#stop edging the thunderstorm ffs

[rockcat2112]

Can the weather stop playing bait and switch with a thunderstorm? PLEASE!?

I'm having troubles breating due to nearly 50% humidity and 30+ degrees

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Firefly’s Glow - Part 8/?

Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 Chapter 2: Part 3 | Part 4   Chapter 3: Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 Chapter 4: Part 8  You are Here From the Beginning: FF | AO3 Summary: Imprisoned by the Hood, Gordon dreams of his oldest brother and of fireflies - but of course the Hood had to steal that memory too, in addition to his baldric, his boots, and Virgil’s face. What else could he possibly steal? He discovers the answer is quite a bit, and Gordon has to learn to navigate his new world, its new dangers, and the overbearing presence of his brothers’ desire to help what they can’t fix. This part ~  1.2K words – the sky, the stars, and the sea (or: Scott and John take care of Gordon) TW: Thunderstorms for this part, and slight drinking.  Thanks to @godsliltippy​ for the read through.  -----

Rain trailed down the villa’s windows with a steady pitter-patter as intermittently the grey sky growled with a fervent rumble in the distance. There was a difference to the way a storm sounded, striking instead a blanket of leafy, green canopy as opposed to the plains of their Kansas home – and this time it was joined in its chorus with the tossing of the sea waves upon the sandy beaches and rocky alcoves of Tracy Island.

Muted through the windowpanes it was, but Scott was listening for it. It was the sound of life-giving water returning to its home. Sky to sea. Eventually sea to sky, and back again.

The cycle helped him breathe through the weight in his chest.

The figurative one. Gordon was hardly heavy at the moment, more a feather’s breath sleeping soundly on the pillow his torso provided, rising up and lowering down with the motion of his lungs.

There was a reason Scott kept his breaths steady.

He pressed at the space between his eyes, where his nose met his aching head. Though the slumbering form shifted at the movement, Gordon did not wake. Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help but smile fondly down at the figure curled on top of him and the childish googly-eyed smiley face that grinned at him on the camo shirt above where Gordon’s injured right arm was sprawled over his belly.

The doll clothes had been John’s idea. After a quick net search by EOS, some call outs from the Space Elevator on John’s way to the Island, and finally a quick pallet pick up from the brand’s warehouse in Thunderbird 1 on Scott’s way home, they were now owners of a pallet of 6-inch dolls of randomized styles.

It had been easiest and quickest to buy them in bulk, and the clothes weren’t sold separately. They’d have some doll toys they could keep in Thunderbird 2 for future rescues when all this was over, and the rest could be donated to the children’s hospital on the mainland. But in the meantime, Gordon had picked a few pieces to wear, and the first order of business had been for his brothers to pry the damn dolls out of their packaging so they could get to the clothes, which were either pull over or Velcro.

Even with doll proportions where a good chunk of the size came from the large, non-anatomically correct heads, the apparel was still slightly oversized on their brother.

“How is he?”  came John’s patient, dulcet tone from around the corner, clasping two half-full glasses of amber and raising an inquiring eye when he realized Scott was in fact not at their dad’s desk where he left him, but lying on the couch propped up slightly on one arm and with his long legs propped over the other.

“Exhausted,” Scott answered thickly, his voice low. “We were just going to rest a moment.”

And they’d needed it. Debrief had been…. Hard.

They’d made it through the details of the original rescue in the standard amount of time and dreaded the next part, though no one expected Gordon to flat out refuse to talk until Virgil left.

Virgil had paled at the statement, argued for Gordon to let him help until he was hoarse with it. And Gordon just shook his head. In the end, Scott agreed that they should do as Gordon asked, because he could feel how tightly Gordon was pulling at his collar.

Scott hated that look of betrayal in Virgil’s eyes as he stormed off, the “fine” breaking off with a brittle catch of air. He’d wanted to follow Grandma and Alan to make sure he was okay, but Gordon needed him.

And though he hadn’t understood it at the time, he did now.

His heart ached for Gordon.

It ached for Virgil too. He was going to be devastated.

“Hey, Scott. You with me?” John asked with a swirl of the glass, the ice clinking against the side. He gently nudged Scott’s legs back as he sat down on the edge of the couch. “Figured we both could use one of these after that.”

Scott hummed in agreement. Once Gordon had felt comfortable with just Scott and John in the room, the story had come tumbling out. Every painful and cruel detail.

