the handle. You see him standing there, you look round there is definitely no one else around now. He steps inside and you go through your routine of closing all the locks and covering the peephole. He looks around your tiny flat then turns to you.

“You okay?” he asks. You nod, it’s a lie but you don’t care he’s here now and that makes you feel safe.

“Did you see him?” You ask, he shakes his head. He walks around your flat quickly, looking into the bedroom then walks back over to you.

“I’ll stay the night, if that’s alright with you?” He asks. You don’t really know how to respond to that. This is the first time you have had a man in your flat since the break up. He dropped everything to come when you needed him. You feel safe around him but you don’t know him. You want to get to know him though. And you definitely don't want to be alone.

“You can stay.” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat. He nods.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks frowning. You don’t want to lie again but you weren't expecting him to ask again. Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and you force yourself to choke them away.

“Sit down, I’ll get you a drink.” He says, turning into your kitchen. You walk over to the couch and sit down.

“There’s wine in the fridge.” You say.

“Lets start with water.” He replies as you hear the tap run. You pull your legs up to your chest. Simon comes over and hands you the glass then sits on the far end of the sofa. You sip the water as you both sit in silence.

“Did he say anything?” Simon asks.

“Just the usual, he misses me, he’s sorry, asked if it was true that I was seeing someone.” You say taking another sip of water. You look over at Simon his eyes scanning over you. It’s starting to get dark out but you don’t want to put the lights on worried he’ll see them and come back.

“Are you hungry?” You ask Simon.

“I ate at home.” He says. You nod looking at yourself in the black of the TV. You reach over and turn it on to whatever mindless show you were watching before. Simon doesn't say anything sometimes you catch him looking over at you out the corner of your eye. You order some food and something for Simon too, if he wants it. Even though you’re expecting it the doorbell ringing still makes you jump.

“I got it.” Simon says and before you can protest he’s on his feet.

“One of them is for you.” You say as he passes you the pizza boxes.

“Thank you,” he says taking one of the boxes and going back to his spot on the sofa. You get up to the kitchen.

“Want a drink?” You ask.

“Waters fine.” You nod even though he can’t see you. You head back to the couch with the drinks. He smiles at you when you place his drink down on the coffee table. You sit there in silence demolishing your pizza then sipping on your wine till your head starts to clear. You’re not really paying attention to what’s playing on the TV, your mind is preoccupied with the fact Simon is sat in your flat with you eating pizza. Any other situation and this could be classed as a date. The only thing missing is the cuddling and the cheesy chick-flick.

“What made you want to do this? Help me out?” You ask looking over at him. He pauses for a second like he’s thinking of what to say.

“I don’t like abusers, especially those who don’t know when to stop.” He says turning back to the TV. Okay that’s something you have to be careful about your next questions.

“What made you want to join the military?” You ask, that seems like a pretty easy question.

“To do some good.” He says, you’re not sure if that’s the whole reason but hey you’re talking, he’s not shutting you down.

“Where are you from? You’re not from London.” You say sipping your wine.

“Manchester. Ever been?” He asks looking at you.

“No, the furthest north I’ve been is Birmingham.”

“That’s unfortunate.” He says, you see a little smile on his lips.

“What about you? You lived in London all your life?” He asks.

“Yeah, Sutton, till I moved here.” You say.

“It’s a nice place.” He says looking round the flat, it’s dark now only the TV to light up the place.

“I’m thinking of moving, when I can afford another deposit.” You say looking down at your glass of wine.

“Why?” he asks.

“You know, fresh start, away from-” You stop yourself drinking the last of your wine and getting up. You pick up the empty pizza boxes. Taking them into the kitchen. You don’t even hear Simon getting up off the sofa you just accidentally back into him. You can feel his chest up against your back, it’s warm, strong, you almost want him to wrap his arms around you. His hands end up on your shoulders and your breath catches in your throat.

“I’ll make sure you’re not afraid to live in your own flat. I promise.” He says, his voice low, his grip on your shoulders soft, but firm. You feel heat rushing to your cheeks, you don’t want to move there’s that feeling again the craving of physical contact. You feel safe when he’s around like you’d trust him with your life. You let out a breath as he moves his hands from your shoulders and steps back. You feel cold suddenly, a shiver runs down your spine. You turn to look at him, you meet his eye line, his eyes are soft almost glazed over as he looks at you.

“Simon, why are you helping me?” You ask again, maybe he’ll give you a different answer. His hand reaches up slowly and you almost flinch, holding your breath as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes scan your face.

“Did he ever, hit you?” He asks quietly. You nod, not being able to bring yourself to speak. His thumb brushes your cheek.

“Choke you?” He asks, his hand resting on your chin. You swallow hard your throat feeling suddenly constricted.

“You don’t have to answer.” He says. You force yourself to nod.

“You said he came back after you kicked him out. He got a key and let himself in.” He says. You nod.

“What happened?” He says gently holding your chin so you can’t look down. You open your mouth but words don’t come out. He lets go of your chin taking a step away to give you some space. Maybe this is what you need to do, to get this off your chest. Will it make you feel better? Maybe? But Simon’s giving you the opportunity to talk. You look down at your hands, forcing yourself to hold back the tears swallowing the lump in your throat.

“He tried to kill me.” You say finally. It doesn’t feel like a weight off your shoulders, it feels like a punch to the gut. The guilt comes next. Why didn’t you report him? Why didn’t you get a restraining order? Why did you let it happen? You feel sick, your head spinning. You look back up at Simon, there is something different in his expression now. Does he understand? Does he even care? This morning you thought he hated you, now he’s in your flat, he’s not the same Simon you met a few days ago who would barely give you the time of day.

He’s here because you called him for help. He put’s a foot forward almost like he’s trying to test if he can step closer to you. You keep still and he takes that as permission to step to you. His hand cups your face in his warm hands and you look up at him.

“I'm doing this because you don’t deserve it, that’s why I’m helping you. The torment, the guilt, the sleepless nights. I can’t make it go away but I can try and help.” He says. A tear rolls down your cheek, he brushes it away with his thumb.

“You sound like you know what it’s like.” You say, trying not to let your voice break.

“I do,” He sighs, his hands dropping from your face. He turns walking back to the sofa.

“You should take the bed, you’re bigger it’ll be more comfortable.” You say, you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa at least you’ll fit.

“Don’t be silly this is your place, your bed.” He says sitting back down on the sofa. You walk into the bedroom brushing away the rest of the tears that managed to escape as you dig through the wardrobe for blankets and pillows. You take them back out to him and place them on the sofa. You don’t know what to say, he’s sat watching the TV, you feel tired, drained.

“You should get some rest.” He says without looking at you. You nod, turning to head back into the bedroom.

