#sooner if he asks me to get something down from top shelf of the bookcase lol

[spacedace]

Shout out to my husband, who I have been married to for over a year and was dating for five years before that (and was friends with for a year before that), who only just realized today that I'm taller than him.

To be clear he is not upset about it or anything, just had a brief moment of confusion when I was able to reach something he couldn't and had a bit of a light bulb moment. Big golden retriever energy, right down to the confused head tilts and everything haha

[disgruntledspacedad]

The White Room

The Better Love Series || Join My Tags

a sequel to Shit Hits the Fan

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Bill Stechner makes his move. You never even saw it coming.

words: 6.1k

warnings: 18+, plot, a little angst, a little fluff. 

notes: unbeta’d. this is a big one. notes at the end.

<< Shit Hits the Fan || These Hands are Magic >>

MASTERLIST

You take the embassy steps two at a time, wishing you’d have been notified about the change in your schedule just half an hour earlier.

You’d gotten a page just as you were headed out the door of the apartment. Stechner has decided to pull you from Centra Spike’s night flight over Medellín. He wants you at headquarters this evening instead. He didn’t say why. 

Part of you isn’t sorry. Escobar has been getting desperate lately, and between the outbreaks of violence in Medellín and the continued bombing campaign in Bogotá, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Javi, too. He’s been spending more and more time at the base in Medellín, and you’ve been spending more and more time in the skies, pulling random shifts through all hours of the day and night. 

It hasn’t put a strain on your relationship, exactly. In fact, in some ways, the little moments that you steal with Javi when your schedules just happen to mesh are all the more precious because of it. You’re both exhausted and a little cranky, but there’s been an underlying desperation to your recent interactions that’s only served to stoke the flame that flickers between you. 

It’s a bittersweet feeling. You cherish the time you get together, but on the other hand, it seems like even when Javi’s right there next to you, you miss him so much that your chest aches.

Which is why you’re miffed that Bill couldn’t have shuffled you around a little sooner. Javi’s been in Medellín for the past two days. He’d caught an early flight back to Bogotá just as you’d been finishing up another late shift flyover. You’d just happened to run into him at the embassy airstrip, a perfect coincidence. Your eyes had met over the tarmac, and like a pair of magnets, you’d crashed into one another. Javi had wrapped you into a fierce hug, and you’d pulled him into a heated kiss, and the two of you had spent a good five minutes canoodling in a hidden corridor near the water fountains, kissing and whispering and grappling for position as he’d pinned you against the wall. He’d breathed you in, and you’d reveled in the taste of him on your lips, each of you pressing frantically against the body of the other as if it had been weeks and not mere days since you’d been together. 

“I’ve got to go,” Javi had apologized into your mouth, breathing the words between a series of soft, desperate kisses. “Fucking… fucking early meeting with Martinez.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you’d reassured him, feeling very much like it wasn’t okay. You hardly get enough of him as it is. This tiny little taste had only deepened your aching need, and you’d felt your heart splitting in two as he’d pulled away from you, a small little grimace of frustration twisting his face. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you’d called as he’d hurried away, and he’d responded with a tight lipped smile and another dark look of longing. 

Now, you round the corridor toward the DEA office, walking as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself. Javi is working late again. If you hurry, you’ll have twenty five uninterrupted minutes with him before your night shift starts. 

“Ears!” You stop in your tracks, a little shudder of resentment flashing down your spine at Bill’s overeager greeting. “Just the lady I’ve been waiting to see.”

You school your face into a neutral expression of polite interest. Most days, you like Bill just fine, despite the fact that you really don’t trust him for shit. 

Today, damn him straight to hell.

“What’s up?” you ask, quirking your lips into an intrigued little grin. There’s a certain informality and blasé banter that Bill’s grown to expect from your encounters, and he’s sharp enough to sense that something’s off if you don’t perform.

“Oh, loads and loads,” Bill says, leaning casually against the corridor wall with his arms folded. 

You bite back a sigh. You really, really don’t have the patience to dance around him today. “Oh, really?”

Bill arches a questioning brow at you, and you remind yourself to be convincing, dammit. Usually, this isn’t an issue. Most days, you like your job, and your boss, just fine. 

Most days. 

“You’re bored, aren’t you, Ears?” Bill continues, pitching his voice deep, those probing eyes piercing straight through you.

“I -” you start. Bored isn’t how you’d describe it, lately.

Tired, more like. 

“No, no,” Bill’s expression is patient, endearing. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been watching you. I know that hungry look when I see it. You want more. You came to Colombia to do something important with your life, I can tell.”

Six months ago, hell, even three months ago, Bill’s words would have been true. Now, the very thought of more is enough to send you crawling into bed and sleeping for a week. 

‘Isn’t tracking down Pablo Escobar pretty fucking important?’ you’re half tempted to ask. You hold your tongue.

Obviously, it’s not to Bill Stechner.

“What do you have for me?” you say instead, hoping you sound intrigued, carefully not confirming or denying Bill’s suspicions. 

“Real work,” Bill says with a sharp smile. Something cold jolts down your spine at the his use of the word ‘real.’ 

As if everything until now has been a sham.

“Follow me,” he beckons, and you have no choice but to obey.

Bill leads you past the DEA offices. You catch a glimpse of the top of Javi’s head from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his desk, pouring over an open manilla file. You can barely see the deep furrow in his brow. He doesn’t notice you pass by, and you don’t pause to acknowledge him.

Something throbs in your chest at that.

You follow Bill through a few more winding corridors, down into the basement, past Centra Spike’s room, right up to an unassuming little bookcase built into a nondescript wall in the middle of nowhere. 

Bill pauses here, turning to look at you with shining eyes. 

You meet his stare, giving away nothing. 

With an enthusiasm that borders on theatrical, Bill huddles over a little keypad that’s tucked away at the edge of the bookcase. He punches in a series of numbers, glancing over to confirm that you’re still watching. 

You definitely are.

Bill steps back, and like something from an Indiana Jones film, the entire fucking bookcase slides aside, reveling a reinforced steel door built into the wall. 

“Whoa,” you can’t help but breathe.

Bill’s eyes glitter. He’s eating this up, impressing you. 

And truly, you’re impressed. That little spark of interest that had died in the past months of your burnout has flared with a vengeance. 

This is the shit that you joined the CIA for, and Bill Stechner knows it. 

“Welcome to the white room, Ears,” Bill announces lowly. It’s the soft, knowing voice of a man sharing a deeply guarded secret. He opens the steel door with a flourish, and it swings slowly aside, heavy and creaking, as if its weight alone could announce the gravity of what you’re about to see. 

Carefully, you step inside the room, ducking a little to avoid knocking your head against the low hanging doorway, crawling past the steel corridor entrance before you can straighten.

You blink, astounded at what you’re seeing.

Of course, you’ve heard whispers of CIA’s fabled “White Room,” a repository of classified files tucked away somewhere in the embassy basement. Even Javi’s mentioned it a couple of times, always with a hint of resentment, like he’d give his left arm for even a glimpse inside. Rumor is, Steve Murphy’s been in here before, but just once, and he was heavily supervised the entire time. It’s a fucking goldmine of intel, stacks upon stacks of carefully organized file folders, all at the fingertips of the few individuals who are important enough to be need-to-know. 

“Okay,” you whisper beneath your breath, taking it all in. Reality is a little different than you’d pictured. The entrance is impressive, sure, but what you’re staring at is even more so. Box after carefully labelled box is packed atop one another, stacked six deep on a never-ending series of steel shelves. 

You could spend an eternity here learning all of the secrets of Colombia. The implications are mind-boggling, and distantly, you wonder how many other well-hidden rooms the CIA has tucked away across a spread of foreign countries, a never-ending fountain of secrets related to god-knows-what.

Your brain stutters at the thought.

You realize suddenly that Bill is watching you carefully from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction as if he’s surreptitiously taking notes on every thought that flits across you brain. Again, you school your expression, reverting to that practiced, dead-eyed stare of careful neutrality. 

“Cool,” you say, a little breathlessly, knowing that Bill’s eager to wow you, and not seeing any reason not to acknowledge the fact that, yeah, you’re pretty fucking wowed. You turn to face him, ignoring the temptation to sweep your gaze over the many, many labeled files at your eye level. “So, what are we doing here?”

Bill laughs. “I’ll show you.” He leads you past the shelves, and now that you’re behind him, you can’t stop your eyes from tracking over the labels at your eye level. You’re appalled by what you see. 

Shelves upon shelves devoted to Escobar, and even more to the Cali Cartel, all broken down into sections of the individual godfathers. Rodriguez, Herrera, Bejarano, Moncado are all names that catch your eye. There are folders on each major sicario that you recognize from Javi’s info board: Mosquera, Lucumí, Vásquez, Gaviria... the list goes on. Even more files files are labeled Castaño. There’s a whole series of boxes on M-19, and a little past that, an entire shelf devoted solely to FARC. 

It’s more than your mind can possible comprehend in one quick sweep, and hell, that’s just what you could catch at eye level. 

It occurs to you that this is what Steve and Javi are always bitching about. Sure, you’re aware of the ever present pissing contest between the DEA and the CIA, but it’s always been peripheral information to you. Steve in particular is pretty vocal about his frustration with the ‘fucking CIA.’ “Goddamn file’s so redacted that it might as well be scrap,” you can just hear him muttering. 

Christ, if this is the kind of intel that the CIA has open access too, you can kind of see his point. 

Bill stops at a table in the center of the room, indicating it with a sweep of his hand. Reluctantly, you sit, a little annoyed that you’ve got your back to him now, but not feeling comfortable enough to twist around to track what he’s doing. Your instincts are screaming at you that this is a test. A big one. So you wait demurely in your tiny plastic chair, your hands folded primly in your lap, listening intently as Bill shuffles for something behind you.

After a long moment, Bill leans his hip heavily against the table, just a hair too close to your shoulder for you to be totally comfortable. You don’t have time to think on that, though, because he’s sliding a black and white photograph under your nose for you to view.

The man that leers up at you has a pinched face beneath a deep brow. His nose is long and lopsided, as if it’s been broken at least once. His thinning, limp hair hangs low over his eyes, giving him a mysterious, almost rebellious look. His mouth is wide, crooked teeth exposed in an open-mouthed grimace. He’s angling toward the camera, obviously unaware of its existence, leaning forward with a machine gun cradled to his chest.

“Feo,” you say instantly, your mouth working before your brain can catch up. You recognize him from the evidence board in the DEA office, and even more from your conversations with Javi. 

Feo is a low level sicario, one that’s just now caught the attention of Search Bloc, mostly due to the recent chatter that Centra Spike has picked up. You’ve yet to get a positive ID on his voice, but he’s been mentioned in several conversations lately, always in reference to ‘drops.’

Javi’s been working deep in the night to decipher these conversations, eager to learn what ‘drops’ Escobar and his sicarios are so desperate to come by.

“Feo,” Bill drawls, a hint of something sharp licking at his tone. You glance up at him, curious. “That’s an unfortunate nickname.”

He’s staring down at you with eyes that are too aware. Probing, assessing. 

Fuck.

“I’ve seen him on the DEA board,” you explain, grateful that you can provide an answer so quickly. You don’t like the way Bill is looking at you, like he’s daring you to confess a sin. 

“I didn’t realize there were many photos of him floating around,” Bill says casually. But you aren’t stupid. You read the threat in his statement, loud and clear.

“It’s a new one,” you reply automatically, feeling as if you’re scrambling to claw yourself out of a hole. 

But this is also true. Feo has been an ongoing mystery to Search Bloc, one that they haven’t taken seriously until recently. You wonder what it is about this man that’s got Bill so on edge. 

Bill hums. “Good eye.”  He hunches over the photograph, so close that you can feel his body heat against your neck. 

“This is Raul Manriquez.” Bill taps the forehead of the man in the photograph, then turns to leer at you. “Apparently, he’s known to his friends as Feo.”

He’s watching you for a sign. You refuse to give it.

“So,” you ask after a beat. Bill folds his arms across his chest, waiting for you to continue. He’s not giving any signs either, the dickwad. “What does the CIA want with Raul Manriquez?” 

Bill has never behaved this way with you before. There’s a certain weight to the way he regards you that hints at paranoia. He’s deeply, almost obsessively interested in this man, and it doesn’t make sense. 

Feo is a sicario, sure. But sicarios are far, far below Bill’s pay grade. The thought is laughable, even.

Something drops in your stomach. If Feo is more than a sicario, as it seems he must be, then it is far, far above your pay grade to be this involved.

Bill pulls out a chair beside you and sits heavily. He leans on his elbow, swinging his legs so that his knees brush your thighs. 

You echo him, carefully positioning yourself so that you’re facing one another, but no longer touching.

“We have intel to suggest that Raul Manriquez is connected with a Russian weapons ring,” Bill starts. You notice for the first time that he looks tired, too, his eyes a little bloodshot, heavy bags dropping darkly beneath them. 

Something clicks in your brain. “He’s Pablo’s weapons guy,” you breathe. The pieces fall together with startling clarity. The drops that the sicarios had mentioned. The fact that Feo seems to stay at the periphery of things, not nearly as involved with the day-to-day bullshit that other sicarios seem to thrive on. “He’s running guns.”

“Among other things,” Bill drawls, seeming thoroughly bored by the turn in the conversation.

You ignore that. Your thoughts are spinning wildly, forging connections, solving problems. Escobar’s got to get his weapons from somewhere. In the back of your mind, you’ve always sort of known this, but the significance of it has stayed firmly out of sight, swamped by other things that, at the time, had seemed far more important. 

But if you could catch Feo… If you could choke off Pablo’s lethality directly at the source…

“We could end this,” you whisper, sitting up to look Bill directly in the eye. Your voice rises. “Bill, if we neutralize Feo, Escobar’s lost his access to his guns.” Something swoops in your heart, and you feel brighter, more energized than you have in weeks. “We can end this war!”

“Oh, the fucking drug war.” Bill scoffs, waving his hand in a casual gesture of lazy dismissal. He looks frustrated, disappointed. “Ears, broaden you horizons a little, sister. Escobar is on the run. When he’s gone,” Bill leans in, the glint in his eye damned near dangerous. “And he will be gone, Ears, trust me.” He huffs a deep sigh, shaking his head as he pitches away to balance on the far feet of his chair, rocking back and forth in a way that reminds you of a restless kid in a elementary school classroom. His eyes are sharp, possessive as they pin yours. “What then?”

You stare at him flatly, a little miffed to have nearly a year of your life’s work brushed aside as if it’s just petty bullshit. 

You shake that emotion away, blinking hard, reminding yourself of where you are, of who your boss is. With the lines as blurred as they are in Colombia, and your unique position dancing between Centra Spike, the DEA, and the CIA, and Search Bloc, it’s easy to forget that ultimately, it’s Bill Stechner who owns you.

For the first time, that thought deeply unsettles you.

Bill falls forward heavily on his elbows, looking at you with a furrowed brow, and you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that this meeting is a performance, one that you’ve utterly and completely bombed until now.

You brain spins, processing the little bits and pieces of information that you’ve been given. Bill sees Escobar’s fall as in inevitability, inconsequential, even. He’s concerned about Feo in the context that he’s connected to the weapons trade in Colombia. 

Quickly, you consider what you know about Bill Stechner. A CIA big wig with a shady-ass military background. A man who’s mind lives in the future. 

A future without Escobar. He’s made that much clear.

“You’re looking to fill a power vacuum,” you announce suddenly, knowing instinctively that you’re not far off the mark. Bill Stechner is a man who is always thinking ahead, studying the political chessboard to analyze his next move, and the one after that, too.

And that truth bomb jars free even more thoughts that have been floating untethered in the back of your mind. When he’s not skulking around his office, Bill is gone for weeks at a time, supposedly off in depths of the amazonian jungle, brushing shoulders with his right winged military buddies. 

Commie hunting.

The pieces fall perfectly into place, painting a sobering picture, and all the while, Bill watches, a sharp little grin playing at his lips as you connect the dots. 

“Bill,” you say, refusing to accept any bullshit. You thump your finger hard against Feo’s leering smirk, pinning Bill with a dark stare. “Is this guy connected with FARC?”

Both of Bill’s brows arch skyward, and he leans back, looking at you with a new light in his eyes. You get the impression that once again, you’ve impressed him. 

You’re not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“I don’t know, Ears,” Bill admits, glancing away to his hands, which are suddenly curling into fists in his lap. You can tell it really grinds his gears, the uncertainty. “That’s what I want to find out.” 

You consider him carefully, keeping your face expressionless. This is the most open response you’ve ever gotten from Bill, and you file away that information along with everything else you’ve learned today.

It’s a lot.

“What do you need from me?” 

It’s a valid question. Part of you, the part that is equally intrigued and enraptured by Bill Stechner and the CIA as a whole, genuinely wants to help. 

The rest of you is just desperate to get out of this room.

Bill’s lips slide into a knowing smirk. “Well, Ears,” he drawls, eyeing you in a way that makes something sink in your gut. “I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m listening.” You deliberately leave off the ‘sir,’ that you’re tempted to tack on to the end of that statement. Damn your army background.

“This is the moment that we’ve put you in place for,” Bill confesses, hunching forward on his elbows. Again, you get the impression that he’s trying to reel you in, seducing you with a show of honesty. 

You brace yourself. 

“The DEA is interested in this man, too,” Bill starts, shooting you a pointed look that says ‘I know you already know this.’ You keep your face carefully blank, so Bill continues. “I know that they’ve been working to track his location.”

Something cold coils in your heart. “Are you asking me to spy on Search Bloc?” you ask point blank. 

Bill shakes his head. “No, no, no, Ears,” he chides with an expression of extreme patience, as if you’re a child to him. “That would be counterproductive. We’re all on the same team, after all.” He pins you with a dead-eyed stare that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m asking you to fully engage in your position with the CIA.” Bill stresses the last point, again reminding you of who you are, who you answer to. “You’re a liaison.” He hums a little, all casual disinterest, disarming you, reinforcing the bonds of loyalty that he’s forged with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “So, liaise.”

You realize with a starling, icy jolt of clarity that Bill Stechner has tolerated your relationship with Javier Peña for this very reason, that he’s garnered your favor - accepting your transfer request, giving you a raise, buying you drinks, playing your buddy - all in preparation for using you as his own personal mole in the ranks of Search Bloc.

And you’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Your throat works hard to swallow against a suddenly dry mouth. “I understand, sir.” 

For the first time, Bill doesn’t correct your formality. You hardly notice the shift, though. You’re still reeling from the implications of what he’s asking of you, of how he’s exploited you, taken advantage of all of your vulnerabilities.  Suddenly, you feel as if you’re choking, like a noose is tightening, tightening around your neck. You have to stop yourself from reaching to massage your throat, clenching your hands into tight firsts into your lap instead.

Bill watches it all in cool amusement. “Atta girl,” he praises, and you swear you taste bile. He stands, and you copy him absently, feeling detached and awkward, walking on legs that require all of your attention to keep from trembling. 

Bill claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. His eyes flash with something like pride, and you decide in that moment that you hate him, this motherfucker, almost as much as you hate yourself for falling for his bullshit. 

Goddammit, you’re so fucking stupid.

“Good talk,” he says, and you nod in a way that you hope is contemplative without being telling.

You follow Bill out of the room on wooden legs, your mind spinning with the implications of your conversation. He nods to you as the bookshelf slides shut behind you, and you nod back, relieved to see that he turns to head the opposite direction from the DEA office. 

You glance down at your watch. You’ve got ten minutes if you hurry. With all your heart, you hope that Javi is still working. 

You need to see him.

You push past his glass door, swinging it open hard enough that it bangs ominously against the wall. Javi is still slumped over his desk in the exact same position as before, studying a jumbled series of papers, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his lips.

Your breath catches at the sight of him. 

His head snaps up at your noisy arrival, dark eyes narrowed at the intrusion. His expression softens when he sees that it’s you. 

“Ears.” His voice is a sigh, a release of that same tension that you feel leaking from you own bones, and you dart forward, heedless of who might be watching beyond the glass walls.

“Hey,” you say, shoving aside an opened manilla folder to create a bare space for you to lean against. Javi doesn’t seem to mind that in the least, so you flop up onto his desk, pressing your thigh against his elbow, enjoying the feeling of just sharing the same space.

Javi glances at you, and your something lurches in your chest as you take him in. He looks haggard, exhausted, dark bags gathered beneath his bloodshot eyes like he hasn’t had good night’s sleep in far too long. 

“Another little chat with Stechner?” he grouses, peering up at you with narrow gazed suspicion. 

Your heart sinks, and you have to blink hard against the onslaught of his ire. Javi’s always been grouchy when he’s tired, and there’s nothing that drives him into a funk faster than any mention of Bill Stechner. It’s as if he has a sixth sense in that regard, like he can smell Bill on your skin. 

And that’s a gross thought.

Until now, Javi’s attitude had irked you, and you’d written it off as petty, just another brand of that delightfully obnoxious possessiveness that he’s continuously displayed since your apartment was bombed.

But dammit, you’re the moron here, not Javi. He’d been right not to trust Bill.

You shut your eyes tightly. You wonder if Javi should even trust you, given your most recent assignment. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper, not knowing how to put your many worries into words, and Javi must read your conflicted mood, because he lets the subject drop. He huffs, his attention falling back to the open file on his desk, his long fingers working little tapping patterns into its intricate woodgrain.

You follow his gaze, noticing that he’s been pouring over the same photograph that Bill had shown you in the white room. Feo’s ugly mug leers back at you, a knowing, secretive smirk playing at his upturned lips, like he’s mocking you, the motherfucker.

A flood of emotions swamp you. You’ve watched Javi squinting down at this same photo for days, his mind spinning as he attempts to tease out connections, completely stumped as to how this unassuming, ugly man fits into the bigger picture of Pablo Escobar and his sicarios. 

And now you know, but there’s not a damn thing you can say about it. Bill’s going to be watching you. Hell, he’d admitted as much today. Verbatim. If he thinks that his little spy is sharing classified CIA intel with her DEA boyfriend… 

Well, honestly, you’re not sure what would happen. You just know that it would be bad news for you, and probably even worse for Javi.

You release a deep, broken sigh, exhaling though your nose. You wonder how you’re going to balance it all, working for Bill without betraying Javi.

Well, you absolutely refuse to do that. Fuck Bill Stechner for even asking.

But now, watching Javi huddled over his messy desk, squinting in the dim light because he refuses to wear his fucking glasses, frazzled and careworn and a little cranky, something pulls at your chest. 

Refusing to share this intel feels a lot like a betrayal already, and suddenly, you’re desperate to confess it all to him, to crawl into Javi’s lap and spill your guts and cry and beg for his forgiveness for blowing off his concerns about Stechner, for even entertaining the thought of withholding information from him.

Just as you feel like you’re ready to burst, Javi sighs deeply, flopping the file shut. He grinds out  his cigarette and turns to glance at you, his eyes dark with need. 

Your breath catches.

Then, without a word, Javi pitches forward to rest his head against your thigh. He nuzzles there for a moment, and you find yourself carding your fingers through his hair, helpless against the temptation to touch him, comfort him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a long moment.

“Shh,” you whisper. Guilt gnaws at you. You’re the one who should be sorry. 

But Javi huffs a hot little breath against your leg, and you brush aside all thoughts of who should trust who, of loyalty and ethics and treason and chain of command. Right now, your entire universe is resting his head in your lap, and you’re determined to enjoy this moment, fallout be damned. 

“Baby,” he murmurs into the rough denim of your jeans, and your heart flutters. You bring your opposite hand to rest at the back of his neck, savoring the softness of his skin there, winding your fingers through the curls that brush against his collar.

Javi shudders at your touch, and you remember belatedly that you’re stroking at his number one erogenous zone, teasing him mercilessly without meaning him to. 

Reluctantly, you pull away, resting your palm at the slope of his shoulder instead. “Whoops.”

Javi snorts, craning his neck just enough to arch his only visible eyebrow in your direction. The rest of his face is squished into your thigh.

It’s fucking adorable, and it reminds you all over again how little you deserve him, this precious, perfect man. 

“What’s wrong?” Javi asks, like he’s sensed the direction of your thoughts. He twists further to frown up at you. One hand comes up to rest at the juncture of your hip, his thumb pressing deeply into your skin. 

It’s a comfort. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, because you can hardly say ‘everything.’ You busy yourself with working little circles at the base of Javi’s ear, hoping it’s enough to distract him from his line of questioning. 

 It’s not. Javier Peña has a mind like a steel trap, and he notices everything. “Bull,” he breathes, shutting his eyes despite his best efforts. “You’re worried ‘bout something.”

God, he looks wrecked. 

“I just…” You struggle for the right words to to offer him, come up empty. “God, I hate this.”

That one dark eyes flutters open again, soft with concern. 

“I miss you,” you blurt before he can dig any further. And oh, god, that’s not a lie. You miss Javi so much it fucking burns, even with him nuzzled right here in your lap.

Javi draws a deep breath, rolling over to expose the entire left side of his face. His opposite arm comes up to wrap around your waist so that he’s almost hugging you, his fingers digging gently into your flank. “What time is your shift over, baby?” he mumbles, his one visible eye glinting, nearly feverish with need. 

“Mmm,” you hum, your pulse hammering away in response to the how he’s looking at you. “I can probably be home by eight,” you say sadly. 

And really, that’s pushing it. It all depends on what you hear over the frequencies, and how quickly you can vet it. Anybody’s guess at this point in the game.

Javi blusters a deep sigh that prickles hotly at your inner thigh. “Dammit,” he groans, clenching his eyes shut in frustration.

“What’s your morning like?” In the craziness of the past few days, you’ve completely forgotten his schedule. 

“Early,” Javi mutters darkly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Fuck.” 

“Hardly,” he pouts against your jeans.

And god, you can’t blame him. Resentment wells hot in you. You just want a break, dammit, just a single fucking day to spend with the man you love. 

Is that so much to ask?

Suddenly desperate for more contact, you bend down to drop a gentle kiss at his temple. 

Javi inhales sharply as your lips meet his skin, and you lay there like that, contorting over him in a way that makes your sides ache and probably displays half of your bare back to anybody who happens to walk past the glass walls of the DEA office right now. 

You don’t fucking care. You need this. 

“Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow?” you ask as you finally pull away. You haven’t bothered glancing at your watch, but instinct is telling you that you’re already running late for your shift, and your back is killing you.

Javi sits up, slumping against his office chair with his legs splayed sideways. He’s all wild hair and furrowed brow, and if you weren’t at work, you’d be tempted to crawl into his lap and kiss that contemplative look right off his face.

“That might work,” he says slowly, licking his upper lip a little in that way that means he’s thinking hard. Something coils deep in your belly, and you have to shake your thoughts away from those lips and that tongue, and what all they’re capable of. 

Javi cocks a brow at you, tilting his head a little. “What are you thinking?”

Fuck it, it’s late. You slide off his desk, planting yourself in his lap with your legs spread across his, grinding subtly against his thighs. His belt buckle digs into your belly, but you don’t give a shit. You tilt his face to yours, reveling for half a second in his confused, awestruck expression before you plant your lips on his for a deep, gentle kiss. Javi moans a little at the contact, plaint and responsive against your advances, his hands coming to graze at your back reverently. 

“I was thinking I’d ride,” you whisper against the stubble at his lower jaw just as you lean in to suck at it. 

Javi twitches against you, a tiny jolt of his hips, like he’s tempted to take you right here in his rickety office chair, damn the glass walls. 

“I need to see your face,” you continue, pulling his hands up to rest at your ribs as you rock gently against him, a subtle preview of tomorrow’s menu.

Javi shudders beautifully beneath you. “What, this ol’ thing?’ he teases, nuzzling against your breastbone. You can tell that he’s pleased by the thought. 

“This pretty thing,” you correct, working your way back to his lips. 

Javi bites back a groan as you kiss him. “Was asking about food,” he murmurs against your mouth. “But this is better.” 

