#sorry for never answering asks at all. kind of am in infinite death loop ):

[dailydiavoloz-blog]

shut up boomer

fiuuck youu32890- im  sdjnnot   a  boomrr;;’.. )P::::   wtff

[ill-skillsgard]

Ugh this Mickey sex worker drabble is sooo good. You can't leave us like this 💦💦

Previous imagines here - [x]

Warning: 18+ BDSM themes, mentions of sex work, bondage, toy-play, teasing and overall mature themes. 

Blindfolded, Mickey counted twenty steps until the balmy night air cooled at his back. The soles of his worn ankle boots crunched gravel, then mounted stone steps, crossed pavement, stepped over a threshold of unknown size, and stopped on a plush runner. The new atmosphere keened with scents of teak and sweet pea, dividing the outside — with all its cricket choruses and damp breezes sighing for the coming heat-storm — from the inside of her home. He knew the area of town but hadn’t wasted a venture through the streets in years. These places were littered with miraculously large homes—the likes of which Mickey never dreamed of visiting. Nothing about this end of town was for him or his kind.

He cycled through her rules in his head as she led him by the elbow down a wide corridor. The clicking of her high heels threw off the walls, and for a moment, sounded as though half a dozen well-dressed women marched alongside him through a tunnel. They turned right, and she cautioned him up the stairs—fourteen steps, a landing, another right turn, then six more to the second floor.

The thought occurred to him several times that she very well could lead him to a violent death, and the wealthy end of town would be the last place anyone might think to look for his body. You never knew with the rich types. All that money and power had twisted ways of moulding people into elusive beasts; their predatory appetites wet for suffering. For all he knew, he could have been hand-selected as some billionaire’s newest flesh-pinata and was none the wiser.

Mickey cursed himself for watching too many horror movies.

“You remember everything I told you?” Her voice tickled his right ear.

With his vision cut, the din carried dizzying potency. Mickey lost his equilibrium and shot his hand out, nearly keeling over. He snickered at himself. How silly he must look wearing a leather blindfold, tripping on thin air, and having to adhere to his mistress like a toddling child.

“My memory isn’t so good, ma’am. I wouldn’t mind a refresher course, so I can better serve you.”

Sometimes he impressed himself with how quickly he snapped into submission. For such a well-paying gig, he figured she and her husband deserved his unadulterated efforts. It was only an acting job. The aroma of money and the promise of mind-blowing sex sweetened the deal. Mickey had no problem fully committing to pleasure the woman leading him deeper into the house.

“No back-talk. I want you to be the most well-behaved boy anyone could ask. Do not toe the line tonight. I need you obedient, respectful and very enthusiastic. Tonight, I am the ultimate authority.”

“Yes, my goddess.”

She smiled. At first, she had been unsure of Mickey’s candidacy, but the farther she led him, the more his attitude subdued. She expected smart comments, platitudes and that downtown grit to make her regret her choice, but Mickey had buttoned his mouth, save for answering her questions, and was off to a good start. Mickey’s engagement pleased her, as she had fantasized of this moment for many nights, and he played his part well.

“Soon, we will enter a room where you must strip down. I’ll then escort you to the playroom. There’s a bed you will lie down on, and then we’ll get started.”

“Will my mistress be the one stripping me tonight?” Mickey asked, the corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“I will be the one to dress and undress you when you’re in this house. And no more questions.”

“I’m sorry, goddess.”

“You’re still happy with the agreement? You remember your word and the number you gave me?” She asked.

“Margarita. Eight.”

“Do you wish to change anything before we begin?”

“No, my goddess,” Mickey’s voice barely breached a whisper.

“Good. Here we are. Watch your step.”

She led the tall man through a set of double doors, into a boudoir that boasted a French rococo vanity mirror and matching armoire, a changing screen, a dusty lilac chaise lounge in the corner and various full-length mirrors for appreciating one’s opulence. Mickey saw none of these things but suspected he was in the company of many possessions exclusive to the super-rich. Something about the proud silence of the room murmured of immaculate furniture, gold and satin.

They worked together to rid Mickey of his clothing. First, he kicked off his boots and socks, then waited for her to undo his belt buckle. He stepped out of his pants and let her work his shirt up over his head without skewing the blackout mask shielding his eyes. Even if he wanted to look around, circles of fine leather prevented this. Tilting his chin did nothing to reveal even a sliver of his surroundings, but he decided, back in her car as they pulled up to the estate, that he didn’t want to spoil the fun by peeking. All the mystery had his skin prickling, the fine hairs standing on the back of his neck. And they paid him for these thrills. Looking would only cheapen the experience, so he maintained a ninety-degree angle between his chin and throat.

A furious rush of nerves came over him while he stood naked, the blindfold his only cover, and waited for his mistress to change into her evening attire. She noticed his gooseflesh when she came to collect him and ran her fingertips up and down his right arm.

“It will be fun, trust me.”

“I trust you,” said Mickey.

He followed her by the hand from the boudoir into the next room. His soles sank into the plush fibres of a rug as the heady scent of oiled leather aroused his palate.

Guided by his goddess, Mickey climbed onto a vast bed draped with silky sheets and laid on his back, spreading his limbs to each corner. She fastened his wrists and ankles with tough leather cuffs — no beginner ropes or slippery sashes out of which he could worm. Constructed of a thick material like the leather eye mask, the bindings had one aim: to hold him in place, whether he liked it or not.

“He’s on his back, naked, hands and feet tied down, eyes covered,” said his mistress.

Unsure if she spoke to him, he maintained silence.

“Tall... Very tall. Brown hair, green eyes. Several small tattoos on his arms and fingers. One red rose tattooed on his groin. Uncircumcised. Large feet and hands. Long, long limbs. Full lips. Small pink nipples. Underarms are unshaven.”

Mickey listened to her description of his body, a lustful inflection in her voice whenever she exalted his stature. It became clear at that moment she had chosen him for a reason. His mistress had an affinity for height. It caused him to smirk, imagining what she might say once he became hard.

“Hello, pet. You may greet me,” her voice floated on sweetened air.

“Hello, goddess.”

“Tonight, we begin with a riding crop. Cherry wood handle. Black tip, of course. Italian leather.”

The cool material first met his right thigh, dragging down his leg to the tip of his big toe. Then the leather foot of her instrument graced his other leg. Mickey quivered.

“The pet shivers from having his thighs stroked. His cock bounces as his blood churns. He’s eager.”

Confused by her narration, Mickey tried to relax and let the tension from his muscles until he remembered what she had told him of her husband. Another presence was in the room. She was describing the scene for this third party.

Mickey held his breath as the leather tip of her riding crop coasted up and down his legs and arms. Only when it met his pubic bone did his body twinge in surprise. But the material lifted, and he was alone. Now he prickled and waited for the next stroke of her leather, his anticipation thickening with every second that passed.

It continued for what felt like hours to Mickey. Whenever she neared his cock, she jumped to another point of his body — his feet, the column of his throat, the deep ridge of his collarbone. Anywhere but his groin.

“Do you grow impatient, pet?” She asked.

“No, mistress.”

“Your hardness tells me otherwise. Hm?”

“My patience knows no limit, goddess.”

Mickey thought he heard a slight chuckle under her breath or a chafe of movement from somewhere else in the room. In the infinite blackness, it was impossible to know. He hoped the sound came from her lips and that his obedience pleased her.

“The pet has become fully erect from ulterior touch alone.”

He hoped that whoever watched from afar appreciated his size. Mickey had been praised for his endowment plenty of times before, but the approval of his mistress and her superior held more weight than the clients whose compliments came standard and frequent.

“Enormous cock on this one,” she stated. “Symmetrical... Supple tip. Teardrop-shaped slit. The left testicle hangs lower than the right, but they’re tight and shorn. The pet has trimmed pubic hair leading up to a trail below his navel.”

Mickey bit his lip. She pressed the leather tag against one testicle, and then the other, hefting them both with the crop. The veins in his shaft swelled.

“Does the pet enjoy my leather?”

“Yes, goddess.”

She batted the underside of his shaft gently with the flat tip, causing him to jostle and open his mouth.

“How about now?”

“Yes, goddess,” whispered Mickey.

“Pardon me?”

He cleared his throat and repeated himself. It pleased her, but it didn’t stop her from fluttering the loop against his frenulum until it came away with a clear web of liquid, temporarily connecting the bat to his manhood. She smacked him a few times around his groin, measuring her force not to cause anything worse than a warm sting. Mickey was grateful and sighed when she lifted the crop away.

“I’ve grown bored with the crop. The pet’s prick is leaking and swollen red. I’ll now ring him and use the stroker—”

Her voice cut off, the abrupt silence punctuating a change of plan. She abandoned Mickey on the bed. He listened to the footsteps and strained his ears to take in any voice from someone other than his mistress. The curiosity was inescapable. Mickey wanted to know who else was watching him have his cock tortured. Before he grew too inquisitive, she returned to the side of the bed and leaned in close.

“Next comes a cock ring. Metal. Titanium, to be exact. Around the shaft and balls.”

This was no amateur set up, Mickey decided then. Perhaps another night, in an area of town not well-known for its poshness, he’d have plenty to say. Even now, Mickey reeled comments in from bouncing off his tongue. If he wanted to get paid and invited back, he had to keep quiet. And he wanted her to ask him back, so he chewed his bottom lip while she affixed the hilt of his cock with a cold metal ring.

The circle was heavy, tight, and held all the blood inside him until his length betrayed his pulse. A gust of air over his groin then made him blush. Would she touch him? Or would she beat him with a fresh instrument? He recalled her saying something about a stroker, but the buzz of something else caught his attention—a vibrator.

A jarring bolt of electricity shot through his pelvis when she held the tip against his balls.

“Oh!” Mickey cried out.

“You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

“No, mistress. No.”

She nudged the metal supporting his manhood with the vibrator, a rumbling echo engulfing him, tickling every nerve.

“Oh, ma’am. That...” He trailed off in fear of punishment for speaking out of turn.

“I’m teasing his cock with a vibrator. He can hardly keep still.”

It was true, Mickey tugged at his restraints, not for want of escape, but for the need to curl into himself, away from the excruciating tingle fizzling through his limbs. He regretted boasting about his stamina, fearing his new master might take it to heart and torment him for the entire night.

The woman controlling his pleasure was not merciless, but she was thorough. She put on a stunning show and brought him to climax using a well-lubricated silicone sleeve to jerk his shaft until he shot his first and most potent load of the night. The contractions wrang him of several impressive bouts of cum, more than he was used to producing. He blamed the hours of teasing.

Never had he experienced such a mixture of conflicting sensations. He had wanted his mistress’ cunt badly, and for her to allow him inside as he was used to doing, but the toys gave him new gratitude for unconventional methods of stimulation. And she had wielded them so professionally. He tasted her appreciation for her armaments in the air between them. It made her subtle groping that much more delicious.

As she had promised, she released Mickey from his bonds and escorted him from the room. They veered down a hallway, the air so fresh compared to the playroom it chilled his bare skin. His feet slapped against polished marble while her heels clicked next to him. A door opened, and she ushered him through, closing it and locking the handle behind them. There was carpet under his feet again, and a bright, feminine aroma about his head.

Finally, she took off the blindfold. The light scorched Mickey’s pinhole pupils, and he rubbed his eyes until they adjusted to sight. There was no time to take in his surroundings before she grabbed his cock and kissed him. Mickey kissed her back only until her grip reminded him of the shuddering orgasm she’d just stolen. He winced, and she stepped back.

“I thought you said you could go again,” she said.

“Yeah, I can. I can. It’s just... That was intense. Can’t I take five?”

She shook her head, and all the excitement snuffed from her eyes in a blink. “There isn’t enough time. I told you twenty minutes is all I have, and we’ve already wasted a quarter of that already.”

“Hang on, now. Why don’t I eat you out? Or I can finger you, or both. Whatever you like. Work you up a bit while my nuts get a refill.”

“Just kiss me. Shut your mouth and kiss me now, Mickey.”

[agentdagonet]

At The Beginning With You

Welcome to my entry for the 2019 @kingsmansecretsanta! I’ve actually never done this event before, and I’m glad I did so now! 

My gift is for the incredibly talented @han-ban-bam who won my heart over with their art when I was curious about their prompt. I hope you enjoy it!

Find it here on AO3

Summary: The Dowager Empress has been searching for her lost son Henry for ten years- but she's lost hope, and is prepared to live out the rest of her days alone, wondering what became of him.

Harry (just Harry) has no idea who he was eleven years ago- and all he has to lead him is a ring he can't remember getting with an inscription inside the band: Together in Paris.

Eggsy and Merlin are looking for the Grand Duke Henry Hart- or at least someone close enough to get the reward money- when Harry falls into their laps.

---

          ‘Go left they said- well,’ Harry looked at the sign briefly before scoffing, ‘I know what’s on the left. But, if I go right, perhaps…’ He spun the ring on his pinky briefly, a sad smile upon his lips ‘perhaps I’ll find an answer. But that’s ridiculous,’ Harry began to pace, looping his way through the snow and around the sign twice before speaking again, ‘how would I ever make my way to Paris- fuck it; I need a clue, a sign, something- anything! Just… give me a hint that doing this reckless thing is the right one.’