“If you need anything, just let me know.” You say before you go through the door closing it behind you. You let out a breath, maybe this was healing? You just don’t know it yet. You change into your PJ’s and climb into bed. You can see the moonlight peaking through the blinds lighting up the room. Simon knows what it’s like. Maybe you should have asked him about ex’s. Or maybe it wasn’t his ex. You remember the way he reacted when you asked about his family. You wonder if he still talks to them.

You turn over in the bed looking at the door. It feels weird knowing he’s on the other side. Maybe you should crack the door open, it might make you feel better. You want to feel his hands on you again, squeezing your shoulder or touching your face. He’s gentle, not want you were expecting. You let out a breath and swing your feet out the bed before your brain has really even comprehended what you’re doing. This is a bad idea. He’s a work colleague, this could ruin everything.

“Simon.” You say as soon as you open the door. He turns to look at you.

“Will you come lay with me?” You’ve done it now, your cheeks flood with heat as you wait for a laugh, a scoff, him to straight up tell you no.

“You want me to lay with you, in your bed?” He asks sitting forward. You nod, then immediately start regretting it.

“Forget it, it doesn’t matter I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay, I will.” He says stopping you in your tracks and standing up. You stare at him as he turns the TV off walking over to you. You watch as he pulls his boots off leaving them by the front door.

“If it’s what you want.” He says meeting your eye line. You nod, your heart thumping in your chest. You walk back into the bedroom, and he follows.

“You want me under or on top of the covers?” He asks. You hadn’t even thought about it.

“On top.” He says watching your hesitation. He waits until you get into bed and are comfy before he sits on the other side. You lie down watching him, he’s slow as he swings his legs over almost like he’s trying not to spook you. It doesn’t feel weird. You thought it would having another man in your bed.

It was more weird seeing him in your living room for the first time then right now. Maybe you’re just used to him. Maybe you really do trust him. Maybe you judged him too harshly. He turns on his side looking at you. You move your arm out from under the covers, you want to touch him, maybe he wouldn’t like that though. You place it down instead.

“Do you get nightmares?” You ask.

“All the time.” He replies.

“About your time as a soldier?”

“And other things.” He says. You sigh.

“Tell me about how you met Price, and Johnny and Kyle.” You see a smile form on his lips.

“On one condition.” He says shuffling his body down so his head is level with yours.

“What?” you ask.

“Promise me no nightmares tonight.” You chuckle.

“I can’t control that.”

“Promise.” He says raising an eyebrow.

“Okay I promise.” You say sighing, even though it’s completely out of your control. His hand moves back up to your face brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll leave when you fall asleep.” He promises. You try to argue with him telling him the bed is comfier then the sofa but he won’t have it. You relent feeling tired, you try to clear your mind and not think about anything just listen to Simon talk about how he met everyone. His voice is calming, his presence puts you at ease. You wish he could stay. You don’t remember falling asleep but that night you dream about him. Good dreams, you’re on a date. Christ you’re falling for him.

——————————

You wake to the sun peaking through the bedroom blinds. Simon is not in the room anymore. You slip out of bed and head into the living room. He’s already awake sat at the kitchen table, flicking through a tablet.

“Morning,” You say walking over to him.

“Morning,” he replies turning the tablet off.

“How long have you been awake?” You ask clicking the kettle on.

“An hour or so.” He says, rubbing his neck.

“I told you you should have taken the bed.” You say taking out two mugs. “Tea?”

“Please, one sugar.” He says. You think back to last night him lying in the bed with you. You could have swore you felt his hands touching you, brushing your cheek, your hair. Maybe that was just part of the dream. It was a good dream. The best dream you’ve had in months. This is the first time in years you felt safe in your own flat. The click of the kettle snaps you back to reality and you pour the tea’s bringing them over to the table.

“What were you looking at?” You ask gesturing at the tablet.

“Today's jobs.” Oh shit work! Your head snaps round looking at the clock on the wall it’s all ready 10am.

“Shit!” You say pushing your chair back. Simon grabs your wrist, you panic. He imminently lets go when your head snaps back to him wide eyed.

“I called Price, told him we were taking the morning off.” You take a breath in and sit back down, sipping your tea to calm your nerves. He watches you like he’s trying to see how you’re going to react. You smile at him, letting him know you’re okay.

He picks up his mug taking a sip. You’re about to ask him what he want’s to do this morning when there is a crash in the living room. It’s so loud it makes you shriek. Your body snaps round in the chair as you look at the shattered glass now all over the living room. You go to stand up.

“Stay there.” Simon says his hand on your shoulder pushing you back down as he heads over to the balcony door. He goes out looking over the balcony up and down. Leaning round the corners. You guess he doesn't see anything, you can’t think all you can feel is your heart rapidly beating in your chest. He comes back in closing the door and walks round the flat looking for something till he finds it. He picks it up it’s a brick with a letter tied to it. He takes the letter off the brick and opens it, something falls out on the floor and he picks it up. You’re holding your breath, as Simon walks back over to you. It looks like he’s looking through a stack of photos. He places them on the table.

“Well now we have proof.” He says standing next to you as you fan the photo’s out. It’s pictures of you, from yesterday, a few days ago, when you went shopping on Sunday. There are even pictures of you inside your flat. Your head snaps to the window trying to even see where he could have even snapped them from. Panic builds inside you as you continue to look over the photos. Is this a threat? What does this mean? You look up at Simon who’s reading the letter that came with the photos.

“What does it say?” You ask him, but you really don’t know if you want to know.

“Let’s just say he’s not happy.” Simon says looking down at you. You didn’t even realise you are gripping his shirt. Maybe this plan was a bad idea.

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#call of duty #cod #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #simon ghost riley #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #ghost cod #retired 141 #task force 141 #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon x reader

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redwayfarers · 4 months ago

Text

house of grief and sunlight

fandom: wayfarer ship: cassander/aisanne characters: cassander inteus, aisanne bjornsdottir rating: gen words: 1625 note: this is my entry for @idrellegames' three year anniversary event! prompt i'd chosen is paramour - expected of me, i know - but i've hardly written about cass' bisexuality and i felt like it needed to be written about! excuse the ya-sounding title lmao i could not resist also, aisanne is a gw2 oc that i've ported to wayfarer. she lives over on @i-mybrunettelady most of the time :) divider credit

I am tired of grief. I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s sake, I’m so tired of it. It’s summer, though, and a part of me feels like the sun will chase it away, if only for a day or two. Our house needs the sun right now. Grief hangs over it like a veil, and we don’t speak of it, but maybe the rays that come through our window each morning help.