“Don’t worry about food,” you say, falling forward to nuzzle against his neck. “I’ll take care of it. And it will be perfect.”

Javi snorts. “Better be takeout, then.” He gathers you against his body with strong arms, cradling you close. You breathe him in, reveling in the distant smell of coffee and stale cigarette, all mixed in with a hint of musky sweat and something smoky and dark that is uniquely Javier Peña. 

“God, baby, I’m looking forward to it,” he confesses against the hollow of your throat, and you throw your head back, shut your eyes and let him ravage you there, just for a moment. 

Javi pulls away far too soon, and you shudder at the loss of him, your body damn near trembling with need. 

He rolls back in his chair, glancing up at you with an apology in his eyes. “It’s eight oh five,” he tells you somberly, and you wince, disentangling yourself from him, stumbling out of his chair and straightening your shirt and threading your fingers through your wild hair in an effort to smooth it down. 

“How do I look?” you ask after a moment, backing up enough to give him the full effect of you. 

Javi’s eyes are burning as he takes you in, damn near shimmering with want and exhaustion and pent up emotion, and you curse Bill Stechner once again for butting his big nose into your relationship, for complicating things that should be so fucking simple.

“Perfect,” Javi says lowly, his lips pursed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with some thought that you can’t name. “Fucking perfect.”

Something wrenches in your chest, and you catch your breath, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. You suck them down, frustrated at how often life in Colombia seems to draw your emotions to the forefront. 

Nobody needs that. 

You lean forward, unable to resist dropping one last, chaste kiss to Javi’s forehead. “Go to bed, Javi,” you whisper against his skin. You pull away, a gentle, teasing smile spreading across your face. “Seriously, baby. It’s just getting stupid now.”

You wink at him, and Javi huffs a little laugh. “Get out of here, Ears,” he grouses, waving a lazy hand at you, but his smile is gentle and soft, and you know that he’s recognized the reference for what it is.

Feeling lighter than you have in days, you shoot him one last cheeky wave. Javi blows a little kiss at you in response, and your heart stutters at the gesture. 

God, he’s such a sap.

You damn near dance to the Centra Spike office, slipping into your headphones a full ten minutes later than you really should. Nobody bats an eyelash, though, and you busy yourself with the normal nightshift bullshit, sipping your coffee and switching to the proper frequencies, the promise of tomorrow glowing in your heart. 

♠

notes/confessions:

I struggled so hard with this. I still don’t love it, but I’m sick of looking at it, so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay, I know I have thrown some massive plot things at you this week. I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s a lot. Feel free to ask me questions. I’ve tried to make things as clear as possible, but I’m only human, Narcos is complicated af anyway, and Better Love is even worse, probably. 

Look for updates to slow back down again, because a) I actually do have a job, and b) we’re getting close to the point where I’m going to have to start posting If I Fall, and I want to have my chapters outlined a little better and maybe even a few deep before I do that. Look for a few little fluffy one-shots scattered between then and now, but guys... for the most part, the pieces are in place, and we are in the home stretch - of the setup, that is. 

Holy fucking shit.

Tags:  @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @hotspacepilots, @mostly-megan, @starlight-starwrites​, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty, @lv7867, @pascalisthepunkest, @sarahjkl82-blog, @corrupt-fvcker, @artsymaddie, @leonieb, @justanotherblonde23, @princess-and-pedro

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me, @mandoandgrogu, @hybrid-in-progress, @va-guardianhathaway, @speakerforthedead0, @feminist-violinist, @herefortheart, @dontmindifidontt, @blo0dangel 

[lupinlongbottom]

Shortie

Fred Weasley x Short!Reader

Summary: (Y/N) is short. Plain and simple. While she admits this to herself, she hates, more than anything, than the nickname a certain redhead has tagged her with.

Prompt: Can I request a Fred Weasley x Reader with a short reader? And Fred thinks she’s adorable and flirts with her all the time? - Anon

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: Yeah. I love Fred Weasley. I bet you do too, hm? Yeah you do!! Welcome to the club  we meet on every other Thursday

__

(Y/N) (L/N) loathed being called short. She was short, to their point, but it was always an awfully un-clever observation. No one ever thought to call her ‘bright’ or ‘pretty’, it was always ‘short’ or—

“Hey, shortie!” 

(Y/N) turned around, her books held tightly to her chest. It didn’t take a genius to know who’s voice it could’ve been, but she looked anyway, scowling.

“What do you want, Weasley?” She continued her previous steps, the flats of her feet slapping against the marble rhythmically.  

“Woah,” Fred said, holding his hands up, running to her side. “Such hostility, coming from such a small thing…”

(Y/N) pulled the books tighter into her chest, the covers reaching her chin. “What do you want?” She repeated, ignoring the redhead who was now matching her rather brisk pace.

“What? Can’t a guy try and flirt with the cutest little thing at school?” Fred said teasingly. (Y/N) could hardly tell if he was joking or not, a common theme from the Weasley brothers.

“Calling someone ‘shortie’ isn’t considered flirting,” (Y/N) huffed, feeling her fingers curl around the spines of her books, the tips tracing the musty covers. “Hardly would get you any points from anyone.”

“You see,” Fred clicked, pointing a finger. “I said ‘try’, didn’t say it was working,” he glanced up and down the girl quickly, grinning, “though, you’re talking to me, so something must’ve worked.”

“Do that with all the girls, do you? Flirt constantly to see if something sticks?” (Y/N) said, almost breaking a smile. A small tug at her lips peeked through the cracks, one that Fred noticed instantly, a warmth spreading quickly to his cheeks.

“No,” Fred said, shaking his head. “Just with you.”

“Right,” (Y/N) said, laughing genuinely. “Sure, Weasley,” she turned the corner, reaching her destination, her next class. “If you don’t mind, I actually have somewhere to be right now, so—”

“Funny,” Fred laughed, opening the classroom door. “Me too. Forgot we had Charms together, huh?”

She didn’t.

“Easy to forget,” (Y/N) said, pushing past Fred, hoping to reach her seat before Flitwick had their heads. “I focus entirely on the lecture, unlike somebody I know.”

“Hard to focus when the prettiest girl in school sits across the way from me,” Fred said, eyeing (Y/N) down.

“Oh sure,” (Y/N) scoffed, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the creeping heat flowing across her face. “That’s your problem.”

“Though, it’s hard to see you behind your stack of books. I reckon you could use one of them to boost yourself up, it’d be easier to spot you—”

(Y/N) smacked his arm, hard, before fleeing to her assigned seat. She held back a scoff, not letting Fred get the better of her and her reactions. Pulling the various textbooks from her bag, (Y/N) scooted them slightly more to the left for no reason in particular.

__

Studying was a chore, something that (Y/N) loathed to do, but understood it’s importance in her academic life and future. As far as libraries go, the one at Hogwarts wasn’t the worst one she’d been in. Surely the temptation of practically anything and everything one would or could possibly know about the magical community and world around them was just at their fingertips, pages away from their young minds. However, instead of the fun material she could be reading, she was stuck scribbling lines from a textbook about various charms she’d never need to use.

“Honestly, making legs grow on teacups? How absurd…” (Y/N) mumbled to herself, scribbling the incantation down in a bolder ink, underlining it lightly.

“Reckon you could try it on yourself,” A voice said, pulling up into the chair next to her. “Maybe you’ll grow a bit, hm?” 

“Weasley,” (Y/N) clicked, setting her quill down harshly. “I’m trying to study, can’t you go bother some other poor soul? Throw a dungbomb around or whatever you and your brother get up to?”

“Nah, we ran out of dungbombs a bit back,” Fred said, picking at his fingernails, examining them closely. “We planted some frog spawn soap in the bathroom near here, but that’s going to take a while to kick in,” He glanced at the roll of parchment beneath (Y/N)’s hand, covering her writing. “What? Don’t want me to cheat off of you?”  

“Exactly,” (Y/N) hummed, placing another hand atop her words. “You haven’t done the assignment yet, so I’m not going to let you read mine.”

“Smart,” Fred said, nodding his head. “Really smart.”

“Thank you?” (Y/N) said, almost unsure. 

“Tell me, shortie,” Fred said, leaning in. “While you’re here hiding your work, do you need me to grab any books off the top shelf? I have long arms, you know…”

“Nope,” (Y/N) said warmly, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I’ve got all I need, thanks.”

“You sure?” He asked again, cracking his signature grin, his eyebrow pointed. “You sure you don’t need Charmingly Charming Charms by Gretchen Hopstock?” He pulled a red book from behind his back. “I know that Georgie and I needed to look at it when we were finishing our assignment…”

“You did the assignment? You’re bluffing!” (Y/N) said, bewildered and confused at the recent discovery. “There’s no way!”

“Yeah,” Fred laughed. “No way you’re reaching that book without my help,” he laughed again, the voice as smooth as honey, “it belongs on the sixth shelf, second case in. Seeing as you can barely reach the fifth shelf without your tiptoes—”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Hard not to,” Fred said, grinning. “It’s rather cute, watching you struggle just a bit. Of course, just say the word and I’ll leave the book here instead of putting it back.”

“I’m good,” (Y/N) said, shooting back an equally large grin, hoping the mockery would hit him in the face and let him leave. “But thanks!” 

Fred shrugged, turning quickly on his heels. He took five steps into the bookcase, eyes quickly scanning across the various covers, hoping to find the empty spot he had pulled the book from previously. With extra care, he slid the book back into its home, turning back to grin at (Y/N).

“I didn’t need it, anyway.”

“We’ll see, shortie,” Fred said, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Though, tell me,” Fred said, pointing to (Y/N)’s hands, still covering her parchment. “You’ve let that ink dry before smacking your hand on your writing, right?”

(Y/N) froze.

“Nah,” Fred laughed, waving his hand. “I’m sure it’s fine, you’re a bright witch, there’s no way that you would’ve done that,” he laughed again, turning back to his table of friends, neatly settled on the other side of the library. “No way.”

(Y/N) waited a few beats before prying her fingers off the paper, sure enough, the ink wasn’t done drying when she placed her skin atop of it. A puddling of what could’ve been words flowed along her skin, thankfully her parchment was still somewhat legible. She hesitated for a moment, debating on packing up her things and leaving entirely, or excusing herself for a moment to wash her hands. She chose the latter. 

“Stupid Fred, stupid ‘shortie’, stupid book…” (Y/N) mumbled to herself, entering the girls lavatory quickly. The sooner she cleaned her stained hands, the sooner she could finish her assignment and the sooner she could ignore Fred Weasley. (Y/N) turned on the tap, allowing the hot water to cover her hands, a good majority of the black ink flowing directly into the water. 

“Honestly,” (Y/N) said, grabbing the bar of soap, scrubbing vigorously. “What is wrong with me? He’s just some stupid boy…” She glanced up at her reflection, the pink in her cheeks practically glowing. “A stupid boy with a stupid smile…” Her face softened, recalling the way he grinned at her, a face he only seemed to direct at her and her alone, she had noticed. She never stared too long, honest, but she wasn’t dumb. Maybe he did truly like her. Maybe she liked him. Maybe.

The moment, however, ended quickly, as (Y/N) felt the soap beneath her move slightly. She looked down, only to find tadpoles swimming in sink and wriggling between her fingers.

Her scream rang throughout the castle.

__

The orange autumn day basked over the courtyard, the gaggles of cliques and friends finally were returning from Hogsmeade that fateful Saturday. (Y/N) had spent more than she’d like to admit at Honeydukes, her friends egging her to buy ‘just one more’ chocolate frog. Though, to their point, having a few extras around wouldn’t have been the worst idea.

(Y/N) settled herself down next to the fountain, allowing herself to get her recommended fifteen minutes of solitude she desperately needed. The burbling of the water and the idle chatter of students around her was calming, a white noise to her loud thoughts.

“Shortie!” Fred called from across the courtyard, leaving George behind. The other twin looked almost shocked, but only for a moment, his gaze falling upon the girl at the base of the fountain. He shrugged and waltzed away, knowing very well that Fred would catch up later.

“Fred,” (Y/N) said, not opening her eyes. She continued to take in deep breaths, focusing harder on the fountain behind her. “What is it?”

“Woah,” Fred said, almost taken aback. “Not ‘Weasley’? We’re on a first-name basis now?” 

“Could you try and be quiet?” (Y/N) said, taking in another deep breath. “I’m trying to enjoy a few moments of silence,” she opened an eye, glancing at Fred, “I know how hard silence is for you.”

“Please,” Fred scoffed, falling down next to (Y/N), hands folded in his lap. “I can be silent.”

“Prove it,” (Y/N) said, closing her eyes again, taking a deep breath.

“Fine,” Fred said, staring straight ahead, trying to prove his point. The sounds of the fountain were calming, he noticed. Frankly, he wanted to make fun of the spot (Y/N) had chosen, but after thinking about it for a few moments, he understood.

Fred couldn’t help but glance over to the girl on his right, noting how even seated next to one another, their height difference rang true. He never sat next to her, not this close, she never gave him the chance. His eyes floated over to the bag at her side, a Honeydukes one, to be exact. Without a second thought, as silently as he could, he pulled the bag onto his lap. Thankfully, (Y/N) hadn’t heard. Fingering through the bag, he noted the various chocolate frogs, a box of fudge flies and a package of jelly slugs. All favorites of hers.

“Of course…” Fred laughed quietly, examining the bag a little deeper. A smaller bag reached his grasp, the packaging seeming familiar. He had seen these bags plenty of times before, in fact, George had been carrying one on their way back from Hogsmeade.

“What’re you doing?” (Y/N) said, careful not to shout, to draw more attention to herself. She noticed the bag in Fred’s lap after he had stayed quiet for a bit too long, a feat she clearly thought was a prank. She reached forward. “Gimme that!”

“Nope,” Fred said, standing up quickly, bag still in his grasp. “Why do you have a Zonko’s bag in here? I don’t think they have any products that’ll help you grow—”

“Will you quit it!?” (Y/N) finally shouted, rising to her feet. Fred froze, just for a moment. “Honestly! It’s all ‘shortie’ this and ‘shortie’ that! Could you cut it out for just—cut it out for a moment?!”

“(Y/N), I—”

“Yeah?” (Y/N) spat, ripping the bag from Fred’s grip, clutching it close to her side. “Gonna ask me to speak up because I’m so far away from you? You, all the way up there and me, so terribly close to the ground, might as well be dirt—”

“(Y/N) I’m sorry,” Fred said, almost sternly. Whatever grin he had on his face earlier surely dissipated. “I didn’t think that, that nickname bothered you so much, had you told me I would’ve—”

“Would’ve stopped? Yeah right. Biggest prankster in the whole school stopping something because someone asked nicely?”

“I would’ve stopped because you asked me,” Fred said, making his word choice clear. “Honest.”

“I don’t believe it,” (Y/N) said.

“Why do you think I call you shortie to begin with? Has it ever crossed your mind that I could’ve chosen anything else in the English—or perhaps French—language to call you?” Fred asked, not expecting a reply. “I mean, yeah, obviously you’re short—”

“You call people loads of other things, why not one of those?”

“What? Do you mean prat or git?” Fred laughed. “I could never think about calling you that, are you being serious?”

“What’s so hard to believe? You call everyone else things like that!” 

“Yeah? Well I don’t fancy everyone else, do I?”

“Fancy?” (Y/N) said, fighting back a laugh. “That’s how you treat someone you fancy? It’s so elementary, Fred. Would you like to pull on my hair to really drive your message home?”

“Oh shut it,” Fred said, his voice low, cheeks growing red. “I’m not good at things like this… affection, flirting…”

“You? Not good at flirting?” (Y/N) said, letting herself laugh. “Now that’s funny.”

“How so?”

“Please, half of the words that come out of your mouth make me want to crawl as far as I can in my jumper, hide from the embarrassment,” (Y/N) admitted, feeling a bit honest. “From what I’ve heard from the other girls in our year, you seem to have that effect on women.”

“Really?” Fred smiled. “I make you all flustered?”

“Y-you make other girls flustered, too!” (Y/N) said rather quickly. “Don’t go and twist my words.”

“Ah,” Fred clicked, rocking on his feet. “But you admit it, I make you flustered.”

“P-perhaps,” (Y/N) said, the back of her neck growing hot to the touch, the heat rising to her ears. “Perhaps a bit, yes.”

“Then, that’s all that matters, hm?” Fred said, smiling.

“What? Do you get some sort of pleasure of getting me flustered?” (Y/N) said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Of course I do,” Fred laughed. “Doesn’t every guy want to see the girl they like get all hot and bothered, especially by their own words and smirks?”

“I suppose,” (Y/N) said, nodding. “But, why me? Of call the girls you could possibly fancy, I’m the one you’ve gone after?”

“You challenge me, (Y/N),” Fred shrugged. “I like the chase, what can I say?” He let out another laugh, the sound ringing throughout the courtyard. “Besides, you’re rather pretty and have got the cutest laugh—little snorts and all—”

“I do not snort!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “I just—my laugh isn’t—I don’t… snort…”

“Awh,” Fred took a step closer, placing his hand hesitantly on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “S’all right, (Y/N), I think it’s cute. I think you’re cute.”

“Shut it…” (Y/N) said, looking away. After all that talk of getting flustered around Fred, why was her own body betraying her so poorly? Surely Fred could see the pink in her cheeks, there was no point in trying to hide it. “I think you’re cute too…” she mumbled, the words barely passing her lips.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch that?” Fred said, grinning.

“I said I think you’re cute too,” (Y/N) repeated, her voice louder. “There, happy?”

“Elated,” Fred said, his smile growing softer. “Since you think I’m terribly attractive—”

“That’s not what I said—”

“And since I think you’re terribly adorable, what do you say to us going on a date? Say… next weekend, Hogsmeade? You, me, a couple of butterbeers against the world?”

“I’d like that,” (Y/N) said. “I’d like that quite a bit, actually.”

“Wicked,” Fred said, removing his hand from (Y/N)’s shoulder, knowing if he didn’t, he’d probably do something stupid, something she’d slap him silly for even trying. “Now that we’re on the same page, tell me (Y/N)…” he slanted his eyes, “what did you purchase from Zonko’s? Doesn’t seem like your type of store.”

“I…” (Y/N) chose her words carefully, feeling the bag at her side grow almost heavy. “I bought some hiccoughing sweets… to… give to you…”

“You… were going to try and prank me?” Fred said, his finger pointed at his chest. “A woman after my own heart! Oh, (Y/N), you don’t know how attractive that is.”

“I didn’t buy them to seduce you, Weasley,” (Y/N) laughed. “I bought them for… revenge purposes only.”

“Revenge? For the shortie thing? That seems a bit much,” Fred said, crossing his arms. “Don’t you think?”

“Oh no,” (Y/N) said, waving her hand. “The shortie thing doesn’t bother me nearly that bad,” Fred gave her a look, “what? Can’t a girl apologize? Regardless, it wasn’t because of that.”

“Alright, shortie,” Fred said, using the nickname again, dipping a toe in the water. (Y/N) smiled, just a bit. “Then what could you possibly need to get revenge for?”

“Frog spawn soap, women’s lavatory near the library.”

“Holy shit,” Fred said, suppressing a laugh. “That was you? Your scream was so hilarious!”

“I went to go wash the ink off my hands and—”

“So you did get ink on your hands,” Fred said, leaning closer. “I knew it.”

“Your soap,” (Y/N) said, ignoring Fred’s teasing. “Probably will give me nightmares about hand washing for the rest of my life… I figured a few prank-sweets would compensate it fairly.”

“Well played,” Fred said, nodding. “It’s a good plan, though I’d re-think it now that I know all about your devious little scheme, wouldn’t you agree? Try something that’ll really grind my gears, hm?”

“Grind your gears?”

“Yeah, the key to a good revenge, or revenge prank is the one that while the other isn’t expecting, also annoys—”

Without a second thought, (Y/N) leaned upwards, reaching as far as her toes could get her. She grabbed Fred’s face, placing a soft peck to the space near his lips, dangerously close, but not quite touching. She fell back onto the flats of her feet, grinning widely at the now-speechless Weasley in front of her.

“One that the other isn’t expecting? I’ll have to remember that,” (Y/N) said, taking a few steps away from Fred, ready to leave the courtyard. “What? Kneazle have your tongue?”

“I just…” Fred sputtered, trying to find the words. Of all the things he had expected from (Y/N), teasing him to that caliber was not at the top of his list. “I just, didn’t expect you to reach that high,” he forced a laugh, trying to cover up his embarrassment, “shortie.”

(Y/N) smiled softly at the boy, turning her heels to leave. The sound of Fred’s soft laughter met her ears, him surely doing a little jig, something she knew she would see if she turned around, but (Y/N) let him have his moment. Turns out, she didn’t hate that nickname after all. More specifically, she didn’t hate the boy it came from, not one bit.

__

General Tag List: @maralisa124 / @leighxlover / @hey-its-me-rai / @missihart23 / @biatheintrovert / @luna-xxxxx / @chocolaterumble / @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy / @steve-thotgers / @greeneyedthief / @kitkatkl / @thelightsideoflife / @thataudreydork / @badgirlsdeaddreams

Fred Weasley Tag List: @carolinesbookworld / @flyawayjulianna

if your name is crossed out, i could not tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out to me if that’s the case. if you would like to be removed from a tag list, send me a message!

want to be added to a tag list? hmu in the replies or ask box with what characters you’d like to be tagged with! PLEASE BE SPECIFIC ON WHAT TAG LIST YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED ON!

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 37: A Trevelyan’s Word

Tristan and Dorian spend some much needed quiet time together. Some fluff, a tiiiiny bit of angst (blink and you’ll miss it), and some important conversations.

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

Libraries had always been one of Dorian’s favourite places to be, ever since he could remember himself.

After having lived in so many different Circles, and having worked and studied in many more, gravitating towards the nearest library wherever he happened to be was something like second nature to him. He remembered the layout of every one he’d visited in startling detail: the neat rows of bookcases of the Carastes Circle; the circular library tower of the Circle of Trevis, with its tinted glass windows that had been specifically designed to protect the priceless tomes from the scorching sun and the dust; the vast Library of Minrathous, where one could easily lose themselves in unless they had a chart, a compass, a detailed floor plan and perhaps said a prayer or two. Regardless of the size, layout or method of archiving, finding what he was looking for had always been a swift matter, each library’s secrets revealing themselves to him readily after one brief sweep of the many rooms and shelves.

Never once had he encountered a library as reticent as the one in Skyhold.

After several months there, he still could not figure out the organisational system that the books had once been stored in. He’d assumed it was because of all the different kinds of people that had once resided there, but even in the oldest and most dilapidated libraries he had visited there was some method to the madness. In Skyhold, however, there was just madness.

Books on Pyromancy, which he had personally moved to the top floor - where they belonged, alongside the treatises on Primal magic- would magically appear on the lower floor shelves, alongside the tomes on Entropy magic. The scrolls of ancient Tevinter glyphs and spells, which he had found after sorting through the multitude of Chantry books that seemed to be practically sprouting out of the soil in that place, and that he had painstakingly cleaned from dust and arranged in alphabetical order in the booth next to his own, had now disappeared into thin air. The apprentice archivists, when he’d asked them, had simply stared at him with the sparkling gazes of well-fed heifers. One of them had had the audacity to look him straight in the eye and unironically say:

“If it’s Spirit glyphs you’re interested in, why don’t you read Former Second Enchanter Muriel’s research? Those scrolls you're looking for are outdated, anyway.”

Outdated? Outdated! The very notion had had Dorian grinding his teeth. As if seeing Former Second Enchanter Muriel’s sour visage every day, and listening to her endless tirades about Tevinter and anything else that displeased her wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t touch that tiresome crone’s research with a ten foot pole— no, make it twenty feet. One could never be too safe.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance as he shoved the book on Alchemy he’d found lying forgotten by the side of the wrong bookcase back in its proper shelf. If he’d known the level of ignorance and buffoonery he would be met with in the South, he would have seriously reconsidered ever leaving Minrathous. Oh, certainly, his homeland was a nest of vipers, but at least Tevinters knew how to organise a dratted library.

Now, if only he could find who in the Maker’s dratted name had gone through his dratted scrolls—

A glance at the research table across the rotunda promptly answered his question.

“Helisma,” he grumbled through clenched teeth as he stomped towards her. Priceless scrolls and documents were gathered willy-nilly in her arms, as well as the arms of the two apprentices that trailed her. The Tranquil looked up at him calmly when he barred her way.

“May I ask what on earth you have been doing with all the scrolls? You are the one who snatched them away, and don’t you even try to deny it.”

“I moved them to the underground storage rooms.”

That she could deliver those lines without an ounce of emotion was entirely bewildering, despite the fact that she was, indeed, a Tranquil. He forced his lips into a tight, sarcastic smile. “Why would you do that, pray tell? What have the poor things done to offend you so? Surely whatever it was could have been resolved over some tea and crumpets, instead of banishment to the nearest dungeon.”

She simply blinked at him, her tone completely flat as she informed him, “The upper levels of the library are reserved for leather bound tomes and codexes. The underground storage rooms are where scrolls, manuscripts and loose documents should be kept.”

“Helisma, my dear,” Dorian uttered tightly, trying his best not to lose his composure and start yelling in the middle of the library where everybody and their aunts could hear, “we have been over this. There is no reason for the scrolls to be there. They are needed here, where they can be used. The storage rooms are as damp as it gets, certainly you must be able to see that keeping ancient and fragile scrolls there is not the wisest course of action?”

“The humidity in the storage rooms is less than forty percent. That is lower than the Circle of Amaranthine’s storage rooms by five point two degrees.”

“And you’re saying it as if it’s a good thing? If the humidity in the Minrathous library was half as high, the master archivist would be having an apoplexy!” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath. There clearly wasn’t any way of making sense of this, and he would sooner teach a mule to dance than talk Helisma out of her ways. “Very well. Have it your way. I’ll see what I’ll be able to salvage from this mess.” He sniffed and tossed his head back in defiance as he turned around and stomped back the way he’d come, leaving a blank-eyed Helisma behind.

The chill in the lower vaults was unmistakable, cutting through his many layers of clothing and piercing him right to the bone. Dorian resisted the urge to frown as he gathered his cloak around his shoulders. Any more of that, and he would getting wrinkles before his time, and he had enough as it was. Ever since coming to the South, he had noticed a few more around his eyes that he was sure had not been there a few months before. If this went on any longer, he would be looking like a shrivelled up prune by the time this entire Inquisition business was done.

The stray thought made him stop short, there, in the half dark and quiet of the vaults. Part of him wasn’t sure if he wished the Inquisition business to be done, he realised. Of course, he wanted Corypheus and his Venatori to be defeated, more than anyone. If this were done, the world would have a chance to recover, and with it his country’s reputation. Still… the thought of the future brought with it a certain amount of trepidation. Trevelyan would ultimately be the one to face all those dangers, and no one knew how he would be affected. His life was on the line, day after day, and Dorian more than anyone could see how it was stretching him thin. Even if everything went according to plan though, even if they both survived this ordeal, no one knew what the future held for the two of them. For the time being, they were bound by this common cause. Beyond this… only time could tell.

The worry and unease that he so often tried to brush away slithered to the surface. Dorian took a deep breath to quell it. There was no point thinking of the future, when everything about the present was so uncertain. Trevelyan was alive and well now, as much as he could be, and that was all that mattered.

Brushing the thoughts aside, Dorian turned right as soon as he’d reached the storage room he was looking for. It was the farthest down the corridor, with only a lone torch burning.

Torches. Amidst all this paper. The horror.

The sounds beyond the door of the storage room quickly revealed that there was someone else there, shifting through the many scrolls and documents in the cramped space. At least she had the sense to conjure a small ball of light, which was now hovering above her as she searched, its halo glossing her cropped black hair. She gave a small start when she heard him entering, her large blue eye widening.

“Lord Pavus,” Grand Enchanter Fiona breathed, pressing her palm to her chest. Or was it just Fiona, now? “You frightened me.”