He accepted the glass and shifted up just a bit to give John slightly more room. It was a more comfortable position for sipping, but not so far propped up that Gordon would start to slide. Just in case, he also rested his left arm across his stomach so he could support him if he did.

A crackle lit up the sky for a moment, and the cool burn of whiskey slid down his throat. “Helluva day,” he whispered, his breath heavy.

John nodded, brushing back the ginger hair that fell into his face. “We can fix this, Scott,” he stated, gaze sharp as emerald green abandoned the copper inside his glass to meet weary blue. “Kayo’s out pursuing leads, and I have EOS looking. We’ll figure this out.”

Scott watched a bead of condensation cling to his glass, much slower in its run through the cycle than its raindrop cousins outside. He rubbed it gently with his thumb, which came back wet while the glass appeared silkier, smoother and yet when he looked at the world through it, everything distorted in angled amber.

John coughed, then cleared his throat. “So, I had to tell Grandma.”

Scott frowned at him. “You heard what he said.” Gordon hadn’t wanted anyone else to know.

“Right,” John scoffed. “Have you ever seen Grandma take no for an answer? She cornered me on the way to the restroom. She said she gets it. She won’t reveal anything until Gordon’s ready. But Virgil’s really hurt.”

He knew that and despised that this was something big brothers couldn’t just put a bandage on and fix. “I don’t like having to keep this from him.”

“No one does,” John agreed, “but we have to trust in Gordon. It’s what he wants. For now.”

Outside the thunder clapped, the storm closing in on the villa with a rush of rain. Even after all this time, even with listening so intently to the storm build, the volume took him by surprise. Despite the exercises, there were times – too often than he’d like to admit – that thunder didn’t sound like thunder.

Air caught, just for a moment in Scott’s lungs. He forced the fear back down with a mouthful of fire, listened to the rain, focused on the cycles.

Above his fluttering heart, Gordon stirred. “Why,” he mumbled, “...th’boat stop?” He blinked groggily up at the ceiling, at John then Scott. “Oh.”

“Go back to sleep, Gordon,” John encouraged. “Sorry we woke you.”

“‘S’ok.” Gordon tapped to get his attention, and Scott looked down at the pressure, meeting small, but just as equally determined brown eyes. “Hey. Jus’ a storm.”

“I know, Gordo,” Scott whispered. “Sleep.”

Agreement was muffled into his shirt and faded quickly as the tiny grip went slack.

Eventually glasses were emptied, refilled, and finally abandoned as the storm blew through. And finally, when Scott’s lids lowered, John cleaned up and took over at their father’s desk to pick up the reports where Scott left off, keeping a watchful eye on his brothers as always.

[jarienn972]

Curse of Undoings - Part 12

My apologies for a slight delay in getting the next chapter posted. Last week was a busy one for my family as my oldest daughter celebrated her birthday. (Still can't believe that I have an actual teenager in my home - yikes!) I made @hookaroo wait a couple of extra days to resolve my cliffhanger and of course, she retaliated with a huge one of her own, so I think we’re even. ;)  Also tagging @killian-whump and @castielamigos for this new chapter.

I have one more chapter planned after this one so we're getting close to the end and then it will be time to focus putting some new ideas on paper!��  Read it from the beginning on AO3 or FF,net or here on Tumblr:  Pt1  Pt2  Pt3  Pt4  Pt5  Pt6  Pt7  Pt8  Pt9  Pt10  Pt11

It was over, but at the same time, it wasn't completely over.

The Black Fairy was gone, banished back to whatever private hell awaited her, yet the tempest she'd created with her curse still raged on outside the clock tower. Streetlights flashed on and off and a spray of brilliant sparks flew into the air when a transformer overloaded and exploded. Most of the nearby homes and businesses had already been plunged into darkness as the fury of the storm intensified.

Storybrooke General Hospital, where her husband lay dying, was three quarters of a mile from her current position and without magic to poof herself across town in a split-second, Emma knew she was going to need to brave the weather. She'd have to run as fast as her legs would allow, dodging hailstones and lightning to reach the Bug, but she didn't care. This supernatural storm enveloping the town was frightening, but it wasn't nearly as scary as the thought of losing Killian.