Or so I hope. Hope’s a stupid thing by and large, because every time I hope something happens it decidedly doesn’t, as if the gods above or whoever sits and watches this farce of an existence keeps laughing at me and says, “Add more!” But I can’t help but wish, in my heart of hearts, that sometimes, maybe one day in this lifespan that’s entirely too long for one guy, I don’t feel like a tossed out, crapped on kitten on the streets.

It’s summer. That feels important to repeat to self. I am feeling a little less grief. The room around me is loud and messy and sounds jump from one place to another like rabbits, in a cacophony ruled over by the harmonious noise of music. Sanne’s the one behind the harp, golden under the candlelight, and if she was a different woman, she’d be singing in a Meissandic temple.

She cares little for the traditional rites, though. She cares little for the chants I’d attended once or twice when I was a kid. She looked at me all confused when I told her how courtly, Vestran services happen, and said, in a strange tone, “I don’t understand how people like that.” I don’t understand either, and thank fuck I’m not a Vestran aristocrat anymore.

Her place is telling stories of heroes and events long gone, to be a musical wayfarer. She’s doing that tonight. I was drunk when we first met here and she had to hold my hair while I was throwing up, apparently. Can’t say I remember that attractive trait about myself. I’m not drunk right now, however, sitting near the small wooden stage, taking small sips of my cider. The drink is irrelevant; she captures my attention more than any alcohol could.

She’s radiant and shiny, half covered in shadows, which makes her golden crest stand out. The bright sheen of her golden hair disappears and reappears after the movements of her head. I can’t see her freckles clearly from here, but I can see the ink on her neck, the roundness of her full lips, an occasional yellow in the blues of her eyes when the candlelight reflects off them. I’m not blind to beauty, but there’s beauty in a way a finely made building is beautiful, and a way a person is beautiful.

You don’t wanna fuck buildings, do you? And if you do, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Others are looking at her too. That doesn’t matter, because it’s my bed who she comes to tonight. Or is it me coming to hers? Not fucking important.

These feelings are new. For most of my life, interest like this fell to men. Part of me wonders if I’m just that desperate for any kind of tenderness in my life that my head would start making up attraction; but the way this feels can’t be anything but a solid fucking reality. Women were always beautiful the way buildings were, but now they’re flesh and bone and soul and personality and there’s something so weirdly appealing about that that it catches me off guard.

Not all women are your mother, you dumb fuck.

I know, but women have never been.. This. I think about Sanne when she’s away. I watch her practice for the performances, mesmerized. There’s peace and blood rushing to my face when we’re laughing in bed, or making lunch, or eating, or just existing in the same space. My insides get all twisted up, like I’m a kid again crushing on older Wayfarers. It’s like Senna again, and I simply forgot how it feels like to be crushing on someone this bad.

Nothing will ever happen between us, however. It would be so crappy to prey on a widow’s feelings. She rarely speaks of her dead husband, but he’s not even that cold as far as dead people go; maybe a little more than us Wayfarers, but not by much. Our living together is a result of loneliness, desperation, not a desire to find a partner again. But I was dumb enough to pretend I didn't see it.

She’s cooking, some days after her performance. Sun is shining through the window, leaving her figure in semi-shadows and catching on the ends of her shiny, metallic hair. She’s not as glamorous as she was at the show; right here is a Sanne that’s more down to earth, more solid, dressed comfortably, not worried about how she’s perceived. I’m folding clothes nearby and doing a half-assed job of it, too. It’s hard to concentrate some days over the deafening noise of all this fucking attraction confusion business.

Every so often she turns back to look at me with a strange smile on her face. “That’s what I wore to Kiaran’s funeral,” she says suddenly. I jerk and drop my gaze to the dress in my hands. Sunlight washes away its dark color in places. There are little holes in it that I want to sew shut, but I don’t have her consent to. She’s weirdly sentimental about it.

My Spire didn’t have a funeral, and us survivors only have ashes as funerary garb.

“What’s this stain again?” I ask, raising the dress and jerking my head in the direction of the big, grayish blob on the skirt. “I keep forgetting!”

She sighs and throws a full, peeled onion at me. It hits me right in the forehead and the poor plant, already under threat, pricks my eyes. “You’re horrible,” I say in mock offense. “You don’t want your dress to stink, do you?”

“I’m not burying anyone anytime soon,” she says lowly, in a tone that implies I’m hitting a boundary. I wince and put the dress down, careful of the location of the onion.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I approach, gently placing the vegetable on the table. She gives me a hard look. “I shouldn’t have joked about the dress. It means a lot to you and I tend to joke around, right, about the things that I’m sensitive about so people don’t attack me for it first? Offense is the best defense kinda thing? And I forget that sometimes - a lot of the time - people don’t function the way my fucked up head does?”

Shut up, Cassander. You’re making it worse.

Something tightens my throat, like hands choking me from the inside out. I grip the table and swallow thickly. My stomach twists up, and the smell and feel of onion fills the kitchen and I can only focus on the dents in the dark wood beneath my fingers and the uneven pattern freckles of my hand.

“Cassander,” Sanne says. Her tone is too much for me to analyze right now, try as I might. “Cass.”

“What?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Picking at your scar. Stop it.”

I lower my hand from my face and grip the edges of my tunic. The edges of my braid - I need to take care of those ugly fucking ends one of these days - tickles my hand. You’re scaring people. Enjoy your lifetime of solitude, whether you’re actually into women or not. Who would want someone as shaky and deranged as you are?

Vestra should’ve killed you, if you were so determined to go back.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my feet.

“I’m not angry. If you pushed, I would’ve been, greatly so. But you didn’t. Stop shaking like a leaf.” There’s something in her tone that feels like cold water to the face. I breathe out and blink away a small selection of tears. Saltiest one always drops first! I’m imagining a little tear race now, little tear spectators cheering the racers on, tear savants testing the levels of salt in each one. The thought makes me giggle and I bury my head in my hands as I laugh.

“I’m not angry with you,” she repeats, gentler than before. Her voice is still as steely, though. “Go finish the laundry while I make lunch.”

Without a word, I retreat to my location at the corner of the room, where still wet clothes wait to be sorted and hung to dry. I put the dress to the side and continue sorting through the clothes; sometimes, I look at her, her back turned to me, and the shaking of my hands grows for a split second.

I try my best not to cry. Better save that energy for the worst of the shitshow that I know is yet to come.

I’ve forgotten that this is a house of grief and no sunlight can fix it. And I’ve walked over her grief in the same way I would walk over my own, but where I’m used to it, she isn’t. And even when we go to the same bed that night, seemingly forgetting what happened, and even when the sun rises the morning after, this is still a place where two grieving people decided to seek comfort because being broken together is somehow better than being broken alone.

No summer nor new kinds of sex can fix the holes in your heart.

I am tired of grief. I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s everloving and everlasting sake, I’m so tired of it.