“My apologies,” he said. He clasped his hands behind his back and glanced at the scrolls she had been shifting through. “I see I wasn’t the only one who has found the scrolls Helisma has banished down here useful.”

“Ah, yes. She does have some strong opinions about where everything should be stored. I’m not entirely certain I agree.”

She gave Dorian the barest hints of a smile. Their interactions had always been kept serious and professional, both of them taking care not to linger in each other’s presence too long, despite them practically sharing the same workspace. At first, it was because Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, and he had the suspicion that his presence made her just as uneasy. However, he had soon found out that she didn’t particularly invite any interaction beyond the typical. The former Grand Enchanter and Grey Warden had kept a low profile ever since joining the Inquisition, more so after they had taken permanent residence in Skyhold, and Dorian didn’t blame her for that. There had been enough talk about her, even without her stirring any sort of trouble or gossip.

Even so, the fact that the former leader of the mage rebellion, who had —unknowingly, allegedly— struck a deal with the Venatori and had been banished from Ferelden because of it, could go by largely unnoticed at all was an impressive feat. Still, she managed to do just that. Most days.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for? Can I be of any help?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. You’re much better versed with those scrolls than I assume I am.” A compliment? That was promising. “I’m searching for Magister Domitius’ research on reanimated undead. I do remember seeing a copy a while ago, in loose papers, but it disappeared before I had time to properly bind it. Have you perhaps seen it?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes in thought as he looked around the stacks. It didn’t take long for him to spot a few sheets of paper hastily rolled and bound with a leather cord. “That seems to be it,” he said as he dragged it out carefully and handed it to her. Fiona inclined her head in gratitude, unwrapping the document with slow, careful motions.

“Thank you. That was most helpful.”

“Anytime.” Dorian took a step back, giving the mage some time and space to inspect the discovery. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as she read, her lips pursing in thought. She was short in stature, and could easily be overlooked if she wished it to be so. Yet there was something about her, a commanding presence and a stubborn streak that was hard to define, and to hide.

“I studied this one many years ago," he mused, crossing his arms before his chest. "It’s a rather interesting treatise, although some of the glyphs for releasing the spells that bind the undead are quite crude.”

“Crude, but effective. That is just what is needed right now. I hear the undead have claimed many lives all over Thedas, and will likely claim many more.”

“So grim, so early in the day? Grand Enchanter, I expected more from you.”

The elf glanced up at him, her lips quirked in amusement. “Former Grand Enchanter, if you please. Or you can just call me Fiona, as everyone else does these days.” The smile faded away as she looked down at the scroll once more. “One does learn to be grim after seeing as many deaths as I have. It is a hard thing to shake off.”

The silence that followed between them was somewhat awkward, with her carefully studying the writing on the yellowed and musty pages. Still, if there was something Dorian was good at, that was filling the silence. “So how come you’re studying the undead? I wasn’t aware that necromancy was your field of study.”

“It is not. The Inquisitor reported a large number of demons and undead in Crestwood, and some of the Inquisition mages were assigned with coming up with strategies to defend the villages until the Inquisitor is able to close the rift. I have experience battling the creatures, so I volunteered to investigate the matter further and to train the new recruits.”

Dorian’s stomach tightened ever so slightly. There were so many issues that demanded Trevelyan’s attention, he often wondered how the man found time to eat or sleep. He certainly seemed to be doing much less of both these days. That he found time to spend with Dorian at all when they were in Skyhold was a marvel in and of itself. Even before leaving for Crestwood, before the ordeal they’d both been through with the demon, he'd seemed so gaunt and pale, wrung out. The Inquisition was stretching him thin. Dorian wondered if ever the time would come that it would break him.

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow past the knot in his throat. He wouldn’t let it come to this, not if he could help it. He would stand by him, help him as much as he could. That was what a partner did, after all, wasn’t it?

“It is very noble of you, to offer to help with the matter,” he told her, in an effort to distract himself from his thoughts.

“Not at all. It is the least I can do to aid the Inquisition’s efforts.” She let out a soft sigh as she rolled the scroll back up carefully. “The way things ended in Redcliffe, the Inquisitor could have demanded anything he wished. Instead, he offered us a full alliance, and our dignities back. That is not something I am about to forget.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose he could have ordered you to become the Inquisition court jesters, as I hear the Orlesians seem to be doing with their mages.”

Fiona stared at him for a brief moment, until she realised he was jesting. She let out a chuckle then, shaking her head lightly. “I am glad he did not.”

Dorian joined her in laughter, the awkwardness between them dissipating somewhat. Affection and a strange sort of pride blossomed within him when he remembered Trevelyan in the hall of Redcliffe castle, only the bearer of the mark back then, with no real authority to his name, standing tall and proud before the King of Ferelden himself and declaring the mages equal partners of the Inquisition. Everyone had thought him mad, Dorian included. Looking back, perhaps it was around then that Dorian had fallen in love with him in earnest. A fool he certainly was, but a brave, beautiful, extraordinary fool at that.

“He has been known to make some interesting choices,” Dorian said, not quite able to hide the tenderness in his voice. “Some of them correct.”

“I dare hope it’s more than some.” She glanced up at him, and the pale light of her spell danced in her eyes. “The world has taken much from all of us, I suspect most of all from him. Still, I have faith that if anyone can see us through it all, it’s him. Not many would have done what he did. To declare an alliance with the mages, to shun the Chantry, to forge a new path, a new way of doing things... that takes courage. Or madness.”

“He has a fair bit of both.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “He is… an odd character. His ideas are odder still. Quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” She tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, and Dorian thought he saw something in her eyes, something akin to sadness, even more akin to sympathy as she regarded him. “I suppose it’s the same for you, yes?”

Dorian straightened, preparing himself to deflect the comment, to deny it, but something stopped him. He let out a soft breath instead, gazing at her levelly. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

A brief silence stretched between them. Fiona smiled fleetingly before looking down at the scrolls in her hands once more. “Thank you for your help in finding these. It is much appreciated.”

Dorian stepped to the side to let her pass. She left, her footsteps barely making a sound.

He let out a sigh into the quiet of the small storage room. Fiona’s words about Trevelyan had been kind, almost fond, and certainly much nicer than what many others he’d heard, yet even she couldn’t hide the depth of her expectations, her hopes. Dorian didn’t envy Trevelyan the power of his position much. The world expected so much of him, sometimes it did feel like it was perched upon his shoulders.

The scrolls stared at him sullenly from their shelves. Dorian pushed his shirtsleeves up and summoned a bright ball of light above his head. There was plenty of work for him to do. If everyone was doing their part to help the Inquisition, Dorian would do twice— no, three times as much.

When he lifted his head from his desk and looked out the window of the small nook in the library he called his office, it was already dark.

Dorian frowned back down at his own notes, sprawled before him messily like a blanket of autumn leaves freshly fallen from the bough. He had been poring over them for the better part of the day, after finding the scrolls he had been looking for. He was sure the copies he had made from the Venatori ritual in the Emerald Grave were correct, but they made no sense. Surely whoever had come up with those glyphs knew what they were doing, to some extent, but Dorian just couldn’t make out what they were trying to do exactly. The ritual itself was eerily similar to the one he had remembered finding years ago in the Minrathous library, but there were some fundamental differences. The Venatori had tried to control the power of the spell by tweaking central parts of the glyphs, but those they’d used for the binding clashed with the glyph right across from them, which was a bastardised version of a well-known affliction hex to weaken the subject’s mental defences. No wonder the poor people the Venatori had used the ritual on were turned to drooling, unresponsive vegetables; their mind was turned to jelly long before the actual mind-control spell was cast.

And it would be quite fortunate if that was the only problem he’d encountered. Trying to figure out the logic behind it was giving him headaches. There was something here, something that eluded him, Dorian was sure of it. That certainty only made him more intent on finding exactly how the ritual worked, and for that he needed resources that were not available to him at present. Tilani’s answer to the letter he had sent her regarding the original scroll was yet to arrive. It probably hadn’t even reached her yet.

Dorian suppressed the urge to curse the South and their terrible postal system, and reached for one of the dusty tomes he had managed to find in a forgotten part of the library instead. There was a glyph amongst those he had managed to copy that reminded suspiciously of Disthenes’ version of a glyph of paralysis. Now this, this he could work with. He had studied the Tevinter’s work extensively while he’d been holed up in the Circle of Marothius, and his memory was still fresh. If he used Disthenes’ theorems and altered the glyphs enough to make them work, in combination with Enchanter Hallesis’ equations in order to fix those horrible spirit-manipulating spells he’d seen the Venatori using...

Dorian let out a soft sigh. He probably should leave the matter alone, he knew that. There was little chance of figuring out how the ritual worked, or rather, didn’t work, without the original scroll he had asked Tilani to find. Yet, he’d already been working on this too long to let it go like this. If he was able to make some modicum of progress on his own, or better yet, find a way to work out some of the kink and errors in the glyphs he’d copied from the ritual, then he might be able to find a way to reverse it as well. The Inquisition needed knowledge like this, if they happened to chance upon a Venatori ritual like that again. Knowing what weapons and spells the Venatori had in their arsenal was half the battle, wasn’t it?

He half jolted out of his seat when he felt warm lips brushing the shell of his ear, a hand skimming his waist. “Four hundred and twenty two.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, smiling at the sound of Trevelyan’s voice. How that man could walk up to him without making a sound, he could never understand. “Four hundred and twenty two, what?”

“Minutes. I’ve been counting.” He leaned forward, catching Dorian’s lips in a gentle kiss. The library was empty at that hour— Dorian thanked the Maker for that. He sighed as he turned around in his chair, his hand finding its way to the back of Trevelyan’s neck to deepen their kiss. He tasted of spiced, honeyed wine, with a mild undertone of the sweet and tart dried apples he always kept on him.

“Have you, now?” he murmured teasingly.

“Yes. I told you I would, didn’t I?” Trevelyan’s smile widened. “My word is my bond.”

A flush crept up Dorian’s cheeks with the warmth in Trevelyan’s gaze. He was peering at him with so much tenderness, and with their proximity Dorian could smell the warmth of his body, the faint smell of his soap. He realised then, that although they’d only been apart since that morning, he had missed him. And the fact that Trevelyan had come straight to him after finishing with his duties, with the black ink from signing his reports still staining his fingers, made him feel warmer still. He suddenly couldn’t wait to be alone with him again, to touch and kiss him freely without worrying about who was to see, to avail himself of the body that hid beneath that snugly fitting dark blue coat.

With his heart beating with a strange sort of giddiness, Dorian turned around and gathered his papers, placed them in the drawer of his desk and locked it securely. “So,” he said, standing up, “shall we retire to your quarters? I’d rather not spend another minute here, thank you very much.”

Trevelyan took his hand, threading his fingers through his. “There’s something I want us to do first.”

Read the rest on AO3!

[hongism]

finding beauty in your darkest places - chapter 9

➻ Pairing: reader x ???

➻ Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Angst, Fluff

➻ Word Count: 5894

➻ Warnings: strong language; deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable

➻ Rating: PG-13/PG-15

➻ Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there. aka Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn’t work out according to his plan.

➻ a/n: so i know this has been a loNG ass time coming but here’s chapter 9!!! i hope you all enjoy it, i don’t have much of a preface to this so let’s just jump into it!

8 | 9

...

Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places Chapter Nine: Control

​

"W-What?" Jungkook asks, still in too much shock to think straight or say anything else. You laugh at the expression on his face and release his shirt. Jungkook falls back to the floor unceremoniously, hitting the tile with a small thud, and watches as you stand up straight.

 "Y/N, come on! You can't push him around without warning, the poor kid. You knocked him down too." Seokjin chastises you for your actions, and Jungkook looks back to see the man close behind him. You stick out your tongue in response as you squat down beside Jungkook to be more at eye level with him.

 "I'm certain that I know exactly where Taehyung's bear is." You grin again, the smile unable to be contained, and Jungkook notes that. He notes how the smile reaches your eyes, the usually dull film over them gone and replaced by a shining new resolve. Is it… is it because of the bear?

"Where is it then?" He asks, propping himself up with his hands.

 "It's obvious. I can't believe we didn't look there sooner. I should've known." You stand up straight once more, the smile never leaving your lips as you look down at Jungkook. "Come on, follow me." Jungkook does as asked and hastily gets to his feet. You are already on your way across the room, not waiting to see if Jungkook will follow you or not, and he looks back at Seokjin. The older man merely shrugs.

 "I'll see you later, Jungkook." He waves at the younger before heading in the opposite direction and leaving Jungkook to chase after you.

 "H-Hey, where are we headed?" He asks as he falls into step with you.

 "Oh? The library of course."

 "Why—why would it be there though?"

 "Early on – when Mingyu was still new to the clinic – he would hide things on top of the bookcases in the library because he was always so much taller than most other people. It was rather easy for him to keep things there instead of risking having the nurses find them in his room. Since he never spent time reading, people never assumed that he would keep things there. Namjoon caught him in there once putting things on the top of the shelves and told me about it, so we used to keep an eye on things in there. We never… well, we haven't done that recently because we assumed Mingyu had outgrown his childish shenanigans. But anyway, I should've known that he would've put it there. Makes so much sense looking back on it now."

 "How do you—how did you confirm that it was Mingyu who took it?"

 "There's no need to confirm anything, it was already obvious. Having known Mingyu for so many years now, I guess I could say it's an inevitable outcome." You shrug, slowing your pace a little.

 "You seem very happy about it," Jungkook comments. He realizes a moment later when your expression flattens and turns deadpan that it was the wrong thing to say.

 "Of course I'm happy about it. Taehyung will stop being upset with me once I give him the bear back. Things will go back to normal, and Hoseok will come back to the clinic soon as well. Everything will be fine again. Normal and fixed, at least for the time being."

 Jungkook panics. The black water swirls around his ankles again, he feels its presence looming, feels it biting at his skin, the cold of it sending chills through his whole body. It swells around him, filling his vision until all he can see are your eyes. Your dark eyes filled with hope. Hope that is about to be dashed and crushed and swept away because of his actions. He can't say anything in response, he can't agree with you or offer any encouraging words. He knows things are about to crash and burn. It's about to turn sour, and Jungkook isn't quite sure of what will happen when it all crumbles, but he knows it won't be good for anyone.

 The two of you reach the library as Jungkook's black water reaches his waist. Namjoon sits inside, in the same position he was in the first day Jungkook came to the clinic. Although it was not all too long ago, Jungkook notes that it feels like forever since that day.

 "Oh hi Namjoon," you greet, the small smile returning to your lips. Jungkook hates it. He despises it, realizing that he would rather you be hopeless than see your hopes be crushed by his actions. Selfish. Selfish. "Jungkook, give me a hand and help me reach the shelf, yea?"

 "What are you two doing?" Namjoon asks and snaps the book in his hands shut. You barely spare him a glance as you usher Jungkook towards one of the shelves near the wall.

 "I had an epiphany last night and realized something," you explain.

 "She came to visit Yoongi while I was gone yesterday." Seokjin's words are still fresh in his mind, and they still sting a bit too much for Jungkook's liking. He doesn't bring it up to either you or Namjoon, although it continues to linger in his mind as he watches you glance around the bookcases.

 "Hey, are you gonna help me up, Jungkookie? I think I see something up there." You point to one of the shelves, and Jungkook follows your line of sight to the top of the shelf.

 "Why do you need up there?" Namjoon asks. He sets his book to the side and watches you turn back to look at him.

 "I'm certain that Mingyu put the bear up there. Do you remember what he used to do with the smuggled cigarettes and alcohol?"

 "Yea yea, I remember that. I'll get it for you." He gets up and moves towards where you're standing by the shelves, nudging you aside with his elbow.

 "No, you aren't tall enough to reach the top either," you complain, elbowing him in the side as well.

 "Oh shush, Y/N, I'm gonna help you up." Namjoon catches your elbow before you can hit him again and tugs you closer, then hoists you up by the waist. Jungkook can't do anything except stand back and watch the scene, feeling strangely out of place. "Hey, don't kick me."

 "I didn't mean to!"

 "Sure you didn't."

 "Oh fuck off, Joon. You know I would've kicked a lot harder if I meant it."

 The scene is oddly domestic, something out of place in the clinic, something Jungkook isn't used to seeing or witnessing, and certainly not something he is used to seeing from you and Namjoon. Namjoon laughs at your response and lifts you up a bit higher. You pad around on the top of the shelf, swiping something from the top. It falls to the ground in a cloud of dust. Jungkook blinks down at it, eyes wide.

 Sure enough, there lies a stuffed bear, greyed by dust, and his lips part in shock at the sight of it. Something much smaller lies next to it, also dark with dirt and dust, but Jungkook can't make out what it is from the distance he's at. 

 "Y/N…" He starts, not sure what to say. Namjoon lowers you to the floor again then bends over. He misses the bear completely; instead, reaching for the plastic bag and lifting it. He wipes the dust away with his thumb.

 "Fuck," he mutters under his breath.

 "Wha-at is it?" Jungkook inquires, leaning over to look closer.

 "A bag of pills." You lean over as well. One hand rests on Namjoon's shoulder, the other lingers at your hip, and a sigh escapes your lips as you look down at the bag. "Why is it here though, Joon? Who's is it?"

 "I don't know. I rarely see anyone come in here, but obviously, it belongs to either Yesung or Mingyu. Don't know why they would keep it here of all places though."

 "It doesn't look like the pills either of them take."

 "Did they… did they take the pills from someone else for some reason?" Jungkook asks. You look his way, head tilting to the side as you mull over his words. 

 "Has anyone discussed leaving soon, Jungkookie?"

 "Um, yea actually. Jimin mentioned that Mi-Miyeon? Yea, Miyeon could be on her way out." You shake your head at his words. 

 "That can't be right," you say as you shift your gaze to Namjoon. "Miyeon doesn't take any pills, does she?"

 "No, she's strictly in the ED division as far as I know. No reason for her to take pills in the first place. Besides, these are narcotics. Among all the patients, I'm the only one who is assigned to take them. No way in hell I'd give those pills to anyone, let alone Mingyu or Yesung."

 "So…?" Jungkook trails off, waiting for Namjoon to follow up on his comment.

 "So they must be getting the pills from a staff member."

 "Why on earth would they need them though?" You ask. Your grip tightens on Namjoon's shoulder, and he glances down at you with a darkening expression. "And why the hell would they keep them here?" Your tone increases in fervor. Namjoon shakes his head, not saying anything for a moment. He continues with a quiet voice.

 "They're up to something, I know it but… honestly, we cannot worry about that right now. If someone were to find us with the pills, we would get in serious trouble. That may be exactly what Mingyu and Yesung want. So please, Y/N, please just forget about it for now. It's not important. We should just leave them here for the time being." A frown comes across your lips.

 "Mingyu and Yesung have never done anything drastic, Joon. You don't think – do you think they might try something?"

 "I'm sure Yesung isn't the one behind it if they are. He just does whatever Mingyu says because that's what is easiest for him. Y/N, please try to trust me on this. I'll try my best to figure this out so you don't need to worry about it." Namjoon brings a hand up, resting it atop yours, and he squeezes gently. You blink back at him.

 "I already trust you, Joon. You don't need to ask that."

 "I know but…” Namjoon trails off, not finishing his train of thought as a sad gleam overtakes his features. He looks away and shifts his gaze to the floor instead. "Take the bear to Taehyung. He's been waiting long enough, hasn't he?"

 "You're right," you murmur before retracting your hand from Namjoon's shoulder. Bending down, you lift the bear into your grasp and give a few measly swipes at the dust.

 "Jungkook, could you hang back for a minute? I'd like to chat."

 You glance between Namjoon and Jungkook, eyes narrowed and skeptical. Jungkook bites at his lower lip. Your stare is lingering, increasing his discomfort and the anxiety bubbling in his gut. A moment later, you turn away though and do not question Namjoon's request.

 "I'll see you both at dinner then." You slip out of the library without further comment. The moment you're out of sight, Namjoon grabs hold of Jungkook's arm and tugs him further into the room.

 "Things are getting worse between Y/N and Taehyung. And by worse, I mean quite a lot worse. Y/N thinks it's all because of the bear because Taehyung hasn't said anything." 

 "I know that. Seokjin mentioned it earlier."

 "Well, yes, that's fantastic, Jungkook. It's a big problem. If she gives him the bear, it is not going to fix anything. She will continue to think that she did something wrong because of what you did. To make matters worse, Hoseok is coming back to the clinic tonight."

 "Wh-What?"

 "He's scheduled to come back around mealtime, which means he will most likely be there during dinner. Y/N still doesn't know about the pills or him trying to overdose," Namjoon explains in a hushed tone. Jungkook merely shakes his head as he looks back at the man. 

 "I don't – I don't know what you want me to do. I don't understand what you want me to do, Namjoon. You already told her to take the bear to Taehyung. What am I supposed to do?" Namjoon laughs at Jungkook's coming, a breathy sound that lilts through the air for a moment. He quiets down even further with his next words.

 "She's not doing that though. She's in the hallway trying to listen in on our conversation. I know her all too well. But, Jungkook, she can't sit at Hoseok's table tonight. She really can't. I don't even think she should see him in the first place."

 "No…" Jungkook mutters. He leans away from Namjoon, eyes crossing the older man's face. "No. She needs to see him, and she needs to give the bear to Taehyung. It will make her happy, Namjoon. She needs that."

 "At what cost, Jungkook? For what? A sliver of happiness? I refuse to risk her sanity and wellbeing for a brief moment of happiness."

 "Yoongi would. He'd want her to be happy and do whatever it takes to make her happy." Jungkook pulls his arm away from Namjoon, but the man only grips him harder and keeps him rooted to the spot.

 "I'm not Yoongi, Jungkook! I have lost more than one person because I just wanted them to be happy. It fucking backfired so I refuse to risk that for Y/N as well. She is all I have left."

 "Things change. It doesn't mean it will be the same for Y/N."

 Namjoon's arm falls limply by his side. He looks down at the floor, and Jungkook can't see the expression that rests on his face but he isn't sure that he really wants to out of fear of what he might see. 

 "I can't risk that, Jungkook," he whispers, voice so quiet that Jungkook has to lean in to hear him better. "She's the only one I have left. Everyone else has abandoned me. I don't have anyone else in my life, not even outside the clinic. I was dropped here when I was 16. My family never came back to check on me or talk to me or anything. She is all I have left. I can't lose her no matter what."

 "Then are you going to keep her here forever? Just because you're being selfish? How long has she been here because you refused to let her go?" Jungkook steps away from Namjoon, nearly tripping over his own feet. Namjoon… how long have you forced her to stay? Namjoon doesn't answer his questions, and Jungkook continues to glare at him with fury in his eyes. "I refuse to help you keep her miserable. That's not what she deserves, that's not what anyone deserves. If it makes her happy, then I'll do that. That's how you know someone truly cares about your wellbeing." 

 Jungkook turns on his heel, leaving the library without further comment and anger boiling in his gut. As soon as he turns the corner outside the door, he spots you. You're standing a couple feet away from the door, leaning against the wall with the stuffed bear hanging loosely in your grasp. Just as Namjoon said you would be.

 "Take the bear to Taehyung," you say. You make no comment on whether you overheard his conversation with Namjoon or not, but Jungkook certainly does not want to press the matter. "Just leave it on his bed or tell him that you were the one who found it, I don't care."

 "Why don't you want to do it yourself?" Jungkook says, head tilting to the side as he asks the question. "You deserve to give it to him."

 "I really don't," you answer with a small shake of your head. "At the end of the day, I don't deserve anything, so it doesn't really matter."

 "That's not true," Jungkook protests. He frowns back at you, your face stoic in comparison to his. "Taehyung would be more than thrilled if you gave the bear back to him." As soon as he concludes his sentence, you chuck the stuffed bear at him without warning. It bounces off Jungkook's chest and hits the floor with a soft thud. "Don't... don't do this, Y/N."

 "What am I doing wrong? Tell me why I can't do this. It's my life. I deserve to make these decisions for myself, don't I?"

 "You're trying to throw away your relationship with Taehyung," Jungkook bites out between gritted teeth. 

 "That's not true."

 "You are pushing him away to save yourself."

 "You're lying." You push away from the wall. Spit leaves your mouth as you hiss your words at him, pure vehemence in your tone. You begin to walk down the hall, and Jungkook rushes to pick up the bear from the floor and chase after you. "Stop fucking following me." 

 Jungkook persists still, hot on your heels as you move. "I'm not following you," he says under his breath. 

 "Fuck off, Jungkook. I won't say it again."

 "Is it because of what Namjoon said? Did you listen to our conversation?"

 "No, I actually didn't. I heard about ten percent of your fucking conversation and decided I didn't want to hear the rest. God, I could really use some cigarettes right about now." You bring a hand to your head, rubbing at the skin there as though it'll alleviate any of the pain Jungkook knows you must be in. "Before you make a smartass comment, I know it's bad for me and it won't help in the long run. I need that fucking temporary relief now."

 "I know you do," Jungkook mutters. You opt not to acknowledge him or his words, continuing to march through the clinic with Jungkook following you like a lost dog. It isn't until the two of you reach the hall of bedrooms that you decide to speak to Jungkook again.

 "I am still here for no other reason than that I am a bad person. I cannot get better. That is all. Don't sling accusations at anyone except for me." You slip into a room without even checking to see if it belongs to you. Jungkook blinks at the floor where you just stood. If he knew what to say, he might say it but he falls short. Yet again. I don't… I can't help. I don't know how to help. I caused this and yet – and yet I can't even try to fix things.

 A sigh leaves Jungkook's lips. He turns away from the door and moves for his own, carrying the stuffed bear still. Stepping into his room, the chill is what hits him first. It's a cool draft from the AC, and Jungkook shivers under it, subconsciously bringing the bear closer to his chest. It's pointless really because Jungkook sets it down on Taehyung's pillow a moment later. It's only when he puts it down that he realizes you didn't step into your own room in the hallway. Rather you stopped at the room just before yours – Yoongi's. Jungkook hesitates just before sitting on his bed. The conversation he shared with Seokjin earlier in the day returns to mind, the older man's words coming to the forefront of his memory. 

 "They care about each other – Y/N and Yoongi that is – but it's always seemed as though they have a really twisted way of showing it."

 It makes much more sense now. The differences in your relationship with Yoongi and your relationship with Namjoon. How any time something goes wrong you run to Yoongi rather than Namjoon, you search for Yoongi for comfort when Jungkook imagines Namjoon is a better option. How you and Yoongi cannot seem to hold a conversation without arguing. You mentioned that you had a different kind of trust with Yoongi, and now that Jungkook has an insight into Namjoon's feelings and mind, he sees why Namjoon chooses not to ask personal questions of you. Perhaps Namjoon is scared of what he might hear or he's worried that you'll say that you are doing better.

 Had someone asked Jungkook whether he thought Yoongi actually cared for you on the first day in the clinic, Jungkook would have said he didn't without any hesitation. Now, however, Jungkook sees that Yoongi is the only one who truly cares about your well-being.

 "I know it won't help, and it's certainly not good for her in any way. I'm just doing what I can though. If that's the only thing I can do for her, then so be it. It would've been a bad idea no doubt. I can't say no to her though."

 Jungkook can't figure where the line is. Caring about someone so much that you would be willing to do things that could hurt them in the long run versus refusing to give them momentary happiness because you know it could hurt them in the long run. He doesn't know which is better. Is it better to risk hurting someone or prevent them from small happiness? 

 "I didn't need to know why. I don't need to know every little detail about what's going on in her life, to be honest. The things I do for her are enough, and I do them because I care about her. That's that."

 He can't say no to you. Maybe that's the secret behind it all. Just not be able to say no, yet Jungkook thinks that would be an issue in the long run regardless. I wonder... does Y/N think the same about Yoongi? Does she want the same things he does? Jungkook clenches his palms around the fabric of his sweats, knuckles turning white from the pressure. She claims to know, she says she knows that it's bad for her. And yet Yoongi would still drop everything to give them to her.

 Jungkook turns on his heel. It's not any of his business really. It doesn't involve him or matter in the slightest. In the long run, what is it going to do for him?