Before she departed the tower, Emma stooped to collect the sword borrowed from Rumplestiltskin that she'd just used to dispatch Fiona to some faraway realm, not willing to leave the weapon she'd come to fear laying around. Even if her visions hadn't been real, she didn't dare allow this sword to fall into the hands of the next villain of the week. As she reached for it, her fingers barely brushed the hilt when Emma noticed that it was glowing again, illuminated with a pale, icy blue light that seemed to be emanating from within the blade itself.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed, not that she was expecting anyone else to hear her. She extended her fingers towards the handle again, hopping backwards when the blade began to vibrate against the wrought iron grating. Emma found herself silently cursing Rumplestiltskin's name as the weapon vanished in a burst of bluish light and before she could brace herself against whatever was about to happen, she discovered she had company.

"Hello, Emma," her companion spoke up as Emma realized she was now face to face with the Blue Fairy in her fae form, sparkling wings fluttering as she hovered above the spot where the sword had previously been laying.

"How the…?" Emma stammered, unable to even form a complete sentence as she tried to piece together what she was witnessing. "Where did you…?"

"Come from?" Blue finished the question. "From the sword. Our combined powers were the only way to defeat the Black Fairy."

"Okay… Rumple said the sword was filled with your magic, but he didn't tell me that it was literally you in the sword…"

"It was the only way – my power to create the sword and yours to wield it. Fiona manipulated those visions you were experiencing, but Emma, you were always intended to wield the weapon that would defeat her."

"Alright then - we've defeated her," Emma began with an impatient tone in her voice, "So - how do we stop this? The storm – the curse? How do we bring Storybrooke's magic back?"

"Storybrooke's magic will return once the curse is fully broken, but I think you know what that entails."

"But how?" Emma sobbed. "Without magic, how can I heal him? Storybrooke is going to vanish and we're all going to die right along with Killian… What good did it do to defeat Fiona if we can't undo her curse?"

"I'm afraid there isn't enough magic here to heal Killian's body," the fairy confessed, watching with empathetic eyes as Emma's head bowed in defeat. "But, there may be enough left to keep his heart beating."

"Then for heaven's sake, do it!" Emma implored her. "You have to save him!"

"I can only provide enough to restart a stopped heart as he's not yet crossed over, but that's all I can do. The rest of the battle will be up to Killian and until he is safe, the storm is going to continue."

"Do it!" Emma cried as tears streamed over her cheeks. "Please, do whatever you can to help him – to help all of us!"

The Blue Fairy nodded and floated closer to Emma. "Hold out your hands for me with your palms turned upward," Blue instructed and Emma obliged. The fairy dipped lower, dusting Emma's palms with glittering dust as she pressed her own tiny palms against Emma's skin, together creating an iridescent orb that materialized between them. "I'm bringing together the traces of your magic that lingered through Fiona's curse with a sprinkling of fairy dust. It will fill his heart, but there is always a chance that it may not be enough."

"It has to be enough," Emma stated, trying her best to remain positive as the orb lifted up from her hand then whooshed away, disappearing through the tower wall. "It has to be enough," she repeated, lifting her head to thank the Blue Fairy for her aid before realizing that she was gone, leaving Emma alone inside the tower once again.

Emma shook her head to clear the gathering cobwebs, worried that she may have just hallucinated the entire exchange, but a scant glance down to the tower floor where no trace of the sword remained confirmed the reality. And now she could only hope that the little orb Blue had conjured would be enough to bring Killian back from the edge. Too many lives depended on it.

"It's been four minutes, Doctor," the nurse advised, reminding everyone how long their patient had been without a pulse.

"I'm not ready to give up just yet," Dr. Whale responded, his arms already aching from the effort required to maintain consistent chest compressions. "Is that damned defibrillator charged back up yet?"

"A few more seconds, Doctor," the nurse responded. "These power fluctuations are making it slower to charge."

"Remind me when this is all over that I need to ask Regina for a bigger generator for this hospital," Whale mumbled, peering down at the ashen face of Killian Jones while concealing a scowl behind his surgical mask. "You're supposed to be the survivor, Hook… Is this really how you want to go out?"

"Doctor, the defibrillator is fully charged," the nurse announced at last, holding the paddles at the ready.

"Hand 'em here!" Whale ordered impatiently as he reached across Killian's torso to grab the handles. "Alright, Jones… Let's try this again, shall we?" With a shout to clear, he pressed the devices against the bare skin of Killian's chest and there was a collective hush in the operating room as all anxiously awaited the response to this attempt to jolt their patient back to life. In the midst of their collective breath-holding, not a single soul noticed the tiny, glistening orb that descended through the ceiling and dropped onto Killian's heart just as the surge of electricity surged through it.