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #wayfarer mc #inspo birb has come to town #cassander inteus #aisanne bjornsdottir #elf oc #my writing #wayfarer fic #wayfarer writing #wanted bisexuality.. got bisexuality and anxiety #two for the price of one!#also opinions written about here are not mine! i am not my characters!#just so we're clear. i am not my character. neato? neato #i know y'all are nice about it but i feel like it needs to be here #also i will cheat and use my europe timezone to post this now bc it's the 9th <3 #wfr anniversary

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thereareeyesinsidethetrees · 4 months ago

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primordial stan twins au! what’s their deal??

post is very ramble-y and came out longer than expected, so. everything’s under the cut!!

the name comes from their origin/dimension, which. yeah makes sense lmao. basically, the idea is that their home dimension is both very new in terms of the multiverse (the multiverse we see in the show- as in the leucistic axolotl- or another multiverse/axolotl, you decide!) and in terms of actual dimensions

theirs is a prototype, basically, an experiment to see how individual dimensions can be made and function. because of this, their dimension is more…fluid with the rest of the multiverse, so to say. the canon gravity falls dimension has solid blue skies that change to pink and orange and black and every color in between, and they have green trees with brown bark, and their buildings are solid. extremely solid structures

the primordial stan twins’ dimension, not so much. the sky looks like that of the space the axolotl resides in, nothing has a static shape or look, and their buildings would be extremely confusing to the canon stan twins

that sets up the basics for the au!! onto the actual story:

we have. bill cipher. now, this is a problem. he is essentially a cancer in the multiverse, corrupting and destroying dimensions. the multiverse does not want this, it kinda needs those

it notices that bill consistently manipulates alternate fords into helping him. primordial ford has never met bill (and, in truth, was never going to considering that he didn’t have the means to contact him in their dimension), but the multiverse decides it’s better safe than sorry and tries to eradicate him

unfortunately, they missed a pretty important detail. which is that him and stan are on pretty good terms in this dimension (partly has something to do with the nature of the dimension. it’s still a work in progress, y’know? the thing that drove them apart in canon- ie. filbrick and west coast tech/the science fair project- never existed in this dimension. that requires a lot more explaining, but that would make things too long, so! moving on!)

stan does not take kindly to the literal fabric of reality trying to kill his brother, so he steps in and fights back as best he can. ford is caught in the crossfire, and ends up being heavily injured and passed out. he wakes up later to a large expanse of bright nothingness. there’s a trail of ‘blood’ behind him. there are mirror-like shards floating all around and they all reflect him back, but…different. he is alone

good news! stan won! bad news! stan is dead and so is their entire dimension. turns out fighting back against existence itself has some pretty disastrous consequences

there is nothing but them in the void, so stan’s body never decays. ford has to sit with his corpse, in the blank corpse that used to be their home. eventually, he starts paying more attention to the shards. they reflect back alternate dimensions, mostly showing himself in those worlds- maybe because he’s the one looking in? he’s not sure. they shatter when they’re destroyed (no matter how hard he crushes them in his hands, they never fall apart. something else always has to break them)

he finds out he can go inside the other dimensions, though he’s essentially a ghost while he’s there, not being able to interact with anyone, and nothing being able to sense him anyway. mostly he wanders around for a while then goes back to his own dimension (he has to keep stan company, he needs to)

eventually, he spots one shard displaying the sea grunks. he’s furious (he’s miserable), that’s not fair! why does the other him get to keep his brother and have a happy ending, and he doesn’t?

it gives him an idea, too. after all, it’s not impossible for him to bring stan back to life. and bill was what got him into this mess in the first place, even though he’s never met the guy. bill frequently possesses other fords. he exists in the mindscape

primordial ford exists in the mindscape. and he is a ford, so…surely they wouldn’t mind him taking over for a minute, just to track down what he needs?

(thus, it begins)

#death #blood

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sisterspooky1013 · 1 year ago

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Gaslight, Chapter 28/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

He expects that at any moment he’ll wake up in his bed back in King of Prussia. Within minutes, this bizarre vivid dream will begin to fade away, and by the time he joins Diana and Frenchie in the kitchen, he’ll have forgotten it altogether. It’s just so goddamn surreal, there’s no way that any of this is actually happening.

They drive in seemingly endless loops, passing by the same intersections over and over to be sure they aren’t being followed. The woman, Dana, stares out the passenger side window for the entire ride. This area of DC doesn’t offer much in the way of a view, and he has the distinct feeling that she’s avoiding the possibility that they’ll make eye contact.

Truth be told, he’s grateful for it. Every time her icy blue eyes lock with his, he feels an overwhelming sense of protectiveness he can’t explain. Perhaps it’s because of the state she was in when he first met her: distressed and lost. Maybe that interaction sowed in him the desire to keep her safe. But there’s something more than protectiveness that catches him off guard, making him feel guilty and uncomfortable. It was a simmering distraction until he was forced into the Gunmen’s makeshift bunker with her. Until he could smell her, until his body inadvertently collided with hers and he felt the featherweight press of her skin against his: desire. She’s beautiful, of course, but he crosses paths with beautiful women all the time and doesn’t feel this magnetic pull, this primal urge to reach out and touch her. It only adds to his feelings of confliction and confusion, and his distress regarding what Diana must be thinking right now.

The van stops and he realizes they must have arrived, though the nondescript apartment building they’re parked in front of doesn’t exactly match his mental image of what a safehouse would look like. Dana bids Langly goodnight and exits the van, and Mulder follows behind her with a small duffel bag full of Byers’ clothes slung over his shoulder. She gives him only a quick glance to confirm that he’s following, and for the rest of their ingress she keeps her head down and doesn’t speak. She leads him to a door on the highest floor of the building and, once they both pass through, locks several deadbolts and sets an alarm, then lets out a relieved sigh.

“Here we are,” she says uncomfortably, and he follows her down a small hallway into an open concept living room and kitchen. “The bathroom and bedroom are right over there,” she tells him, indicating two doors down another short hallway. “There are extra toothbrushes and other toiletries under the sink.”

He nods and pokes around a bit, ducking his head into the bedroom and bathroom before stashing his bag in a corner of the living room. His stomach growls loudly and he hears her chuckle, then looks over to see a soft smile on her mouth. He feels that tug, that heaviness in his groin, and he looks away.

“There’s a frozen lasagna in the freezer,” she tells him. “I didn’t want to make it for myself because I’d end up wasting most of it, but if you’re hungry I can pop it in the oven.”

“Sure,” he says, trying not to sound too eager.

At the mention of food, his stomach lets out another loud rumble and she smiles again. Part of him wishes she’d stop, and part of him wants to do any and everything imaginable to make her smile again and again.