 Selfish. Selfish. Why? Who are you? Why does it matter?

 Jungkook shakes his head. The voice intrudes, pushing through logic and replacing it with emotion.

 Think. Think. Jungkook. Think. Don't you know? Can't you figure it out? Stupid. Useless. Fucking idiot. Think. You're so useless. 

 Jungkook stumbles and nearly trips over his own feet. Grabbing for the wall, he steadies himself long enough to scoot towards the door.

 Quit fighting. Are you fucking stupid? Just let it happen. Let me in. 

 Jungkook slams his head against the wall. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone. Fuck off. I don't need you right now. Jungkook hits his head a bit harder. The pressure helps alleviate some of the pressure for only a few moments before the voices are rushing back in, rushing to disturb Jungkook's peace of mind yet again. He slides the door open. I need you to leave me alone. Go away. Go.

 Slipping back into the hallway, Jungkook slaps the side of his head with the flat of his hand as though that will help the voices leave. They are only relatively quiet when he's in the presence of other people, talking, chatting, listening, just doing anything other than being alone with his own head. He isn't wholly sure where he's walking to, but his feet take him past your room, Yoongi's room, and the one beside his. He stops before one of the white sliding doors and without thinking twice knocks on it.

 It slides open with little effort seconds later, and the girl behind it blinks up at Jungkook with confusion gleaming in her brown eyes. 

 "Uh… hello?"

 Jungkook stares down at her, an equal amount of confusion on his own features no doubt. Why… am I here?

 "Oh, are you here to see Hyewon?" The girl asks, head tilting to the side as she looks back at Jungkook. "It's Jungkook, right?"

 "U-Um, yea, yea I'm Jungkook. Is – uh, is Hyewon available right now?" Jungkook asks in response, a similar tilt to his chin. 

 "She is, yes," she answers. Jungkook can't quite place her name but knows that he's seen her sitting alongside Mingyu and Yesung with Hyewon before. "But… you aren't supposed to go into other patient's bedrooms without permission or accompaniment by a nurse?"

 "It's fine, Hanuel." Hyewon steps into Jungkook's line of sight, her platinum blonde hair tied up behind her head in a high bun. Jungkook glances away from the girl in front of him – Hanuel – in favor of looking at Hyewon. "He already got permission from a nurse."

 "O-Oh, I'm sorry for assuming." Hanuel shifts and steps out of Jungkook's path.

 "Can you give a few minutes to talk one on one, Hanuel? It won't be long I promise."

 Hanuel nods in response, her hair bouncing along with the motion, and slides past Jungkook to step into the hallway. Jungkook takes her place in the room, eyes still on Hanuel. The door slides shut behind him, the brightness from the hall dissipates and leaves Jungkook and Hyewon in a dark room.

 "You can turn on the lights if you wish. Hanuel needs it to be dark in here, but if you'd rather turn them on, that's fine." Hyewon motions over Jungkook's shoulder towards the light switch. He just shakes his head in response, fingers coming back to toy at the material of his sweatpants as the black waters of anxiety lap at his ankles. "Why are you here, Jungkook?"

 "Wh-Why did you cover for me and lie to Hanuel?"

 "Oh? Did you not ask a nurse for permission?" Jungkook denies it with another shake of his head. "Then whatever you want to talk about must be important. I don't mind. It's not like you're breaking any big rules."

 "Oh… yea."

 "Why are you here, Jungkook?" Hyewon repeats. She doesn't move, still glued to the same spot on the carpet as before, and Jungkook doesn't move either. 

 "I-I don't kn-know. I guess, I guess I just need a distraction?"

 "What do you mean?"

 "I want to – I don't know. I want to just get my mind off things for a bit. I'm sick of thinking so damn hard. I just want to stop for a bit."

 A laugh breaks through the lingering tension in the room. Jungkook peers at Hyewon as though she's grown a second head, the laugh out of place in the hush of their exchanged words. She clutches at her stomach as she laughs, the crisp sound echoes in the small room, and she slides down to sit on the carpet a moment later.

 "Well then… how may I assist you, Mr. Jeon?" Hyewon motions towards the space in front of her, the invitation clear. Jungkook moves forward with hesitant steps and falls into a similar sitting position across from her. 

 "I don't know. You can talk about anything, I guess."

 "I doubt you really want to hear my life story, Jungkook."

 He shrugs. "Try me."

 "Hm, if I tell you a bit about myself, then I expect the same in return." Hyewon points at Jungkook with her index finger, a narrow to her eyes that Jungkook winces at. "Oh chill, Jungkook. It's not an attack, it's just a fair exchange."

 "Okay, y-yea. That's fine, I guess."

 Hyewon pauses at Jungkook's stutter and hesitance. The narrow of her eyes increases. "Is something wrong with you?"

 "What? What – Why would you think that?" Jungkook blanches at her question, panic arising quickly in his gut, the black water swirling up to his hips, and his breath starts to leave him a bit quicker.

 "Well, don't take this the wrong way but you seem… relaxed? Confident? Maybe not confident, but just weirdly out of character. No offense but you normally act like a blubbering mess and can barely speak without stuttering at every word. Not to mention how you freeze up whenever someone asks something personal of you."

 "I'm just listening to your earlier advice," Jungkook says. It's a quickly uttered white lie but a good cover nonetheless. 

 "My advice? What do you mean?"

 "A-About Yoongi, Y/N and Namjoon. Uh, I know – I know what kind of people they are now." Hyewon's eyes go wide, and her lips part at bit at Jungkook's words.

 "Really? That didn't take much effort on my part. So, do you remember what really happened the night of Hoseok's episode now?"

 The question catches Jungkook off-guard. He leans back, spine straightened and rigid, and blinks at Hyewon with no words coming out of his open mouth. I know what happened. 

 "You're doing a shitty job at distracting me," Jungkook hisses. Hyewon answers with a laugh, another clear and crisp sound that tears through the room. She throws her head back while laughing.

 "Sorry about that." Hyewon clears her throat, tucking a strand of hair that's fallen from her bun behind her ear. "I could tell you a bit about my story. If that would help in any way?"

 "Sure, yeah, that sounds… fine."

 "Ha, don't sound so enthusiastic. Well, I guess I can start with my childhood? As a child, there was this – this sort of terrible accident in my life. I don't want to go too in-depth on it, and frankly, I don't remember all too much about it. But I know I lost some people who were very important to me. My struggles started there, I guess, but the remaining people in my life tried to brush it off as a normal reaction to tragedy. For a while, I believed them and wanted to brush it off the same way they did, so I tried shutting it out of my mind.

 "Well as I got older, I tried taking away the pain with other things. Drinking all sorts of things, every drug in existence, sex – anything to try and block it out for even five minutes. After a debacle, I was stuck in here because they thought it was the obvious solution. I mean, what else could they do?" Hyewon pauses, looking up at the ceiling and focusing on something up there. Jungkook peers at her as a cynical smile crosses her lips. "It's funny, you know. It's funny how only when you start doing things for yourself and trying to help yourself, people think something is wrong with you. Taking care of yourself is equal to being crazy. They never believe you when you say something is wrong with you. It's only when you take control. When they disapprove of what you're doing with your life and how you're behaving, they take control. They make the rules. They lock you away because they don't understand.

 "I was happy. I was enjoying myself, I was doing what I wanted. Free from pain and misery and the horrors I had to survive. Every damn day I asked myself, "Why did I survive and not them?". I didn't have control until I took control for myself. It wasn't until I did that I finally started living. And yet they told me that I didn't deserve to live. Sure, I would've ended up dead at some point from all the alcohol and drugs I was taking. At least… at least I was feeling something other than pain. At least I was living. They don't care about that one bit. They don't care about the pain you're in. All they care about is what image it presents. How it looks to people on the outside. The lack of control."

 "Control…" Jungkook mutters to himself. The words strike a chord, bite deep at his skin, resonate so much in him that it physically hurts. His chest tightens, heart clenching at the walls around it, and he blinks at Hyewon with narrowed eyes. A mirror, but not. Same story, different telling. Same life, different paths taken. All leading to the same place...

 "It stressed me out, to be honest," Hyewon says, voice falling to a broken whisper. Her chin dips to her chest. "Thinking about how no matter what you do, it's never enough for them. But at some point, you have to realize that… it's not about doing it for them. You don't owe them anything. It's about what you owe to yourself. The things you do for yourself are enough, and that's the truth of it. So, how about you, Jungkook? What were your juicy methods of taking the pain away? And how did they land you here?"

 "I…" Jungkook trails off. He swallows roughly around the lump in his throat, the black waters of anxiety quickly rushing to lap at his feet in the moment of weakness. A mirror. A mirror. She's a mirror. Vulnerable. Trust. I can’t trust her. No, I can. I can trust her. "I just would work out and control what I ate. I needed control. Had to have some sort of control in my life. Those were the only things I knew how to control. Just work out until I couldn't even feel my body anymore. Control what I ate until – until I was perfect. It was just easiest to do."

 Hyewon laughs. "Why did you never try alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, or sex? That would've taken care of the problem in an instant."

 "I wasn't interested."

 "In what?"

 "I never wanted to do something bad for me or that I would regret eventually. I've never been interested in alcohol or cigarettes, drugs are off the table. I never wanted to put more drugs in my body than I'm forced to already. Didn't want to add to the growing list of issues I have with my condition. As for sex, I've never been in a relationship, so I didn't even consider it."

 "I have never regretted a single thing I did. Besides, you don't have to be in a relationship to have sex." Hyewon smiles at him, and the expression sends a surge of embarrassment through his system.

 "I-I know that. I know. I know but I would rather it be something meaningful and worth something. Not something to take the pain away."

 "Don't knock it until you try it, Jungkook," Hyewon scoffs. A knock interrupts Hyewon's train of thought. The door slides open, Hanuel steps back in, and Jungkook leans away from the girl across from him. 

 "I'm sorry. The lights outside were bothering me."

 "It's fine, it's fine. I was just leaving." Jungkook gets up, moving back from the carpet. "Th-Thank you, Hyewon. For talking with me."

 "No problem, Jungkook. Drop by any time you need me."

 "I'll keep that in mind." Jungkook turns away from Hyewon and heads for the door where Hanuel stands. He steps past her, moves into the hallway, and walks back to his room with heavy feet. He barely has time to think about his conversation with Hyewon, everything is moving quickly again. He has enough time to make it to his door and find it wide open. Again, he finds an unexpected sight. Again, he finds Taehyung sitting on the edge of his bed, something in his hands. Except this time it isn't Jungkook's journal. It's a small stuffed bear covered in dark dust.

...

a/n: okay first of all, so so sorry for such a delay in updates for my series!!! i’ve been doing requests for such a long time that i completely lost track of time! i hope you all like this chapter, please let me know what you think of it 🥺👉👈

tag list: @succulentjinkook​ @mxrzan​

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Chapter 1 - Reverse Reichenbach Fall

A/N: Starts somewhere between Great Game and Reichenbach

"The mold bomb worked, Sherlock!" Torry yelled up the stairs.

"I told you it would," Came the reply.

"Yes, Sherlock. But it stank up the whole flat for at least 48 hours! We had to sleep in a hotel!" Erin yelled from the doorway of 221C.

"I did not mind that as much as I thought I would. The pool was quite nice," John added in as he walked downstairs.

"You're supposed to be on my side, darling," Erin spoke sarcastically through a fake smile.

"Of course, love," He replied, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I need to run an errand to the hospital quickly. I'll be back as fast as I can."

"I'll come with you!" Sherlock announced. Running down the stairs, he swished on his trusty Belfast and swooped into 221C. "See you tonight at Angelo's," He said, giving Torry a quick peck on her cheek as well before heading out.

"It's still so weird seeing him act so," Erin paused. "So human! You and John have given him good training."

"Like you haven't told him all about my habits and secrets," Torry retorted. Both girls chuckled before getting back to cleaning their now mold-free flat. "I'm worried about Sherlock. Something's wrong," She said. "After the trial, I thought we would hear from Moriarty right away. What is that psycho playing at?"

*Knock knock knock*

"Expecting anyone?" Erin asked. Torry shook her head. Before either could reach the door, the lock was picked and the door swung open.

"I don't usually knock, but I thought 'what the heck! Why not!'"

"Moriarty!" They both exclaimed. "What do you want?" Erin queried. Moriarty just grinned and helped himself to a seat as the girls stood and watched his every move. He looked at the bowl of fruit on the coffee table and then looked at them questioningly.

"Help yourself," Torry deadpanned. Quickly flipping out his knife, Moriarty stabbed the apple and stared at it.

"Please, don't stand on my account." Erin and Torry slowly made their way to the armchairs across the couch Moriarty sat on. As they sat, Moriarty continued, "I know John's told you about the pool." Moriarty laughed, all too pleased with himself. "I promised Sherlock I'd burn the heart out of him. We have so much fun playing together. But I'm getting bored again!" He sing-songed. "Daddy needs more players in the game," He said, darkness overshadowing his features. "I'll burn the hearts out of you too. And your precious Johnny." He had been fiddling with the apple as he talked. Suddenly he took a large bite out of it and stabbed the knife into the table with the apple. "I O U," read the fruit. Moriarty, in one swift motion, was back at the door. "And if you even dream of telling anyone of this meeting," He spoke, eyes glinting with dark glee. "Your fall will come sooner than you think."

A few minutes later, after checking for bugs and cameras, Torry and Erin were discussing what to do. "Mycroft," Erin declared. "The 2nd time Mycroft, erm, took us for a ride in a mysterious black car. Remember what he said?"

"If we ever needed help, if we were truly in trouble, we could come to him."

"Today is that day. We need to make a plan and I think I know what to do."

"No," Torry said. "He's not concerned about this. We need to figure this out on our own."

"We can't finish this alone. Besides, I think he is concerned." Pausing, Erin thought over her next words. "And I'm willing to bet my life on it."

"Alright," Torry conceded. "Let's head out."

Somehow, Sherlock had not deduced something was wrong with their girls over dinner. That night was tense but they managed. A few weeks later, Moriarty's damage had nearly reached its peak.

"Dust is eloquent," Sherlock stated one particular afternoon. Mrs. Hudson had come upstairs and the 5 residents of 221 Baker St. were all currently in the living room of 221B.

"What’s he on about?" Mrs. Hudson asked quietly. Everyone else shook their heads. By now Sherlock was climbing on the furniture to look more closely at the top shelves of the bookcase to the left of the fireplace.

"Cameras. We’re being watched," He announced.

"What? Cameras?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed with a cringe. "Here? I’m in my nightie!" The doorbell rings and she hurries out of the room, John following her. Torry and Erin stay behind, watching Sherlock look for the camera. Sherlock climbs down and checks in the eye sockets of the skull on the mantelpiece before climbing onto small tables on the other side of the fireplace to look at the bookshelves there. Checking the books on the top shelf, he realizes that the one on the far right has more movement around it than it ought and he pushes it deeper into the shelf, revealing a camera stuck to the side of the bookshelf. As he reaches up to remove it, Greg comes into the room followed by John.

Without turning around, still concentrating on removing the camera, Sherlock says, "No, Inspector."

"What?" Greg, John, Erin, and Torry say in unison.

"The answer’s no," Sherlock repeats, stepping down with the camera in his fingers.

"But you haven’t heard the question!" Lestrade exclaims.

"You want to take me to the station. Just saving you the trouble of asking."

"Sherlock," the inspector trails off.

"The scream?"

"Yeah."

"Who was it? Donovan? I bet it was Donovan. Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping? Ah, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation. You’re going to have to be strong to resist. You can’t kill an idea, can you? Not once it’s made a home there," Sherlock replied, tapping Lestrade's forehead.

"Will you come?" He asks hopefully.

"One photograph," Sherlock begins. "That’s his next move. Moriarty’s game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me inch by inch." He holds the camera up for Greg and the rest to see. "It's a game, Lestrade, and not one I’m willing to play. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan." Sighing and exchanging brief looks with John, and the girls, Greg turns and heads off down the stairs. "They’ll be deciding," Sherlock says a few moments later. He noticed Torry watching Greg leave with Sally. She looked at him and then Erin with a desperate expression, one Sherlock didn't quite understand.

"Deciding?" John asked, confused.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me."

"Do you think they will?" Torry asks.

"Standard procedure," He replies sadly.

"Should have gone with him. People’ll think-" John starts.

"I don’t care what people think."

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong. You'd care about it was Torry they were blaming." Sherlock paused for a moment. He looked at the woman he'd somehow managed to fall in love with and couldn't read her. She'd been only the 2nd person in his life that he couldn't read immediately. She seemed to have a sad, yet almost guilty look on her face. She tried for a smile for Sherlock and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

"That would just make them stupid or wrong. Torry would never do such horrible things," He said lightly. Then in a sad whisper, he added, "She doesn't have it in her." He stopped there, leaving an unspoken 'But obviously I do' written on his face.

"Sherlock, I don’t want the world believing you’re-" John stops mid-sentence.

"That I am what?" Sherlock says, voice barely audible.

"A fraud." A look of hurt passed over Sherlock's face but it quickly turned to anger.

"You’re worried they’re right," He yelled.

"What?"

"You’re worried they’re right about me."

"No, Sherlock! Don't be daft."

"That’s why you’re so upset. You can’t even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You’re afraid that you’ve been taken in as well."

"No, I’m not."

"Moriarty is playing with your mind too." Sherlock angrily slams his hand down on the table. "Can’t you see what’s going on?" He screamed desperately.

"No, I know you’re for real."

"Me too," Torry said.

"Me three," Erin added with a small chuckle.

"A hundred percent?" Sherlock asks warily. "How?"

John smiles and looks at the two girls they both had gotten so close to over the past months. "Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick-"

"Tit," Torry adds.

"And prat," said Erin

"All the time," the three finished together. Sherlock locks eyes with each of them, before turning away, a smile threatening to show on his lips.

True to Sherlock's word they came back to arrest him. After some yelling from John, Erin, Torry, and Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock has been arrested. The officers take him to the street and lean him against the side of a police car, facing it. A minute or two later, the Chief Superintendent walks out onto the street holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.

"Are you alright, sir?" A nearby officer asks him. Sherlock turns his head to see what happened but suddenly John is slammed up against the car next to him and to his left. John is quickly followed by Erin and Torry being cuffed on the opposite side of the car Sherlock looks to each of them with an amused expression on his face.

"Joining me?" He asks.

"Yeah. Apparently it’s against the law to chin the Chief Superintendent," John says.

"And Donovan," Torry comments.

"And Lestrade. Still feeling a bit guilty about that one but he was being a right tosser!” Erin exclaimed. The four of them can't help but laugh, albeit quietly. Behind them, a couple of armed officers unlock the cuff on Sherlock’s right hand and transfer it to John’s right wrist, chaining the boys together. The officers do the same to Torry and Erin. Sherlock looks over his shoulder, watching what the officers are doing and where they’re standing.

"Hmm. Bit awkward, this," Sherlock notes.

"Yep. No-one to bail us out this time." Torry says.

"I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape," Sherlock said. He looks down at the radio lying on the dashboard of the car they’re leaning against. The radio squeals as the dispatcher speaks.

"Oh flippity gibbet," Torry grumbled, realizing Sherlock's plan. She made eye contact with him and nodded so slightly it was nearly imperceptible. "Hold on," She whispered to Erin. Rapidly, Sherlock reaches through the open window of the car with his free hand and presses down on the Talk button. Instantly, the officers behind the boys and girls double over in pain and grab at their earpieces when a high-pitched squeal of feedback rips through it. Sherlock reaches behind him and pulls the officer’s pistol free, instantly raising it. Torry mirrors his actions perfectly. Both Erin and John are taken completely by surprise. Sherlock calls out as he aims the pistol towards the nearest officers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" Sherlock yells. When nobody reacts very quickly, Torry raises her gun skywards and fires it twice.

"Now would be good!" She yells. They lower their guns and point them at the police again.

"Do as they say!" Lestrade orders.

"Just-just so you’re aware, the guns are their idea," John calls out loudly.

"We're just, uh, you know," Erin stutters. Both Sherlock and Torry promptly turn the guns to aim at their handcuffed friends.

"Our hostages," Torry yells, rather proud of herself.

"Hostage! Yes, that works. Of course, that works!" Erin and John sarcastically hiss through grinding teeth. After a minute or so of running, Sherlock grabs John's hand to run together easier.

"Having a moment there, boys?" Erin teases.

"That's not a bad idea," Torry smirks, taking Erin's hand.

"Oh, now people will definitely talk!" John jokes.

Later that night, after the whole confrontation with Moriarty, or rather, Richard Brook, John asks Sherlock, "Can he do that? Completely change his identity; make you the criminal?"

"He’s got my whole life story. That’s what you do when you sell a big lie; you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable."

"Your word against his," John says hopefully.

Sherlock just shakes his head. Torry pipes up, figuring it out at the same time as Sherlock. "He’s been sowing doubt into people’s minds for the last twenty-four hours. There’s only one thing he needs to do to complete his game, and that’s to-" She stops dead and looks at Erin knowingly. John, who has been rifling through the folder, looks up at them.

"Erin? Torry? Sherlock? Someone? What is it?"

"Something we need to do," Erin sighed.

"What is it? Can I help?" John offers. Erin chuckles and walks up to him.

"Not this time, darling. Torry and I had better be going. Will you be able to get home alright?"

"Yeah," John replied. "Are you sure we can't help?" He asks again. Erin nods and pulls him in for a desperate kiss. A minute later they break apart.

"John, no matter what, remember I'll always love you. And I will never, you hear me? Never leave you," She insisted, voice cracking slightly with tears held back. John nods, very confused.

"I love you too, dear. And I never want you to leave."

"Well, at least I won't have to worry about all those women going after you anymore," Torry told Sherlock. He smirked.

"I could say the same for you. It was getting awful tiring to keep all those Yarders away from you," Sherlock said. Torry laughed and smiled at Sherlock. He smiled at her in return but she could tell he was still confused about what they were doing. She felt tears threatening to make an appearance so she gave Sherlock a hug, burying her face in his shirt. "What brought this on?" He asked a bit worried.

"Sentiment, I guess," she replied with a dry chuckle. "Dinner at Angelo's when we return?" She whispered. She felt him nod and hugged him tighter.

"Torry," Erin said, a hint of nervousness in her voice. "We'd better get going." Torry nodded and looked at Sherlock one more time.

"I love you, ya big goofball," She said smiling.

"I love you too, my dear dork," He replied, using a nickname he'd learned from her. With that, Torry and Erin left. "Something's wrong, John. But I just don't know what it is," Sherlock said. "I hope they're alright," He added under his breath. John nodded and put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Me too, Sherlock. Me too."

"You idiot!" Erin yelled at Mycroft, hours later at the Diogenes Club. "You told him every bloody thing you knew about your precious brother!" She sneered. "If we didn't need you so much to make this work, I'd leave right now!"

"Please keep your voice down, Miss Erin," Mycroft seethed. "Now, I have set everything up. The only thing left to do before we go through with it is to deliver these instructions to Miss Hooper." He held out a manila envelope and Torry grabbed it.

"Come on, Erin. We need to finish this as quickly as possible." They both left without another word to Mycroft.

"It's all there, Molly. Can you do it?" Erin asked the young lady.

"Yes, I have everything we need. I know this sounds counterintuitive but, be careful." She smiled at them. "You know I liked Sherlock. He's still a good man but I'm past that phase now. This will undoubtedly hurt him so please go as fast as you can. We can't leave him like that for too long."

"I wish there was another way," Torry said. The air was heavy with tension. "Let's get ready, Erin. Send the text."

Come and play.

Bart's Hospital rooftop.

-EB

"It's done," Erin said. "Now for the call." She called John through a voice filtering app. "Mr. Watson?"

"Yeah, speaking."

"You're needed at the hospital. A woman named, Mrs. Hudson, is requesting your presence. She's in critical condition. Please come in through the main entrance and an orderly will take you to her."

"What happened? Is she okay?" He exclaimed. The line goes dead though.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks.

"Mrs. Hudson – she’s in critical condition. We need to go to the hospital."

"What? How?"

"I don't know!" John said frantically. "Come on!" The two immediately ran out to hail a taxi for the hospital.

"We can still prove that you created an entirely false identity," Torry said calmly.

"Oh, just kill yourself. It’s a lot less effort!" Moriarty drawls. Erin circled him, occasionally making eye contact with Torry but neither of them had found an alternate solution yet. "Go on. For me," Moriarty continues. "Pleeeeease?" He squeals.

"You’re insane," Erin seethes, whipping around and holding the man over the edge of the building by his collar.

"You’re just getting that now?" Erin pushes him over even more. Torry takes his legs so his balance is thrown off. "Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive." The girls frown. "Your friends will die if you don’t," Moriarty says darkly.

"Sherlock," Torry whispers, fear washing over her face. She drops Moriarty's legs back onto the rooftop.

"John," Erin says, mirroring Torry. She lets Moriarty stand back up. He grins maniacally.

"Not just your precious boyfriends," He speaks with glee. "Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson?" Torry hazards.

"Everyone!" Moriarty exclaims with a delighted smile. "Even that annoying little inspector you like so much."

"Lestrade," Erin says.

"Four bullets; four gunmen; four victims. There’s no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump." Both girls seem to be frozen in shock and horror. And Moriarty couldn't be happier. "You can have me arrested; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me; but nothing’s gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your friends will die," He trails off. "Unless-"

"Unless we jump therefore poetically killing Sherlock," Torry finishes.

"You’ve gotta admit that’s sexier," Moriarty exclaims, eyes closed, grinning, already basking in success.

"And he 'dies' in disgrace."

"Never to be heard of again," Moriarty sighs happily. "Maybe he'll even kill himself so he can join you!"

"You -" Torry starts, lunging at Moriarty. Erin stops her, pulling her back.

"Fine," Erin states, stepping up on the ledge. She holds her hand out to Torry, who takes it and steps up alongside her. Moriarty slowly walks to the other side of the roof.

"Oh, and just so you know," He says, back still turned to them. "There is another way to call them off. A passcode that only I know. Too bad." In rapid succession he turns around, raises his eyes to meet theirs, grins maniacally, opens his mouth wide and pulls out a pistol, sticking the muzzle into his mouth. He pulls the trigger and drops to the roof instantly. Torry and Erin stare in horror as blood begins to trickle across the roof underneath Jim’s head. Jim’s eyes are fixed and open and there is a smile of victory on his face.

"We're stuck."

Just as Sherlock and John were getting out of the taxi in front of the hospital, John's phone rang again. "Erin!" He answered, seeing the caller ID. "Mrs. Hudson's in the hospital, we're heading in now. Can you meet us?" He said worriedly.

"Mrs. Hudson is fine, John," Erin spoke into the phone, voice shaking.

"Erin, love, you okay?"

"Turn around and walk back the way you came now," She orders.

"What's going on?" He demands. Sherlock is listening in on the phone call, both men now standing back on the sidewalk.

"Sherlock, please look up," Torry asks, sharing the phone with Erin.

"No," Sherlock whispers at the sight of both girls standing on the edge. "Oh God no!" He yells. John looks up too, speechless.

"We can’t come down," Erin says, tears already coating her cheeks. "So we’ll just have to do it like this."

"What’s going on?" John asks anxiously.

"An apology," Erin says.

"Wh-what?" John stammers.

"Everything they said about Sherlock, we supplied. We invented Moriarty," Torry says.

"Why are you saying this? That's not true," Sherlock yells.

"I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that we created Moriarty for our own purposes," Torry says, voice cracking nearly every other word.

"We're sorry, Sherlock. And it's over now."

"Okay, shut up, Erin, shut up. You too, Torry," John says. "That-that's impossible. How-why-"

"Nobody could be that clever," Sherlock says. "You're both brilliant but you couldn't have come up with this ruse."

"Don't be so sure," Erin says chuckling dryly.

"We researched you. Before we met we discovered everything that we could to get under your skin, into your mind," Torry says.