Whale hesitated for a few seconds, paddles hovering in preparation for a second attempt as a series of faint blips lit up the monitor.

"We've got a rhythm again," a nurse said cheerfully as the pattern became more steady.

"Alright, people," Whale spoke up as he handed off the defibrillator paddles to another team member as the machine was powered down and wheeled out of the way. "Let's get back to work here. Somebody get me another forceps so I can yank that damned bullet out of him before he bleeds out all over my operating table." Whale wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but they weren't done yet. There was still a lot of torn flesh to repair and no time to waste.

The increasing intensity of the thunderstorm outside the hospital walls wasn't lost on Emma and Killian's family either as they awaited news on one or both of the newlyweds' fates. David had his arm wrapped around a tense Snow White's shoulders as she leaned against him for support. The fluorescent lights here in the surgical waiting room had flickered a few times before going out completely nearly twenty minutes ago, replaced by two dimmer emergency spotlights when the generator kicked in moments after the outage. The atmosphere was only making the already stressful situation more nerve-wracking as everyone knew this was no run-of-the-mill storm. This was the Black Fairy's evil sorcery descending upon them as the curse threatened to overtake them.

Henry had been momentarily surprised when Regina arrived to join their vigil, having braved the formidable weather to show up dripping wet at the hospital just minutes before the power went out. As happy as he was to have one mother at his side again, Henry was still concerned about his other mom. She was the one he needed to have here the most but she was still out there alone somewhere, battling the Black Fairy in the prophesied final battle.

"Any news yet?" Regina asked as she entered the darkened waiting room that was occupied solely by Henry and the Charmings. "I wasn't sure if cell phone service was still working so I left Leroy in charge at the jail and headed over here."

"Phones still seem to be working okay," David told her. "We just spoke to the sitter who was going to keep the baby downstairs until the storm lets up. And no, we haven't heard anything yet."

"You do realize that this isn't a normal storm?" Regina asked them, almost sarcastically, not willing to believe they'd be this naive.

"It's the curse, isn't it?" Snow wondered.

"It's a veritable typhoon of dark magic," Regina replied, "and we're right in the middle of it. Hook must be clinging to life or we wouldn't even be having this conversation. If the pirate dies, that storm will wipe us all away. There won't be a trace of this town left."

"Even if Emma defeats Fiona in the final battle?" David queried.

"Afraid so, it seems. Every dark curse has a fail-safe built into it somewhere. It looks as though Fiona made sure hers would proceed no matter how Emma's True Love dies and no matter who wins the final battle." Regina's clarifications might have explained the situation better, but it probably only raised anxiety levels.

"I sure as hell hope that Whale can keep him alive," David sighed.

"If he doesn't, Storybrooke and everyone in it will be doomed. That's an awful lot of responsibility falling on Victor," the Queen stated bluntly, but no one could doubt she was right.

"So, all that Killian's sacrifice in saving Henry has accomplished so far was to free us from wherever Fiona sent us?" Snow questioned. "Do you think that it was so we'd all suffer more?"

"If she's anything like her manipulative, enterprising son – and I'm pretty sure she is – of course, she planned for us to suffer," Regina replied.

"Do you think Emma will be strong enough to defeat her?" David asked with a slight crack in his voice. "I mean, after all of those awful vision and premonitions of her death, and all of the awful things she was forced to do while cursed, if this is really the fabled final battle, is Emma going to be strong enough?"

"No one really knows," Regina began, slouching deeper into the vinyl armchair. "The good thing is that Fiona has no magic at the moment, at least not enough to be effective, but that means neither does Emma. This has to be straight combat where skill and cunning will probably determine the victor, but even though it seems to even the odds, we're still talking about the Black Fairy – the mother of everything evil. I'm quite certain she doesn't fight fair."

"I know Mom is strong enough to beat the Black Fairy," Henry insisted, "but I don't know if she'll be able to put everything Fiona made her do behind her so she can focus. The things she said to me, the things she did to Killian – it was all done on purpose to give Fiona an advantage."

"I'm afraid it doesn't really matter, Henry," Regina lamented, her tone decidedly bitter as she weighed the potential outcomes. "It's all a moot point if Hook dies. We're all going to lose no matter who wins that battle. Fiona made damned sure of it, as did her little lackey grandson."