He steps out onto the balcony while she puts the lasagna in, taking in the sunset-soaked view of the city. It’s the first chance he’s had to be alone with his thoughts since meeting up with Dana and the Gunmen at the diner, and they collide in a flurry of emotion that thickens his throat. The only thing he knows for certain is that someone put a chip in his neck. As to who, or when, or why, each theory is more upsetting than the last. That his life might not be his own, that he could be the victim of something so nefarious and invasive, that the people who did this are likely actively searching for him, are all terrifying concepts.

But the most distressing is the idea that Diana has something to do with this. They were supposed to drive home together today. She was going to take him to the Cryptologic Museum. They’ve certainly had their difficulties, and she can be a bit harsh at times, but she would never intentionally hurt him. She would never lie to him unless she felt it was absolutely necessary for his physical or emotional safety. She wants the best for him. They made vows. It just doesn’t add up, and the only conclusion to draw is that Dana was misinformed. Or, potentially, she is the one who is lying.

He turns to look through the window into the apartment and finds her seated at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, watching him. She quickly turns away, busying herself with her wine glass and swirling the blood-red liquid round and round. His years of experience as a therapist have given him an uncanny ability to read people and detect their motivations, and his read on her is that she’s being genuine. He also knows, however, that people who are suffering delusions believe them to be real. But she said there would be a chip in his neck, and there was. He watched her remove it and is confident that there was no sleight of hand involved. After mulling it all over, he’s no closer to understanding what’s happening to him than he was when he started.

There is a soft rap on the door and he turns to see Dana standing on the other side of the glass. “The lasagna is ready,” she mouths, her voice muffled.

They sit side-by-side at the breakfast bar, and he enthusiastically accepts and then speedily drains the glass of wine she offers him. Next he devours a generous square of lasagna, feeling her eyes on him the entire time. His hunger sated, he serves himself another glass of wine and a half-portion of lasagna, and they are quiet for a few minutes.

“Thank you,” he says, giving her a quick glance. “I was starving.”

“I can tell,” she says lightly, and he manages to resist looking again just for the pleasure of seeing the smile he hears in her voice.

“So, how is this supposed to work?” he asks, slicing off a bite of lasagna with the edge of his fork. “I just wake up tomorrow and remember my old life or something?”

He knows that his tone isn’t especially kind, and hopes that she doesn’t take it personally.

“Not quite,” she answers. “My experience was a bit different because I had amnesia, so removing my chip didn’t cause me to forget anything.”

“Why’s that? Why was it different for you?”

He looks at her in little glances, enough to satisfy social convention and not come across as rude, but not enough to invite any lingering eye contact. She shrugs and pushes her lasagna around on her plate. He’s not sure that she’s actually taken a bite since they sat down.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “But Cal did have very detailed memories of seemingly every moment of our lives picking up from just about the place that my memory stopped, and removing his chip had the effect of…deleting them, I suppose.”

“That’s your husband? Cal?” he clarifies.

“Calvin, yes,” she confirms. “He believed himself to be my husband, as did my mother and everyone else we knew.”

“So how do you know that he wasn’t? Or isn’t?” Mulder asks, just a bit of a challenge in his voice.

She doesn’t answer, and after a beat he looks up at her. She looks wounded, and he realizes that he’s offended her.

“I just knew,” she says, her voice tight. “Or I suspected, anyway. It’s hard to explain.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles around a mouthful. “So, how long did it take for Calvin to notice a difference after you removed the chip?” he asks, redirecting the conversation.

“About ten hours or so, I think,” she says with a sigh. “But we’d gone to bed, so I can’t be sure if it’s the lapse in time or sleeping that was more impactful. When he woke up, he told me something felt off. As the morning progressed, he realized that he no longer remembered things he’d known just the day prior. And then he…he smelled something that made him recall a memory.”

She’s staring off into some middle space, recalling a memory of her own.

“And what about you? You remember everything now, back to 1992?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “There’s a lot that I still don’t remember. My impression is that there has to be some kind of trigger for the memory—it won’t just reappear. For me, songs and places have brought up memories.” She pauses, lifting her head and flicking her eyes to his and then quickly away. “And people,” she adds.

“Me?”

Another flick of eye contact, like she’s just as afraid to let it linger as he is.

“Yes,” she says softly, then swallows. “But I don’t remember much of anything about the work that we—that I did, nor anything about my family. I know that both my father and my older sister died during the period of time I have no memory of, and I don’t yet have any recollection of that. Not to say that I’m looking forward to it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, and without thinking he reaches out and lays his hand over the top of hers on the counter.

She sucks in a breath and freezes, her eyes locked on his hand. He feels heat in the space between their skin, something electric and buzzing. Carefully, he pulls his hand back so as not to give the impression that he’s snatching it away.

“It’s getting late,” she says, avoiding his eye as she stands and clears their plates. “You can take the bedroom. I haven’t slept on the sheets.”

“No,” he objects sharply, and she gives him a look. “You take the bedroom. I don’t want to put you out.”

“You aren’t,” she tells him. “I’m more comfortable on the couch. It’s my preference.”

He concedes and carries his duffel bag into the bedroom, then finds toothpaste and a toothbrush under the bathroom sink. After he’s changed into a set of Byers’ sweats and a t-shirt, which fit him quite well, he listens to the pad of her feet up and down the hall as she completes her own bedtime routine, and when she finally settles he closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep.

He wonders what Diana is doing, what she thinks. Does she think that he’s been taken against his will? That he’s been in a vehicle accident? That he left her? His car is still sitting near the diner so far as he knows, and she could come to any number of conclusions when it’s eventually towed and identified as his. If nothing comes of all this, if it turns out to be one big hoax, she’ll never forgive him. He’s surprised to find just a sliver of relief in the idea. A fresh start is a fresh start, no matter how it’s obtained.

He hears the soft notes of distant music, something melodic with a plucky bass guitar. A few minutes later, he detects the distinct sound of a wet sniff, and then a stifled sob. Straining his ears, it almost sounds like it’s coming from inside the apartment.

He quietly slips out of the bed and turns the handle on the door before he pulls it open to mask the sound of the latch. The music grows louder, though it’s still very low, and again he hears little pained whimpers. As he enters the doorway to the living room, he sees that Dana is sitting up, the crown of her auburn head visible over the back of the couch.

“Dana?” he says softly, and her head snaps over to look at him, surprise and embarrassment on her face.

She turns away quickly, swiping her hands across her cheeks in an attempt to clear away her tears.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she asks, and he takes a few steps further into the room.

“No, I couldn’t sleep,” he tells her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she says shortly.

He listens to the song for a moment.

“Who is this? The song?” he asks.