"It’s a trick. Just a magic trick," Erin says. John has his eyes closed and is shaking his head repeatedly.

"No. All right, stop it now," He begs, starting to walk towards the hospital entrance.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move!" Erin orders. John stops and backs up, holding up his hand

"All right."

"Keep your eyes fixed on us," Torry demands. "Please, will you do this for us?"

"Do what?" Sherlock asks suspiciously and nervously.

"This phone call. It’s, erm, it’s our note. It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?" John asks. But Sherlock already knows.

"Goodbye, John," Erin says.

"Goodbye, Sherlock," Torry says before taking the phone and throwing it down onto the roof behind them.

"No. Don’t," John begs to no one in particular. Sherlock is whispering the same thing almost as a mantra. Torry and Erin look at each other, hold hands, spread their arms to either side and fall forward, plummeting towards the ground.

"Erin!"

"Torry!"

Days later the two men have barely done anything other than drinking a cup of tea. Even then, they're doing good to struggle through one cup a day. Mrs. Hudson walks up the stairs softly, walking into 221B with a tray of tea and biscuits. "Do try to eat something before we go. And a shower?" She asks. John nods and mumbles something. No one says a word as the three ride to the cemetery later that afternoon. They walk to the two matching headstones slowly. Mrs. Hudson sets down two bouquets she bought and pats her boys on their shoulders. "I'll leave you two for a private moment," she whispers sympathetically.

"You-" Sherlock chokes out, voice breaking off. "You were the first person I ever truly loved," He says, voice wobbling. "Romantically at least," he teases, putting his arm around John, who lets out a cut-off sob.

"And you were the only other person in this world that I thought would ever want put up with the broken man I am," John says. "Well, other than Sherlock."

"Please, love," Sherlock begs. "Please do something for us-" He stops, unable to go on.

"Please, darling," John continues for him. "Please stop this."

"Please don't be dead," they say together. Both begin to silently cry, eventually allowing themselves to lean on each other for both physical and emotional support.

"See you soon, Erin," John says before turning to walk back to the cab.

"See you at Angelo's," Sherlock whispers.

Nearby behind a large oak tree, both girls stand, wiping away their own tears at hearing every word.

"We can do this. We need to. For them."

"Come on. Let's get this over with."

Sherlock BBC Taglist

@lucywrites02

@delightfulheartdream

@bartv21

@another-crazy-fangirl

@ladylulu143

[remywrites5]

if you're taking prompts (which if you're not feel free to ignore this) but i would *love* to see wolfstar with sirius buying remus flowers?? (for no reason other than he loves him, cause we love a sappy romantic Sirius!!) 🧡🧡🧡

           Remus was just about to close up the antiques shop he owned for the night and go home. He risked a glance at the record store across the street but he couldn’t see anyone through the window. He ran his fingers through his curls and chastised himself for his stupid crush. He really needed to get a new hobby that didn’t involve drooling over a shopkeeper across the way.

           Sirius Black. Even his name sounded effortlessly cool, matching the whole leather jacket, full sleeves of tattoos, long hair and oh by the way I ride a motorbike thing. Remus thought he was above that whole bad boy mentality but maybe not. Well, everyone had to have a weakness for something.

           Remus stopped dead in his tracks on the way to the back room when he noticed an old antique vase full of flowers. When had that even happened? It must have been near the end of his shift or surely he would have noticed them sooner. He pulled the vase down from the shelf and looked at the arrangement. Yellow sunflowers and purple roses with baby’s breath filling the spaces in between. They were stunning and Remus glanced around in surprise even though he knew the door was locked and no one else was in the store.

           He took the flowers out of the vase and held them gently. He placed them on his desk as he got his coat on, not wanting to ruin them by trying to hold them and complete the task.

           Stepping out into the street, Remus glanced again at the record store across the way. He knew it was just wishful thinking to imagine it might have been Sirius that had left him the flowers. He’d only spoken to the guy a handful of times. And sure, Sirius had brought Remus coffee one day, from the café down the block, when he noticed Remus had been dead on his feet. It was a small gesture but one that Remus had appreciated. He’d yet to find a suitable way to make it up to Sirius.

           Sirius stepped into the front window of the store and Remus felt his breath catch. He felt ridiculous that seeing a handsome bloke could have such an affect on him. Sirius glanced his way and gave a little wave. Remus smiled back in return and gave a timid wave of his own. A moment later Sirius was gone and Remus stamped down his disappointment. It was like he had conjured Sirius up by the power of his own longing.

           Getting the flowers home in one piece was harder than he’d imagined with having to take the tube home. He was careful not to get jostled by his fellow passengers or else the lovely bouquet would get ruined. No one had ever bought him flowers before and Remus wasn’t about to kill the first bouquet of his life.

           Honestly Remus was still a little thrown by receiving the flowers in the first place. He wasn’t even dating anyone. He really couldn’t think of anyone who would go to the effort of putting them in that vase while the shop was open and be sneaky enough to do it without Remus noticing.

           Except Sirius Black, Remus’ traitorous mind unhelpfully supplied. From what little he knew of the man, Sirius was always up to no good. He had a tendency for throwing out customers that didn’t respect his music tastes or were rude. He’d once heard a story of Sirius Black throwing a man out of the store just for saying a disparaging thing about The Ramones.

           Sirius Black and James Potter, the guy who owned the café down the street were always throwing block parties. About once every three months or so James and Sirius would organize a big do and get everyone on the street involved. James and his wife Lily would provide coffee and pastries, Sirius would provide the music, and have crates of records to sell for cheap, Sirius’s brother Regulus would give discounted tattoos in front of his shop next to Sirius’, the florist shop owned by Frank and Alice Longbottom would give our tiny bouquets for a dollar, Marlene Mckinnon, who owned the secondhand clothing shop would bring a rack of silly hats that people bought out of tradition, and Peter Pettigrew who owned the pet shop always brought a new little of puppies or kittens to sell for half off.

           Remus was the only one who had never really participated. He felt bad about it but as an antique shop he didn’t really have much to contribute. He refused to undervalue the things in his store, things he had lovingly collected over the years. The price he sold them for was the price they were worth. If he gave away antiques at a discount he would go out of business.

           Clearly James and Sirius understood that because after the first three times they asked, each time with Remus giving the same refusal, they had stopped coming around to ask. It was easier that way, not having to give the same excuse over and over. But the block parties had been going on for a year and a half now and it was hard not being a part of it. It still meant some increased traffic to his store but it felt wrong to get customers that way when he wasn’t participating in the festivities.

           They were getting ready for their next one in just a few days and Remus already could feel his stomach churning with the familiar feeling of being left out once again.

           Remus entered his one bedroom flat, toeing off his shoes and heading straight to the kitchen. He got down a cut glass vase – an antique he’d gotten on a trip to Prague and kept for himself – and filled it with water. He placed the flowers inside and put them on the windowsill where they could get the most light in his dingy flat. Already the place looked brighter and Remus couldn’t help smiling.

                                                           ***

           “You can’t tell me anything?” Remus asked Frank Longbottom incredulously the next morning. He was late to open up his shop because he’d stopped by the florists to ask about the bouquet he’d received. He glanced down at his watch and exhaled loudly in frustration. “Come on, Frank!”

           “I’m sorry but he told me not to,” Frank answered with an apologetic smile.

           “He?” Remus echoed, raising an eyebrow.

           “Oh damn it,” Frank said, chiding himself for his slip up. He pointed his gardening shears at Remus. “That’s all your getting out of me, Remus! Don’t ask me anything else because I’m not saying a word.”

           Remus sighed and tugged his fingers through his curls. “Fine, thanks for nothing, Frank.”

           “You’re welcome!” Frank said pleasantly, waving Remus off.

           Remus stepped out into the sunshine and tilted his face up towards it. It really was a beautiful day and the street was already a bustle of excitement. He needed to get to his shop and open up but he took a moment to soak in the crisp air of early Spring.

           He must have been soaking a little too much because someone plowed right into him. Remus got knocked sideways and fell to the ground hard. He was just about to tell whoever it was to watch where they were going when the words died on his lips.

           “Oh, Remus!” Sirius Black said, smiling brightly. Remus would have happily soaked that up instead of the sunshine. “I’m so sorry. I’m useless before I have my coffee. I was just on my way to the Doe-Nut Hut.” Sirius scrambled around getting the records he’d dropped up off the ground. “Can I get you a coffee? It’s the least I can do after knocking into you so rudely.”

           “Oh, um…” Remus swallowed thickly and glanced around. Suddenly every word in the English language seemed to have left his head. Maybe he had hit it on the sidewalk and he had a mild concussion.

           Sirius stood and held out his free hand to Remus. Remus took it and was hoisted back up onto his feet. “So…coffee?” Sirius said, continuing to clasp Remus’ hand even once their desired result of getting Remus back to his feet had been accomplished.

           Remus glanced down at their joined hands and finally was able to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “I have to open up my shop.”

           Sirius nodded. “Okay, I’ll meet you there! I’m just dropping these off for the sprog real quick. I have to start his musical education early, you know? Before James poisons him with shite like James Blunt.” Sirius gave a little shudder as he gave the name. “Or Michael Buble.”

           Remus looked at the record on top and read the name. “David Bowie? Are kids really into that kind of thing?”

           Sirius snickered. “He is if he’s going to be my godson!” Sirius dropped Remus’ hand – more the pity. Remus immediately wanted to grab it back. “You go open up and I’ll be there in twenty, with coffee, I promise.”

           “Okay,” Remus said, giving a small nod. He watched Sirius go bounding away down the sidewalk towards the café, blinking slowly as he wondered what had just happened. Glancing at his watch, he was already fifteen minutes late opening up his shop. Cursing under his breath, Remus took off in the other direction, grabbing his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door.

                                                           ***

           Remus sat behind the till with his hands wrapped around the cup of coffee supplied for him by Sirius Black, while the man himself wandered around the shop. “You’ve got a lot of neat things in here,” Sirius said, stopping and looking at himself in one of the many mirrors Remus had in the shop. Sirius fixed his hair for a moment and then continued on.

           “Thank you,” Remus said, taking a sip of his coffee. “You know this is now twice I owe you for.”

           “Huh?” Sirius said, poking his head around from a bookcase to look at Remus.

           “You’ve gotten me coffee twice now,” Remus reminded him, playing nervously with the sleeve around the cup. “It doesn’t seem very fair.”

           Sirius laughed, the sound of it filling the room, each cold lonely space of it. “The coffee is free, mate,” he explained, turning on and off an old Tiffany’s lamp. “Jamie doesn’t make me pay for it. So you don’t owe me anything.”

           Remus shifted in his seat. “Oh, right. Well, I still appreciate it even if you didn’t pay for it yourself. It was a kind gesture.”

           Sirius abandoned the lamp and came over, resting his elbows against the counter. “You’re not indebted to me, Remus,” he said with a lopsided smirk. “I just like doing nice things for you.”

           “Why is that?” he asked, his heart rate speeding up. He nearly jumped out of his chair when the bell rang signaling a customer had come in. He looked up at Sirius expectantly but Sirius was already grabbing his coffee cup and making his way towards the front of the store.

           “See ya later, Remus!” he called out before the bell rang again and he was gone.

                                                           ***

           That night at closing Remus found a bouquet of lilacs and white roses.

                                                           ***

           The next morning when Remus got to his shop, Sirius Black was leaning in the doorway waiting for him, holding an old record player. Remus’ brow furrowed in confusion as he took in the sight before him. Sirius merely smiled and scooted out of the way so Remus could unlock the door.

           “Did we have an appointment?” Remus asked after stepping inside while Sirius following after him. He thought maybe Sirius was there to try and sell the record player for some cash.

           “Nope!” Sirius said cheerfully, putting the record player down on a mahogany desk. “But I was thinking about you last night and I realized just what your store needs.”

           “Oh?” Remus inquired, trying and failing not to think about that fact Sirius Black had just uttered the phrase I was thinking about you last night.

           “Music!” Sirius said, dropping the needle down onto the record he’d already had on the player. “It was so quiet in here. You need some music to liven the place up. I wasn’t quite sure what you liked so I went for something classy like your shop. Figured some punk rock wouldn’t really go with the vibe you’ve got going on in here.”

           The music began to play and Otis Redding began to sing. Remus smiled and gave Sirius an encouraging nod. Sirius matched his smile and held out his hand. It took a Remus a moment to realize what he was asking and then took it. Their fingers laced together and Sirius brought his hand up to rest on Remus’ shoulder. Remus put his hand on Sirius’ back and they swayed in time with the music. Remus had never considered himself much of a dancer but this kind of dancing was easy. All he had to do was hold Sirius and shuffle his feet. At least he could handle that.

           Try a Little Tenderness faded out and Stand By Me began to play. Remus dropped his hand from Sirius’ back and spun Sirius under his arm. Sirius burst out laughing and made his way back to Remus and their original position.

           When the second song ended, Remus broke away and smiled shyly at Sirius. “Come to the block party tomorrow,” Sirius said suddenly, catching Remus off-guard. “I know you normally don’t but just try, okay? Please?”

           “I don’t have anything to contribute,” Remus said, tugging on one of his curls self-consciously.

           “Just contribute yourself,” Sirius told him, reaching out and giving Remus’ arm a squeeze. Remus felt heat radiating through his body just from that small point of contact and fuck he really had a problem. “That’s enough.”

           “Okay.”

           Sirius grinned as if Remus had just said something brilliant. “When you get tired of Otis just let me know and I’ll bring you something else,” he said as he backed up out of the store. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the block party!”

           “Bye,” Remus said, giving Sirius a small wave as he left the store. My Girl filled the store, keeping Sirius’ presence there even after he’d gone.

                                                           ***

           That night in the same vase there were red roses and marigolds.

                                                           ***

           Remus closed up his shop an hour early so that he could participate in the block party for the first time ever. He was anxious about what this would entail or if the other shop owners would judge him for coming to the party when he wasn’t doing anything for it. It felt disingenuous but then Sirius had invited him to come.

           He wound his way through the sea of people just to get across the street to Sirius’ shop. When he finally broke through the crowd his eyes were immediately drawn to Sirius and the bouquet of flowers in his hands. When he noticed Remus, he smiled.

           “Hi,” Remus said, taking the flowers after Sirius held them out to him. “So it was you leaving me the flowers then?”

           Sirius nodded. “Is that okay?”

           “Yeah,” Remus said, hugging the assortment of different colored tulips to his chest. “I was kind of hoping it was you.”

           “It was a real pain getting them into that vase every day without you noticing,” Sirius said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He had London Calling playing over the loud speakers. “Especially with all those damn mirrors you have.”

           Remus laughed and shook his head. “You know you could have just asked me out. Now I’m definitely indebted to you.”

           Sirius took a step closer. “I’ll call it even if you kiss me right now.”

           “Such a bargain,” Remus quipped, bending down and capturing Sirius’ lips in a chaste kiss. After a moment he broke it and straightened back up. Sirius still had his eyes closed and he slowly blinked them open.

           “That is what today is about,” he joked, licking his lips. “Did I say one kiss? I’m pretty sure I meant ten.”

           “How about three kisses and a date tonight?”

           “Are you haggling with me right now?” Sirius asked with a huff of amusement.

           Remus put flowers down on one of the speakers so they wouldn’t get crushed as he pulled Sirius back towards him. “Well?” he asked, just barely brushing his lips against Sirius’.

           “Unlimited kisses forever and you come home with me tonight.”

           “For that price I’d better be getting a lot more flowers out of the deal,” Remus teased, rubbing his nose playfully against Sirius’.

           “I’m guaranteeing a lifetime of flowers, happiness and pretty much whatever the fuck you want, Remus,” Sirius said, slotting their mouths back together and kissing Remus hungrily. Remus could faintly hear people cheering and clapping but he didn’t dare break the kiss to see who it was.

           “You’ve got yourself a deal,” Remus said breathlessly before kissing Sirius again. He should have made it to a block party a lot sooner if this was the kind of stuff on offer. At least he’d finally made it and he was pretty sure he’d gotten the best thing on the block.

[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe Again -Chapter seven

Like I’m not made of stone

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//six

Chapter summary: In which there are ups and downs, food continues to be an issue and Alfie loses his patience once or twice. 

Pairing: Alfie/Tommy

Warnings: suicidal ideation, disordered eating, insomnia, hallucinations, mentions of force feeding. 

Wordcount: 4400

”Sir, perhaps you could move him to the bedroom tonight?”

The voice wakes him up. But it’s an odd way of waking up, one he’s not used to anymore. Rather than being violently startled awake or just floating from one nightmare to another, he’s left in more of a soft, warm darkness, limbs heavy and only barely hearing the voices. Familiar voices, but not the bad ones, the ones everyone keeps telling him aren’t real.

”I’m not fucking carrying him around,” Alfie grumbles. He does that a lot. Makes his voice come out as that low, rumbling noise. Tommy likes that. “If he wants to sleep in the armchair he can fucking sleep in the armchair. Seems to have worked out fine the last… three days. It‘s better than not sleeping at all, innit?”  

”Yes, but he always wakes up sooner or later, and I really think he might manage the whole night if-” there are footsteps, and the voices fade. He sinks a bit deeper into the cushions. It’s okay, he won’t have to go back to that room. He’ll get to stay here, where it’s warm and safe and there’s no door that can be closed.

The darkness pulls him under again.

…

It’s quiet when he wakes up the next time. Quiet and much colder than before and his legs ache from being pulled against his chest for so long. He stretches them out, reluctantly facing the darkness as he opens his eyes and looks around, spotting the usual things in the room that always remind him of where he is. The shelves full of books and odd trinkets, the painting of a grassy landscape, the armchair where Alfie sits when he reads in the afternoon. The book is there too, on the table with a piece of paper sticking out to signify where he left off.

The silence of a house where everyone else is asleep is different from any other. And the room that has begun feeling almost safe at any other hour of the day suddenly feels all wrong. It’s too quiet and too dark and too cold.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a glimpse of white fabric. He grabs onto the blanket and digs a hand into the pocket of the too large trousers, fingers clasping around the chestnut. Closing his eyes he tries to sort among the shards in his head, put enough of them together to find something real to focus on, remember what’s happened.

They went for a walk, and then Alfie read a book, and then he fell asleep. They’ve done that- how many times, just once?

There’s a sound somewhere in the room. Fabric swishing. He breathes, tries to push away all the other thoughts and just focus on the round smooth surface of the chestnut in his hand. Tries to recall what’s happened in the book, but it’s difficult because he fades in and out of it. Sometimes everything else is too loud and all he really hears is the sound of Alfie’s voice itself, without being able to decipher the meaning of the words… But he did read, of that he’s sure. And they went for a walk.  A bit further than the chestnut tree this time, to gathering of thorny rose bushes without leaves. And the day before that Alfie showed him a large oak with a hole in it. Tommy thought that perhaps the crow lived there until he remembered that crows build nests.

The room is empty when he opens his eyes, but it still feels like someone is there just right outside his field of vision.

Esther told him he could wake her up…

“My room is through the kitchen and then to the left. I’ll leave the door open and if you need anything, anything at all, if you get scared or hungry or just need a bit of company, you can wake me up. Alright?”

He nodded when she told him, but he won’t wake her up, doesn’t want to be more trouble than he already is. But he can’t stay in here, that’s all he knows, so he gets out of the armchair, bringing the blanket along with him. It’s always so cold everywhere at night. As long as Alfie and Esther are awake there’s always a fire burning somewhere.

He’s a little dizzy, so he has to hold onto the wall for a moment before venturing out into the hallway and slowly making his way to nowhere in particular. Maybe he could go to the kitchen, just to see if it’s warmer there?

And somehow it’d feel safer, because Esther wouldn’t be as far away.  

Alfie’s house is big and full of things. Bookcases and shelves full of odd trinkets. There are animals there as well. He doesn’t like those. They stare at him with their glassy eyes, reminding him of the crow that still hasn’t returned.

But it seems odd that Alfie would have a crow. That doesn’t make any sense. He tries to fit the pieces together. Something blurry resurfaces, Alfie holding that bird and-

“It’s fucking stuffed, alright?.”

But he saw it move and fly and then it came to his window. Tap tap against the glass.

That doesn’t make any sense either, birds don’t do things like that, and no one would have a crow as a pet, not even Alfie. Tomorrow he should ask Alfie about it, or maybe Esther. Esther wouldn’t get angry.

He reaches out and touches the smooth feathers of a raven on top of a cabinet. It stays still on its perch, glassy stare and cold to the touch. It’s real but it’s not alive, just like the others, that makes sense. There’s a fox next to it and he hesitates for a moment before letting his fingers brush through the soft fur.

He continues carefully running his fingers along the objects on the shelf as he walks. Soon he passes the guestroom but he doesn’t go inside, because he doesn’t like it, it’s quiet in a bad way and the corners are so dark…

Then there’s the door to what must be Alfie’s bedroom. He stands there outside of it, listening. Some light snoring comes from behind the door. Feels strange to think of Alfie asleep in a bed. An image of him sprawled out on his back, taking up the entire mattress with his large frame appears in his mind and he- he wants to knock on the door, wake Alfie up and ask if he will read to him, or just be there, real and solid and filling the silence with his voice.

He quickly moves away from the door, continuing down the hallway. The floor rocks ever so slightly underneath him.

“You shouldn’t wander around, Tommy.”

Lizzie carefully puts a hand on his shoulder, so light that he can barely feel it. “Let’s get you back to bed. The doctor says you need to rest.”

He hugs the blanket tightly to his chest and just breathes. This is real, not the other things. He tries to pick those pieces out, sort them away, just focus on the ones he knows are real; Alfie, the walks and the trees, Esther coming in with tea, Alfie’s voice being a gentle, distant rumbling and the fabric of his shirtsleeve soft and warm under his fingers…

When the voices fade, he begins moving again. Down the corridor to what might be the kitchen, he’s never been in this part of the house before.

Suddenly he’s hit by another wave of dizziness and grapples for something to hold onto, stumbling and just barely catching himself against a shelf. It shakes, and there’s a loud crash. It sends his heart racing and makes his breath catch in his throat.

He looks down to find the floor full of broken shards, sharp and glimmering in the faint moonlight spilling in through the window. Like a sea of crystals or-

“Sapphires maybe?”

The shards are blue, but it must be the moonlight, it’s just glass, nothing else-

He picks one up, has to touch it, just to make sure. The sharp edges gleam.

“You could make a necklace for yourself, Tommy, like the one you gave me. It’d be pretty. Match your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to look at the glass anymore, but he doesn’t dare turning away either, afraid of what he’ll see. His pulse thuds dully under the thin skin on his neck, right under his jaw, pumping blood through the veins so close to the surface-

“It’s so easy. And quiet too.”

No, no it’s not real. He doesn’t have to listen.  

But the glass is real, it’s just glass but it’s real and if it’s real, he has to pick it up, or someone will be angry. He starts gathering up the shards in his hands, carefully putting the small ones in a larger piece so he won’t cut himself.

“Tommy?”

The shards clatter to the floor as he flinches. He scrambles to pick up the pieces again and footsteps approach. Lizzie comes toward him, a worried wrinkle between her eyebrows.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, and he can never answer, because what is he supposed to say?

That no one ever comes anymore. And the room is so quiet and the bed is cold and he just didn’t want to be alone. But it’s a selfish and stupid thing to think. “Aren’t you enough of a burden on this family already? Do you need to be waited on at all hours too?”  

He shakes his head, focuses again on gathering all the glass up. Lizzie will be angry, like she was after the mirror-

“Oh, put those down, love, I’ll take care of it.”

It’s not Lizzie standing there before him, it’s Esther, calm and steady as ever with just a small extra wrinkle between her eyebrows. She crouches down next to him and soon the blanket is draped over his shoulders.

“Go on, so you don’t cut yourself.”

“I didn’t mean to-“ he whispers as he puts the glass back down, surprised to hear his own voice.

“No, no of course not, accidents happen. Now come here, we don’t want you stepping on it.”

He lets himself be moved backwards a few steps, eyes fixed on the glass.  

It has lost its bluish tint and Esther appears by his side again with a broom. He reaches for it.

“I can-“

“Nonsense, I’m a professional after all,” she says and the dimples are back in her cheeks as she starts sweeping the glass into a pile. “Honestly this was for the best. An absolutely awful vase, that-

“Is it too much to ask for one fucking night of undisturbed sleep? What’s going on out here?”

Tommy flinches even though the gruff voce is familiar.

Alfie’s hair is sticking out at odd directions and he’s clad nothing but his shorts as he comes down the hallway, limping ever so slightly. He somehow looks even bigger without his clothes, large muscles and expanses of warm skin... For some reason Tommy finds himself staring at his broad chest, eyes transfixed on all the new things.  

“Oh, nothing Sir,” Esther says. “Just a little accident.”

Alfie looks at the glass as Esther sweeps it all up in a pile, then at Tommy, eyes narrowing.

“An accident, eh?” he comes closer and towers over him. The heat seems to radiate from his skin and he wishes he could lean into it. “You sure about that?”

He grabs his wrist -maybe to give him another chestnut?- but no, he just bends his fingers up to inspect his palm.

“Mister Solomons what-“

“You got any of it hidden away, hm? Figured this would be an easier way out than the bloody sea?” Alfie looks into his other hand and palms his thigh in search of a pocket. It’s all too much suddenly and a pathetic whine escapes him. Alfie pins him with a hard gaze. “I fucking swear, Tommy, if you broke that fucking thing on purpose, I’m going to make it easy for you and wring your bloody neck right this second.”

“Mister Solomons, that’s quite enough!” Esther says sharply and takes two determined steps towards them, grabbing onto Alfie’s arm. Alfie is still staring at him with those wide eyes but he takes a step back. Tommy averts his gaze to the floor, to the blanket that’s ended up there again. He wants to pick it up, but he’s afraid another dizzy spell will come over him.

Alfie is already angry, he doesn’t want to make it worse.

Esther huffs, “You could at least have made yourself decent before storming out here to yell at our guest.”

Alfie makes a noise of offence but she just puts her hands on her hips puffs her chest out. They stare each other down. Then, Alfie throws his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, why don’t you fucking handle it? I’m going back to bed.”

Tommy finds himself staring at his broad, retreating back. The muscles around his shoulders ripple as his arms move.

“But I swear if he ends up bleeding out on the carpet somewhere I’m not fucking dealing with it,” he barks. “And stay away from the one in the living room, I like that thing.”

The door to Alfie’s bedroom slams shut.  

Esther snorts and picks up the blanket, draping it over Tommy’s shoulders again.

“The manners of that man, honestly,” she mutters and glances at the clock standing on one of the shelves. “Know what, it’s almost morning anyway, so there really is no point in going back to bed now. How about you come with me to the kitchen for a bit?”

Tommy finds himself being led through the dark corridor before he can figure out an answer.

He’s never been in the kitchen. It’s nice. Reminds him of the kitchen at Watery Lane, but larger, cleaner. Maybe it’s just the feeling of… home it exudes. Seems like an eternity since that was home.

“There we go,” Esther says and puts a cup of tea down in front of him on the table. “Now, I’ve had a dough proving overnight, so it should be right about done.” She sets a large bowl down onto the table and rolls her sleeves up.

Soon, the room is warm from the heat of the oven, and Esther is standing up to her elbows in dough.

“So, love, is there any food you like?” she asks, wiping across her forehead with her wrist and leaving a white trail of flour there. “See, I’m nothing if not stubborn. And it’s good that you can manage the soup, but we really should try getting some solid food into you.”

Tommy rubs his stomach. Thinks of the dirt filling every cavity.

“Maybe something your mum used to cook when you were little?”

One time, dad came home with strawberries. And had it been up to him, the rest of his siblings would’ve made a away with most of them. But mum took them and distributed them equally- She gave him an extra piece of bread too, with butter, which was a rare treat. “You go ahead and eat this too, sweetheart. You’re smaller than John.”  

He shakes his head.

Esther hums and starts forming the dough into loaves. “Well, we’ll figure it out eventually.”

The door opens and Alfie enters, clad in trousers with the suspenders dangling by his sides and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up.  