           He’d been without his memories for as long as he could remember, no pun intended. He knew that he’d been staying at the Statesman house for ten years with no clue as to who he’d been or where he’d come from. He didn’t have anything from his past- had nothing he could call his own outside of the ring that sat upon his right pinky. Which was plain enough at first glance, but inside the band there was an inscription: Together in Paris.

           Harry pulled his coat as close to himself as he could and glared almost accusingly at the sign post, barely noticing the insistent tugging at his pocket- the one that held his scarf. He looked down to find a small dog, scruffy and black, seemingly delighted to have caught his attention. He grasped the end of the scarf in his pocket and tugged a little, and laughed at the tiny growl the dog gave in return. He played tug for a little longer, allowed himself the luxury of happiness for a moment, before he crouched down and pat him on the head.

           ‘I don’t actually have time to play with you, you know- I’m waiting for something,’ Harry looked back up at the sign, let his eye trail across and follow the snow as it fell, and unknowingly allowed his grip on the scarf to loosen.

           ‘Excuse me!’ The small dog was dwarfed by the scarf, thin as it was, but he was determined to get away. He paused for all of a breath, tail wagging furiously as he looked back, before bolting down the road and pausing again. ‘Lovely. A dog wants me to go to St. Petersburg- wait,’ Harry glanced back toward the Statesman house, that he knew he wasn’t going back to no matter which path he chose. He looked toward the path he knew well and the predictable future he could have.

 He followed the dog.

 ---

           It turned out that getting out of the country was more difficult than he’d assumed. Made infinitely more so by his lack of money and his status as an amnesiac. There were people trying to hawk off goods as having belonged to the long-since deceased Hart’s- somehow the people who had celebrated their deaths now craved their presence.

           Humanity was strange.

           ‘Excuse me, sir- a suggestion?’ Harry looked up from where he was staring at the ground, and looked the young woman who had spoken in the eye with a brow raised. ‘Go see Eggsy- he could probably help you.’

           ‘What’s an Eggy?’

           ‘Eggsy, sir,’ she corrected gently, and Harry nodded, ‘and he can help you find a way to Paris- he’s at the old palace, but you didn’t hear it from me!’ As quickly as she had appeared, the woman had folded into the crowd and vanished. He looked down to Mr. Pickle, having named the dog with the intention of keeping him no matter where he ended up, and pressed his lips to the top of his head before standing.

           ‘Well, why not?’

 ---

           ‘I hate to say it, Eggsy, but we’ve run out of men the correct age for this farce to be successful. We’ve wasted the last of our money and have nothing to show for it but this dilapidated ruin to hide in for one night longer.’ There were men in the building, their voices echoed out from somewhere Harry could not make his way to. He allowed himself to wander slowly, his hands trailing across the few things left in the house- some knicknacks, the odd torn bit of tablecloth.

           ‘This place is- it… feels familiar. Like a dream I don’t remember having.’ Mr. Pickle was running about, sneezing when he stuck his head somewhere particularly dusty, but Harry paid him no mind. He’d tuned out the people talking, one of them being the man he’d even entered the building to find, focused intently on the painting of who he assumed were the deceased royals. There was something about the youngest man in the portrait that had him frozen. He recognised him, somehow, from somewhere; he could feel a phantom grip upon his shoulder, his hair ruffled, a kiss upon his cheek...

           ‘The fuck ‘re you doing here, bruv?’ The voice came from across the hall, and Harry’s head snapped up to find two men staring- the one with green eyes and light hair had spoken, and the taller bald gentleman was looking at a notebook, a set of spectacles perched atop his head. The younger man looked angry, almost sneering in his direction, so Harry turned and ran for the stairs where Mr. Pickle was lying beneath the massive painting. ‘Hey! Shit, mate, stop we ain’t gonna hurt you!’ That’s what they all say. He’d meant to keep running, but the stairs had winded him, and he paused with one hand bearing his weight against the wall before turning to the sound of approaching footsteps.

           ‘Apologies-’

           ‘How did you get in… here…’ The younger man interrupted him, but trailed off, eyes darting between himself and the portrait behind him with something akin to awe. Harry shrugged and sighed, and Mr. Pickle chose that moment to reveal himself by growling from where he was perched upon Harry’s feet.

           ‘You haven’t answered our question-’ The younger man shushed the bald one, who looked at him as if offended at having been interrupted. The blond man didn’t seem to notice his offence.

           ‘Do you see what I see, Merlin?’ The younger man, presumably Eggsy, gestured in Harry’s direction.

           ‘No.’ pushed the glasses down his head, and gestured toward Harry a second time with a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. ‘Oh, a dog!’

           ‘Not the dog, Merlin-’

           ‘Oh- oh- you think-’ Merlin looked excited by whatever they were seeing in him, but Harry was getting impatient. Either let him leave or get on with whatever it was they wanted with him.

           ‘Are you Eggsy?’

           ‘Tha’ depends on who’s askin’.’ So it was definitely Eggsy, then, who was approaching him in a decidedly less antagonistic manner than the chase had started with.

           ‘I’m Harry, and I need travel papers- I was told my someone that you were the one to find, though I couldn’t tell you who told me so.’ As he spoke, Eggsy began to circle him, humming to himself and only vaguely motioning that he had heard him at all. ‘Dare I ask why you’re circling me? Perhaps you were a vulture in a previous life?’ Eggsy jumped a bit in place and looked at him sheepishly

           ‘Sorry, sorry; it’s just you look an awful lot like-’ he seemed to cut himself off, ‘nevermind, you said you need papers?’ He took in Harry’s dishevelled appearance, his worn eyepatch and fingerless gloves, but didn’t change how he addressed him. ‘What for?’

           ‘I’d like to go to Paris.’ Harry rubbed his thumb along the band of his ring mindlessly but Eggsy paid him no mind, having turned his attention entirely back to Merlin who was besotted with Mr. Pickle.

           ‘Paris, eh? Well, lemme ask you somethin’ Harry- there a last name to go with that?’

           ‘I doubt you’ll believe me, actually, but I haven’t the foggiest as to my last name. I presume I have one, but I was found wandering about ten years ago-’

           ‘An’ before then, what? You just popped into existence ten years ago?’ Eggsy looked simultaneously hopeful and baffled, and Harry didn’t know what to make of that.

           ‘I know it sounds ludicrous, but I honestly don’t remember- I have very few memories of my past, and my only real clue to figuring it out is Paris. So,’ Harry shrugged, and forced his thumb from his ring and attempted to look nonchalant. ‘Can you two help me, or shall I off and find another person to forge my existence?’ Eggsy leant toward Merlin and asked for something before turning back to Harry

           ‘Actually, we was headin’ to Paris ourselves- I got three tickets here, but unfortunately one of ‘em’s for him,’ Eggsy gestured to the portrait, specifically the young man with the brown hair and honey eyes, ‘Henry.’

           ‘We’re going to reunite the Grand Duke Henry with his mother- she’s been searching for years-’ Merlin came fully up the steps, Mr. Pickle in his arms, and nudged Harry up toward one end of the staircase.

           ‘You kind of look like ‘him- got his eyes, you know-’

           ‘Alexandra’s chin and Nicholas’ smile- look,’ Merlin pulled his left hand closer to his face, ‘he even has his father’s hands.’

           ‘I mean, what’re the chances- right age, the looks-’

           ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you attempting to tell me that you think I,’ Harry began incredulously, laughing slightly, ‘am Henry?’

           ‘All I’m gonna say is I’ve seen hundreds of blokes from all over the country ‘nd there ain’t one of ‘em that looks even close to the Harts compared to you. I mean, bruv, look at the paintin’ there!’ Eggsy gestured wildly to a new painting he didn’t bother to look at.

           ‘I was rather hoping you’d prove my first impression incorrect, but instead now I think the both of you are mad.’

           ‘Why? You don’ know what happened to you, an’ no one knows what happened to him!’

           ‘You’re looking for family in Paris, and that happens to be where his only family lives.’ Merlin interjected, one hand rubbing behind Mr. Pickles’ ears idly.

           ‘You ain’t tellin’ me that you’ve never thought about it?’

           ‘About what? Being a prince? It’s more than a bit difficult to think of yourself as much of anything when you’re sleeping on a damp floor- but sure, I guess every lonely person has imagined being royalty.’

           ‘And, somewhere, one lonely man is.’ Merlin rested an arm across his shoulder, a move more familiar than anyone had done in many years, and Eggsy began to walk away.

           ‘Wish we could help, mate, but tha’ third ticket’s for the Grand Duke Henry so-’ Eggsy pulled Merlin away, and Harry didn’t bother to turn. He stared at the new portrait, this one only of the younger man and a woman he could only assume was his mother bedecked in a finery Harry could scarcely imagine. He couldn’t help but lift a hand to the canvas, as if he could run his fingertips along the silk.

           ‘Eggsy, can I ask why the fuck you didn’t tell him about our plan when he is the only viable option-’ Eggsy raised a finger to his lips, and lifted the other hand to count down from three. Two. One.

           ‘Eggsy!’

           ‘That’s the thing with us common types- we know how to work a crowd, yeah? He’s in the palm of our hands, now- just ‘ad to make it look like his idea.’ Eggsy grinned, he and Merlin having come to a stop at the base of the staircase, and he could hear Harry making his way down the steps at much the same pace he’d gone up them.

           ‘Eggsy, wait- if I don’t know who I am then… well, then who’s to say whether or not I am a Duke?’

           ‘Go on,’ Eggsy placed a hand at his chin, and Merlin seemed to be holding something back, but Harry couldn’t help but continue now that he’d begun. If he was going to take hints and chances from the universe, then he was going to do it right.

           ‘Well, if that turns out not to be true then the Empress would certainly know immediately if that were the case. An honest mistake- what had I to go on but the timing of my injury with the Hart massacre?’

           ‘Makes sense to me.’ Eggsy nodded, one hand beneath his chin, and Merlin nodded once before speaking.

           ‘And if you are the Prince then you will finally have some, if not all, of the answers you’ve been looking for. Family and identity.’

           ‘Merlin’s right, bruv- ‘sides, either way it gets you to Paris, yeah?’ Eggsy smiled and held out a hand, and Harry couldn’t make himself hesitate.

           ‘Right.’ They clasped hands, though perhaps Harry gripped a bit too hard if Eggsy’s face was anything to go by. ‘Well, Mr. Pickle, seems we’re going to Paris.’

 -------

           ‘Stop messin’ about with your ring and sit up- you’re a Duke, ain’t ya?’ Eggsy didn’t want to let on how much he hated trains- always made him feel a bit sick- and tried to focus on getting Harry to act like the man he was supposed to be. Merlin was sat on the other side of the cabin, fiddling with their travel papers, and Mr. Pickle (seriously? Why would anyone name a dog- nevermind) was sat across from Harry in the other window seat.

           ‘Eggsy?’ Harry had slouched further into his seat, but seemed to find that just a little too uncomfortable for the ride had sat back up to address him. 

           ‘Yes, Harry?’

           ‘How is it that you know what royalty is supposed to act like?

           ‘I make it my business to know.’ Eggsy dodged the question, not allowing himself to think about his mum and sister even after all the years between then and now. Everyone remembered the Hart’s destruction- but they never remembered the bystanders that fell simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. ‘I’m just tryin’ to help, ‘kay?’

           ‘Indeed… Do you truly believe me to be royalty?’ His eye was wide and earnest, the brow above the eyepatch raised to match the other, and Eggsy turned fully toward him.

           ‘You know I do, bruv.’

           ‘Then stop bossing me around.’ Harry turned bodily back toward the window, pat one leg to beckon Mr. Pickle to sit with him, and seemed to admire the view without a care to Eggsy’s reaction.

           Merlin, on the other hand, had been observing the pair of them since they’d left the dilapidated palace and simply made another tally in his notebook. For all that Eggsy was a professional sweet-talker, he was being given the runaround by Harry. Between his cheek and his lack of memory, Harry seemed to have a lack of care when it came to niceties, and it had been a long while since anyone had pushed back when Eggsy pushed them.

           They were oblivious, of course, but Merlin wasn’t going to complain about the entertainment their dancing about brought him.

           ‘Harry, I think we got off on the wrong foot.’ Eggsy rubbed one hand along his jaw as he sat across from Harry, who looked fully engrossed in a book and might not have heard him in the first place.

           ‘I’d have to agree with you there, my boy- but I appreciate your apology.’ Harry peered over the top of his book for a moment, sincere as you please, and it took a moment for the words to fully sink in.

           ‘Apology? The fuck said anythin’ about an apology- I was just sayin’-’

           ‘You needn’t say anything else, Eggsy- in fact, it may actually upset me further.’

           ‘Guess I’ll keep my trap shut if you will.’

           ‘Fine.’

           ‘Fine.’

           ‘... Do you think you’ll miss it?’ Harry whispered, face not leaving the window even though his gaze was locked on Eggsy in the reflection.

           ‘What, you talkin’?’ Eggsy smirked, leant back in his seat carelessly.

           ‘No, Eggsy- Russia. Do you think you’ll miss Russia?’ Harry turned back toward Eggsy and gestured blandly to the snowscape out the window.