“Sam Cooke,” she answers, then slowly turns her head to look at him again. “Does it sound familiar?”

This time the look on her face is hopeful, and he feels preemptive guilt for disappointing her.

“No,” he says. “Should it?”

She turns away.

“No,” she says flatly. “Goodnight, Mu–Jeff.”

“Goodnight.”

The top of his head slams against the headboard each time she snaps her hips against his, but the pain is worth it. She is animal, unabashed, so incredibly free.

“Oh my god,” she breathes out, her eyes screwed shut tight and her hands pinned to the fronts of his shoulders for stability.

He touches her hips, feeling the flex of her glutes as she grinds against him. He tries to ignore his own pleasure, to distract himself from the tight slip of her over his shaft, but looking at her face only heightens it. The stitch of her eyebrows, the sag of her bottom lip. If she sees him watching her, she’ll withdraw, and he prays that her eyes stay closed.

“I’m gonna come,” she says in a near-whisper, as though making a confession, and his balls draw up tight against his body.

Then she is gone, pulling him under with her, stealing the air from his lungs.

By the time he comes into consciousness, it’s too late. He groans and rubs his already softening erection through his cotton sweatpants, savoring the final throbs of pleasure before he has to deal with the aftermath. He can’t remember the last time he had a wet dream. Perhaps sometime in college.

The details of his dream are dissipating, but one thing he knows for sure is that it was her. Dana. He feels his cheeks warm at the realization, but quickly reminds himself that one cannot be held responsible for the workings of one’s subconscious. She’s a beautiful woman, and he is a human male. It doesn’t mean anything.

It’s light out, clearly morning, so he rises from the bed and peels his sticky pants and boxers from his body. He hopes that Byers never actually asks for them back.

John Fitzgerald Byers. Mulder sees the four of them seated around a table, mouths open in laughter. Byers claps his hand on Mulder’s back and he feels jubilant. Accepted.

He cringes and clutches the side of his head as it begins to throb. He dons clean boxers and jeans, then leaves the bedroom.

“Dana?” he calls out. “Do you know if there’s any aspirin here?” He opens the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and begins to rummage around.

He hears her footsteps as she approaches, then her arm snakes under his and plucks a bottle of ibuprofen off the bottom shelf.

“Here,” she says, and he takes a step back so he can turn towards her.

Her hair is dripping wet, and she’s dressed in jeans and a thin white tank top. An undershirt, really. In the millisecond that he lets his eyes fall to her chest, the darkened circles of her nipples under the fabric give away the fact that she’s not wearing a bra. When he looks back to her face, he sees that her eyes are on his bare chest.

“Does your head hurt?” she asks, averting her eyes to the bottle and shaking out two pills into her palm before depositing them into his.

“Yeah, right here,” he says, rubbing just above his ear.

Dana nods.

“That happened to me, too. It will go away over time.” She gives him a somewhat appraising look, and he lifts his eyebrows in question.

“How do you feel?” she asks cautiously.

“About what?”

Her head quirks a little.

“Who am I?” she asks.

“Dana,” he answers.

She shakes her head.

“How do we know one another?” she tries.

“We met at a coffee shop,” he says. “And…I’m not entirely sure how we know one another just yet. Allegedly we used to work together.”

“What about Diana? Your wife?”

“What about her?”

“Where did you meet?”

“At the FBI training academy, Quantico.”

She considers him for a beat, narrowing her eyes.

“What about your wedding? When’s your anniversary?” she asks.

“It’s—”

He waits for the date to roll off his tongue. He waits for a vision of Diana in a white dress, for recollection of the way his nerves were tangled just before the ceremony. Instead there’s just…nothing. Blankness. Not like that tip-of-the-tongue sensation where you know the information exists, but just can’t access it. It truly isn’t there.

“I don’t remember,” he says, and his ears begin to ring. He looks at Dana and finds a sympathetic expression on her face. “Why don’t I remember?”

“I believe you don’t remember it because it never happened,” she says gently, and his stomach rolls.

“I need to sit down.”

She takes him by the elbow and guides him to the couch, where he folds himself in half until his head is between his knees. He feels Dana’s hand on his back, rubbing in wide circles, and it’s disorienting more than comforting. He tries to remember proposing, or buying the house, or adopting Frenchie. It’s like remembering something you saw on the news: you know that it happened, but can’t speak to any of the specifics. There is no firsthand account. His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears, and his chest is tight. He tries to pull in a deep breath but finds that he can’t. His hands are trembling, and he has the passing thought that he might be dying.

“What’s happening to me?” he asks with a chattering jaw.

Something cool touches the back of his neck, and he reaches up to feel a wet towel draped across it. He doesn’t remember her leaving his side, but she must have.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” she says in a smooth, calming tone. “Listen to my voice, Mulder. I’m right here, and you’re safe.”

He sits up and the room spins. She grabs his hand, and he looks over at her. The blue of her eyes is so serene, so peaceful. He focuses on her irises, which thin out as her pupils bloom. She lifts his hand and lays it on her chest so he can feel the steady beat of her heart against his palm. She isn’t panicking. She isn’t afraid.

“I want you to take deep breaths, Mulder. In through your nose, out through your mouth, like this.”

She models deep, slow, breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. He feels her chest expand under his palm, then watches her lips purse into a little “o” as she breathes out. He’s not sure if he’s actually doing it or not, but watching her, and feeling her steady under his hand, slows his own heart and evens out his breathing. Slowly, slowly, he comes back to himself.

“There you go,” she says in encouragement. “You’re okay.”

She removes his hand from her chest and places it on his knee, and he feels a flush of something between guilt and embarrassment as he realizes how close he was to touching her breast.

“Sorry,” he says, chagrined. “That’s never happened to me before.” Her eyes narrow and her mouth turns down into a little pout, but she doesn’t say anything. “Or has it?”

She pushes her mouth into a smile and shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. Are you hungry?”

They each finish dressing, and she makes them eggs and toast for breakfast. They sit in heavy silence as they eat. His brain oscillates between trying to remember things and realizing he can’t, to wondering what he might soon remember, to hoping that the Gunmen find something that could potentially explain what’s happening. Dana is also lost in thought, and he remembers that she has children she hasn’t seen in days.

“I bet you miss your kids,” he says, and she startles a little.

“Um, yes, I do,” she says. “Even though they aren’t actually mine, I’ve been caring for them for the past two months. It doesn’t take long to become attached to children.”

“How old are they? If you don’t mind my asking.”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t. Abby is six, and Peter is four.”

“Do they…I’m sorry if this is an inappropriate question, but do they look like you?” he asks.

“I have a picture of them,” she tells him as she reaches for her purse. “I realize now that this picture must be digitally created, but it looks quite real.”