“Thought you were going back to sleep, Sir,” Esther says cheerily and begins arranging the loaves on a sheet tray.  

“Impossible to fucking fall asleep at this hour,” Alfie mutters and lifts the lid on the teapot to look inside, muttering something incoherent as he goes to fetch a cup. “If certain people could just fucking stay put instead of wandering around the house like some restless bloody spirit it’d make all of this much easier. I could use some undisturbed sleep.”

“Well, Sir, you have all day to sleep if you’d like to,” Esther says and covers one of the loaves with a towel, setting it aside. “Or would that get in the way of any important obligations?”

Tommy freezes. But Alfie just glares and pours tea into his cup.

“Remind me again why I hired you.”

“Because no one else would put up with you, Sir,” Esther quips and covers the second tray.

Alfie grunts something unintelligible, but sits down by the table. Tommy thinks he can see the corner of his mouth twitch, and he feels something stir in his chest. Something besides the dull ache that usually resides there.

The kitchen is quiet for a while, but right then, none of the voices come back.

Esther refills the teacups, and Alfie flips through a paper, occasionally humming and muttering things to himself.

Soon, the room is filled with the scent of warm bread.

“Now, if this doesn’t help that appalling appetite of yours I don’t know what fucking will,” Alfie says and nods towards the bread when Esther takes it out of the oven. “Think you might be a lost cause then.”

Tommy wraps an arm around his stomach as he watches Esther cut the bread into slices. She sets a piece down before him. He’s not sure how to explain the mud, that he can’t eat because of it. They’ll think he’s crazy, tell him it’s all in his head. And it is. Must be, because it’s not- people can’t be full of mud like that, can they? But what does it help telling himself that when he can feel it filling up his insides like a cold, heavy lump?

He rubs his stomach. It feels like the mud goes all the way up the back of his throat, making it impossible to swallow.

It’s not really there. It’s just like everything else, not really there. And he has to eat.

Lizzie tries to explain it to him the first time the men show up.

“I’m sorry, Tommy, but this is the only way-“

But then she leaves the room, and it’s just the doctor and those men in the white shirts left.

He shoves weakly against all the hands as they force the tube down his throat. It hurts and he can’t breathe, it won’t fit, and all the mud is in the way. Lizzie comes to stand in the doorway and he tries to reach for her, she won’t let them do this, she’ll tell them to stop- But she just looks at him with sad eyes.

He picks up the bread and takes a small bite. It seems to grow in his mouth but he chews and swallows. His throat closes up around it.

“There we go, that wasn’t so bad now, was it,” Alfie chuckles. “Don’t have to look like you swallowed a fucking insect.”

He takes another bite and tries to chew it more this time.

The faces around him are all set in nothing but cold determination and it makes no difference how hard he fights them. Tears trickle down his cheeks and he gags around the intrusion in his throat.

“Please, Tommy, they’re only trying to help.”  

He tries to swallow, but the bile rises in his throat. Gagging, he slams a hand over his mouth and somehow makes it to the nearby sink before he’s vomiting. Bile and blood and mud from the field…  

He just wants the tube gone, but they won’t listen, just keep forcing it down his throat no matter how many times he gags and chokes around it.

Again and again he retches, even when nothing except bile comes up.

“Oh, of course that’s what we’re fucking doing now. Fucking hell, it’s too bloody early for this bullshit. I’ll just leave you to it.”

Dishes clatter, a chair scrapes, and then Alfie’s muttered curses fade along with his footsteps. A door slams.

Tommy is vaguely aware of the humiliation burning in the pit of his stomach and a sob escapes him before he can stop it.

“Well, Mr. Shelby, if you start eating on your own we won’t have to do this,” The doctor says when they finally remove it and he coughs and weeps and-

His legs give in.

-and when the hands finally let him go he curls up into a ball under the covers, arms over his head and hearing his own sobs as some distant echo in his ears.

The hands come back, but they’re softer this time. Fewer.

“It’s alright. We’ll take it slower. You don’t have to force yourself into anything,” Esther says and rubs his shoulder. She hangs the blanket over him too. But he can’t face her. Can’t face anyone he’s-

“Pathetic, useless-“

Maybe if he digs the bullet out-

“No, no none of that,” Esther takes his wrist firmly in her hand, pulling it away from his head. “Nothing will get better with you hurting yourself.”

It’s not there. His head is just damaged anyway. Can’t be fixed.

“Alright?”

He nods and Esther releases him. There’s a bit of movement.  

“Here’s some water. I’m putting it next to you, so you can drink it when you’re ready.”

Esther gets to her feet but doesn’t leave the kitchen. She potters around, humming to herself and whistling occasionally. He focuses on all of those sounds and none of the others.

The shame has turned into a dull ache in the pit of his stomach and right then, it feels impossible to ever look up again, he just wants to stay like this. But finally the darkness under his arms become too much so he peers up just a little to see what Esther is doing. She’s washing dishes, and as if she senses his gaze she glances over at him and smiles.

“It’s okay. We’ll stick to the soup for a bit longer. No point in eating if it’s making you feel like this.”

He nods and can breathe a little easier, taking the glass and washing away the taste of bile in his mouth. Esther nods too and goes back to the dishes.

“I know he might not seem like it, but he’s worried, that’s all,” she says suddenly. “Mister Solomons. Sure he might hide it under a lot of… gruffness and cursing, but he cares. Just doesn’t always know how to show it.”

Tommy hears the words but they don’t make sense. Alfie has no reason to care.

He stays there on the floor until Esther finally comes and leads him over to a chair. And then he sits there instead, quietly watching her. Until the kitchen door suddenly opens.

Alfie is standing there, clad in a coat and with a hat perched on his head. He clears his throat and scratches his beard. Then he tosses something at Tommy. A second coat.

“Figured we should stick to the walks,” he says. “You know, keep the routine and… what not. Mind you if you decide to start fucking vomiting over that coat-“

Esther clears her throat loudly and Alfie glares, before gesturing at Tommy.

“Well, go on, put it on.”

Tommy finds himself obeying.

It’s cloudy outside, and the field is swept up in fog as if some of the clouds have fallen out of the sky. Alfie talks as usual and he sticks close to him, gravitates towards him without understanding why. Maybe because Alfie is solid and real and there and if he’s close enough maybe that will be enough to ground him, keep the voices at bay…

No one wants him this close, it’s annoying and clingy. But Alfie doesn’t seem to mind. He minds plenty of things, but not this.

He’s brought the chestnut along and he holds that in his hand, squeezing it tightly.  

“I got you something,” Alfie says suddenly and digs a hand into the giant pocket of his coat. “Or, well, Esther did, really.”

Tommy stops in his tracks and stares down at the packet of cigarettes.

“Got them while she was into town, yesterday. Really shouldn’t be fucking indulging this habit of yours. Smoking is for people who fucking eat. But things can’t exactly get any worse so I figured this wouldn’t make a difference. Go on.”

Alfie holds the packet a bit closer, before sighing and picking one out himself. Tommy flinches when he shoves it against his lips and latches onto it out of pure shock. Alfie grins and his eyes crinkle at the corners. His eyes are kind when he smiles like that, even the hazy one- He lights the cigarette without asking and when the scent fills Tommy’s nose, it’s as if his body acts on its own accord, sucking the smoke into his lungs, fingers pulling the cigarette from his lips as he exhales it into a cloud. Reacting on some half forgotten instinct, he rubs the cigarette over his lips before putting it back between them and the gesture makes something spark in his chest because it’s real and normal and the first normal thing he’s felt in so long and-

Alfie is staring at him with an odd expression on his face. Then he makes another one of those grunts that could mean anything, and starts walking again. Tommy follows. Gathers himself and focuses on making his voice work.

“Thank you.”

This time it’s Alfie who stops in his tracks and Tommy steps on his heel, flinching when he turns around. He waits for an outburst of some sort.

Alfie just blinks and clears his throat. “Yeah, well, it‘s just fucking cigarettes, innit?”

Then he continues walking. Tommy tries to keep some distance as he follows this time.  

Without a word, Alfie turns, grabs onto his coat sleeve and tugs him closer.

“It’s better if you stay there. Don’t want you wandering off somewhere, right? Could lose you in this fog. Not to mention the tall grass.” He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, you’re a tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

Tommy frowns.

Alfie laughs again, looking incredibly pleased with himself.  “Oh but would you look at that? Could almost pass as a glare, that. Nothing compared to your usual glower but it’s getting there. Who would’ve thought cigarettes were such a good medicine?”

It’s hard to keep frowning when Alfie’s face looks like that, all bright and happy. So Tommy just takes another drag on the cigarette and walks a little closer to him.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Invincible

Request: could you write a one shot about five w/ a cold and he’s reluctant to let MC take care of him? ( @five-hg )

Pairing: Five x Reader (Oneshot)

A/N: Reader’s powers are barely explained in this. She’s called The Changeling, because she can shapeshift. When they taken the form of one of the Umbrella kids, she can use their powers until she changes back to how she normally looks.

I actually like the possibilities I could use for that power. Is anyone up for a longer story with a reader that has those powers?

The Hargreeves mansion is beautiful. It’s every aesthetic somehow rolled into one. It’s a patchwork of different eras’ aesthetics, actually, and somehow it works. In the living room there is a fancy bar, animal heads mounted on the wall, imposing artwork on the walls, and strange idol statues on the spare stands. The foyer of the house is mostly black and white and symmetrical, with the staircase the largest attraction, and the area around the staircase in shadows. The kitchen rarely sees its lights turned on, instead relying mostly on the high windows to let in the light. Reginald’s study bare in the inside except for his desk, but stuffed on the perimeter with bookcases and the like. Of course, each kid’s room is different as well; airplanes hang suspended from the ceiling in Luther’s room, and in Allison’s room accessories and magazines can be seen from every angle, just to name a few.

The doors to the children’s rooms aren’t as large and are made out of lighter (in both color and weight) wood than the door to, say, Reginald’s study. While the living room, foyer, and kitchen mostly rely on light from the windows to illuminate the room (the heavy-wrought chandelier in the foyer and lamps around the perimeter do nothing and everyone knows it’s just for the aesthetic too), the mansion’s library is lit only by lamps, as is one of the lower common areas.

If Reginald wasn’t known for being so eccentric, he wouldn’t have been able to pull it off, but somehow he makes the patchwork work.

At the moment, you’re wandering through the maze of shelves to find an interesting book. Reginald’s collection isn’t separated in any way that makes sense; by fiction or nonfiction, or topic, or anything like that. You would ask him how it’s separated by, but you’d probably get punished for your impudence, not to mention he would insult your intelligence.

You jump a tiny bit when you hear something behind you, but it’s only Number Five. He’s obviously here in the pursuit of a study, which is why Reginald favors him so much. You prefer to visit the library to escape from your current circumstances; in other words, you read fictional adventure stories that are so much cleaner and less personal than your current life.

You, Five, and Six are about the only people that use this library. The only books Reginald needs are in his office, and none of the other adopted children (you hesitate to call them your siblings—you’ve never once thought of them as anything but strangers living in your house, or possibly fellow schoolmates in a boarding school) have any use for reading. Number One and Three are often by themselves dreaming about their futures in space and Hollywood, respectively. Number Four is too often high to concentrate on reading, and Number Two loves to spend much of his time with Grace. Seven occasionally visits the library, but she prefers to read in her own room and practice the violin.

Six is the same way; he prefers to read in his room. The majority of the time he spends in the library is picking out his book. He’s very picky about that sort of stuff.

In a way, you like to think you and Five have developed a sort of kinship, as the only two people that share the 20,000 square foot room that takes up almost the entire second-lower floor, and could be a large ballroom if Reginald was a different person.

Because the library is below ground, there are no windows, so you have to rely on lamps that hardly do their job and leave long shadows behind and between shelves. Often you jump when something scurries in the shadows. Most of the time it’s simply Five, Pogo, Six, or Grace, but at one point it had been a particularly large rabid rat, and Five had rescued you from it when it was trying to attack you. So, yes, you do think there’s gotta be some sense of kinship there—you know for a fact that he would not have saved Numbers One or Two if they’d been in your situation.

You venture into another aisle. Five is already in the aisle, using his spacial jumping powers to get books from higher shelves that would require a ladder. There’s two books on the ground already, and by the time you pull one out from the shelves to examine it, he’s chosen another one.

“A-choo!” Five sneezes violently, making the ladder he’s standing on sway dangerously. You jump; the silence in the library broken. It’s not the first time, either; Five’s been sneezing a lot today, since even before he entered the library. His running nose even kept him from making an outburst during breakfast that morning. You’ve been offering him tissues and Grace offered him medicine, but he’s been refusing everything.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask, looking up from your book. Five sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve. When he looks up at you, his eyes look a little bloodshot. It could just be from his odd sleeping habits, but…

You purse your lips when he sneers at you, sniffling. “I’m fine, Eight. It’s just the dust.”

Now that is an abject lie. Grace keeps the entire house spotless and free of dust, especially the library what with how often you, Five, and Mr. Pogo choose to spend your time in it.

So you snort. “That’s B.S. and we both know it.”

“You don’t know anything,” he says tersely, pretending to read his book so intently you can tell he’s not focused on it at all. A shock of hair falls over his eyes and something jolts in your stomach when you realize you want to brush his hair back for him.

Suddenly realization hits you and you kick yourself a little bit for not realizing it sooner. “Five, do you have a cold?”

Five scowls at you. “Of course not, how—”

You put the book back in the shelf—why Reginald has a book written in German that looks to be, as far as you can tell, about human dissection, you don’t really want to know—and approach him like you would a skittish cat. “Five, it’s okay if you are sick. You’re not invincible, you know.” Five stiffens when you put your hand on his forehead and cluck your tongue. “Five, you’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” he snaps and blue light erupts around him. You’re far too used to his tricks, when he’s not in a pissy mood like this one, and your reflexes are good enough for you to grab hold of him just in time so you don’t lose him to the depths of the library.

Unfortunately, Five must be really sick, because the two of you land on top of a bookshelf that sways extremely dangerously. You close your eyes and grip the sides of the bookshelf, praying that it doesn’t fall and tip the others like dominoes. Reginald might just have a heart attack if that happened. Plus, it would be more work for Grace.

“I did not mean to do that,” Five admits sheepishly. He wipes his forehead with his hand. He’s sweating too. He must be really sick. “It’s fine, I can just—”

“No!” You put your hand on his knee. “No, I’ll do it.”

“Eight—” Five starts but you’ve already started to use your powers. For one brief moment, your hair shoots back into your head, bumps like worms crawling under your skin distort your features, and when you blink your eyes open as a different color. After a second, you look exactly like Five.

With a brief roll of Five’s eyes, you spacial jump to the floor with him and change your appearance back to the one you normally wear.

“I suppose it is a useful power,” Five admits.

“Yeah,” you snort. “Just wish I could keep the powers even when I look like me.”

“Well,” Five replies, and he almost slurs his words, “it can confuse the bad guys when we’re fighting them.”

“Five, I think you’re sick,” you say critically, taking the books he was clutching out of his hands. “You need to lay down—”

“No!” Five protests loudly, and then he sniffs loudly. “I’m perfectly healthy, Eight! A-choo!”

“Yeah, let’s get you back to your room,” you decide and wear Five’s face again. A quick spacial jump later and you’re depositing the sick boy onto his bed, shaking off his skin like, well, a second skin. “I’ll have Grace get you medicine,” you decide.

“I don’t need your help,” Five mutters into his pillow, already half-asleep. Poor thing’s been burning himself out on both ends as he tries to learn how to jump through time.

“You’re welcome,” you reply.

He snores in response.

When you turn around, Grace is standing in front of the door with medicine in her hand. “I had a feeling you would persuade him,” she says with a wide smile. “May I?”

It takes a little bit of work to rouse Five from his fever-induced slumber. He comes out of it mumbling and swatting away your hands trying to rouse him. “Eight, get away from me,” he snaps.

“I’m just trying to help you,” you reply. No doubt he would have said something about how he doesn’t need your help, had he not sneezed violently. “Everyone gets sick. You’re not immune or anything.” He has this idea that he’s invincible to the things that plague common people, like colds and emotions, and it’s endearing and annoying, depending on the day.

“Five, I insist you take this medicine,” Grace says calmly, handing him a pill and a glass of water. “You will feel much better, trust me. I’ve been telling you that you need more sleep.”

“I’m not taking that,” Five insists, turning his nose up at the pill. “I’m not even sick. I’m just tired.” He sniffles.

“Your running nose tells a different story,” you mutter and Five hears. He tries to glare at you, but his eyes are red-rimmed and tired. “Please, Five? Just this once?” you plead. “I can’t read if you’re sneezing every two seconds.”

He rolls his eyes but acquiesces. Grace stands back up, pleased, and smiles at the both of you. “I hope you feel better soon, Five.”

“I’m not even sick,” he mumbles, glaring at you for dragging him out of his safe haven.

“I’m sure,” you reply smoothly. “Do you want me to read to you?”

Five rolls his eyes, which probably means yes. You know he would have told you to get out if he didn’t want you to, but he’s also got a weird complex that prevents him from asking for or needing help in any way. He probably thinks someone reading to him while he’s sick is a sign of weakness.

You sit down primly on one of the chairs in his room and pick up one of the books on his desk. To your surprise, it’s one of your favorites: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. You’d told him about it months ago, not expecting him to actually be paying attention to your ramblings.

You glance at the boy, but he’s resolutely staring at the covers on his bed. There’s a blush rising up his neck, though, that leads you to believe he knows that you know why the book is right there on his desk.

You clear your throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

Umbrella Academy Taglist:

@fentanvl @deathswretch @lightningidiot @five-hg @iamsnek666 @ameliatrh

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes

If you want to be added onto a taglist, just send in an ask!

Requests are open; right now I’m working on a multi-part story that is also a Reader x Five, but I’m always taking ideas!

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Echo pt2

@kthomas325

Warning: This is a little dark. There is blood, death, Strong Language and yeah ... please read with caution. **Still not sure what direction this is taking so I should add a warning for Author with no plot **

Masterlist

---

Echo part 2

The castle was always active at the start of a new day but it seemed to be particularly lively right now. Servants darted from chambers and rooms fetching and carrying as orders were barked at them from the 9 siblings and their Mother.

Today was the audience with the crown. Dignitaries, as well as members of the general populace, were gathering to seek out solutions to issues from the highest authority in the land. This was part of being a ruling power here but it did seem that the Queen and her offspring took matters a little too far in the direction of dramatic flair.

Main gates were temporarily closed allowing the castle to be set up for the expected crowds that were already milling around outside the castle walls in the streets below. Fresh flowers arrangements were placed on the white stone staircase that lead up the incline to the castle proper. Rooms around the lower level were also locked and sectioned off so that no one could venture further into the building without proper clearance. Light flooded the corridors providing a kind of natural carpet effect on the floor and the Throne room was pristine in all its grandeur.  

Twelve thrones set in a crescent moon shape were at the very top of the chamber. The white stone of the building gleamed thanks in large part to the massive lead lined windows that stood majestically behind the thrones. The light from the twin suns reflected through the multiple diamond shapes casting shimmering shards of incandescent light into the room. There was no doubt it was a room designed for ultimate effect and the Queen knew how to use that to her advantage.

After the hoard of visitors had settled into place and taken position in their queue, the large doors at the side of the Throne room opened and the siblings entered in pair formation. Each was elegantly dressed and shone like a priceless gemstone. In the shadow of one of the large supporting columns of the room a thin razor-sharp smile spread over one man’s lips as he watched the “performance”. It was the only word that could be used for this. The Queen viewed this land as her stage and everyone in it, including her offspring, as mere players on it.

Drones. The thought passed through his mind easily as he watched the royal formation move. Every hair on their head, every accessory, every piece of clothing had been chosen for them by the Queen. Their movements were trained, their words were not even their own as much as they would protest against it the truth was simple.

The eldest child entered with his mother on his arm. The Queen standing straight and tall her age masked easily by the glamour she held. Her flowing blonde hair cascaded down her back and her form-fitted dress moved like ocean waves as she glided towards her seat. The empty chair to either side of her stood as markers to a tale that had slipped into the history books. Beautifully crafted Pawns. I applaud you, dear Queen, you did well. As if she could hear his thoughts her eyes settled on his. Those piercing cold blue eyes that could cut like ice would freeze a lesser man, but not him. He simply stood and maintained his gaze the smile on his face almost mocking.

---

“You took on a case without clearing it with me first?”

The door to her chief coordinator's office barely closed before they rounded on her.

“I’ve told you many times already I cannot always clear these things with you two or three weeks in advance.” She sat straight in the guest chair unflinching as the older man who was like a father to her in a lot of ways sighed and slumped his shoulders.

“That is not the point Kid and you know it. You have just moved and the case is out of your jurisdiction.” He pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses usually sat. Probably thinking that this choice to wear his contacts today was maybe not the best plan given that headaches made the lenses uncomfortable.

“Most cases are out of my jurisdiction. It has never stopped you from letting me take them on before.” If it had been someone else, she would have been just as indignant as she protested the restriction on her work.

There was nothing except basic formalities that required her attention right now. All Ops had been grounded and placed on downtime which provided her with more than enough time to sit around twiddling her thumbs and being bored. Last time this happened she took on a case that saw her flying to Africa to check a water source for a rare bacterium that should not have been present in freshwater. That wasn’t just out of her jurisdiction it was out of the same god damn continent. She couldn’t understand why her boss was choosing now to be an obstruction on a case.

“Look pick a case any other case. Just not this one.” The sound of his begging pathetically was a far cry from the man she knew. She leaned back in her chair and levelled a defiant glare at him.

“Col you are being unbelievably stubborn and pushy on this which isn’t like you at all. I’m not going to do anything until you say what you are really wanting too and don’t go trying to candy coat it. I’m not a kid.” Her blue eyes that were normally clear had turned thunderous and dark. He knew from past experience that when things felt wrong and she wasn’t getting straight answers it could only ever end badly, for the other guy. He certainly did not wish to join the ranks of the fallen.

“Look. Your father and I go way back right?”

“Right” She nodded firmly. Colin had been one of the first other adult males in her life outside of family members to visit their house. He had helped with schooling and relocations so many times it was hard to think of a time when he wasn’t in her life.

“Wrong.”

“What?”

“Wrong. Look Kid the first time I met your dad it was about three decades ago and he looked like he had survived falling into a mincer at a slaughterhouse. I found him at the side of the road and you were wrapped up in his arms.” Col’s words were blunt and direct. There were no detectable traces of anything that could be considered a lie which made the bombshell he just dropped on her even harder to process.

“How is that even possible? All the years I’ve known you and what? You lied to me the whole time?”

“Only about how far back I’ve known your dad. He is a good man and dammit if I didn’t feel terrible for him.”

“Why?”

“That is something he would be able to tell you, not me. I told you he was injured. He looked like he had come from a renaissance or medieval fair or something, you both did. He was babbling about not letting them have you and how he didn’t have a wife anymore.” Col chose this time to get up and walk to the false shelf on his bookcase. Tapping it so it popped open revealing a bottle of scotch and some glasses. She had known he kept it there but she hardly ever saw him drinking at the office. He poured some amber coloured liquid into two glasses and handed her one as he went back to his own seat. It burned in her throat as she took a sip of it but she felt the muscles in her body begin to relax a little with the alcoholic lubrication.

“I don’t get what any of that has to do with the case.”

“Because for a couple of weeks during that time. We found things.” He looked over at her making sure she was still alright to continue. “Things like large animals, deer, bears all dead. All fresh and all drained of their blood. Some hikers too.” He downed his drink in one go as if the memory of the events was still with him. It wouldn’t be uncommon; you see it a lot in stressful or unusual cases where you have pushed your mind and body to get on with the job at hand you end up with like a remnant of the memories you suppress. Like an echo coming back to you time and time again, some echoes were worse than others.

Her mind went back to the case reports. Mountain rescue and rangers all reported finding campsites abandoned and later finding the inhabitants dead. The things Col was bringing up matched with what she had already found but they didn’t explain the connection to her and her father or why nothing had been said to her before.

“Why didn’t you say anything about this to me sooner?”

“Told ya. It wasn’t my story to tell. And that body thing was an old case that never came up again.” It was clear from his one that even with a feeling of guilt he was going to stay tight-lipped on this.

“What happened with it?” Asking this she followed Col’s lead and drained her glass. The sudden volume of the fluid travelling down her throat caused that familiar burn you got from strong alcohol to tingle in the back of her nose and she suppressed a cough.

“Shelved. Never caught the ones responsible or found out how they pulled it off. But it only went on for a few weeks and then stopped completely.” Col didn’t sound satisfied. She knew him he hated unfinished work, but back then he would have been a rookie. Nothing you can do if a higher-ups decides to shut down an investigation.

“Right.” She put the glass down on his desk with a hollow clink sound and got up to go. Her hand was on the office door when he called out from behind.

“What you gonna do?”

“You said so yourself. Not your story to tell. So, I’m going to go ask the guy whose story it is.”

One thing she learnt was butting heads with a stubborn person when you are also a stubborn person gets you nowhere and to be honest right now, she was in no mood to fight a wall. She wanted answers. The files she received from the Met were back in her office she would grab those. But most important task now was going to find the person whole tale it was to tell and getting him to talk.

---

The Queen elegantly draped herself in her private chambers near her vanity table. The room was a perfect image of what one might be tempted to call excess. Every surface was highly polished and inlaid with crushed crystals making it look rather like the centre of a geode. The audience with the crown was over and she sighed lightly before catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grinned.

It had all gone according to plan. The masses were happy and she had been praised for her beauty, kindness and intelligence so many times she was walking on cloud nine. If it was possible to survive on adoration she felt like she could be immortal right now. Naturally however even in this realm that was not something that could be done. Immortality was the stuff of fantasy. But prolonged life? sustained beauty? You could have all of that. It came at a cost if you were willing to pay, and she was just mad enough to do it.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of two figures. Both were dressed similarly in loose clothing bound over with strips of fabric to pull it tight to their forms. This was the typical uniform for scouts. Nothing more than required and everything designed for complete freedom of movement and cover.

“What did you find?” She didn’t bother with greetings. Observing the two visitors like a cat would a mouse.

“The rift is strong, and it holds. We can go back.” The taller one explained with a complete lack of emotion or detail. She was pleased to see this, emotions wasted time and made for weak soldiers.

“Good. Bring me what I desire.” She waved her hand and turned back to her reflection.

“One other thing My Queen.”

“What?” She moved her eyes in the mirror staring through it at the second scout who had spoken.

“The rift from what we can tell didn’t naturally tear.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat at this piece of information. Naturally forming rifts were rare and took generations to form and become stable. A non-natural rift would mean someone with the power to tear at the fabric of time had created it. Someone as powerful as she was, possibly even more powerful. Her blood ran hot as she picked up a clear crystal turning it over in her hand until it changed to citrine. The glittering yellow like a shard of trapped sunlight glowed from within and she tossed it towards the scouts who caught it nimbly.

“When you go back take this. I want to know what happens to it.”

“As you wish.”

The two scouts briskly left the Queen’s chamber. They had their orders and it never paid to keep her highness waiting. Once they were a safe distance away, a shadow in the corridor rippled a pale outline of a figure moved in the opposite direction. Long fingers pulled the edge of their cloak up higher, turning its hood over their head.

---

[sfgooglebooks]

The Cop by Jan Hudson

"Hope you don't mind if I bring you in the back way," Kelly said.

"Not at all. You have a pretty place here. I like your patio. You ever use that fire pot?"

"The chiminea? I haven't yet, but I keep meaning to. It was a birthday gift." She opened the back door and held it wide while he easily managed the two steps up into the den. "Come in. Mi casa, su casa."

The cats came running and immediately began winding around her legs and his. Cole looked startled.

"Back off, guys," Kelly said to the cats. "Don't trip our guest. Cole, these rude fellows are Rocky and Pierre. The one with the ragged ear is Rocky."

"You have cats?"