           ‘Nope.’ He didn’t even have to think about it.

           ‘But it was your home.’

           ‘It’s where I lived for a while, but it weren’t home, end of story.’

           ‘Then you must be thinking of making Paris your true home?’

           ‘What’s it with you and home, mate? Russia’s a place I lived, ‘nd maybe Paris’ll be the next place I live, what business is it of yours?’

           ‘It’s something every normal person wants, for one- for another…’ Harry stood and tried to pace, but Eggsy refused to move his legs from where they blocked his path. ‘Oh, forget it. Merlin!’ Harry exclaimed upon seeing the man come through the door, ‘thank goodness it’s you- please remove him from my sight.’

           ‘Fuck did you do, Eggsy?’

           ‘Me?!’

 ---

           ‘Unfortunate change in circumstance, Eggsy- papers are in red this month.’ Merlin spoke at a level tone, conversational, even as he turned their forged papers around to indicate the blue ink they were made in. ‘I propose we move ourselves to the luggage car before guards come to inspect our papers.’

           ‘That ain’t gonna do it, guv, y’know that- let’s get off this train.’ Harry was still asleep on the bench, and Eggsy leant over to nudge him awake. ‘Harry? Harry we’ve-’ Harry’s arm shot up and clocked him, and Eggsy fell to the opposite bench clutching his nose as Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

           ‘My apologies I thought you were someone else- oh, nevermind, it’s just you.’ Harry didn’t smirk, in fact his eye showed a touch of remorse if Eggsy was reading him proper, but he didn’t make any move to help, either.

           ‘C’mon,’ Eggsy grabbed as many bits of their luggage in one hand before offering the other to Harry, ‘we’ve got to go.’

           ‘Might I ask where we’re going?’ They made their way down the corridor slowly, and as Merlin and Eggsy settled into the luggage car Harry couldn’t help but nudge the bee’s nest and hide a smile.

           ‘The baggage car- scenic. There wouldn’t happen to be issues with our papers, would there, maestro?’

           ‘Course not, Your Grace- just hated making you mingle with them common folk, is all.’ There was a crash, a stack of luggage fell over, and Harry stumbled to the nearest wall. ‘The fuck was that, Merlin?’

           ‘No idea, but there goes the dining car,’ Merlin looked forlornly out the back window before approaching the door nearest the engine, ‘and it looks as if someone’s set the engine aflame.’ Indeed, there was fire coming from the smokestack.

           ‘Somethin’ ain’t right,’ Eggsy threw his coat off before jumping from their car to the one spewing fire, ‘stay here- I’m gonna check it out.’

           ‘I’m not certain there’s anywhere for us to go.’ Harry muttered to himself, glaring down at the bundle of fabric he’d managed to catch, and Merlin nodded in agreement. Luckily for them both Eggsy returned quickly, face flushed and a fair bit of soot on his trousers.

           ‘There ain’t nobody drivin’ the train- we got to jump.’ Eggsy tugged at Harry’s sleeve, half dragging him to the side of the car and pulling the wall open to reveal a steep drop off the edge of a cliff.

           ‘Jump, you said? Well I’ll certainly follow your lead on this one.’ Harry’s eye was wide and his face pale with panic, but it seemed that even certain doom couldn’t turn off his sarcasm.

           ‘Fuck it, we’ll- we’ll uncouple the car, then.’ Merlin dashed toward the fallen luggage and began searching for tools, and Eggsy went to the coupling, going through whatever tools Merlin handed him and cursing each time they broke.

           Mr. Pickle began to bark as a box shifted closer to him, likely startled by its size, but Harry began to grin as the shifting light from the fire revealed the box’s contents.

           ‘Y’sure there ain’t somethin’ better than this in there, guv?’ Eggsy was glaring at the coupling, which didn’t look at all worse for wear from when he’d begun trying to undo it, and didn’t even look up as there was movement from the corner of his eye. He lifted a hand and grabbed what was passed to him, and grinned when he finally brought it fully into view. 

           ‘Yes, Harry,’ Eggsy grinned jamming the stick of dynamite into the mechanics of it before running to the other end of the luggage car to await the earth-shattering kaboom. ‘The fuck taught you that?’

           ‘No one had to- I was just a bit inspired by the setting.’ 

           ‘Eggsy, lad, the brakes are out.’ Merlin was turning at the gear frantically, though his voice gave nothing away, and the flaming engine car was still close enough to send some embers into their car. A box caught fire, and Harry went to smother it out as Eggsy looked frantically about for another option.

           ‘There’s loads of track still, yeah? We’ll have to slow down eventually!’ Perhaps one of them ought to have knocked on wood, for at that precise moment the car rocked violently, and a glance outside showed that a large bit of track just ahead had collapsed. They all froze for a moment before springing back into motion at a frantic pace.

           ‘You were saying?’ Harry quipped, trying desperately not to panic in the midst of this life-endangering chaos, but Eggsy paid him no mind.

           ‘I got an idea- Merlin, gimme a hand.’ Without waiting for an answer, Eggsy pulled some chain to the back of the car, and climbed down toward the gears. He lifted a hand for the chain, eyes fixed on his target, but looked up as he grasped it. ‘Oi, did I ask for Harry?’

           ‘Merlin’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.’ Harry lowered the chain and instinctively gripped Eggsy’s arm as he lost his balance with a jerk of the car. He pulled the young man up, the two tumbling to the floor of the luggage car in a tangled heap, before watching a bit of the train fly off and slam directly into a tree. ‘To think, that could have been your untimely end.’ Harry blinked his one eye innocently before letting go of Eggsy entirely and moving away.

           ‘If we live through this shit, remind me to thank you.’ Eggsy grumbled, moving toward where Merlin was dusting himself off from a wayward tumble into some debris to grab the other end of the chain.

           ‘Wouldn’t dream of forgetting.’ Harry helped drag the chain into a pile by the door, not quite understanding what the plan was until Eggsy dropped the last bit of it to the top: a hook.

           ‘Brace yourselves.’ With that, Eggsy and Harry pushed the pile of chain out the back of the car with both hands, and waited with bated breath for the hook to catch on something.

           Anything.

           There was a lurch when the hook caught on the track, the entire car pulled off it from the sudden attempted stop. Suitcases were flung from one end to the other, some falling from the damaged holes in the car, Harry held Mr. Pickle tightly to his chest and prayed that they’d get out of this in one piece- even if it were a damaged one. As soon as the car seemed to settle to a steady grind along the ground, the trio of men locked arms before exchanging terrified grins and staring out at the rushing snowscape.

           ‘Well, it seems this is our stop!’

           They jumped.

           They miraculously landed without breaking any bones, though some rocks hidden by the snow had scraped them up a bit and Mr. Pickle was shivering pathetically in Harry’s arms.

           ‘I fuckin’ hate trains, bruv- don’ let me get on a train ever again, y’get me?’ Eggsy was still lying in the snow while waving a finger angrily at Merlin, who nodded indulgently, but Harry could do nothing but stare at the sky.

           What now?

 ---

           ‘Are we walking to Paris, then?’ They’d been walking for ages, and as the days wore on Harry was losing his nerve and his patience. He felt like a child, whinging about how long things were taking- but he had waited ten years for answers and now that he was on the path the rest couldn’t come soon enough. He was so close to getting an answer.

           ‘No, Your Grace, we are taking a boat from Germany into Paris.’ Merlin sighed, and looked forlornly at the path ahead of them.

           ‘Are we walking to Germany, then?’ It wasn’t that he was impatient, Harry reasoned with himself, it was just that he did not enjoy not knowing the plan. He wanted to at least have a solid idea of the next step they were taking, even though the end goal was the same.

           ‘We’re takin’ a bus to Germany, Harry, just got to get to town first.’ Harry hummed in agreement, and together they trudged on in companionable silence. Until Merlin decided the silence was too much to bear and began to wax poetic about someone named Roxy.

           ‘Who’s Roxy?’

           ‘The Juliet to my Romeo, hot chocolate after a walk in snow, a decadent pastry filled with laughter-’

           ‘Are we discussing a dessert or a person?’

           ‘Ix-ay on the Oxy-Ray’ Eggsy muttered, seemingly to himself as both of his companions were too caught up in one another to pay him any mind. The closer they got to Paris, the more stressed he became- how many more ways could shit go wrong? It was lucky that there wasn’t an actual deadline here, or they’d have been fucked over ages ago.

           ‘The ethereal Roxy Morton is the Empress’ Niece-’

           ‘Niece? Why are we going to see the Empress’ niece, and not the Empress herself?’ Harry barely kept himself from stopping in his tracks- but no matter what their initial destination, there was no way he was staying out in the cold because he was being petty.

           ‘Did you really think that we could just show up at the Empress’ doorstep?’ Eggsy scoffed, and glanced back before continuing onward. ‘No one gets to the Empress without Roxy’s say-so- after that thing where her whole family was massacred the Empress is a bit wary of strangers, if you can believe.’ Harry’s ears burned at the rebuke, feeling foolish for not having come to the logical conclusion of security.

           ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Harry muttered, refusing to make eye contact with either man when they looked back toward him, ‘I’m not certain how I feel about actively lying to someone about this. Make an appearance looking done up, ask some questions and perhaps get some answers, certainly, but to lie?’

           ‘The fuck said anythin’ about lying? D’you know you ain’t the Duke?’

           ‘Well no, I don’t know much of anything about who I may or may not be.’

           ‘So it’s one more stop on the path toward becoming your true self!’ Merlin said as he slung an arm about Harry’s shoulders, but Harry looked away and shrugged it off.

           ‘Harry, ain’t this somethin’ you’re gonna see to the end? Thought you wanted answers- can’t get shit if you don’ try.’ Harry shrugged and stared at a nearby pond for want of something to focus on. Eggsy was having none of his shit, and grabbed him by the elbow to force him to look at his own reflection. ‘What do you see, Harry?’

           ‘I see a frail man, who has no past to draw from and no future to aim toward.’

           ‘Well that’s nonsense,’ Merlin placed a hand on his shoulder, gripped it in a way that Harry knew would not be removed by simply shrugging it off, ‘you’re an intelligent man who wants answers. You’re determined and took a chance on the likes of us,’ Merlin gestured between himself and Eggsy, ‘on the word of a woman you didn’t know from any other passerby.

           ‘I’ve seen you give command equal to any royal- which,’ Merlin smiled, ‘is saying something, as I was once a member of the Imperial Court. I’ve plenty of experience with royalty to draw from.’

           ‘So you’ve got a choice, bruv’ Eggsy’d stopped, and had his hands shoved into his pockets, slightly slouched, and Harry couldn’t help but admire the cut of his image as Eggsy raised a brow in his direction, ‘you gonna focus on what you see now, or what you can become, Grand Duke Hart?’ 

           ‘Do you think that I’ve got anything to lose?’

 ---

           It was surprising how easily the lessons were able to stick. It felt far less like creating something from nothing and far more like rebuilding. Like giving a table a new leg, or darning a sock, instead of crafting from the bare materials. On the one hand, it made lessons simpler to get through- but on the other, it was actually terrifying to think that he had once known these things. Had he once been a man of the Courts? Was he a gossip that had merely taken note of all of these things for use at some later point?

           Table manners had needed some work, but it seemed that if Harry stopped thinking about things then his body simply did them naturally. If he curled his lip and narrowed his eyes, sometimes he was able to imagine sitting with the sorts of stuffy people he imagined royals to be and not making an utter fool of himself. But the things that were not easy were so difficult Harry was tempted to give up the venture entirely.

           ‘Harry, if I can do this shit then you can too. It ain’t that difficult.’ Eggsy was gesturing with a sheet Merlin had written various facts onto. Family members and the sorts of little stories that were used to make conversation when small talk wasn’t enough. Oh, once Count so-and-so managed the most ghastly thing entirely by accident! The empty stories that made collectives and families. ‘Now Count Sergei-’

           ‘I’ve heard he’s put on a fair amount of weight.’ Merlin commented from where he was sat, writing into a notebook.

           ‘He’s the one who had a cat, right? Some fat yellow thing,’ Harry cocked his head to one side, eyes looking skyward, and entirely missed the startled look Merlin and Eggsy exchanged.

           ‘...Yes, Harry.’ Eggsy said, barely holding it together as Merlin shook his head, only enough to be barely noticeable. Merlin snapped his book shut and tucked it away, Mr. Pickle startled from his nap where he’d sat upon Merlin’s legs and jumped down as Eggsy approached their luggage and reached inside. ‘Now, there’s somethin’ all royals c’n do that us common types ain’t the best at-’ Eggsy pulled out a set of black men’s dress shoes, open laced and simple, ‘dancing.’ He came up to Harry, offering them to the man with a grin. After a moment of Harry not reaching to take them from his grip, Eggsy shook them in front of his face. ‘What’re you waitin’ for?’

           ‘The punchline.’

           ‘There’s no punchline, Harry- dancing is as important to the royals as all of the bits of knowledge you’ve memorised up till now,’ Merlin spoke softly, and made sure to look Harry in the eye, ‘you’re going to have to learn at least a few dances, and these shoes are what you’ll need to be comfortable dancing in. Eggsy is going to be your dance partner-’

           ‘- what?’