"Well then, Blue had better be right about there being enough magic to keep Killian's heart beating," a voice announced from the corridor beyond the dismal waiting room. Recognizing the voice, everyone immediately turned toward the doorway to see the silhouette of a drenched Emma step into view, little puddles of cursed rainwater pooling at her feet.

"Mom!" Henry exclaimed, leaping to his feet and nearly tackling Emma back into the hallway as he hugged her as tight as he could. "You did it! You beat the Black Fairy!"

"Yeah, kid – I did," Emma replied with a proud, but exhausted smile curling on her lips. Her tone wasn't nearly as excited as her son's since despite her victory, the battle wasn't yet won.

"Fiona's gone?" David asked as he rose from his seat to embrace his daughter, not even caring that his clothing was now nearly as soaking wet as hers. "You killed her?"

"Yes – she's gone, for good, but no, I didn't have to kill her. Apparently, Rumple and the Blue Fairy conspired to brew up a concoction that sent her on a one-way trip to some distant, lonely realm."

"One way?" Regina asked skeptically.

"I asked the same question and according to Rumple, the portal that opened up and sucked her into oblivion has a blood seal on it that prevents her from returning to this realm, or any other, for that matter," Emma explained. "She's trapped there."

"Good riddance," David commented. "No one around here is going to miss her, but hang on, you said that Rumple and Blue were working together on this? I thought he hated fairies."

"It seems that they both hated one particular fairy enough to put their differences aside for once."

"So, the Blue Fairy just showed up?" Snow questioned, trying to figure out what role Blue played in Emma's victory.

"I guess she sort of showed up, although it was after I'd sent Fiona packing," Emma began, trying to determine the best way to explain. "She was somehow inside the sword that Rumple gave me to use against Fiona."

"It was the sword from your visions, wasn't it?" Henry asked her.

"It was. According to Blue, Fiona was manipulating those visions, but she also said that I was always destined to use that sword in battle against the Black Fairy. This Savior stuff is ridiculous sometimes, but I know now that all of the tremors and the visions were Fiona's attempts to weaken me and it damn near worked." Emma flopped onto the sofa next to her mother with an exasperated sigh before adding: "Well, it might still work…"

"What did the Blue Fairy being in the sword do to help you?" Snow wondered, still confused about what had actually transpired. "I guess I'm not understanding what she actually did or even how she got into the sword in the first place."

"I don't completely understand it all either," Emma admitted. "All I know is somehow Rumple put her, or her magic, I really don't know, into the sword so that our combined strengths could beat Fiona and send her away to her own personal hell. I had no idea Blue was even there until she materialized out of the blade when I tried to pick it up again after the battle was over."

"She wasn't able to help stop the curse though?" Henry asked but while Emma knew what he meant by the question, but she wasn't sure the answer would satisfy him – or anyone else for that matter.

"I'm afraid not, kid," she told her son. "There isn't enough magic left in Storybrooke to heal Killian and as you've probably already figured out, breaking the curse unfortunately lies with Killian. Blue took what little magic we had left and tried to use it to keep Killian's heart beating, at least for now. The town and all of us are still here so he's still hanging on, but that storm hasn't gone away either."

"As long as we're all still here, there's still hope," Snow stated, trying to lift everyone's spirits with a beaming smile, but she wasn't even totally convinced it would be enough.

"Well, that deluge outside isn't going to let up until Hook is guaranteed to survive, so we may have a long night ahead of us," Regina stated. "We can't rely on the town's power grid so we're going to have to make sure the hospital's generators keep running."

"I'll take the cruiser out and make a loop through town and see if I can get some help rounding up supplies," David offered. "And then I'll swing over and relieve the sitter. I don't think any of us is going to get much sleep tonight so we might as well bring the little guy over here with us."

"I'll check with Benny over at the power plant and see if he can divert power to this area of town," Regina said as she retrieved her cell phone from her blazer pocket. "Everyone in town needs to be aware that the hospital has priority for power tonight. If they don't like it, explain the alternative."

With the skies already pitch black from the encroaching dark clouds looming overhead, it was nearly impossible to tell when day became night. With little to do in the waiting room, Snow had dozed off with the baby snuggled against her chest and David's protective arm draped around them both. Regina had found a magazine that was a few weeks old and switched seats to be closer to one of the spotlights so she could waste time reading and Henry was trying his best to remain distracted by watching a movie on his phone (after borrowing David's portable charger so his battery wouldn't fizzle out).