She hands him a wallet-size family photo. In it, Dana is standing next to a tall man with tawny skin and protruding ears. They’re both smiling and his arm is slung around her shoulders. A little stab of envy catches Mulder off guard, and he looks down to the children. The older one has fair skin, brown hair and blue eyes, and does resemble Dana. The younger takes more after the man in terms of coloring, but he has Dana’s mouth. He hands the photo back to her, and she looks at it for a long time.

“I do see some resemblance,” she says. “But I think you can often find that if you go looking for it.”

He nods, and thinks again about the man in the picture.

“Is Calvin a good guy?” he asks, and she regards him with some surprise.

“Yes,” she says confidently. “He’s great, actually.”

“But…not great enough to stay?” he says carefully.

Dana pulls in a deep breath and takes a moment to form her response.

“It’s not that my life with Cal and the kids wasn’t a good one,” she begins. “If I hadn’t had the dreams that I did, if I hadn’t started remembering, I think I probably would have been quite happy with them. But even the best, most idyllic life isn’t a replacement for the one that belongs to you. The one that was built on a million little moments that each hold a place in your heart. It was a lovely life, but it wasn’t mine.”

He considers this. Considers that the life she was willing to give all of that up for was one in which he allegedly played a large part.

“Please don’t take this with any offense, but it’s hard for me to imagine that you’d be so invested in your job and your relationship with a coworker. Given, I don’t know what the nature of the work that we allegedly did together was, but nobody likes their job that much, do they?”

She bites her lip and gives him a long look. He can tell that there’s something she isn’t saying, and he juts his chin out and lifts his eyebrows in request that she say it.

“We were more than coworkers, Mulder,” she says evenly, then looks away.

He feels a flush of heat throughout his body, and the image of her riding him in his dream comes to mind.

“But Diana—”

“We thought Diana was dead,” she interrupts. “And even if she wasn’t, you two weren’t together. You hadn’t been in years.”

He wants to ask her more about that, but he can feel his blood pressure rising and decides that it might be too much right now. He’s not even sure he believes any of it, so what’s the point in upsetting himself?

“Why do you call me Mulder?” he asks instead, and she softens.

“That’s your preference,” she says. “You’ve always hated your first name. You told me once that you even made your parents call you Mulder, though I later learned that isn’t true. You called me ‘Scully’ from the moment we met, and I called you ‘Mulder.’ It stuck, I guess.”

“Scully,” he says, just trying it on for size. Her chin trembles and her eyes glisten, and she nods once.

Her phone begins to trill, and she scrambles to dig it out of the bottom of her purse.

“Hello?” she answers, her eyes darting over to his.

She listens, giving intermittent ‘uh huh’ and ‘okay’s. Finally she says, “We’ll be ready,” and then hangs up. He gives her an expectant look.

“Langly will be here in fifteen minutes,” she says as she stands. “They got in.”

He stares at her for a beat, then asks, “What did they find?”

“Everything,” she says, meeting his eye. “All of it.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles

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misschanadlerbong · 1 year ago

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When Stef Met 'Lena

PART 1 | <next>

Elena was laid off from her last job due to her boss unable to pay her any longer. Elena had been searching for a job ever since, and then she discovered The Salvatore Industries. They were hiring or looking for a receptionist. Just the job for her. They had been her savior, she desperately needed this job. Rent money doesn’t come from out of thin air.

Elena Gilbert is described by many as stubborn, hard working, kind, and gentle. From a young age she strived to at least try when attempting at something which she carried with her into adulthood. And according to Caroline Forbes that was exactly what Salvatore Industries needed. Heart, kindness, and the strive to work hard. And that was exactly the receptionist they needed. Not what most people expect right? A receptionist needed those qualities? Yes, at The Salvatore industries they wanted and needed good people, people who carried about what they were doing. And Elena Gilbert was the perfect candidate.

There was this musical ringing, the phone rang several times before Elena reached it. She picked the phone up and answered with “Hello?”

“Elena hi! I have wonderful news you got the job! Your first day is tomorrow please meet me at The Salvatore Industries near the front lobby. The address once again is 523 Mystic City Avenue. Can’t wait to see you then!” Caroline beamed and hung up the phone.

Elena felt relief wash over her and then dread. Elena rubbed her temples in exasperation “She didn’t tell me who my boss is? Oh well this is gonna be fun,” Elena tried calling Caroline back again to get some answers to her questions but to no avail she did not answer. She tried again and all she heard was that loud and weird beeping sound when you call someone and they’re on the phone with someone else. Elena was irritated but instead of focusing on the negative she goes and calls Bonnie.

Elena dialed Bonnie’s phone number 876-435-778. All you could hear was the ringing and how it paused and started to ring and pause once again until Bonnie picked up.

“Bonnie guess what!” Elena exclaims enthusiastically.

“You got the job!”

“Yes I did! I got the job!”

“That’s amazing Elena! I’m so proud of you!”

“Aw, thank you Bonbon.”

“You're welcome! Tell you what, how about I drop you off and it’ll save you the trouble of using more gas.”

“That sounds like a plan Bon, also apparently I start tomorrow.”

“That’s quick, but I can still drop you off, don't worry.”

“I should have known it wouldn’t be able to get rid of you that easily.” Elena teased.

“Hey!”

“Kidding.” Elena giggled and Bonnie laughed alongside her.

Bonnie and Elena finally arrived at The Salvatore Industries. Bonnie parked in the parking lot, “Here we are.” Elena looked at the building nervously. “Don’t worry, You’ll do fine!” Bonnie gushed. Elena grinned at Bonnie feeling confidence wash over her.

“Take a deep breath and keep your chin up.” Elena smiles softly and replies with “I will, don’t worry.” Bonnie smiles and says her goodbyes as she rides off leaving Elena by herself. Elena takes a few deep breaths, even though she already had been in the building it didn’t ease her nerves. But she tried to do what Bonnie wanted her to do. Keep her chin held high. She walked towards the building. Was it larger than the first time she saw it? No, but it felt larger.

‘It’s just my first day, what could possibly go wrong?’ “Ugh who am I kidding?” Elena lets out a sigh and walks in the building. The moment she steps in the building a man greets her. He’s tall, he has black hair, pale blue eyes alongside a pale complexion as well. He gives her a cold and hard look. She wonders ‘Is this my boss?’ ‘If he is, this is gonna be interesting to say the least…’

“l know what you're thinking, I’m not your boss.” Elena nods slowly but then looks even more confused,“Then who are? If you don’t mind me asking of course.” “I do mind actually!” Elena looks down in embarrassment. “I’m sorry sir, the women who interviewed me didn’t tell me who he was or anything like that. She said she would meet me here.” “Leave the poor girl alone, she didn’t know there’s no shame in that.” The woman she interviewed me a few days ago says, I believe her name was Caroline if I’m remembering correctly. She leans her head to look at Elena and replies with “Come with me, it’s time to meet Mr.Salvatore. And don’t worry it’s not your fault for not knowing it’s mine entirely for not telling you.”