           ‘- as you’ll have to be comfortable leading your partner and the height differential betwixt you is ideal.’ Merlin didn’t smile, but Harry could see the amusement in his gaze. He nodded, and Merlin took a few paces back to lean against the edge of the boat as Harry replaced his worn travelling shoes with the fancier pair.

           ‘They’re called oxfords- they make some with designs and shit ‘n call ‘em brogues, but the Hart’s were more about bein’ elegant than flashy.’ Eggsy muttered, the tips of his ears were red, and in spite of his overwhelming curiosity Harry kept his mouth shut. Perhaps at the end of all this he would know more than just who had once been, but until that time came it didn’t do well to pry.

           ‘Well,’ Harry stood, at once feeling entirely and nothing like himself in the too-hard shoes, ‘let’s get started.’ Harry offered a hand to Eggsy, who took it before placing his other hand at Harry’s shoulder. They exchanged a shaky grin before starting to move, both muttering beneath their breath and glancing downward every few moments.

           ‘Well, Merlin, on the one hand you’ve done an admirable job in setting them up. On the other,’ he sighed to himself, pulled a hand down his face and allowed his eyes to lazily follow them as they seamlessly danced their way around the bow of the ship, ‘you’ve set them up.’

           ‘I’m feeling a bit light headed, Eggsy.’ Harry murmured as he slowed their dance down to a crawl.

           ‘Dizzy?’ Eggsy looked up, an eyebrow cocked and Harry nodded in reply. ‘Prolly from all the spinning. We- we should stop.’ Eggsy couldn’t pull his eyes from Harry, who was looking at him the same way he’d looked at the sunset- eyes wide and mouth slightly parted.

           ‘We have stopped.’ They didn’t move from their positions, pressed nearly chest to chest and the toes of their shoes touching, and both men closed their eyes. Simply allowed themselves to breathe in the same air, unknowingly leant even closer than before, nearly-

           There was a clatter of luggage, and both men’s heads snapped toward Merlin and Mr. Pickle, the latter of which was sat atop the messy pile of belongings. Merlin was half covered by the pile and glaring at the dog. Eggsy pulled from Harry’s grip and backed up a bit before smirking in his direction.

           ‘You’re doin’ great, Harry.’

 ---

           Merlin was sitting on the floor of their room of the ship, a little green at the gills, while Harry read a book in his bed. Eggsy was sleeping on the floor, surrounded by their luggage just a little bit away, and Harry looked briefly over his form and Mr. Pickle sleeping beside him before he turned to Merlin.

           ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

           ‘Just riddled with envy- there Eggsy is sleeping through everything while you and I remain awake from the rougher waters. There’s little I envy of Eggsy’s life, but his ability to sleep through anything is at the top of that list.’ Mr. Pickle had stirred at Merlin’s voice, and made his way over toward them with more than a little fanfare; he was small, and climbing over the luggage had jostled something loose, something that looked priceless. Gold and blue and engraved with strange symbols that tugged at the edges of Harry’s mind.

           Or perhaps that was the seasickness talking.

           ‘It’s a lovely jewellery box, is it not?’

           ‘Is that what it is?’ Harry turned it in his palm idly, looking but not really seeing the details.

           ‘Well, what else could it be?’ Merlin looked briefly between Harry’s face and the intricate object before putting his head back between his legs.

           ‘Something else- something... secret,’ Harry whispered, ran a fingernail along the top edge, ‘is that possible?’

           ‘Well, anything’s possible- you got Eggsy to waltz, didn’t you?’ They chuckled for a moment, exchanged a wry glance, and settled in for bed as best the were able.

           Eggsy woke to Mr. Pickle barking and jumping on his side, and he sat up slowly before registering the groaning that was not his own coming from the bed. Harry was tossing, his face contorted into a grimace and a noise Eggsy didn’t want to call a whimper but could call little else escaped him. Eggsy couldn’t help but scramble from his place on the floor, ran a hand down Mr. Pickles’ back unthinkingly as he passed, and shook Harry’s shoulder.

           ‘Harry? Harry! Wake up!’ Harry’s eye shot open, one hand slapped itself over his ruined eye socket to hide it from view as he gasped. Or maybe just to grasp at the eye patch that should have been there but was conspicuously absent. Eggsy moved his eyes slowly, left his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and used the other to pick up the patch from where it had fallen to the floor.

           ‘Here,’ Eggsy gave a small smile, the kind of sheepish thing you exchange when embarrassed, as he pressed it into Harry’s hand, ‘you okay?’

           ‘I- I’m not sure. I keep seeing these faces, they’re screaming, and-’

           ‘Hey,’ Eggsy squeezed the hand on Harry’s shoulder, ‘it was just a dream, yeah? You’re safe now.’ Harry looked between Eggsy’s eyes frantically, as if he was looking for something specific, and seemed to relax minutely as he found it. Whatever it was. His face slackened, one side of his mouth pulled into a sheepish grin, before he stretched languidly and turned onto his side beneath the covers.

           ‘Of course I’m safe- I’m with you.’

 ---

           ‘Yes, yes, we’d take picnics by shore in spring- but, tell me, why in the spring? How did we get there?’ An older woman, silver hair pulled into an elegant knotwork of loose braids, tapped her cane to the floor while glaring at the man before her. She could see the dye in his hair and the state of his attire did nothing to convince her of his supposed heritage. His blue eyes widened, one hand lifted in a parody of thought, before she continued. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but you’ve taken too long. Please see yourself out- and do let people know that I have no intentions of seeing any more false Henry’s.’ The door did not slam behind him, but a woman emerged from the hall with her eyes downturned and she scuffed a foot in the carpet as she came forward. Her red dress somehow subdued despite the colour, shoes a simple black to accompany a delicate bracelet that sat upon her wrist.

           ‘I’m sorry, Empress, I thought-’

           ‘The issue is not that you were thinking, Roxanne- it’s in how you were thinking. It’s been many years, and I am growing tired of the rough ride my heart has been taken on. I don’t want to give myself any more false hope, darling- I’ll not see any more. I would rather wonder than have my heart broken again.’

           ‘As you wish, Empress.’

 ---

           ‘What if she doesn’t recognise me? What if I’m not Henry, and we’ve come all this way for nothing? Just a short while ago I had nothing and now I’m having to remember an entire lifetime-’ Harry was fiddling with his ring, the only bit of familiar clothing on him, and refused to meet anyone’s gaze. His blue waistcoat and bowtie felt stifling and the oxfords on his feet still felt unnatural. But, these were the sorts of things he was meant to be used to- so he would suffer through the hassle.

           ‘Breathe. We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.’ Eggsy ruffled Harry’s hair, sufficiently distracting him from Merlin ringing the doorbell.

           ‘Oui, monsieur?’ A maid had opened the door initially, but Eggsy stifled a laugh as she was unceremoniously pushed from the doorjamb and replaced with a woman in violet. Her hair was pulled to the nape of her neck with a black ribbon, and Harry could only notice that because she had veritably launched herself into Merlin’s embrace.

           ‘Merlin, well isn’t this an unexpected surprise!’ She had pulled back, a smile splitting her face, seemingly ignorant as to the rest of the guests. ‘Do come in, we can catch up inside. What brings you all the way to me after all this time?’

           ‘Might I present His Imperial Highness the Grand Duke Henry.’ Merlin gestured toward Harry regally, and Harry couldn’t help but straighten his back under her appraising gaze.

           ‘Well he certainly looks the part- but so did many of the others I’ve had to see through, love.’ Roxy tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes, but nodded her head before addressing Harry directly.

           ‘How do you take your tea, Henry?’

           ‘Preferably not at all.’ Roxy’s lips twitched for a moment before settling back into calculating neutrality. For all that he was meant to be royalty, if he did not act like a normal person around those who were meant to be his peers then he was obviously out of place. At least, that’s how he justified his thoughtless reply in his mind.

           ‘If you and I were to go dancing,’ Eggsy stifled a laugh at Harry’s look, ‘would you allow me to lead?’

           ‘Would you step on my oxfords?’ Harry raised a brow, and Merlin huffed a breath as he shook his head. The dance had begun.

           It had taken several hours, they’d shared a meal and Eggsy had noticed Roxy’s watching how Harry ate his meal. They’d had tea brought out twice, and Merlin could practically hear the notetaking happening in Roxy’s head. On the one hand, it was admirable that Roxy was taking her job as gatekeeper to the Empress so seriously- but on the other, this was exhausting.

           ‘And, finally, this may be a fair bit personal-’ 

           ‘We’re meant to be discerning my identity, think nothing of it-’

           ‘How did you escape during the siege of the palace?’ Roxy finished, and sat back in her seat with her hands folded in her lap. Harry looked to the floor for a moment from the corner of his eye, and licked his lips before answering with a knowledge he didn’t know the source of.

           ‘There was a boy, a young boy that worked in the palace, and he opened a wall. Which sounds like nonsense, I know, but-’

           ‘Is he Henry, then, Roxy?’ Merlin interrupted, leant forward in his chair beside her, one hand upon the tabletop between them. Eggsy hadn’t moved, had barely dared to breathe, locked on Harry’s form with eyes wide and unseeing.

           ‘Well he certainly answered every question I posed to him.’ Harry allowed himself to smile, but couldn’t get his body to relax. Still sat with his back straight, wrists straight, legs still beneath the table.

           ‘So when do we go and see the Empress, then?’

           ‘You don’t.’ It’s said simply, neutrally, as if discussing the weather or a nearby plant as Roxy pushed from the table and began to pace. ‘The Empress has had her heart hurt once too many times and has ordered an end to introductions.’ One hand rubbed at her chin while the other was curled behind her back.

           ‘But there simply must be a way- I certainly won’t budge until we have some semblance of an idea.’ Merlin spoke not frantically, but not calmly either. He spoke like a man who was used to people finding a way to obtain what he wanted.

           Harry’s mind was frantic. Here he had come all this way, done everything proper, and still it was hopeless?

           ‘Do you like the Russian Ballet? I believe they’re performing in Paris tonight, and the Empress and I are sure to never miss a performance.’ Roxy winked in Merlin’s direction, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to share a smile with Eggsy-

           Who wasn’t there.

           ‘We did it! We’re to see Her Imperial Highness tonight and then we are golden, Eggsy!’ Merlin meandered into the garden where Eggsy was staring almost angrily into a bird bath.

           ‘He’s the Prince, Merlin.’

           ‘Oh, quite right, I nearly believed him myself,’ Merlin continued to babble, but Eggsy wasn’t listening. They were going to shop for proper attire for the ballet, great, but that didn’t change anything. They’d go, the Empress would see Harry, and it would be over.

           He’d just have to live with it.

 ---

           ‘Merlin I told you a hundred times now, we got nothin’ to worry about. Henry’s the Prince. He’s the real deal.’

           ‘I know, I know-’

           ‘No, you don’ fuckin’ know! I was the boy in the palace, Merlin,’ Eggsy swallowed heavily, clenched his hands together and looked down at his lap. Sitting on the steps of the Ballet house was likely poor etiquette, but he couldn’t care less at this moment. ‘I opened the wall.’

           ‘Then… We’ve managed to reconnect Harry with his family, we’ve found the heir to the throne, and you-’ Merlin breathed, sad eyes looking at Eggsy.

           ‘Will leave his life forever.’

           ‘What? But, Eggsy, he-’

           ‘Princes don’t marry kitchen boys, Merlin. It’s better if he don’t know- we get this shit done like nothing’s changed, yeah?’

           ‘You’ve got to tell him, Eggsy-’

           ‘Tell me what?’ Harry appeared as if summoned, but Eggsy knew it was just because he was distracted. His jacket, slightly covered by the long black winter cloak, was a dark blue velvet, slacks a pristine black and both were cut to make Harry look as if he had been the muse for whom the clothes were made in tribute of. He looked stunning, eye soft and hair carefully groomed and he seemed to have obtained a new eyepatch. Less faded, more elegant, just the slightest change that somehow made a world of difference.

           ‘Just how wonderful you look, Harry. Like- like Royalty.’ Eggsy ran a hand through his hair, and only Merlin could see the way he tugged sharply at the fine bits at the base of his neck.

           ‘Well, that’s what they say I am, so,’ Harry shrugged, a little pink in the cheeks, and the three of them slowly made their way up the steps. People stared, but only in the way one stared at a piece or art, admirably sand from a distance.

           ‘There she is, Harry,’ Eggsy leant intimately into his space, offering a pair of opera glasses and pointing with a flick of his wrist across the balcony. Roxy was sat beside a woman bedecked in a fine burgundy and so many jewels the chandelier was envious. An ornate crown sat upon her brow, and though her eyes were sad her face was soft. Harry immediately felt as if he knew her, could easily imagine late evening talks and soft laughter.

           ‘Oh, please let her remember me.’ Harry begged a god he didn’t believe in, desperate to know that he belonged somewhere but unwilling to believe so without solid evidence. He spent the first quarter of the ballet nervously fiddling with his ring, and ripped his programme to shreds, before Eggsy reached over and seamlessly threaded his fingers between Harry’s and gave a squeeze.