"What's the matter, don't you like cats?" she asked as she turned on the gas to light the logs in the fireplace.

"Uh, I like them okay, I guess. I'm more of a dog person myself."

She lit the candles on the table. "I always have been, too, but I don't have time to give a dog proper attention. These guys sort of adopted me, and they're pretty self-sufficient. I'll put them in the guest room."

"No, no," he said. "That's not necessary."

"Make yourself comfortable," she told him, gesturing toward the couch. "Let me check the roast, I'll pour the wine."

"I'm allowed wine?"

She smiled. "It's non-alcoholic, but we can pretend to get a buzz."

"I've got a buzz already, and I haven't even touched the stuff." The cock of his eyebrow bordered on lecherous as he took her into his arms and kissed her.

His mouth was greedy, and for a moment she gave herself over to the mind-blowing sensation. Then she pushed him away. "Down, boy. I worked my delicate fingers to the bone fixing this meal, and I don't intend to let it burn. Sit down and cool off. I'll be right back."

He didn't sit down. He and the cats followed her into the kitchen. "Smells good in here." He sat on a stool at the island while she washed her hands.

"Thanks," she said as she peeked into the oven. The tenderloin looked perfect. She took it out and put it on the counter to rest before slicing, slipped the rolls into the oven to bake and the roasted new potatoes in to finish browning.

Cole sneezed.

"Gesundheit!" She plucked a tissue from the box on the shelf and handed it to him, then turned the pot of green beans on low to reheat.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Will you pour our wine?" she asked, setting the bottle on the table.

"Sure." While he was pouring, he sneezed again.

"Are you getting a cold?"

"Hope not." He blew his nose.

By the time they'd drunk a glass of faux wine and the food was ready to serve, he'd sneezed twice more. She touched his forehead. "You don't seem feverish."

"I'm fine. Boy, this looks good," he said as she served their food from the island.

With Rocky trailing behind her and Pierre close beside Cole, she carried their plates to the table by the fireplace. On the way Cole had another bout of sneezing. When they sat down, she noticed that his eyes were watering, and he'd started wheezing slightly.

"Cole, are you allergic to anything?"

He shrugged slightly and picked up his fork. "Some perfumes." He took a bite of the tenderloin. "This is fantastic."

"What else?"

"Best I've ever had. You're a great cook."

Exasperated, she said, "I wasn't fishing for more compliments. I meant what else are you allergic to?"

He looked pained. "Cats."

"Cats! Damnation!" Kelly said, jumping to her feet. "Get up and get your coat on."

"Are you throwing me out?"

"I'm getting you out of the house until I can do something with the cats. Do you have medication?"

"Not with me," Cole said as she grabbed his coat.

"We'll go back to the motel and get it."

"No, I mean not with me in Naconiche. It's at home. My place in Houston."

Once outside on the patio, she said, "I'll see if I can find something here. Why didn't you tell me sooner that you were allergic to cats? I could have put them up."

"I didn't know you had cats, and by the time I found out, it was too late. I didn't want to ruin your evening."

She rolled her eyes and bit her tongue from commenting on the male ego. "I'll be right back."

Charging back inside, she caught Rocky on the table sniffing at her plate and swishing his tail frighteningly close to a lighted candle. "Scat!" She clapped her hands.

Rocky scrambled for a footing, then shot off the table and, in three bounds, leaped to the top of the tall bookcase. She caught the candlestick as it toppled and blew out the flame. She wasn't so lucky with the wineglass. She ignored the spill for the moment and went searching for allergy medication.

Luckily she found a sample in the bottom of her medical bag. She grabbed a freshly laundered quilt from the linen closet and a glass of water on her way out the door.

"Here," she said, handing him the cap and the water.

"This is the same stuff I have at home," he said. "It works pretty well."

"I'm really sorry about the cats. Wrap up in this quilt while I go inside and stow them in the guest room."

"It's not that cold," he said. "I'm not likely to freeze."

"Humor me."

[missingmywing]

Chasing Freedom

This was heavily inspired by Beloved by Sinnatious (Go read it. It’s amazing. It’s on AO3). As several people have said, there aren’t enough post-DOC fics. There especially aren’t enough post-DOC Genesis fics. Or Strifesodos fics.

And I still love with the idea of people getting nervous about all the SOLDIERs still running around, and Cloud having to deal with the WRO attempting to bring all the SOLDIERs into protective custody.

Cloud disapproves.

So do the other SOLDIERs.

I have so many ideas… But I’ll be going about this completely differently than Sinnatious. Because… well. Spoilers. You’ll have to see.

Disclaimer: Square Enix owns FFVII, not me. I’m just messing with the characters.

Chapter 1

… . .

Cloud leaned close over Fenrir as he sped along the road back to Edge, eying the many hidden spots along the sides. Monsters were still a problem, even if they had lessened in both strength and numbers since the destruction of the Mako reactors, and he knew better than to let his guard down.

Plus the uneasiness that had settled in his gut a few days ago was bothering him.

His goggles protected him from the worst of the wind, allowing him to keep an eye out without too much hinderance, or many blind spots.

Though it appeared that the monsters were all elsewhere today.

He made it into Edge easily enough, without suffering any attacks. He kept an eye for civilians on the road, but they appeared to have the sense to stay off the road and away from oncoming traffic for once. The sun was out, most of the remaining clouds formerly around Midgar having been driven away by Vincent’s fight with Omega a few months previously, and the air was comfortably cool. By all rights, it was a beautiful and perfect day.

So why did he feel a knot of cold dread in his stomach?

He shook it off as he walked into Seventh Heaven, though he didn’t forget it. He’d learned long ago to trust his instincts, he wasn’t about to stop now.

“Cloud! You’re back!” Denzel waved from behind the bar, wide smile on his face.

Cloud returned the smile with a small one of his own. “Denzel. How have things been?”

The boy shrugged slightly, brown hair falling into his eyes to hide their bright blue sparkle. The flecks of green within them danced as he answered, “Pretty good. Our regulars are coming in, the Turks come in pretty often, Reno keeps flirting with Tifa, she keeps hitting him upside the head, and Avalanche keeps in contact. The normal.”

Cloud’s lips quirked slightly at Denzel’s definition of ‘normal’. “Is that so? What about school?”

Denzel made a face.

Cloud raised a brow.

Denzel grimaced. “It’s… fine. I just… don’t really agree with some of the things that the teachers say. Some of them are sympathetic to Shinra which I don’t really agree with, but I don’t mind too much. But there are some of them…” He scowled down at the counter. “They’re extremely anti-Shinra, to the point of bad talking some of the more well-known people who used work for them.”

Cloud understood. “SOLDIERs and Turks.”

“Yeah,” Denzel huffed, grabbing the cleaning cloth and attacking the bar with a vengeance. Cloud watched him sympathetically.

He knew Denzel looked up to him, and he did his best to be a good role model. But because of what he was, who he used to be… it came with issues. And thanks to how often the Turks came in, to the point of practically being regulars now, Marlene and Denzel had both become rather fond of them. The Turks returned the favor, and there had been many times where they’d come in and handed something to the kids.

Marlene had an entire shelf dedicated to seashells from Costa Del Sol that the Turks brought whenever they were in the area.

Denzel had an entire bookcase for materia for his collection that someone kept giving him. Denzel refused to say who, and the Turks never confessed the culprit.

(Cloud suspected it was Reno. Despite the redhead’s care-not attitude, Cloud knew he was still guilty over Sector 7. And considering the look on his face when Avalanche and the Turks had finally explained the events leading up to Meteor Fall, and how much alcohol he had been drinking during the explanations… None of them had been sure how Denzel would react to the information, and the Turks had been slightly restless during the story (the only sign of their nervousness), but Denzel had just listened quietly. He’d spent the next couple of days avoiding everyone as he thought over the information and came to terms with it, then he’d walked up to the Turks, punched Reno in the stomach, and called it even. The Turks weren’t normally overly emotional people, not with their true emotions at least, but for a second Cloud thought that Reno was going to cry from relief. He liked Denzel.)

Cloud sighed. “Well, there’s not much that you can do about it. Trying to defend SOLDIER or the Turks… won’t end well.”

“I know,” Denzel grumbled. “That’s why I haven’t. But I don’t like listening to it.”

He yelped as Cloud ruffled his hair lightly. With a laugh, he brushed Cloud’s hand away.

“Cloud!”

Cloud chuckled. “Tifa in?”

“No,” Denzel shook his head. “She went out to restock. Marlene is still with Barrett, but they’ll be back tomorrow.” Cloud nodded and made his way towards the stairs, pausing when Denzel called, “Oh, Cloud!”

“Hmm?” He glanced back.

“You got a call from someone. Ku-something. He said that he had a package that needed to get to a village near Fort Condor. He said you already had his number.”

“Ah,” Cloud nodded. “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about. Thanks for letting me know, I’ll call him back.”

“Sure.”

Once Cloud had dropped off his baggage, he made his way to the church; taking the opportunity while he was between deliveries. He was unsurprised to see a hooded figure kneeling between the pool and the Buster sword on the alter.

“You called, Kunsel?”

The ex-SOLDIER glanced up, hood and goggles hiding his features from view. “Hey, Cloud. You’re back sooner than I thought you would be.”

“It was a fast delivery.”

“Really?”

“I made it as fast as possible. Faster, when I saw the way some people were acting.”

“You saw what happened?”

Cloud didn’t respond. His expression darkening, he walked over and kneeled by the pool, dropping his hand and allowing his fingers to brush the surface of the water.

“I guess that’s a yes. You were delivering there in New Corel when it happened,” Kunsel murmured.

There was no answer.

With a sigh, the ex-SOLDIER shifted and allowed his legs to dangle off the alter. “Tensions are rising, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Kunsel huffed. “I guess if anyone did, it would be you.”

“Or you,” Cloud retorted, glancing up at him. “Denzel said you had a package for me?”

“Gaia, that kid works fast.”

The blond raised a brow. “He didn’t call back to let you know I was here?”

“No. Kid’s almost as paranoid as me, he doesn’t want to risk the call being traced. It’s not usual behavior to for them to call the client to let them know you’re back, after all. He’s smart, would make a good info broker.”

“So what, have you been camping here waiting for me to get back?”

“Pretty much.”

“Why? I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“Nothing more important than this. Anything else I can use my PHS for.”

Cloud’s gaze sharpened. “What’s so important about this?”

“This.” Kunsel pushed himself up off the altar and leapt across the water, landing lightly next to Cloud. “This package right here.” He reached into his cloak out said package. “You have no idea the pains I went through to get these made.”

“What is it?”

“Bangles. I had to do a lot of sneaking them around to get them completely covered, but they make the wearer immune to every status effect possible.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” Cloud frowned, accepting the package. “I have the Master Support Materia, remember?

Kunsel froze for a second, then slapped his forehead with a groan. “How did I forget that?”

Cloud paused putting the package in his pouch. Kunsel didn’t forget things. Kunsel never forgot things. “How much sleep are you getting?”

“Not enough,” Kunsel grumbled. “As the most accurate information broker on the planet, I’m spread a little thin trying to keep my network in working order on top of taking client orders.”

“You can’t afford to put it on pause for a day or two?”

Cloud didn’t even have to see Kunsel’s face to know he was giving him a look.

“I’m not even going to deign that with an answer, Strife. I’ll deal with it one way or another. At any rate, what’s done is done. Those are made, and I’ll come to you next time I need something like this. Get that to the forest camp. You know where.”

“Alright.”

“Good. How’s Commander Rhapsodos?”

“Fine, last I heard.”

“Good, I have a feeling that we’ll need him soon.”

“Hopefully we won’t.”

“Hopefully. But I’ll be keeping an eye on things just in case, so I’ll let you know if anything new comes up.”

“Thanks. You know how to reach me if you need me.”

“You got it.”

…

“You’re leaving so soon? You just got back last night.”

“I know.” Cloud glanced over at Tifa. “But I got an emergency delivery.”

“Emergency…?”

“I think it might be medicine or something. He seemed pretty urgent.”

“Medicine? What for?”

Cloud shook his head. He felt a bit guilty lying to Tifa, but this was a secret he wasn’t willing to share with anyone outside of the people directly involved; not even Avalanche. “I don’t know. He’s a regular though, and he hasn’t dealt with any of the shady groups showing up, so I’m not worried.”

Tifa huffed crossly, but smiled. “Alright, if you say so. Come back soon, okay?”

He flashed her a small smile. “I’ll take a few days off after this delivery and help out around the bar.”

“Sounds good. You can help me keep Reno in line.”

“Heh, like you need my help for that.”

“Extra help is always appreciated,” she teased before turning more serious. “Be careful, Cloud. I’ll see you when you get back.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Tell Marlene I’ll be back soon.”

“You got it.”

With another nod, he kicked Fenrir into gear and sped off, heading for the forests near Fort Condor.

…

Cloud bent low over his bike as he sped towards the forests, reflecting on the events leading up to his first meeting with the crimson commander.

. .

“Kunsel. You needed me for something?”

“Hey Cloud, been a while. I see you got my message.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to pick up your phone.”

“I was busy. What did you want to see me about?”

“A rumor I picked up, thought you might want to check it out. You remember SOLDIER First Class Genesis Rhapsodos, the Crimson Commander?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He’s still alive. One of my contacts, a former Red Leather member, spotted him just outside Mideel.”

“He’s still alive? And why Mideel…?”

“Personally, I think that he’s going back to the Banora area. That was his hometown, you know. You happen to know anything about why he’s alive?”

Cloud began to shake his head, then paused and began thinking back through Zack’s memories that he had. He slowly shook his head. “No… Zack fought and beat him while we were on the run, at the… Banora caves, I think. But… I don’t know if he killed him or not.”

“Probably not, if he’s back. I wonder where he’s been though…” The man glanced over at Cloud. “I’d go investigate myself, but…”

“You don’t have the time.”

“Pretty much. And besides, if it comes down to a fight, you’re better suited for a confrontation.”

Cloud frowned. “Do you think he’s a danger?”

“I don’t know. There’s a lot that even I still don’t know about what happened. Go talk to the guys at the forest camp first, though. They’ll probably have their own opinions on what should be done about him.”

“Alright.”

. .

Cloud slowed to a halt about two miles into the forest. A quick glance around showed nothing of interest, but another scan revealed the dark-haired sentry in the tree a little to his right.

“Yo, Strife!”

He nodded in greeting. “Karson.”

The former Second Class leapt down from the tree and landed a couple of feet from him. “It’s been a while. How’ve things been?”

“Fine.” Cloud shrugged slightly.

Karson rolled his eyes at the bland answer. “Uh huh, sure. We heard what happened in New Corel, and that you were there. The guy’s being brought here. Kunsel’s network is sneaking him past all the traffic and stuff. That why you’re here?”

Cloud grimaced at the reminder, but shook his head. “Kunsel sent me with a different delivery.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cloud pulled out the package, showing it to him. “They’re bangles, four linked materia slots and an immunity to all status effects. Should be enough for everyone, with a few extras for any new arrivals.”

Karson whistled appreciatively. “Nice. He must’ve went to a lot of work to get these.”

“So he said.”

“He doing okay? We haven’t seen him in a while, just know that he’s keeping the intel networks running.”

Cloud sighed. “He’s… doing about as well as can be expected of someone running the world’s largest information network. Or second largest, depending on how large the Turk’s network is.”

“Fair enough. Go ahead and get that to camp. The commander’ll hand ‘em out.”

“He’s running everything, then?”

“Pretty much. Everyone was pretty wary at first, but we got him to spill everything. Before the degradation he was a good leader and we all trusted him. He cared about us. And now that he’s cured, he’s that person again. We’re not holding the insanity caused by the degradation against him. Not much, anyway. Besides, all the major scientists are dead, so we don’t exactly have to worry about being turned into copies anymore.” He shrugged. “Which is basically the reason we gave him the benefit of the doubt in the first place, if you remember.”

“Yeah,” Cloud murmured, “I remember.”

. .

“Hey, thanks for the delivery, Strife! I’ll get these back to the camp. You gonna stick around, or…?”

“No.” Cloud shook his head at the ex-SOLDIER. “I have something else to check on before I head back to Edge, and I told Tifa I’d be back in a couple of days.”

“Where you headed?”

“The Banora caves.”

“Ah, looking for Commander Rhapsodos?”

Cloud set him a sharp look. “How did you…?”

“Kunsel told us to keep an eye out.” Karson shrugged. “In case he showed up. He mentioned that the Commander was spotted near Mideel, so most of us made the logical leap that he was heading back to Banora. It was where he grew up.”

With a sigh, Cloud nodded. “Yeah. I thought it would be good to double check, at least.”

“Probably is.” Karson nodded sagely, then grinned. “If you find him, send him here.”

“Are you sure?” Cloud frowned. “Considering what happened…”

“You know what happened?”

“I know bits and pieces, even if I was just in the infantry.” And if those bits and pieces came from Zack’s memories, well, they didn’t need to know that.

“Heh, well, we already discussed it. Figured we’d at least get his side of the story rather than relying on the information supplied by Shinra. And we’ll figure out how to deal with him afterwards. SOLDIERs dealing with SOLDIER problems and all that.”

Cloud eyed him for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

. .

“See you later, yeah?”

Cloud nodded. “I won’t stay long. I told Tifa I was making an emergency delivery, and that I would be back soon.”

The other man waved him off. “Yeah sure, whatever. You know you can hang around as long as you want.”

Cloud shook his head and kicked his motorcycle into gear. “I’ll see you later, Karson.”

Karson smirked and waved him off.

The path was well hidden, but easily found to anyone who used it regularly. Cloud drove along it quickly, ignoring the underbrush along the sides. This close to the camp, all the monsters had been long cleared out.

It was still a little strange, the knowledge that Genesis Rhapsodos was not only alive but was in charge of a large camp of SOLDIERs. Especially considering his attitude when Cloud had found him.

. .

Cloud sped up as he entered the forest of Banora Whites. In the ten years since Shinra had bombed the area, the trees had grown unchecked and turned into a large, dense forest filled with apples and monsters.

Cloud couldn’t decide if he loved the place or hated it.

On one hand, it was a good place for releasing frustrations on particularly bad days, having a lot of decent but low level monsters to tear through as well as being isolated from people. On the other, it had quite a few bad memories that he had carried over from Zack, and they gave the place a bad stigma for him.

He had no interest in fighting monsters now, however. He was here on a mission, and he had a specific destination in mind.

Every now and then he would have to kill a monster that attacked him, but he had an All paired with a Mastered Thunder, which worked well enough to keep his journey unhindered. It didn’t take him long to reach the caves.

He turned off Fenrir, comfortable in the knowledge that monsters wouldn’t touch it unless he was on it. He locked First Tsurugi together and clipped it to the magnet on his back. With no idea how the former First Class would react, he wasn’t taking any chances.

It took a bit of exploring (and finding some new materia to take back to the forest camp) before Cloud found himself at the entrance of a large cave, with a giant broken statue and a piece of red materia that was larger than any he had ever seen. Even the Huge materia couldn’t hold a candle to this.

Standing in front of the pile of collapsed stone, back to the cave entrance, was a red-cloaked man with red hair. He must have heard Cloud coming, for he began speaking without turning around.

“There is no hate, only joy, for you are beloved by the goddess. Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds.”

“LOVELESS.”

“Act II,” the man agreed, turning around. “So, we finally meet.”

“We’ve met before.”

“Have we? I saw you, but you had no awareness of the event.”

“No,” Cloud murmured. “I didn’t.”

Genesis Rhapsodos examined him thoughtfully. “You look like a SOLDIER now. When I last saw you, you still looked somewhat like an infantryman.”

“I’ve changed over the years.”

“Clearly.” The Crimson Commander eyed him, hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. “So, what does the hero of the Planet want from me?”

Cloud narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know, if I see him I’ll ask. I want to know what you’re planning on doing.”

Genesis raised a brow. “Oh? So you don’t consider yourself a hero?”

“That’s a description for Zack, not for me.”

“Yes, I suppose so. So then, what are you doing here?”

Cloud eyed him warily. “Looking for you. The remainders of SOLDIER have started gathering together for protection, and they want to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Genesis shifted his weight back, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I suppose they want my head for everything that happened.”

“No,” Cloud frowned, “they want to know the full story of what happened. They want to know the truth, not the lies filtered through ShinRa.”

The redhead hummed, considering. “Hmm, I suppose that makes sense. And you came to retrieve me for them?”

“No, I came to verify the rumor that you were still alive for Kunsel.”

As he was hoping, dropping the info broker’s name gave Genesis a pause. “I see. So,” the ex-commander tossed his head, “he still has an insatiable need to know everything.”

Cloud narrowed his eyes. “He’s what’s keeping accurate information circulating across the Planet, and what’s keeping all of the remaining SOLDIERs from being persecuted every time they make an appearance anywhere. And even that bit of protection is starting to wear thin.”

Genesis eyed him thoughtfully. “So, do the SOLDIERs actually want the full story, or do they want me to come lead their gathering? Because I rather doubt that I’m in any position to be a leader any longer. I’ve…” His eyes flickered to the side. “… failed too many.”

“I don’t know. They didn’t tell me.” Cloud turned and started walking away. “You’ll have to ask them yourself.”

There was a surprised silence for a moment before hurried footsteps sounded behind him. Genesis fell into step beside him, watching him curiously.

“You were serious about simply investigating a rumor.”

“I don’t do search and capture, or search and destroy. Not people, least. I eliminate the occasional monster if it starts terrorizing a village, but mostly I deliver, I investigate, and occasionally I rescue. I investigated you and delivered the message. My job here is done. What you do from here is your decision.”

Genesis caught his arm, staring at his face searchingly. “You’re… nothing like I expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

The redhead was silent as he followed Cloud out of the caves. As they reached Cloud’s bike, he spoke up. “Where is the camp? If they wish to… speak with me… then I need to be able to find them.” It was obvious, both by his tone and by his expression, that he wasn’t expecting for them to actually listen to his story.

The fact that he was going anyway, despite seemingly expecting to be killed or persecuted, spoke more about his character than any of his previous actions in Cloud’s mind.

He slung a leg over his bike and slid his sword into its compartments. With a glance towards Genesis, he indicated the seat behind him. “Get on. You’ll never find it on your own, they’ve hidden it too well for that.”

Genesis stared at him in stunned silence for a moment. At Cloud’s raised eyebrow, he hesitantly followed the instructions, settling on the back of the bike and raising his hands. He seemed unsure where to put them. Rolling his eyes, Cloud pulled the man forward to settle his arms around the blond’s waist. The redhead spluttered in surprise, but didn’t let go.

“If you don’t hold on, you’ll fall off. I made Fenrir for myself, so it’s built for a SOLDIER. It goes too fast for someone to just sit on the back.” He glanced back, taking in Genesis’ wary look towards the wheels and ground. “Have you never ridden a motorcycle before?”

“It’s never been necessary. ShinRa always provided other transport, and when I left I had a wing for my own transport.”

Cloud sighed. “Just don’t let go and you won’t have to worry about falling off.” He slid a hand along the front of his bike. “He can handle a lot of rough treatment, and since I doubt you want to be recognized we won’t be taking the roads.” He pulled his goggles on. “Cross country is faster anyway. Keep an eye out for monsters, though. They like to attack me when I don’t stay on the roads.”

He smirked slightly at Genesis’ apprehensive look. It wasn’t as bad as he made it out, but he was feeling a bit vindictive thanks to the redhead’s part in the events surrounding Sephiroth’s fall from grace. If he could get a bit of mostly harmless revenge, well, who was going to tell him no?

. .

The various SOLDIERs relaxing around the camp glanced up as Cloud came to a stop at the end of the road. He nodded to them as they called out greetings, making his way to the large canvas pavilion in the center of the camp. Tents were pitched in a large circular area around the center, in both the clearing and the surrounding trees. A few of the more adventurous souls had pitched tents up in the trees themselves, earning them all various bird nicknames. “The Nesters” was affectionately used to refer to the lot of them. They accepted it with pride.

Cloud found Genesis eyeing a map and various spreadsheets on the large table. A couple of former First Classes were with him, and Cloud picked up the tail end of a conversation about supplies and restocking as he drew near.

“You know you can always ask Kunsel. He probably has information about the best and most covert places to get large amounts of supplies.”

“Yes, most likely,” Genesis agreed, absently holding out his hand for the package he knew Cloud was delivering. “However, I’d like to avoid relying too much on him all the time. I’m sure he’s already spread thin enough without needless concern about our ability to gain the necessary supplies.”

“Yeah, probably,” Cloud sighed, handing over the bangles. “He went through an enormous amount of effort to get those bangles immune to every status effect available because he forgot that he could ask me to use the Master Support Materia.”

All three of the former SOLDIERs froze, staring at him.

“Kunsel forgot?”

“Yeah.” Cloud ran a hand through his hair with a grimace.

“I… didn’t think that someone with perfectly photographic memory could forget something.” Hendrick, one of the First Classes, murmured.

Cloud shook his head. “He refused to tell me how much sleep he was getting, so I’m sure that’s part of it.”

Genesis sighed, raising a hand to rub his temple. “Next time you see him, tell him that if he gets less than four hours of sleep a night more than two days a week, I’m going to forcefully confine him to camp for a week.”

“I’ll pass the message along.” Cloud hid a smile at Genesis’ obvious concern. The man’s constant concern for his men was reassuring, considering his past actions. It was something that set them all a bit at ease. Though from what he’d heard, Genesis was different in more than just that respect.

He’d always looked out for his men, up until the degradation incident, but he didn’t really get involved with them very much. He took responsibility for them, and he motivated them, but he’d been distant and didn’t really get to know them. On top of that, he’d been well known for having an explosive temper. When Cloud had been a Cadet there had been all sorts of horror stories about him, and how he would set any Cadet to annoyed him on fire. Granted they had just been rumors in the Cadet barracks, but it was a fact that even those in SOLDIER itself had been wary of the man’s temper.

Now, from what he’d heard, Genesis knew every SOLDIER in the camp by name, face, former position and class, and their general backstories, as well as having much firmer control of his temper.

“I saw that, Strife.”

“Saw what?”

“You know what.”

Cloud didn’t bother hiding his smirk. “It’s just good to see your settling into your role. For someone who isn’t really in any position to be a leader anymore.”

Genesis sent him an unamused scowl. “It certainly wasn’t something I was expecting. Though it’s not very hard to get used to it again and settle back into the role. Something you’re already aware of, I’m sure.”

“Not really. Most of the large-scale dangerous events haven’t taken long enough for me to actually start taking charge. We usually finish up fairly quickly.”

“There is no hate, only joy, for you are beloved by the goddess. Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds.”

“Could you be any more passive-aggressive?”

“I don’t know, do you think I should try?”

“It’s kind of like watching an old married couple, isn’t it?” Jared, one of the First Classes, murmured to Lynall, the other.

“A bit, yes,” Lynall murmured. “Some people just click, I guess.”

Genesis and Cloud both snorted, Genesis sending them a glare and Cloud rolling his eyes.

“Keep talking and I’ll put you both on latrine duty.”

They both cringed, and Cloud gave them a sympathetic wince. With enhanced senses that was… even more horrible of a job.

“At any rate, I’ll make sure that the bangles are spread to everyone. Are you staying for food or are you heading back to Edge?” Genesis glanced over at Cloud.

He hesitated for a moment, considering. It was tempting. It was always nice to be around other ex-SOLDIERs. Even if he’d never made SOLDIER, he had the enhancements and some of the memories.

He played it off as having been told stories by Zack. Genesis was the only one who knew how deep Cloud’s connection with Zack ran. Likewise, Cloud was the only one who knew the full extent of just how close Genesis had been to Angeal and Sephiroth, and knew what was said by Genesis to push Sephiroth over the edge. They’d extended the trip to the camp a little to talk through the events that happened and make peace with their respective ghosts. They’d argued, at one point they’d even drawn their swords and fought, but in the end they’d settled the events and their differences and worked around them.