Emma had taken to silently pacing along the back wall, her mind arduously replaying every horrific act she'd committed and every hurtful word she'd uttered today. She'd been cursed – that much she understood. She would never have said or done those terrible things had she not been cursed but yet in one of those nagging back corners of her brain, she harbored enough lingering doubt to keep second-guessing herself. What if Fiona's curse had really just brought some of her true feelings to the surface instead of implanted false memories and emotions? What if that awful person really existed somewhere within her psyche? Would she run the risk of hurting her family again one day without realizing it?

It was a fear that Emma didn't dare speak of even though rationally, she knew her parents had similar regrets of their cursed selves. She didn't really know what else to do – torture herself with futile attempts to find the right words to apologize to her husband? Would he even want to still be her husband when this was all through? He'd have every right to push her away if he chose to and as much as it would break her heart, she probably deserved it.

Thankfully, the sound of approaching footsteps would delay those thoughts for a while. Regina was the first to notice the faint echoes in the corridor after the extended silence, but as the sound drew closer, they all snapped to attention, hoping that this would be the good news they'd been anxiously awaiting. David gently nudged his slumbering wife to wake her as Dr. Whale lumbered into the room, still clad in his pale blue surgical scrubs, although he'd already shed the outer protective gown. Before uttering a word, the doctor yanked the matching blue cap off of his head, shoving it into his pocket as he focused his attention on a nearly quivering Emma.

"I'm going to keep this brief because it's been a long night, and I'm not even going to attempt to speculate on where all of those wounds came from. I've got him patched up as best as I can for now. My primary focus was getting that bullet out of his chest and repairing the damage it caused. It tore a hole through his right lung that couldn't entirely be fixed, but he can survive without the piece I had to remove. Honestly, even without that section, his lungs are probably still in better shape than his liver after a couple of centuries of heavy rum swigging, but I shouldn't digress…

"His impaired right lung did collapse from the trauma but it will re-inflate in time. To be safe and to give that lung some help in healing, I'm going to keep him on a ventilator for the next 24 to 48 hours so don't expect him to be awake and talking anytime soon. He's stable for now, but these next couple of days are going to be critical. He coded on the operating table and with these damned power fluctuations, we nearly lost him. I'm not taking any chances.

"In regard to his other injuries, I couldn't do much with all of those lacerations on his back aside from cleaning them up a bit and getting him started on a strong antibiotic to try to clear the infection. Most had already scabbed over so he'll have some nasty new scars to add to his already extensive collection. Lastly, I repaired the most threatening damage from the puncture wound to his left shoulder, but it will likely require additional surgery down the line to remove some bone shards and properly repair the tendon and ligament tears. For now, I've immobilized the arm to prevent further injury to the joint. It's not something I'm going to worry for at least a few days though. Saving his life was far more important."

"You have no idea," Regina muttered under her breath as she glanced over at a visibly shaken Emma who appeared as though she might vomit at any moment. "Thank you for the update, Victor," Regina said aloud after figuring that Emma wasn't ready to speak just yet.

"Will we be able to see him soon?" David asked.

"In a little while," the doctor replied. "I'll send a nurse to get you once he's out of recovery and settled into a room. Let's just all hope that the power holds out so the life-support systems don't fail before he's strong enough for us to wean him off of them."

"That's already been addressed. All of Storybrooke's auxiliary power is being diverted to this quadrant and we've secured additional fuel for the generators," Regina assured him. "It should be enough to keep everything operational for at least another full day if needed. If all goes well, this storm should pass by then."

"Alright, that's good to know," Whale responded with a satisfied nod. "Right now, I'm going to try to get in a little power nap before I collapse, but rest assured that two of Storybrooke's finest nurses are tending to Jones as we speak and know to page me immediately should there be any change. One last thing, when I do give the okay for visitors, no more than two at a time. Emma, as his wife, you're welcome to stay the night, but the rest of you, go home and get some sleep. You all look like a bunch of zombies."

"Thanks, Victor," Emma squeaked out as the doctor turned around and left. Regina wanted to make a snide reply to Whale's zombie remark, but she held her tongue. There was enough tension in the room already and it wasn't going to break with a single wisecrack so Regina knew it was best to settle in for a very long night.