           ‘Everything’s going to be fine, Harry.’ Eggsy said it with such authority that Harry couldn’t help but believe him, and allowed himself to relax and actually enjoy Cinderella until the intermission.

           ‘C’mon, it’s time.’ Eggsy stood and pulled Harry up with him, and the pair walked steadily through the halls until they came to the set of doors Eggsy knew led to the Empress’ balcony. ‘I’m gonna go in and announce you proper, an’ then I’ll come and get you, yeah?’ He turned to pull away, but found Harry’s hand tightened around his own.

           ‘Eggsy,’ Harry was pale, but steady, and looked at him very seriously, ‘we’ve been through quite a lot together, and I wanted… well, before everything changes, I wanted to thank you.’ He lifted their clasped hands to his face, and placed a light kiss to Eggsy’s fingers with a soft smile and an emotion Eggsy didn’t want to name in his eye. Eggsy allowed himself one moment, the space between one blink and the next, to imagine the life he wanted. The life they could have had, if all of these things hadn’t turned out the way they had.

           ‘I- I, uh I…’ Eggsy forced himself to look away from Harry and pulled his hand back. ‘Good luck, Harry. Here goes!’ He turned, and let himself into the room- not noticing that it didn’t latch shut behind him.

           ‘Please inform Her Majesty, the Dowager Empress, that I have found her son, the Grand Duke Henry- he's waiting to see her just outside.’ Roxy had stood when the doors opened, and stifled a giggle at Eggsy’s airs.

           ‘I’m sorry, sir, but the Empress will see no one.’

           ‘You can tell the impertinent young man that I’ve seen enough Grand Duke Henry’s in my lifetime and have no desire to see another one. I wish to live out the remainder of my lonely life in relative peace.’

           ‘If you’d just let me-’

           ‘Come, you’d better leave, I’ll escort you to the door.’ Roxy pulled the curtains shut and bustled to the door, but Eggsy took a breath and went through the erected barrier instead.

           ‘Your Majesty I mean you no harm, my name’s Gary- I used to work at the palace. In the kitchens.’ He sat in a seat but was sure to leave a space between them- he was pushing things, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.

           ‘Well that’s certainly not one I’ve heard before.’ Her nose wrinkled, the edge of her eyes creased, and Eggsy couldn’t help but see Harry in her face.

           ‘I hope not, ma’am, as it’s the truth an’ all-’

           ‘I know what you’re after, I’ve seen hundreds of you in the last decade- men intent on the reward and willing to do anything to get it. To lie to an old woman about her own son,’ she spat, ‘you’ve come a long way, haven’t you? To get here from Russia must have been quite the trek, and no matter who the man beyond that door is he’s not going to be my Henry. He may look like him, or talk like him, perhaps he has the family tree memorised or knows my favourite perfume but it is never. My. Son.’ Harry and Roxy were stood by the door, one on each side, and both could hear the exchange. Roxy looked at him with defeat set in her shoulders, and Harry could do nothing but run his thumb upon his ring and look to the ground in reply.

           Harry barely kept himself from crying, just from the pain in her voice- he may not have any memory of his family, of his past, but he had seen enough examples of pain, of grief, in his ten years at Statesman to never wish to cause that to someone else. Whether Eggsy and Merlin had used him was irrelevant to this woman’s suffering. He had no right to reopen those wounds, no matter who he had been. 

           ‘He really is Henry, Your Majesty!’ Eggsy was grabbed around the arms by two security men, who had likely come through an unseen passage at the Empress’ request. ‘Just talk to him, five minutes, and you’ll see!’ She looked away from him, threw a hand lazily over her shoulder, and Eggsy was tossed from the room to land in a heap at Harry’s feet.

           ‘Was this all a lie, as she thinks, Eggsy?’ Harry offered Eggsy a hand to help him up, but let go as if burned once he was righted. There was only one real way to end this venture and stop contributing to the hurt the Empress had to endure.

           ‘No, no Harry it wasn’t,’ Eggsy clenched his fists so tightly his nails bit into his palms, ‘I ain’t gonna lie and say it didn’ start out that way but everything’s different now. It’s been differen’ since we got to Paris cos you really are Henry Hart.’ Harry looked at him sadly, and a single tear ran from his eye.

           ‘From the beginning there were falsehoods, and to think that I actually,’ Harry shook his head slightly, ‘nevermind. How am I meant to believe you, now, Eggsy?’

           ‘... When we was at Roxy’s place,’ Eggsy spoke slowly, eyes never leaving Harry’s, ‘you told her that you’d gotten out from the palace cos a boy opened a wall.’ Harry nodded, ‘Did we ever tell you that?’

           ‘... No.’ Harry sighed, and lifted a head to rub at his temple.

           ‘I was that boy, Harry,’ Eggsy gulped, ‘I worked in the kitchens, whole family worked at the Palace and all, an’ I heard the crashing an’ screaming and I didn’t even think I just knew I had to try.

           ‘I’m sorry I couldn’ do more, Harry. But I’m trying to make up for it now.’ Harry still looked unsure, so Eggsy nodded firmly and stepped around Harry to leave through the front door. He could take all the time he needed, as long as he was still in Paris by the time Eggsy’d convinced the Empress to try one last time.

           For once luck was in Eggsy’s favour, as the Empress as getting into her car just as he made his way down the steps, and Eggsy slid into the driver’s seat smoothly before taking off, tyres screeching.

           ‘Ilya, slow down.’ Eggsy looked back at her with a wink, and took a sharp turn while he kept his laughter to himself.

           ‘I ain’t Ilya, ma’am, and I won’ slow down ‘til you listen to me.’ The Empress demanded otherwise, but Eggsy tuned her out. It didn’t matter what Harry thought of him, what this woman thought of him, what happened to the money- as long as Harry got his fair shot at happiness. He pulled them to a stop in front of the house they’d been staying at. ‘You got to talk to him, look at him. Please.’ If it were for anyone else Eggsy would have hesitated, but he knelt before the woman with his head hung low and hands digging through his pockets.

           ‘I refuse to be badgered by you for a moment longer, young man-’ Eggsy pulled the jewellery box from his pocket triumphantly and held it before her.

           ‘D’you recognise this?’ She reached out a shaking hand to pull it toward her, breath caught, and looked briefly up to Eggsy’s eyes.

           ‘Where did you get this?’

           ‘I know you’ve been hurt, and that ain’t fair,’ Eggsy ignored the question, ‘but maybe. Just. Maybe he’s been just as lost an’ alone as you’ve been.’

           ‘You’ll truly stop at nothing until I give in, will you?’

           ‘Harts ain’t the only stubborn family, ma’am.’ Eggsy grinned, and though all the Empress did in reply was sigh he knew he’d won this battle. He led her up the stairs, left her at the door, and hoped for a miracle.

           ‘What could you possibly need of me at this time of night, Eggsy?’ Harry barely paused in his packing to respond to the knock at the door. No matter the outcome of the evening, it was unlikely that he would be able to remain in this place for long. He had to begin a new life, here- and the beginning was sure to be the toughest part. He didn’t notice the door opening or the clacking steps into the room, and only turned when he heard the door click shut again.

           ‘Oh, I- I beg your pardon,’ Harry stuttered, ‘I thought you were-’

           ‘I know precisely who you thought I was, sir- but I must ask. Who, exactly, are you?’

           ‘To be honest I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.’ Harry pulled up one end of his lips before pulling out a nearby chair and sitting himself on the edge of the bed.

           ‘I am an old woman, dear, tired of being conned and given hope only to have it tricked away.’ She did not speak the way Harry assumed Royalty would, she spoke plainly, but perhaps that was more her age than her standing in life.

           ‘It’s a good thing that I’ve no desire to trick you, then.’

           ‘I suppose you’re uninterested in the reward money, as well?’

           ‘To be frank, Highness, all I desire is to know who I am. Whether or not I belong to… well, to all this,’ Harry gestured to the finery he was still draped in, to the room around him that was far finer than any other he’d stayed in. ‘Whether I belong to your family, or if I must continue searching Paris on my own.’

           ‘Well I’ll have you know that you’re an excellent actor- the best I’ve seen, in fact- but it doesn’t make you who I’m looking for.’ She looked him up and down once more before turning to walk from the room, and Harry caught something on the air he couldn’t help but comment on.

           ‘Peppermint?’

           ‘An oil, for my hands.’ The Empress paused with a hand on the door as the other held her elegant cane.

           ‘I think I- yes, I spilled a bottle of it, once, onto the carpet. It always smelled of peppermint after that- it always reminded me of you.’ Harry was looking down at his hands, and entirely missed the Empress’ eyes widening as she turned around and sat at the bench by the door. ‘I’d lie there, undignified on the floor with a book, when you were away on business and wait for your return.’ He turned in place, eyes closed, one hand fiddling with the ring that had started this entire adventure as he smiled softly. He didn’t know where the words were coming from, but at this point he’d stopped questioning his body when it seemed to know what to do.

           When Harry opened his eyes, the Empress was looking at him softly, and gestured to the bit of bench beside her. He took the hint and sat down, forcing his hand away from the ring as he turned to face the Empress.

           ‘What is that?’ She gestured to the ring, and Harry’s ears pinked at having been caught fiddling.

           ‘I’ve always had this, for as long as I could remember. Well, since before then, I’d wager, as I don’t recall where it came from.’

           ‘May I?’ She lifted a hand, and Harry could only watch as if from a great distance as she took the ring from him and pressed it to the bottom of the jewellery box and twisted a handful of times. ‘It was our secret, my Henry’s and mine.’

           ‘The music box- to… to lull me to sleep, while you were in Paris.’ Harry whispered as he watched the box open and the figures began to spin. ‘Hear this song and remember…’

           ‘Soon you’ll be... home with me-’ The Empress sung softly as she slowly placed the music box on the bench between them.

           ‘Once upon a December.’ Harry finished, still staring at the music box as it stopped playing a song he hadn’t known he knew.

           ‘Oh, Henry,’ the Empress cried, uncaring of the tears that fell down her face in what was certainly an undignified manner, ‘my Henry.’ She pulled him into an embrace, and Harry couldn’t help but tuck his head into her shoulder and close his eye, trying to soak in the moment as much as he could.

           Down on the pavement, staring at the lit window from the fence, Eggsy blew a kiss and walked away, knowing he’d gotten Harry home.

           Hours later the Empress and Harry were sat in her home, a short table covered in small paintings and other such physical memories between their chairs, and Harry felt more than a little overwhelmed.

           ‘I remember, now,’ he murmured, ‘how much I loved them. It feels silly to mourn for them now, but-’

           ‘They would not have wanted us to live in the past forever, Henry- especially not now that we have found each other again after all this time.’ Harry hummed in agreement but continued to run his fingers over the sketch of what was apparently he and his brothers. People he could barely remember but somehow missed fiercely.

           ‘Do you remember this portrait you made for me?’ She passed over a rather ugly drawing, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh in no small amount of amused horror.

           ‘Oh, yes, didn’t Olga say it looked as if a pig were riding a donkey?’ Harry held it away from his face and squinted before he shrugged and set it aside. ‘Seems she was right.’

           ‘You laugh just the way your father did,’ The smile they shared was sad, ‘ah, but your looks are all from me. And rightfully so, Niko’s hair loss was a terrible shame.’ The Empress ran a hand through her soft curls before reaching out to card through Harry’s own, now that it was free from the product that held it in place for the ballet. ‘Come, we’ve a celebration to prepare for.’

           If Harry had thought the shoes were uncomfortable he was sorely mistaken. The pair of sashes that draped from shoulder to hip, the cloak at his shoulders that forced them back, the sheer weight of the jewelled tunic… he felt like a piece from a museum, not meant to be moved or touched, no matter how beautiful.

 ---

           ‘You sent for me, Your Grace?’ Eggsy bowed at the waist, confused beyond reason for his presence in the Empress’ home after he’d basically kidnapped her and forced her to interact with Harry.

           ‘The ten million rouble reward, as promised, with my gratitude for your stubbornness.’ She stepped away from the table, and indicated the open case that sat upon it.

           ‘Well ta for the gratitude, Your Highness, but I don’ want the money. There’s other places I can get that.’ Eggsy knew he was being stupid, being proud, because the money was actually something he needed. But the thought of it left a bad taste in his mouth, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to take it.

           ‘Then what is it that you desire in return for bringing my Henry back to me?’ This was an entirely different person from the car, this was far more like the woman he’d known in the Palace. When things were simple, and happy.

           ‘’nfortunately, nothin’ you can give me.’ Eggsy turned and began to walk from the room, but was stopped by a hand at his wrist.

           ‘Before you go,’ The Empress began, not at all as if she were giving an order but Eggsy couldn’t help but comply, ‘where did you get that music box?’ Eggsy pulled his fingers down his jawline and looked away, teeth clenched tightly together.

           ‘You were the boy, weren’t you- the servant boy who got us out. You saved his life that night- and mine- you’ve restored him to me, after all this time. And you desire… nothing?’

           ‘Not anymore.’ Eggsy shrugged the hand from his arm and continued toward the door, desperately trying to hold tears at bay. Harry deserved this, to have the life that had been taken from him so many years before in a senseless act of violence. It wasn’t his fault that Eggsy wasn’t a part of that picture.