Once they had moved to the elevator away from the man. Elena whispers “Thank You.” “For what?” Caroline asks, confused. “For saving me from him, he does not like me very much.” Caroline leans closer and says “He doesn’t like anyone.” Elena giggles and replies with “That makes sense.” Caroline smiles back at her. Just as Caroline pressed the button for floor 102 a man stopped the elevator before it closed. The man walked in and walked towards Caroline smiling gently at her. ‘He seems sweet and cute. Wait what if this is my boss? I can't think like that!’ Elena mentally scolded herself for thinking in that way’ ‘He had dark blonde hair, forest green eyes that had a romantic glint that shined brightly, and he had a soft smile that lit up the room. Oh my god, Elena! Stop thinking that he could be your boss once again!’ Elena thought to herself. He stood by Caroline and conversed in small talk with her “Good morning Caroline! I never did get the chance to ask you but how has the interviewing been going?”

“Well, Mr.Salvatore it's especially great since she’s standing right behind you.” Stefan whipped his head around to get a better look at Elena. His gaze softened when his eyes met her. He smiled at her, charmly. He reached his hand out, motioning for her to shake his hand. She gladly took his hand and shook it with just the right amount of firmness. When Stefan touched Elena’s hand he must have felt how gentle it was while when Elena touched him she must have felt how soft it was. They’re eyes never left one another, they were like in this haze of admiration. They both thought to themselves ‘You can’t think like that she’s/he your co-worker!’

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss…?”

“Miss. Gilbert, Elena Gilbert. And it’s a pleasure to meet you too Mr.Salvatore.” She smiled kindly at him and he smiled back with just as much warmth.

Caroline intervened and asked “So are you ready for the tour, Elena?”

Before Elena could respond Stefan answered “Why don’t I show her around, you already have done so much,” He grinned at her, “Well, Thank You Mr.Salvatore you're very considerate.” She smiled back at him.

The elevator dinged and Elena and Stefan moved out of the elevator. “Elena?” Caroline called, “Yes?”

“If you need anything, don't be afraid to let me know.” Caroline gushed sincerely, grinning brightly at Elena.

“I will Caroline Thank You,” She smiled back at Caroline with just as much sincerity. You could see it now, the start of a new and wonderfully blossomed friendship.

“Anytime.” Caroline pressed the first floor button and the elevator, leaving the pair alone.

Elena turned to Stefan “Where do we start?”

Stefan turned to look at her as he said “My office, your area, and a few other places as well.”

“Where’s my area?” Elena asked.

“In the lobby area, where you came in there’s the front desk and that’s where you’ll be working.” Elena nodded in understanding.

Stefan led her to his office area, “This is my area or my office area.” In the background of his office you could see his book shelves full of so many different types of books. And his desk was in the middle, it had this glossy look and it was a shade of dark brown. “Wow, it's beautiful.”

“Why Thank You. That’s very kind of you.” Elena smiled at the complement.

“Now, let me show you to the lobby area,” He smiled softly at her as he led her back to the elevator. They both stepped in and he pressed floor one.

“You know Elena-” Stefan started, turning to look over at Elena. “You don’t strike me as someone who would be a receptionist.”

Elena smiled softly to herself, she must have felt her cheeks blushing as she looked down, “Life got in the way and it was expensive, and I felt like I could do good becoming a receptionist even if it’s in a different way than I wanted to originally,”

“What did you want to be when you grew up, Mr.Salvatore?”

“Ironically enough at first I wanted to be a Doctor as well.”

Elena lifted her eyes from the elevator door back to his eyes,“Why didn’t you?” She inquired.

“This company needed me especially after my father died and I couldn’t look away. I had to help.” Elena smiled with genuine compassion as she praised “Mr. Salvatore you are truly a kind man and a compassionate one too. That was quite noble of you most wouldn’t do that.” Elena voiced gently, Stefan looked at her with his vibrant smile and gleaming green eyes and thoughtfully replied with “Thank You, Ms.Gilbert you truly have a kind soul and I am lucky to have someone like you here.”

“No, it's quite the opposite. I'm honored to be working here because I was laid off from my last job and I was worried I wouldn’t find one this time for rent, but luckily I did. In the way you all were my savior I couldn’t Thank You all enough.”

“I’m glad you will be working here especially since we need someone like you, someone who cares.” Stefan praised, passionately.

Elena smiles at the compliment,“Well, Thank You Mr.Salvatore you’ve been so welcoming and caring I can’t help but feel excited to start.”

“I’m pleased to hear that.” He said with humility. Stefan was quite grateful she was going to be working here, ‘I wish we could find more people like her kind and caring, I’m just thankful she is here,’ ‘I’m very grateful I got this job, I have a good feeling about this job,’ They both simultaneously smile to themselves wrapped up in their own thoughts that was until the elevator dinged and they were back at the first floor. Elena jerked a little, Stefan looked over at her worry spread across his face. “Are you alright?" He asked, with panic in his voice. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry, I was too wrapped up in my thoughts.” Elena placed her hand on her chest, trying to regain her composure. He smiled at her researingly and she smiled back feeling a sense of warmth fill her chest.

He turned to look back at her as he led her to her desk. “Here we are Ms.Gilbert.”

“Thank You Mr.Salvatore for your help,” She replied politely.

“Anytime Ms.Gilbert let me know if you need anything at all.”

“I will, Thank You Mr.Salvatore.” Elena said, and Stefan walked away heading toward the elevator, planning to go back to his office. Elena watched as Stefan a sigh escaped her lips, she must have felt a tinge of blush come across her face as she turned away and started to focus on settling in her new desk area.

Just as she sat down someone came up to her, It was a woman. Elena asked, “How can I help you?”

The woman was timid but still spoke up “I-I was wondering if I could schedule a meeting with M-mr.Salvatore I’m one of his clients.” She said, shakily.

“Of course,” Elena looked at the calendar behind her and noticed July 7th was open for meetings. She grabbed a pen and wrote ‘Meeting with-’

“What’s your name ma’am?”

“My n-name is Alexia Branson.” Elena wrote her name on the calendar, “You're all set Ms.Branson, give us a call if you need anything.” She smiled warmly at the women and she thought to herself ‘I have a great feeling about this.’ She smiled to herself as she watched the lady leave and she went back to work.

@queenofstelena / @wiidestdrearms

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queenofstelena · 1 year ago

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When Stef met 'Lena

| Part One | <next>