He was always welcome here and he knew that, and it was nice, because as much as he cared for Seventh Heaven and Avalanche and the kids… they just didn’t really get it. The Turks did, but they had been part of the problem and they were still a bit wary around him With the others, Cloud had to worry about his enhancements. If he wasn’t careful with his strength he could hurt them, of he moved too fast he would make them jumpy and nervous. Well, Avalanche at least. The kids thought it was cool. But the members of the former anti-ShinRa group didn’t like to be reminded that he was something a little more than human. Vincent and Nanaki didn’t mind of course, and Shelke was similar to him, but the fully human members… If they weren’t fighting for their lives, they didn’t want to remember that he used to work for ShinRa, that he was stronger than humanly possible.

So it was tempting. But he’d told Tifa that it would be quick, and he knew that Denzel was missing Marlene. So he shook his head. “Not this time. I told Tifa that it was an emergency delivery, and that I would be back soon. Maybe next time.”

“Maybe.” And Genesis sent him that smile that he’d been getting more often, a mixture of wicked heat and soft warmth and hope that did things to his heart and head. He felt his face start to warm up, and cursed his pale complexion and increased pulse rate. “I’d say to give the Turks my regards, but I’m supposed to be dead.”

“I could always say that you passed the message through Aerith.”

“You could, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Where, huh?” Cloud murmured.

Genesis winked at him. “I’ll see you at the next delivery, Cloud.”

“Yeah,” he hesitated for a moment, “Stay safe, Genesis.” He walked off, making his way to Fenrir as quickly as he could without seeming in a hurry.

He paused as his phone buzzed, and flipped it open to see a text from Kunsel.

From: Kunsel

You know, eventually you two are going to have to stop dancing around each other and actually do something about it. Preferably each other.

Cloud’s face heated up even more as he sent a quick reply before he closed his phone and started Fenrir to head back to Edge.

When it reached Kunsel, the info broker rolled his eyes in annoyance. The hero of the world could be quite a handful at times.

From: Cloud

I really don’t know what you’re talking about.

Sure he didn’t. The look on his face in the video Lynall sent him said otherwise. Why he and Genesis were dancing around each other when they were both aware of the mutual feelings… Though maybe that was a bit obvious.

Kunsel sighed and looked down at the new newspaper giving a vague explanation on what had happened in New Corel. Things were getting complicated and dangerous, and the last thing they needed was a potentially volatile relationship getting caught up in the mix.

“Well, it won’t stop the men from placing bets,” Kunsel murmured, folding the paper and sliding it in his bag. At any rate, he had more important things to do than speculate on romances.

Trouble was brewing in the WRO, and he had a very bad feeling that they were about to have to weather a storm.

… . .

Chapter 1 complete!

This is very fun, I have to admit. I don’t write Kunsel enough, but he’s so much fun. Denzel too. I have plans for Denzel.

And I didn’t plan for Cloud and Genesis to be that couple that everyone knows about their mutual pining and the most common response is “they need to just kiss already!”. Or I did, but I didn’t plan for them to be… flirty about it. Especially not yet. It was supposed to be and almost slow burn, for the first few chapters at least. They were supposed to be mostly oblivious to their own feelings and each others. They’re not. At all. They just know that a volatile romance mixed with a volatile situation is a very bad idea. They might work out to be that perfect couple. They don’t want to risk it. So mutual pining it is! For now. That’ll change once the pace of the story picks up.

I like writing mature Genesis. He’s easy to write, because he’s gotten over his jealousy issues. I can’t write jealousy. At all. I… don’t really get jealous, so… I have trouble empathizing. Mature Genesis is snarky and sassy and confident, but he’s learned humility and guilt, so he isn’t obsessed with being the strongest anymore.

Anyway, this is definitely a story I’m enjoying. Let me know what you think!

Wings, out~!

[parttimespellbinder]

Spellbound: The Wizard in the Tower

Jun floated in the air with his legs crossed, deeply absorbed in the several books that floated around him. He often read up on several different subjects simultaneously, often hoping it would help him piece together whatever mystery he needed solved or question he wanted answered. But just as often, he simply wanted to lose himself in several different stories, sometimes belonging to the same series. Today, he was feeling a little all over the place. Two books on magical history, three on philosophy, a mystery novel and volumes 5 through 9 of his favorite comic series. His mustard colored eyes darted from page to page as they turned themselves and circled around him like small sharks. His skin was so pale he sometimes had wonder if he was looking down at his own hands or the pages of another book. His long indigo colored hair had been tied back into a messy bun and hidden away under the wide brimmed hat he always wore. Today, being Monday, the hat and the robe he wore to match it were both a silvery moonlight color.

So absorbed was he in his reading, Jun hardly noticed as Haley Sanderson approached him from behind. Haley had a triumphant look on her face and an eager gleam in her brown eyes. Her black hair had been pulled up on her head in two large curly puffs. She made her way past the circle of books surrounding Jun and placed her hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?”

“Whoever it is will very soon find out what it’s like to not have hands,” Jun said flatly.

“EHH! Wrong! Try again!”

“Haley…”

“There you go!”

She released him and he turned to see her smiling gleefully at him. The look on her face spoke for her. “What do you want?” he asked. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back to my reading. I need to find out if Travis Wheeler ever finds the Philosopher's Stone.

Haley continued to beam at him proudly. “I can do it now.”

Jun raised his eyebrows. “Do what? Annoy me six ways to Sunday? You’ve been able to do that. Or did your parents finally rent out that studio for your art?”

“Oh, you remember that but not the more important thing that I’ve been working on?”

“I try to keep invested in the important aspects of your life,” Jun said. “Now, what are you bothering me for? Tell me already.”

“Why tell you when it’s obvious that I should just show you!”

Haley reached into her paint splattered overalls and pulled out a small plastic looking wand, topped with a star. “Feast your eyes on this! Ignis!”

She jabbed the wand outwards as a flame the size of her thumb suddenly manifested at it’s tip. “Tres impressive, no?”

Jun’s face remained neutral. “Congratulations, you’re barely more useful than a regular lighter. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Oh no! Jun you promised!”

Jun sighed. Here we go. Just when I thought it was going to be a nice quiet day. He snapped his fingers and his books all shut themselves and arranged themselves neatly on the floor  in front of him. “First of all, Haley, may I remind you of where we are?”

He gestured around the room, showing off the desks, bookcases and scattered people, indicating that they were in a library, though by no means a normal one. For one thing, while most libraries were decently sized, none could think of another that resided in a tower that rose so high in the air, it often appeared to poke right through the clouds. Second, the books often didn’t fly around the room, much less from one floor to another. The lighting was often adequate in other libraries, unlike this one which utilized torches and old lanterns that also occasionally floated around the room. But the most striking feature of it’s interior was the thick purple haze that hung in the air. It penetrated the whole building from the entry level all the way down to it’s darkest depths and back up to its highest heights.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’re in your stupid magic library,” Haley said rolling her eyes.

“Oh, now my library is stupid?” Jun asked, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He pointed at a stack of books on the desk near him which rose into the air and followed him as he marched forward. “It’s funny, that you should say something like that,” he continued, as he motioned towards each book to return to its proper place. “I only say that, since without access to my library and my outlining of your curriculum, you wouldn’t even be able to produce that baby flame.”

“Are you going somewhere with this, Jun?” Haley asked.

Jun raised an eyebrow and turned away from her, making his way towards the stairs leading down to the lower level. “What do you think, Haley? Obviously I’m going somewhere with this. Are you too dumb to figure it out?”

“Now we’re name calling? So elementary,” she said shaking her head at him. “And no, obviously I’m not dumb, but I shouldn’t have to remind you of things, Jun!”

“To what are you referring, Haley?”

Haley grinded her teeth and curled her hands tightly into fists. “You know what I’m referring to, Jun. I wanna be one of your magical helpers!”

Jun rolled his eyes and kept walking, refusing to slow down or stop for her. “Oh, so that’s what you were talking about? I had no idea.”

“And now you’re just being a sarcastic dick,” Haley said, sighing. “Nothing new for you though. You’ve always been the biggest dick, ever since we all met back in grade school.”

“If I’m so horrible then why haven’t you left yet?” Jun asked. “I’m certainly not keeping you here against your will.”

“Believe it or not, Violet and I are actually capable of looking past your shit personality to see that you’re...well, you’re still a piece of shit but we’ve been friends all this time so there’s no point in going anywhere now. Actually, we’re more likely to go places with you than without you.”

Great so they see me as a stepping stone? “That’s very nice to hear Haley, but I still don’t really see much point in making you my Attendant.”

He made a sudden right and emerged on a level completely shrouded in darkness. Haley pulled out her phone and turned on her flashlight app, illuminating the dark room before them. Jun just rolled his eyes. “Afraid of the dark now, are we?”

“Don’t be stupid, Jun. We both know that I love the dark. It’s where all the fun things hide. But we also know that my eyes are already bad enough as they are.”

“Aren’t you wearing your contacts?”

“Yeah, we both know that’s not a solution to this particular problem,” Haley said.

Jun sighed. “Put your phone away. I’ll light our path.”

He snapped his fingers and a wooden staff materialized in his hand. The tip of the staff was engulfed in a basketball sized sphere of silver light, casting away the darkness far more effectively than Haley’s phone light. “Better?”

“Well, now I feel like I should've just worn my glasses today,” Haley said, covering her eyes. “My contacts don’t transition to block out magically made sunlight!”

Jun rolled his eyes. “Always a compliant with you.”

The light on his staff dimmed a little bit and he nudged Haley, indicating that she could open her eyes. “It’s still a bit bright but, whatevs. Now, why won’t you make me your Attendant? You did it with Violet!”

“That was different,” Jun said. “I thought long and hard about the decision and I needed someone with skills in physical combat. What in the world would you do? Paint my opponents to death? Perhaps write them a story?”

Haley glared at him. “Junpei Asakura, you know perfectly well that I’d get some cool dream item that could turn my paintings or stories into reality or something like that! Of course Violet got a combat related weapon! She brought you some stupid spear head to enchant! Why wouldn’t she get something like that?”

“I mean, you say that, but even still, a Mage really only needs one Attendant,” Jun said. “Preferably one with skills in physical combat. No one needs support types nowadays.”

“Wow, I’m just a support type now? Sorry for not being all combat capable like Violet is.”

“Sadly there are some things in life that we simply cannot help,” Jun said, making his way to one shelf in particular. He started touching books, seemingly at random, which then vanished from their spots on the shelves. “And more importantly, what’s in it for me if I were to bestow upon you magical powers?”

Haley didn’t skip a beat. “It’d be a total fucking blast! Think about it Jun! You’d be helping me make real my life’s ambitions of never being bored another day in my life! Imagine the possibilities! What if i could bring my drawings to life? I’d be creating life itself!”

“Yeah, that’s not super impressive,” Jun said.

“OR what if I could make the things I write become reality? Wouldn’t that be fabulous? It’s every writer's dream to see their creations spring forth from the page and into the physical world! Better yet, I’d be a super awesome reality warper!”

Though Jun didn’t let it show, a shiver ran down his spine at the thought of being made responsible for any stupid idea Haley ever had coming to life. And her being able to manipulate or influence reality...to any degree...horrifying. Humans like Haley weren’t made to have magic. All they’d end up doing with it is abusing it. Guess that brings up the question of why I agreed to help her learn it but I do so love to watch mortals struggle to learn something that comes so naturally to us mages.

“So...even though you make a very convincing and compelling argument, I’m gonna have to shoot you down,” Jun said, casually.

“Why do I feel like you’re lying about the compelling argument part?”

Jun just looked at her. “Either way, is that really the only thing you came here for?”

“Well, yeah! I want a super magic item! I want insane magical powers! And I’d prefer they come from you rather than me seeking the same kind of help elsewhere.”

Jun rolled his eyes. “Then go and seek it,” he said. “Ten seconds with you and any sane mage would tell you the same thing as me. Never gonna happen.”

Haley ground her teeth in frustration and tugged at her hair. “Here I am trying to do you a favor and you just...turn me down like nothing?”

“Does it really count if it’s something you actually really want?” Jun asked. He snapped his fingers and the two of them reappeared on the entry level of the library.

“If you could do that, why’d we waste time walking down the stairs?”

“I was trying to walk away from you,” Jun said. “Sadly you decided to follow me. I didn’t see the point in walking away from you while down there.”

“Why not?” “I can hardly imagine what kind of mayhem you’d unleash upon the world if I were to leave you down there.”

Haley raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

Jun narrowed his eyes. “Haley Sanderson, you know perfectly well that the lower and upper levels are only for books on magic and the supernatural. Well, and all priceless magical items that my family has collected over the centuries.”

Haley let out a gasp. “Really? I never knew any of that. Learn something new everyday, huh?”

“Uh-huh, whatever,” Jun said. “Look, if that’s it, then I’d like to get back to my reading, if you’d be so kind.”

“Yo! Asakura!”

Jun’s eyes narrowed dangerously, not at the use of his last name, but at the sound of the voice calling it. “As if I didn’t have enough nonsense to deal with.”

He turned to see Ryoga Kogami walking towards him, hand in hand with another boy he had never seen before. The boy was wide eyed and dumbstruck with awe at the sight of the library, which Jun thought was only natural. This is the most amazing and comprehensive magical library for several dimensions. Must be quite a sight if it’s your first time. But...that kid’s a wizard too. Why’s he with a lowly creature like Kogami?

“Hey, Ryoga!” Haley cried running up to Koga and the other boy. “OMG is this guy your boyfriend?”

Ryoga’s face turned the darkest shade of red possible. “W-wha-What the hell are you talking about? Cole’s not my boyfriend! He’s my best friend!”

Haley smiled mischievously. “Then why are you clutching his hand?”

Ryoga immediately dropped Cole’s hand but Cole just laughed. “Ryoga had to drag me across the street cause I was staring at the library so much. I’m Cole by the way.”

He stuck out his hand towards Haley who wasted no time grabbing it and shaking vigorously. “Haley Sanderson, nice to meet you. Welcome to the library! I’ve never seen you before, Cole. Do you go to a different school or something? You don’t really look like you’re from around here. Hey! You know Ryoga so does that mean that you’re some kind of half human like he is? Or maybe you’re a wizard like Jun? OMG if you’re a wizard can I be your Attendant? Please? You must be a wizard! I can see the wand in your left pocket! That’s great! What kind of magic are you studying? Do you have a familiar? Jun has a familiar. Do you have an Attendant yet? If you don’t I can do it! Please! Do you fly a broom or a carpet?”

Jun shook his head. Already trying to force herself on the first unsuspecting victim she comes across? How shameless. I better step in.

“Haley! That’s enough!”

“Jun! I’m not done yet! He hasn’t even answered any of my questions, and I still have waaaay more things to ask him!”

“Yeah, like I said, that’s enough out of you,” Jun said waving casually in her direction. Haley turned back to Cole to resume her questioning but found no sound coming from her mouth. She looked over at Jun who smirked at her and offered his hand to Cole. “Hello there, I’m Junpei Asakura, the wizard in charge of this magnificent library.”

“It...certainly...is that,” Cole said, looking at the outstretched hand with apprehension. “Cole Dryden...umm...are you gonna...fix her?”

“Who? Oh, you mean Haley? She’s fine.”

Haley waved her arms and continued to move her lips, indicating that she was far from ‘fine’, but Jun paid little attention. “Now, how can I help you? Wait, don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re...a wizard in training? Fresh out of some backwater little village to the south?”

“Umm...to the north, actually,” Cole said, still looking awkwardly between Jun and Haley.

Why does he keep looking over at Haley? I muted her specifically so that I could command his undivided attention. “Whatever. Either way, I’m guessing you recently graduated from your local...academy or something, and you’re out here in the big city and trying to get your start right?”

“Y-yeah,” Cole said. “Only I...okay, hold on one moment.”

He pulled out his wand and walked past Jun towards Haley. Jun raised an eyebrow in confusion as he watched Cole fumble his few attempts but finally manage to cancel out the silencing spell on Haley. So...he’s sweet on mortals, huh? Guess that makes sense if he’s palling around with animals.

“Sorry about that,” Cole said walking back up to him. “I...I don’t like seeing people struggle like that. And, anyway, don’t you think that was kinda mean?”

“All I was trying to do was give you one less distraction,” Jun said. “It’s called ‘being nice’ as I understand it.”

“If that’s what ‘nice’ looks like to you, I’d hate to see you being mean,” Cole said.

Jun shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure your familiar can tell you. Haley can too, she’s known me for years.”

“W-wait a minute,” Cole said with a confused look on his face. “My...my what?”

“Your familiar,” Jun said. Is he hard of hearing or just stupid?

Cole stared at Jun quizzically for a few moments, still trying to fit the mental puzzle pieces together. Jun rolled his eyes. Must I spell everything out for people? He directed a contemptuous gaze towards Ryoga who rolled his own eyes and just looked away. From there, the puzzle in Cole’s mind came together in seconds. Jun watched as the boy’s face started to flush and twist in anger. His eyes lit up with rage, literally starting to glow. What’s he getting upset for? Is the werewolf mutt not his familiar or something? What other relationship could they possibly have?

The words that came out of Cole’s mouth echoed throughout the entirety of the library like an explosion. “Ryoga’s NOT my familiar! What the hell is wrong with you? How in the...What the...What’s wrong with you? Are you insane?”

Jun was taken aback, and not just by the scream and it’s magically amplified volume. Cole’s outburst conjured a blast of air that blew Jun clear across the room and nearly over the banister, right into its seemingly bottomless lower levels.

“My, my, that’s a surprise,” he said, a smile creeping over his face. “So the little country bumpkin’s an Air mage, huh?”

He rose into the air, staff in hand and a large book appearing in front of him. “I didn’t think that you’d take that comment so seriously though. Is it really not your familiar?”

“Don’t call him ‘it’,” Cole shouted, running towards the banister and glaring daggers at Jun.

Jun couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that...I don’t see why you’re so angry about it? The mongrel certainly doesn’t seem to be making as big a stink about it.”

“Don’t call him that either! He’s got a name! His name is Ryoga and he’s my best friend,” Cole cried, pointing his wand at Jun, who just began laughing again.

“Oh, please try it,” Jun said. “I highly doubt anything you can throw at me will do much. But I’m always up for a challenge.”

At this point, Ryoga stepped in. In the blink of an eye he was at Cole’s side, holding him back as he tried to throw himself at Jun. “Hey! C-Cole! Knock it off!”

Cole struggled in Ryoga’s arms, desperately trying to get into the air and attack Jun. “Ryoga! Let go of me! I’m not gonna let him make fun of you like that!”

As he struggled, Cole began to swing his wand violently, summoning gusts of wind, flashes of light and conjuring small items that vanished the moment they hit the floor. Ryoga shook his head, swung Cole around and pinned him to a table.

“You need to calm the fuck down,” Ryoga said, quietly. “Jun Asakura isn’t the first person to shit talk me and he certainly won’t be the last. But I can tell you this. Fighting him will be the last thing you ever do.”

“I’m not just gonna let him talk to you like that,” Cole said. “We dealt with that way too much while I was in my village!”

“Yeah,” Ryoga said. “We did. And then, I’d go back to my pack or come back to the city, and deal with it all over again, all by myself. Cole, you’re gonna be living with me, and going to school with me so...you’re gonna get to see a whole lot more of this. And if you can’t even handle it when that piece of shit opens his mouth, I don’t wanna know what you’ll do in a hallway full of people who aren’t as up to defending themselves or who’ll make an even bigger deal out of it. Now, we came here to get some insight, so get your insight and let’s go back home.”

He let go of Cole, who still looked ready to fire off his most powerful spell, but he stuck his wand back into his pocket and crossed his arms. Jun was still floating in midair, looking and waiting for an attack that no longer seemed to be coming. God, he calmed down that quickly? Just when I was really getting ready to cut loose, too. Oh well, might as well give the brat what he wants so he and his pet can be on their way.

He made his way back down to the floor, a look of boredom now plastered on his pale face. “So I guess you’ll be wanting some advice on what to do and where to start, huh?”

Cole refused to look Jun in the eye, but Jun was too dissatisfied to really care if the other wizard was still angry with him. “I guess.”

“Well, you might as well think about Combative Sorcery,” Jun said. He snapped his fingers and several books of varying sizes appeared on the desk next to Cole. “With a hair trigger temper like yours, it might be a good outlet and a good way for you to establish some discipline. Given your...attachment, I’d also recommend Summoning and Binding. When you do eventually get in the mindset for calling forth a familiar or even just working with an Attendant or summoning monsters and demons for...whatever, it’ll be a good set of skills to have.”

Another finger snap and another stack of books appeared. “You also showed a small flair for Conjuring, which I strongly encourage and I’d also recommend this,” he added materializing another book in his hand and giving it to Cole. “This one will help you with flying. It’s applicable to brooms, carpets, dragons and anything else you can ride through the air and there’s a section on warping as well.”

“Gee, thanks,” Cole said, looking at the large pile of books on the table. “You’re so helpful.”

“Just doing my part to help a fellow wizard,” Jun said. “You’ll have to fill out this form so you can check out those books.”

A piece of paper manifested in front of Cole’s face and he took it to the table to fill out. The whole time, Jun watched the boy shoot dirty looks at him. “My, you so graciously accept help from others. Why’d you even bother coming here?”

“I wasn’t warned that you’d be this horrible,” Cole said. “Next time Ryoga decides not to bring something up, I’ll follow his instincts.”

“Really? The animal warned you against coming here? Then who advised you to seek me out?”

“Why do you care?”

“Call it, morbid curiosity,” Jun said.

“My brother was the one who suggested it,” Ryoga said, placing one of his hands over Cole’s mouth.

“Oh? Hmm. Then allow me to ask you another question.”

“I’m getting really tired of your and your mouth,” Cole said, standing up from the table.

“Cole, sit down! He can ask a stupid question if he wants to. As long as he’s civil, I don’t care about what he says anymore. What do you want to know?”

Jun raised his eyebrow. “Heh, are you sure that you’re the animal here? He seems a better fit for the fangs and claws than you do.”

“That can’t be what you wanted to ask,” Ryoga said. “Get to the point so we can go.”

“Fair enough,” Jun said. “What exactly is your relationship to one another? While I’m not one for Mage/Monster relations, especially when it comes to you animals, I know that there are more than a few who seem to think along the same lines as you two. I just want to know what exactly you are to each other. You both seem to care for each other a great deal, yet you’re not his familiar. Are you his Attendant?”

Ryoga looked confused but Jun cut him off before he could answer. “Okay, so clearly not. So if you’re not his familiar, and you’re not his Attendant, what possible use could you provide him? Maybe you’re his pet?”

Ryoga couldn’t stop his eyes from flashing dangerously, not that Jun cared. “Cole...Cole’s my best friend,” he said, struggling to keep his composure.

“Huh, is that all?” Jun asked. “I thought it’d be something far more interesting. A Wizard and a Werewolf half breed? Guess stranger things have happened.”

Cole turned away from Jun, contorting his face further to express the revulsion he felt. “And I suppose if you feel this way about Beasts and Half Breeds, you’re one of those stuck up mages that thinks poorly about humans, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Haley said. “Big time. Jun hates humans. He’s always talking a bunch of shit about us, and Beasts and Half Breeds...and Hybrids...and Demons and...well just about everyone that’s not him or a Mage or some divine being or something. Jun kinda just hates everyone.”

“Wow,” Cole said. “Guy like you must have lots of friends.”

Jun chuckled. “What in the world would I do with friends?”

“Oh, don’t say it like that, Jun,” Haley said, hugging on to him, pressing her cheek against his. “Jun’s a total prick, but even he’s got...well he’s...he’s not a total piece of shit.”

Jun narrowed his eyes at Haley. “Please don’ t speak about me like that,” he said. “You’ll make me sound like total trash.”

“I mean...aren’t you?” Cole asked.

“Oh! That’s quite a mouth on you,” Jun said with a smirk. “Most people know to treat me with respect when they speak to me. Those who don’t learn it. One way or another.”

Cole glared at him and gripped his wand tighter. “Is that a threat.”

“It’s a promise.”

“Oh, Jun,” Haley said, flicking his forehead. “Don’t be like that. Don’t mind him, Cole. And besides, if Cole and Ryoga got serious, I’m sure they could take you. Even if Violet was here, she’s no match for Ryoga.”

Jun considered this. Hmm, despite my power, she does raise a good point. I know nothing about this brat so he might just pull out some major spells and get my by surprise. The animal presents another problem, if it decides to really get serious and protect it’s master. I hear Werewolves have recently become more resistant to sorcery, though it’d present me with a good chance to see how resistant a mutt like this actually is. That’d still be two against one though. Not really sure how much I care for those odds.

“Who’s Violet?” Cole asked, looking at Ryoga.

“Just a bookworm,” Ryoga said. “Never really talked to her. Keeps to herself if she’s not with these two.”

“She’s not just a bookworm,” Haley said. “She’s Jun’s Attendant and our best friend!”

Cole laughed.

“Oh? Is something funny to you?” Jun asked.

“I just can’t believe that anyone would want to be your Attendant,” Cole said.

“I do!” Haley said. “Being a Wizard’s Attendant sounds like a hoot and a half! Magical powers and battles and all that stuff! Ahh, what a wildly whimsical dream come true! I’d kill to be Jun’s Attendant! Or anyone’s for that matter, I’m not picky.”

“Haley, no self respecting mage would bother wasting their time with someone as utterly useless as you. What’s more, any power you received would ultimately be used to satisfy your own worthless desires. Do us all a favor and just shut up!”

Jun watched with an mixture of satisfaction and boredom as the light seemed to fade from Haley’s eyes. How her excited and energetic smile shrank to nothing and her body began to shake. Her mouth started to open and close as if she were preparing to say something but could not settle on anything. In the end she ended up turning and running from him, disappearing further into the room.

He sighed. “Honestly, sometimes she can be such a pain. Whining on and on about being an Attendant. No one’s gonna want her if she comes off so desperate.”

“Wow,” Cole said. “You’re....you’re really something aren’t you?”

“Don’t tell me you fell for that,” Jun said. “Haley can cry on command. She was just faking it. All Haley wants is to be constantly entertained by magic and she doesn’t care how much trouble she causes for others to make sure that her every whim is satisfied. Even if she wasn’t, Haley lives to incessantly annoy people. I simply did us a favor by asking her to be quiet.”

He watched the little wizard glare at him like he wanted to punch him. Cole’s hand squeezed itself into a tight fist, shaking with naught but the utmost desire to find a home in Jun’s face. Aww, how cute. The country bumpkin thinks he can attack me with mortal brutality. Now I know he’s been raised by animals.

In the end Cole refrained from lashing out. He took in a deep breath and just finished filling out the library card form so he and Ryoga could leave. He signed his name at the bottom and in a flash, it transformed into a small plastic library card. Cole give Jun another look of revulsion.

“Can we go now?” Cole asked, looking from Jun to Ryoga.

Jun nodded. “Once you finish all of those, bring them back and I’ll set you up with the next set for whatever you decide to pursue.”

Cole nodded. He pointed his wand at the books and again, stumbled his way through several attempts before half the books shrank to the size of tic-tacs. It took him much less effort to shrink the rest of them and once he did he packed them up in a small bag and grabbed Ryoga’s hand. “C’mon, Ryoga, let’s get out of here.”

“Hey! Watch it with the hand holding in public!”

“Let’s just..go! I can’t stand to be in this library another minute,” Cole said.

Jun watched them as they went, wondering if the little wizard would have anything else to say to him. Turned out the answer was no as they walked out the door without taking another look back.

“Is it odd that I’m somewhat interested in seeing where that little fool is going to do from this point on?”

He shrugged his shoulders and decided that with nothing else pressing to do, he might as well continue his reading. In the back of his mind he felt as though he was forgetting something but as he hated to linger on such notions, he pushed it aside. Pointing at the stack of books on the main desk, Jun resumed his seat in midair as the books began flying around him again. Time to find out of Travis Wheeler will find the Philosopher’s Stone before Draco Fernan and his army of Merrows.