           ‘Can I ask what changed your mind?’ Eggsy stopped and turned back to the Empress, shoulders back and jaw set.

           ‘It’s more a change of heart, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me.’ Eggsy bowed again before taking his leave, entirely missing the knowing look the Empress made at his back. He made his way down the stairs, stared fixedly at his feet as his hand gripped the rail, hoping beyond reason that he could simply escape without running into-

           ‘Hello, Eggsy.’ Harry, in an outfit of gold and sky blue, the sort of thing the Emperor had worn to the sort of parties Eggsy had never been old enough to work, let alone attend. ‘Did you collect your reward?’ It was said kindly, there was no judgement in Harry’s gaze, but it still made Eggsy’s neck prickle with shame. Did he really think that little of him, after everything?

           ‘Got my business done, yeah.’

           ‘Excuse me, sir, you’re to bow and address the Prince as Your Highness.’ A servant spoke from the base of the stairs, and Harry lifted a hand to stop him but Eggsy needed to get out of there. Now.

           ‘Your Highness,’ Eggsy bowed much the way he had for the Empress, and lifted only his eyes, ‘I’m glad you found what you was lookin’ for, Harry.’

           ‘I’m… I’m glad that you have, as well.’ Harry looked like he had more to say, so Eggsy remained as he was, but nothing more came.

           ‘Goodbye, Your Highness.’ Eggsy finally took his leave, fluidly walking down the steps and out the door before Harry could reply.

           ‘Goodbye, Eggsy.’

 ---

           Mr. Pickle did not like the crown they were attempting to put on him for the party. He didn’t mess with the sash or the toy sword but no matter how many pins Merlin used the crown was thrown off in a matter of moments. As adorable a picture he made, perhaps it was time to give up and settle for the rest of it.

           ‘Well,’ Eggsy spoke from behind Merlin, who turned around holding the dog-sized crown behind his back as if that would make Eggsy forget what he’d seen, ‘If you ever come back to St. Petersburg…’ Eggsy shrugged, and Merlin dropped the crown to the floor so he could grasp Eggsy by both shoulders.

           ‘You’re making a mistake, lad.’

           ‘Nah, Merlin- this is the one thing I’m doin’ right,’ Eggsy knelt to give Mr. Pickle a scritch and used him as an excuse not to meet Merlin’s gaze, ‘I can’t stay. I don’ belong here, with the ivory towers an’ fancy shit.

           ‘I’ll be alrigh’, Merlin- take care, yeah?’ Eggsy pat him on the shoulder, and made his way from the house with his one bag and a determined look on his face; he’d done what he set out to do, and now it was time to go home.

           Harry pulled the curtain open for the fifth time in as many minutes, eyes scanning the crowd for someone he was never going to admit he was looking for.

           ‘He’s not there, Henry.’

           ‘I know he’s not-’ Harry cut himself off, ‘who’s not there, mother?’

           ‘That remarkable young man that found the music box.’

           ‘He’s likely a bit busy spending the reward money, he’s probably trying to forget all of this even happened.’ Harry muttered to himself as he allowed the curtain to fall back shut and walked away from it. He’d thought their journey had given them a connection, and though Harry had definitely taken the coward’s way out and remained silent, Eggsy hadn’t said anything either. He’d thought that they had crossed a barrier, but it seemed that it was all for the job, the story, and now he was something left to the past. 

           The Empress rolled her eyes and looked at Mr. Pickle, who was curled asleep next to the elegant throne Henry would sit in after his introduction as the guest of honour.

           ‘Do you see them dancing, Henry? You were born to this, this finery with its titles and jewels, and you’ve found your way back here through so much. But I wonder,’ She paused, allowing her gaze to trail over the room of celebrating strangers, ‘if the reality of this is what you truly desire.’

           ‘All I ever wanted was to find my family, and I have,’ Harry turned to her, and grasped both her hands in his own, ‘I found who I am, and you-’

           ‘And you’ll always have me, my love- no one can take who you are from you again- but is it enough?’ She pulled him into her embrace, tucked her head beneath his chin and simply stayed there a moment before pulling back to look into is face. ‘He didn’t take it, you know. The reward- said what he wanted was something that I couldn’t give.

           ‘Seeing that you’re alive, Henry- seeing the man you’ve managed to become in circumstances I’ll never understand- has brought me joy I thought I’d never feel again,’ Harry began to pace, but the Empress caught his arm and lifted a hand to his cheek. ‘Whatever you choose, darling, we’ll always have each other.’ She pulled away and made her way out to the dance floor, leaving Harry to his thoughts. But as soon as he’d been left alone Mr. Pickle had begun a ruckus, barking madly and running out of the back door.

           ‘Mr. Pickle!’ Harry whisper-yelled, unwilling to disturb the party more than his dog already had, ‘Mr. Pickle, stop this nonsense!’ Of course the street mutt didn’t listen, and instead ran madly into the hedge maze his mother had led him through earlier. Harry didn’t allow himself to think about the party, about Eggsy and the money he had refused, about the things outside of his control, and instead followed his dog. 

           After all, this adventure was entirely his fault in the first place. Who knew where else Mr. Pickle would lead him?

 ---

           Eggsy had made it all the way to the ticket window at the station before he’d turned right back around. Maybe he was an idiot, maybe nothing would come of it, but if there was one thing a life without second chances taught you it was to go for what you wanted. Take the risk. Maybe it’d be what killed you, but that didn’t make it less important than anything else. At least you’d get to say you’d tried.

           But he couldn’t bring himself to actually go inside. He could hear the laughter, the music, could see the elegance from the windows but Eggsy didn’t feel any more as if he belonged there. That wasn’t his place. So instead he’d settled for wandering the hedge maze, he’d never been in one proper before and it was close enough to feel like he’d tried. Maybe he’d get the courage to find Harry later, but for the moment it was enough to know that he was nearby, even if he was unable to see him.

           Which was why it startled him so much to feel a tugging at his pant leg, and look down to find Mr. Pickle. And back up, to see Harry turning the corner, still in his finery, nowhere near the party what was entirely in his honour.

           ‘Eggsy,’ Harry breathed, and he couldn’t bring himself to move. The pair stood there, as if they hadn’t seen each other mere hours before, before Harry spoke again. ‘I thought you were going back to-’

           ‘I was, but-’ Eggsy shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets, scuffed a shoe across the ground and looked up slowly, ‘I couldn’t.’

           ‘And the-’ Harry was walking toward him slowly, as if he were an easily spooked animal, or an illusion he didn’t want to break.

           ‘That neither. Wasn’ right, not when I-’ Eggsy cut himself off, huffed a breath and shut his eyes.

           ‘When you?’ Harry was grabbing his hands, his eye curious and hopeful, and Eggsy blushed and looked away. Mr. Pickle barked, not enjoying being ignored, and it pulled both men from the daze they’d been in. The music echoed from the hall, and Eggsy looked down as his clothing before he started to pull away.

           ‘They’re waitin’ for you, Harry.’ Eggsy looked to the building, barely able to see the light through the hedges, and Harry didn’t move.

           ‘Let them wait.’ Harry cupped Eggsy’s chin with one hand, rubbed his thumb along his cheekbone, and turned his face toward him. There was a fraction of a moment, the space between breaths or blinks of an eye, where Harry searched Eggsy’s face before he brought their lips together.

 ---

           Wish me luck, mother, as I’m off on this new adventure. I know we haven’t had long to get to know one another as we are now- but we’ll be together in Paris again soon enough. 

                     All my love, Harry Hart

[zitrolena]

What’s meant to be will always find a way (2)

1st heads-up it's long; 2nd heads-up: I'm not sure how fast I'll upload the next one. Conclusion: Hope you still like it :)

(Chapter 1)

----

Chapter 2: Nothing is the same, except everything and nothing is.

Athazagoraphobia – the fear of forgetting; being forgotten or ignored; or being replaced.

She doesn’t know how she has found herself here. Well, of course she does but it doesn’t make her register it more either.. Firstly she asked Amira for Joanas current address, ignoring the face that Amira made that could either mean ‘Why are you doing this to yourself?’ or ‘Why are you doing this to her?’.. Cris can’t decide which one would be worse.

Now, standing in front of the large building, fixing her braids, breathing out, breathing in, she finally builds up the courage to knock on the door.

3 knocks are all she manages before she leans back again, stiff like a stick. Her heart beating in her chest, pulling against it as if it was trying to get out before it breaks again. Scared. When she hears the creak of the opening door she closes her eyes for a second; not ready yet. Not ready ever.

“Heyyyy!!!”, the familiar voice screams before Cris feels arms pulling her into a soft hug “You’re back!!”.  Cris immediately hugs her back, actually thanking her body for reacting when her head felt like infinite loops of ‘What the fuck’s.

When the girl ends the hug, she looks at her with an excited grin in her face. Her light-brown locks, a little shorter than Cris remembered; are falling around her cheeks landing on her pink T-shirt. She looks almost exactly the same; still seeing Viri has never confused Cris more than at that moment.

The infinite loop hasn’t stopped when she finally manages to speak again. Weirdly chuckling she murmurs “Haha yeah”. Trying to hide her confusion, Cris raises her arms in the air and strengthens every muscle in her face; Faking excitement never feeling as exhausting as at that moment “Surprise”.

It isn’t as if Cris hadn’t planned on seeing her friends again, of course she did! She actually planned to crash Amiras party on the weekend and pull a more existing surprise than the one she did right now. She missed them and wants to see them as soon as possible. But not here. Not now. Not when she wants to see Joana.

“Since when are you back?”, Viris smile widens “God, you must have so many stories to tell”. She claps her hands exhilarated. “And oh my god, wait!”, she grabs one of Cris’ braids “Am I delusional or is this shorter?”. It is. Travelling through the Asian-heat with long hair was actually like accepting a slow and painful death, so she cut it. Like some kind of restart; she wants to grow it back though.

“Only 2 days..”, Cris leans from one foot to the other “But I wanted to settle in a bit before meeting all of you again.. and yes”, she answers and brushes her fingers over her bare arm, which is covered all over with goosebumbs either because of the april weather playing games or her body just now fully processing the whole situation. A bit late, fella, but thanks for the delay . 

Viri immediately notices the goosebumps on Cris’ arm and tells her to come inside, almost pulling her with her.

The apartment is beautifully decorated, with some drawings by Joana which Cris immediately notices the second she enters through the door. She could register her drawings everywhere. Viri slowly leads her to the big gray couch and both of them sit down.

Like so often, Viri is still wearing a big smile on her faces when her eyes suddenly widen and she quickly looks down at her watch, almost terrified. “Shit!!”. She jumps up in a quick motion and starts shaking her head “Chica, I love you. But I gotta go, I have classes with THE WORST teacher EVER. I’m really really sorry!!”

She picks up her bag and looks back at Cris who still sits on the couch as if someone put her into stand-by-mode. She really feels like someone did. Viri starts talking again, getting kind of nervous at the thought of her teacher “We could meet another time or you could stay cause J-..”… And then there’s the click. Viris body seems to calm down for a second and she slowly registers everything. The whole reason Cris is here.

She pulls her lips together into a soft smile and starts shaking her head again “Just stay!”, she bits her underlip in excitement “She’ll be right back”.

You could literally see her fangirling on the inside from the way she tried to hide a grin. And with that big hidden grin and her white bag in her hand she disappeared through the door, leaving Cris alone in the apartment of her ex-girlfriend. 

“B-Bye”, Cris murmurs completely aware of the fact that there’s no way Viri could hear her.  

-----

It takes a while for Cris to fully process everything that happened in the last 3 minutes and when she does, she comes up with the conclusion that it couldn’t have gone any worse. Wait till Joana sees you, she thinks but slowly brushes the thought away. She built up the courage to get here and now she wasn’t planning on giving up the second it got hard. Or weird.

Slowly she stands up from the soft cushions and looks around. There are drawing everywhere, almost on every wall, and if Cris were to count them she’d say that there are around 30 drawing she’d swear are Joanas. They are colorful, full of yellow, orange, red, violet and every shade of blue. Happy colors. Cris pulls up her hands to touch her cheeks, trying to ground herself; trying to get her heartbeat to a normal pace again; trying to whipe her big smile away. Happy colors.

She cups her face a little more almost as if she was trying to squish her smile out of her face. Happy. Joana. She feels a heat rising in her chest, that special kind she hasn’t felt for a long time. Joana.

For Cris, there are four different types of heat in your chest: the one where you want something, the one when you’re drunk, the one where you miss something or someone and the one where you’re undeniably happy. She feels the last one now.

She has arrived home again. At least it felt like that.

When she hears the clicking sound of the lock, quickly followed by the creaking sound of the wooden door being opened she turns around. She feels unprepared, still not ready, but knows that there isn’t going back now. There’s never a going back.

Joana looks unprepared as well; understandably. Who would expect their ex to be standing in their living room after not being in contact for 15 months? Her upper body is leaning forward while her feet are still right next to the door whilst she’s actually keeping her hand on the door handle as if she’s preparing for escaping through the door again.

Her hazel eyes are fixated on the blonde girl, looking up and down as if she’s not sure that she can trust her eyes yet. Her dark brown hair is put in a bun showing the green highlights on her hair-ends. That’s the only change Cris can register in the first few seconds of them looking at each other from across the room, both not saying a word. She still looked like Joana. Her Joana.

“Hey”, Cris’ voice is soft, mimicking the heat that she still carries around in her chest even though her big smile is now covered by a nervous one. She feels like a little girl mentally preparing herself for a presentation at school.

Slowly Joana lets go of the handle in her hand and her arm loosely falls next to her body. “Uhm hi”. She looks confused, of course she does, but it bothers Cris that that’s the only emotion she can register from Joanas eyes. The only other sign of emotion is her voice vibrating when she says those 2 words, but everything other than that makes Cris feel like a stranger.

Cris points behind herself “Viri let me in..” her hand finds her neck “I didn’t just break in or something “, she chuckles trying to break the awkwardness.  

It doesn’t break.

It doesn’t even crack a little bit.

Joanas seems unbothered, seemingly distracted even, and starts moving from the door to the kitchen and puts her bag on the kitchen table. “Aha okay”, she says calmly while pulling one item after the other out of the bag, storing it in the fridge but leaving a loaf of bread outside. As if it was a normal day. As if nothing was different.

Cris feels as confused as a couple minutes ago; waiting for Joana and then actually being greeted by Viri. Just that she feels like waiting for Joana now whilst actually talking to her. She doesn’t know what she expected but that definitely isn’t it.

“I- I just came back and..” Cris starts stammering while Joana cuts off a slice of bread with a fast motion, that makes Cris bite her inner lip before she starts talking again. “And I came here, because I wanted to see you.. bec-“

Cris jumps up at the feeling of something brushing her bare legs. She looks down at a little white fluffy creature with brown-green eyes looking at her. In the back of her eyes Cris registers Joanas confused look while she pushes herself up at the counter and looks over to the little fella, that is waddling between Cris’ legs, brushing over each side, waiting to be stroked.  

“Madame!”, Joana hisses and claps her hands trying to get her cat away from her ex. The fact that Cris is the only guest Madame hasn’t scratched before she gets comfortable enough with the idea of them stroking her, isn’t helping either.

The cat, totally unbothered by her owner making that sound looks up at the blonde human over her, ready for her pickup. Cris immediately follows that demand and starts caressing the back of the soft cat. She can feel Joanas eyes on her, darting through her. Watching every move as if she isn’t sure that she likes what’s happening.

“Madaaaaame”, Cris mouths, pulling the head of the pillowy cat to her “You are such a cutie, I love you already!” and softly gives kisses her fur with her eyes closed. Joana starts biting her nails at that comment, still standing behind the kitchen counter, trying not to look at the softness of that moment.

When Cris opens her eyes again, she immediately notices the little violet collar and the words printed on it “Madame de Tourvel”. And with that, the heat in her chest is back again. She pulls the fluffy cat against her chest, against the warm feeling inside of it.  

“What are you smiling about?”. She hears Joanas voice, seemingly so far away but yet so near. Cris doesn’t look up, she wouldn’t want Joana to look away. Being watched by her while looking away was still better than being ignored.

Cris makes a grimace “I’m not smiling”, she murmurs while shaking her head, not even trying to wipe the smile off her face. She pulls the cat closer to her as if the soft fur of the cat and her purring was some kind of shield against Joana. In some way it works.

Joana grunts, opening the fridge next to her and taking out a slice of cheese. “You have a big ass smile all plastered over your face, Cris”. The mention of her own name out of Joanas mouth only makes her smile grow wider. Even if she said it while being annoyed; at least she registered her existence now.

“Huh.. I don’t know”, Cris chuckles leaning against the fluffy fur that’s tickling her chin “I guess I’m just really happy then”. With you. Even if it looks like you want to kill me. She knows she shouldn’t have said it, but she doesn’t care. Standing in front of Joana, even if she has the biggest frown on her face, feels nice. Unreal but yet so meant to be.

Joana murmurs something under her breath, smacking the door of the fridge shut.

Cris watches her amused. “I think your mommy is mad, Madame”, she whispers into Madame de Tourvels ear, her grin making her voice sound much higher than it usually is. She’s talking in her baby-voice and she doesn’t even know why. Her defense for saying that…well, she doesn’t have one. The cute cat in her arm. The stress. Seeing Joana again. All this is making her feel high both in the good and the bad way.

“I’m not mad”, Joana denies. The lie is plastered all over her face, even though she looks away.

Cris chuckles; if there’s one thing she always notice about Joana it’s when she’ uncomfortable or mad. Talking to her then felt like talking to someone you don’t know. Just like now.

But the fact that her eyes finally talk for her gives Cris some confidence. Cris pulls up the cat again, turning her around so that her green eyes look directly at Joana, with Cris’ blue eyes right behind her doing the same. “Madame, what do you say? Is she angry or not?”

Slowly Joana looks in her direction again and they lock eyes from across the room, just like they did so often before. It’s as if they’ve both been hypnotized, in trance, dancing through the room without actually moving.

People say the eyes are the doors to the soul and if that is true Joanas and Cris’ souls have been connected since the first time they met at that step outside the club. Just like they still are now. Just like they always will be. Nothing is the same, except everything and nothing is.

In slow pace and the cat still pressed against her chest, Cris walks across the room, as they talk without saying a single word. Joanas body is both stiff and also loose, leaning against the counter as if she’d faint if she moved.

She looks attentive, annoyed and like she’d want to scream another A-word at the blonde girl that is coming dangerously close to her again.

Now standing in front of Joana, with only the cat between them, Cris finally lets out the breath she didn’t even knew she held in. She takes Joana in, every detail, she couldn’t register from afar before. Her brown hair that is lighter now because of the summer-sun. Some freckles that are covering her cheeks and making her look younger. And those hazel brown eyes, those beautiful eyes that are fixating on her right now. And her soft lips. So close.

Cris’ cheeks blush immediately, and she looks away “I’m sorry”, she laughs not being able to keep the energy that is bottled up inside her in anymore. “You know how I am with cats”. Actually nothing was not because of Joana, but it was obvious that something inside Joana wouldn’t wanna hear the real reason.

She gets back into reality when the purring animal starts moving in her arms again. “Here”, Cris says softly while brushing over Madams fur one last time before she carefully cups her little body and heaves her in Joanas direction, closing the space between them some more. “I guess she misses you”

Their hands brush each other and even that little touch is enough to cause the heat in Cris’ chest to spread everywhere, from her head to her toes. Both of their hearts beating at the same speed.

Like a song moving them on the inside. A song that, this time, is not playing.  

“I actually get that”, Cris whispers, mostly to herself, but Joana is too close not to hear it. And the damage is done before Cris can take it back. She shouldn’t have said it, but she doesn’t regret it either.

“Don’t say that”, her voice is demanding, so Cris doesn’t answer and instead looks away, her head burning from the awkwardness. She’d never thought that Joana could intimidate her that much again. She looks to the counter, the toast that Joana prepared so forcefully while they “talked” being the first thing she notices. Cris starts chuckling again, obviously completely unable to act or think like a normal human being in front of Joana anymore, the uncomfortableness between them only making it worse.  She feels like a complete lunatic being around her now.

“Why are you laughing again?”, Joana asks, focusing on the “again” while looking behind her to the kitchen counter confused.

“You forgot the oregano”

Joana squeezes her eyes shut  “Can. You. Not..”, she bites her lip, trying to not let her smile show now that she can’t cover it with her hands anymore because she’s holding her cat “Fuck…Just.. Shut up”.  The memory of the terrifyingly bad toast floods back to them and they both start chuckling, like 15 months before. Finally feeling like them again.

Like so often, and with their usual luck, it was exactly that moment that Viri enters the room, opening the door violently “And? How was-“, an uncomfortable smile immediately covers her face when she notices that Cris is still here. Right next to Joana. Well not that near anymore, anyways.  “Criiiiiis, hey. You’re still here!!”

“Yup”, is all Cris manages to answer. If the awkwardness had passed with their laughter it was definitely back again now.

“So uhm..yes..”, Viri awkwardly folds her hands into each other “..-I-I’m going to my room”, with a big smile she walks through the living room “See you, Guapas”. 

She entered as fast as she left,  but the moment is gone already.

Joana looks back to Cris and takes another step back.. distancing herself from her some more. “We’ll see each other, okay?”, she murmurs scratching her head “Now that you’re back..”

Now that we have to, Cris thinks and hopes that Joana doesn’t.

 And with that another goodbye was said.

[roxywashere]

Neon

Sequel to “Eighth Wonder”

Rey Walker recuperates after an intense battle.

Rey Walker’s first fight as a member of the most prestigious superhero group in the world had been a hard-fought victory. Though there had been considerable civilian loss of life, the death toll had been a mere fraction of that of the last time the group, much younger and unprepared then, had faced this same villain. Once the Demon King had been hauled off by the Archangel to be imprisoned somewhere beyond the bounds of this world, Astra’s League had immediately transitioned to providing disaster aid to the people of New York.

Rey wasn’t very good at this part. Her plasma-manipulation based superspeed had no real use outside of a fight. Her friends Hilda and Shailene, on the other hand, were very useful. Hilda, who could duplicate herself and anything she holds effectively infinitely, and Shay, who had an almost unparalleled telekinetic strength and skill, were very easily proving their utility to the League, by shifting debris and caring for injured survivors. Even Elle, with her fulgurkinesis, found use stop-gapping broken electrical lines and keeping the power on in the area.

Rey sat on top of a building and watched as the rest of the 42-person Superteam did their work.

One of Hilda sat next to her, futily trying to comfort her friend. “Look, Aradia tells me that her father was never of much use during the clean-ups either, and everybody still loved him anyway.”

“Aradia’s father? Isn’t he the one who mysteriously disappeared and everyone assumes died?”

“Uhhh...” Hilda stalled while one of her other bodies asked Aradia. “Yeah...?”

“Shows how great he was.” Rey sighed. “I’m gonna head home.”

“What, you’re just gonna fucking walk all the way back to Danesville? You’ve never even gone a fifth that in one go before, you’re gonna completely wipe yourself out.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stop to catch my breath when I need to, maybe grab a drink somewhere.”

“Well, be careful. Call me if you don’t think you can make the whole trip, I’ll ask Aradia to swing by and take you home.”

“You’re not my mom.” Rey activated her plasma-propelled superspeed, and ran down the wall to what remained of Times Square. She looked around, tried to orient herself, and then ran south a couple blocks, and then west until she hit the Lincoln Tunnel. She followed the highway west for fifteen minutes, and by then she was well into Pennsylvania.

She was also, as expected, exhausted. She pulled off to the side of the road, panting. She looked around at nearby signs, illuminating the late night with her rapidly depleting collected plasma, and saw one advertising a quaint roadside dive a few miles down the road. Rey shook off the sluggishness, and slogged the short few seconds it took to get there. It was still open, fortunately, a flickering neon sign advertising this fact.

Rey pushed through the front door of Baby’s Diner and saw a retro-styled red-and-white tiled interior, and for a second wondered if she had stepped 140 years into the past, to the 1950’s. She slumped into a booth, the neon sign hung up in the window next to it, and picked up a menu. She stared at it idly for a minute, before looking around the restaurant, wondering where the staff were. She spotted an old-fashioned plasma screen TV in a far corner, showing a news report of the fight back in New York, and spotted glimpses of herself in the footage they were showing on loop.

She realised something, and then then patted herself down looking for her phone. She pulled it out of one of her pockets, and quickly scrolled through her contacts. When she found the one labelled “Mom”, she double tapped it.

Rey silently cursed when the call went straight to answering machine.

“Hey, this is Trip’s phone, I’m obviously not here right now, but if you wait a while I might pick up before you’re done leaving a message.” Beep.

“Hey, ma. I don’t know if you’ve seen the news yet, but in case you did and saw me I just wanted to make sure you knew I was fine. Um... speaking of news, I’ve got some pretty big to break to you. I was inducted into Astra’s League, about an hour ago, and I’ve already helped save the world. So, that’s pretty cool. And it wasn’t just me. Hilda, Shay, and Elle were inducted too. Aradia Furst called me to her tower, and all of the League was there when I got there. I...”

Rey was interrupted by her mother picking up. Without even saying hello, she immediately asked “The Archangel, did she see you?”

“The- wait, what? How do you even know about her?”

“Did she see your face, Rey?!” Trip demanded.

“Well, I mean, yeah.”

“Goddess be damned...”

“Mom, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Now she knows we’re here, Rey. I risked my neck escaping her wretched clutches and you went and handed yourself to her on a golden platter!”

“Mom, what the fuck are you talking-” Rey was interrupted by her mother hanging up on her. She stared at her phone in confusion and incredulity. “What the hell was that all about?” She put her phone down on the table, frowning. She looked around some more. “Where the hell is the waitress?” She sighed, and glanced towards the neon “Open” sign, which was still flickering. She briefly activated her power, and traced her finger along the tube that was flickering, until it returned to a strong, stable glow, though in doing so she drained herself of the last of her plasma, making her powerless until she could restock. She quietly smiled to herself.

A woman wearing a disheveled uniform walked out from the back of the diner. “Well I am so sorry,” the woman, whose name tag read Debbie, apologized. “We didn't hear your car pull up. How long have you been sitting out here?”

Rey peaked past her into the kitchen and saw another woman with a pocket mirror cleaning up her noticeably smeared lipstick. “Just a couple minutes. Did I interrupt something?”

“Hm?” While Debbie merely feigned ignorance, the woman in the kitchen scowled at Rey. “Would you like something to drink?” Debbie asked, forcing the conversation forward.

“A Sprite’ll be fine.”

Debbie turned to the other woman, and motioned her towards the soda fountain.

The other woman grumbled and stopped fixing her make-up, and then went to pour a glass of Sprite.

“Would ya like anything to eat?” Debbie asked Rey.

“A burger will be fine. Just cheese, I like them plain.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Debbie went back into the kitchen to start making the burger, and the other woman walked up to the booth with Rey’s Sprite. Her nametag read Felicia. “I was gonna get laid tonight,” she whispered. “I hope you’re happy.”

Rey pulled out her wallet and counted out a $10 advance tip in ones. Felicia raised an eyebrow. Rey counted out $10 more. Felicia subtly nodded. Rey handed over the wad of ones and took her Sprite in return. She had also slipped in a scrap of paper with her name and phone number on it, one of many she kept in her wallet so she could hand them out like business cards.

When Felicia double checked how much she had been tipped, she scoffed at the forwardness of the gesture.

“Just, keep it in mind,” Rey explained. Felicia shook her head and walked back into the kitchen. Rey’s phone started ringing, and she answered. 

“Great, you're still alive,” Hilda said.

“Did you expect me to have died walking home?”

“Honestly, I never know with you, Rey. You're always pushing yourself harder and harder and I always gotta be there to carry your unconscious ass home. Anyway, Aradia said she's going to be holding a press conference in Danesville right after the new year ticks over there, which, need I remind you, is in like ten minutes.” 

“Shit, really? I'm definitely not going to make it back by then.”

“Ya don't say. Where are you, Aradia is just gonna cast a portal and pick you up.” 

“I don't know, somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania, just off of Interstate 80, called Baby's Diner.”

“Alright, she's casting the spell, she'll be right there.”

Rey glanced out the window, and saw the glowing sigils indicating an incoming portal appear in the air in the middle of the parking lot. They were shortly followed by the portal itself, a circular rip in space outlined by a dark violet glow. Aradia stepped through it as soon as it opened, and it closed as soon as she did, only having been open for a second total.

She walked up to the diner and silently pushed open the door, and smiled warmly at the old-fashioned stylings of the place. “So,” she said to Rey, “You ran out of plasma, didn’t you?”

“I used the last of it to make the open sign stop flickering,” Rey told her, indicating said sign.

Aradia took her seat in the booth with Rey. “How kind of you. How far does a ‘full charge’, for lack of a better term, get you?”

“I don’t know, actually. I’ve never been able to reach ‘full charge’. I don’t know about you, but it’s pretty hard for me to get my hands on large quantities of high-quality ionized plasma. Cheap stuff, sure. I got a supplier that just just ships me tanks of gases that I can pump through electrodes and ionize myself, but it’s real low-quality.”

“Well, that’s where I think I can be of great use to you. Because, in fact, I do have a source of high energy plasma. The Archangel is a divine craftswoman of the highest order, and she has built for me fusion reactors that consume no fuel and are small enough that they can be carried in a backpack. If you were to have such a device, I believe your capacity would become effectively infinite.”

“I want to say such a thing is impossible,” Rey started, “But that’s a dumb thing to say in this day and age, so I’m not gonna. But I will ask: What’s the catch?”

“All that I ask of you is that you keep in close contact with me. Keep me updated with the goings on of the street-level crime, and keep fighting it.”

Rey considered the offer for a moment, and then held out her hand to shake on it. “Alright. Let’s make this happen.”

Aradia shook Rey’s hand, and at the same time Felicia walked out from the back with Rey’s burger.

“Oh, my, god,” Felicia exclaimed. “Deb, get out here, Aradia Furst is in our diner!”

“What?” Debbie replied. She poked her head out of the kitchen and likewise exclaimed “Oh, my god.”

“Would you either of you like a photo?” Aradia asked. “Or an autograph perhaps? Both, even.”

“Yes!” Felicia said. “Could you sign my phone? I know it’s not the latest model, but you make them so reliable I haven’t needed a replacement in like 7 years.”

Aradia, summoning a gold sharpie from seemingly nowhere, replied “Never a finer endorsement than one from somebody who hasn’t needed to buy everything I sell. What's your name?”

“Felicia Kyle.”

Aradia took Felicia’s phone and signed it with one of the most ornate and complicated signatures Rey had ever seen. “Now, don’t worry about it wiping off, this ink is specially formulated to bond perfectly with the material of the phone. The only way it’s coming off is by belt-sanding the entire back of the phone off.”

Debbie then stepped in with her own (non-FursTech manufactured) phone, and took a quick selfie with herself, Felicia, and Aradia, with Rey in the background.

“Now, I believe Rey and I have a press conference to attend,” Aradia said.

While Aradia started casting another portal, Rey dug in her wallet to pay for the burger, pulling out $7 and slapping it down in Debbie’s hand, and then taking the burger from Felicia and slamming the rest of the Sprite.

“You two,” Rey told Debbie and Felicia, “Keep an eye on the news.” Aradia finished casting, and a portal into a dark room appeared. Aradia stepped through it, and beckoned Rey in after her.

Rey stepped through, and the portal shut. Rey heard only a low rumbling, and then Aradia snapped her fingers. Holograms started appearing across dozens of workstations, showing gauges and binary status lights, and then a spotlight illuminated a metallic orb bristling with copper pipes, sitting on a pedestal.

“This,” Aradia explained, “Is a recreation of the first Holy Device the Archangel ever built. She called it The Heart. Unfortunately, I cannot give this to you, because it is too delicate in its ancient state to function. However...”

Aradia turned to a human-sized flat disk of gold embedded in the wall. With her finger she traced upon it a wide circle with a pentagram inside it, and inside the pentagram traced the Kabbalah Tree of Life. The disc on the wall split into seven fragments that irised into the surrounding wall. Within this vault was shelf upon shelf of stacks upon stacks of large golden coins, and in the middle of the room was another pedestal with another orb on it, except this one was a plain sphere glowing from within with a powerful white light.

“This Heart is sturdy enough to be worn, even by a superspeedster.”

Aradia then used her metallokinesis to draw from the golden coins, and constructed a backpack around the Heart, and a coil of flexible metal pipe.

“Go ahead, put it on.”

Rey hesitantly walked into the vault, and up to the backpack, and slowly slid it on. Aradia walked up behind her, and slid the pipe under her collar and down her right sleeve, coming out just below her palm.

“Do you feel the plasma, writhing within its containment?”

Rey shut her eyes, and focused, and felt the dense mass of energy on her back. She tried to draw from it, and she felt it snaking its way through the pipe, until she felt the bare heat of it in her palm. She opened her eyes and saw the bright white sphere of plasma, and then absorbed it into her veins.

She had never felt so energized in her life, and struggled to keep her superspeed from activating on it’s own, her fingers twitching and the rest of her body vibrating slightly. She clenched her fist, and stilled herself, halting the overcharge from overtaking her.

“I think I found my practical full charge level,” Rey confided. “It’s not a hard limit, and I’m sure it will go up as I gain mastery, but I think that’s it for now.”

Aradia summoned a small hologram of a clock, which indicated that it was a handful of seconds from passing midnight in Danesville. When the New Year ticked over, Aradia quietly said “Happy New Year yet again, Neon. Now, we must be getting to that press conference.”

Aradia cast yet another portal, and the pair stepped into the front lobby of one of the four FursTech buildings across America. But Rey noticed that they weren’t in the Danesville FursTech building.

“Why are we in New York again? I thought you said the press conference was in Danesville?” Rey looked back at Aradia, who had silently cast one last portal and stepped through it.

Aradia turned to Rey, and said “I did indeed. I’ll be introducing you in about five minutes. I hope to see you there!” Before Rey could snap out of her bewilderment, Aradia gave a small wave goodbye, and closed the portal.

Rey, half seething and half laughing, shook her head. “Well, let’s see what a full charge of top-quality plasma does for me.” Rey activated her superspeed and bolted through the city, feeling a rush of speed that she hadn’t felt since she first started experimenting with her power.

[jedifinn]

they don’t teach about love on vulcan

apparently i can only write extreme fluff or go straight to angst. anyway, i’ve been dealing with a giant writer’s block for months and now it’s gone which is why i’m like... vomiting words all over the place LMAO 

this is a kind of sad one-shot feat. paul & michael friendship with very background culmets and milippa

/read on ao3/

"I lied, you know."

Paul startles, whiskey in his glass sloshing dangerously. He looks over to Burnham, whose gaze is focused somewhere on the wall and sighs. It's not that she's his first choice for a drinking buddy but Hugh is dealing with away team's injuries right now, Tilly is way too talkative, Tyler intimidates him sometimes and... yeah, Burnham might just be his choice. She doesn't talk much and has pretty sensible taste when it comes to drinks. He's surprised how well she holds her liquor for someone who never drank alcohol until they joined Starfleet, actually.

"I thought Vulcans can't lie," he jokes.

"Well, I'm not a Vulcan," she replies, bitterness clear in her words.

He cringes inwardly because maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. Not that he cares that much about hurting someone's feelings. Usually, at least. Nowadays, with his messed up DNA, it's hard to tell how he feels anymore sometimes.

"What did you lie about?"

"My secret," Burnham says, her face blank. She's still not looking at him. "When Mudd attacked the ship and you asked for a secret, so I would believe you next time. It was a lie."

Paul regards her curiously. That's not a revelation he expected from her, nor is it a subject he ever wanted to touch again, after foolishly reminding her of this sometime after the Mudd incident.

"That's... unexpected," he says, carefully choosing his words. He feels ridiculous, trying not to scare her off with whatever he chooses to say. Why should he care anyway? They're not friends.

Are they?

"I've been in love, once," Burnham starts quietly. "It seems like a lifetime ago now."

There's a moment of silence but Paul doesn't dare to disturb her.

"You know all about my story, I suppose. Everyone on this ship does," she continues, not waiting for him to reply. "There was someone, back on Shenzhou, that I loved." Nothing in her face changes but Paul can just hear the tremble in her voice.

He takes a drink before asking, "They died in the Battle of Binary Stars?"

Burnham cringes upon hearing the name. Paul barely feels anything when thinking about the battle that started it all - he's a scientist. It's not his business to meddle in wars. At least, it wasn't until Binary Stars happened, together with Lorca and U.S.S. Discovery.

"Yeah. I guess you could say so," she finally answers.

Paul can't help but wonder how it must feel. He remembers, with a shudder running down his spine, the infinite loop of having to watch Hugh die. The times he died in his arms, as Paul clutched his body desperately and the times when he died without him, engulfed in flames. Seeing him die over and over, never knowing if he can even save him, if this time won't be the last one, if Burnham and he ever manage to sort this out. But in the end, there was always another chance, hope that they needn't die.

They didn't, and he got to convince himself of it time after time, entangled in Hugh's body, even as exhaustion has taken over his. Paul can't imagine a world in which he's gone, permanently. Doesn't want to imagine it.

"I'm sorry," he says. It feels insignificant in the light of what Burnham just told him but he can't find anything else to tell her. That it wasn't her fault? He can't know that.

She shakes her head. "I never knew I loved her. At least not until it was too late."

Paul has seen her fight before; she was a force to be reckoned with. But now, as she sits next to him, a half-emptied glass of whiskey in her hand, Burnham is anything but. She looks vulnerable and he suddenly realizes how much trust she puts in him, telling him that.

"They never teach us about love on Vulcan," she adds and while he can tell she's trying her best not to sound emotional, it fails.

"You're not on Vulcan anymore," Paul reminds her.

She finally looks at him - he notes that her eyes are shining with tears - the smallest of smiles on her lips.

"I suppose I'm not," Burnham replies, wistful. Suddenly, she slides off the barstool and stands next to him. "It's getting late, I should be going back to my quarters. Wouldn't want to wake up Tilly."

He knows that it's a lie and Tilly is most likely still browsing through Disco's database or working out but doesn't call her out on this. Instead, he nods and wishes her a good night.

It's when she's already by the door when he - or rather, the goddamn messed up DNA - decides to call after her. "Burnham!"

She looks at him apprehensively over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"She'd be proud of you. For what you're doing here," Paul says before he can stop the words. Burnham raises an eyebrow in a very Vulcan fashion.

"And what am I doing here?"

"Trying to fix things. End the war. I don't know, doing the good thing, I guess. She'd be proud." He feels like an idiot saying that, thinking she's going to send him a death stare and never talk to him again. Instead, she nods, giving him one of those not-quite-a-smile-yet and disappears behind the door.

Paul stares after her for a while. He tries to ignore the sadness that seems to have overcome him. Tardigrade DNA or no, Burnham, after all, might be more than just his drinking buddy. And friends, as much as strange this concept is, care for each other.