[ellanainthetardis]

Poor Haymitch must have a lot of conversations this chapter!

[ff] or {ao3]

Chapter 43 : A Shot At It

Haymitch wasn’t sure how late it was but his guess was well past noon.

He didn’t think they had anything scheduled for that day though so he remained in the shower longer than was probably wise, letting the water beat down on him from above and scrubbing his hands until they felt raw. He lost track of time in his hopeless quest to get rid of imaginary blood.

Eventually, he remembered himself and got out, barely bothering to rub his wet hair with a  towel before making his way out of the bathroom. Effie’s bedroom didn’t offer him a lot of options in terms of clothing so he wrapped the towel around his hips and hurried down the corridor after making sure nobody was there to see. It was out of habit more than anything. It was difficult to remember there was no point in hiding anymore.

He stood in front of his wardrobe for a few minutes, trying to remember the last time he had been allowed to choose his own outfit. It felt odd to pick out some pants, a shirt and a waistcoat, odder still to see his reflection in the mirror once he was dressed.

The clothes were familiar. Casual chic, as Effie would put it. No longer a tribute, not the victor but the mentor once more… For the first time in a long time, he looked into his own eyes, at his own face… He looked… old, as if he had aged ten years in the course of a couple of weeks. His skin was tight on his cheekbones, he was pale and his grey eyes were bloodshot.

Mostly, he looked the same as before and that was what shocked him most.

It wasn’t as easy as just stepping back into old clothes though. He didn’t feel like the Haymitch from before the Quell, just like he hadn’t felt like the teenager who had sneaked out of the house to find food for his family after he had won his first Games. It had taken him years to figure out who his new self had been then. He hoped it wouldn’t take him that long this time around.

It was like shredding a skin you had outgrown. The flesh underneath was still raw and it was difficult to say how it would turn out.

It would turn out into something though, he told his reflection firmly. There would be no more scenes like the previous night. There could be no more scenes like the previous night.

Only remembering Effie’s face after she had slapped the pills out of his hands…

He shook his head and ran his fingers in his hair, giving himself a last hard look. What had he even been doing? What was he even doing? He needed to pull himself together and fast. That wasn’t him. Taking the easy way out… That wasn’t him. And that wasn’t who he wanted to be either.

He left the room and ventured in the penthouse, looking for Effie although not quite impatient to see her. He believed they were mostly okay now, that they had reached an understanding, but she had been wrapped around him so tightly when he had fallen asleep that he also knew she would keep an attentive watch on him from now on. Truth be told… He was ashamed of his own weakness.

The penthouse was silent and seemingly deserted. His feet took him to the living-room where he wasn’t totally surprised to find Peeta. He almost turned on his heels and fled. Nothing confined him to the Center anymore. He could go down to the mentor lounge or even outside. He could lose himself in the familiar busy streets. He could visit the nearest bar. He could…

He could try to stop being such a coward…

“Morning.” he called out awkwardly.

Peeta had a drawing pad propped on his knees and had been so absorbed in the lines he was tracing with his piece of charcoal that he hadn’t heard his approach. He startled a little and looked up at Haymitch, apparently not quite sure how to address his newfound willingness to acknowledge him.

Peeta was Peeta though and he forced a small smile. “More like afternoon.”

“It was a late night.” he shrugged.

“Yes, I guess it was.” the boy agreed.

The conversation came to a halt and Haymitch shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, unsure if he should come in or leave. He didn’t want to impose his presence on the kid, not when he was responsible for…

“There’s food.” Peeta said suddenly, waving at the coffee table where an apparently untouched plate with small sandwiches rested. “If you’re hungry…”

He wasn’t really but he was also aware he hadn’t been eating enough in the last few days. He reluctantly made his way to the couch and snatched one of the sandwiches, making a face when he realized they were cucumber sandwiches. He hated those and they had been tacitly been banished from the penthouse for as long as he could remember. Effie’s revenge, he figured.

He still took a bite, chancing a look at the boy. His throat closed when his eyes fell on the pad, now that he had a clear view… The rest of the sandwich remained forgotten in his hand.

Peeta followed his gaze and brushed his dark-stained fingers against the half finished face of Katniss.

“I meant what I said. I don’t blame you.” the kid offered.

It should have made him feel better but it didn’t, maybe because he blamed himself enough for both of them. And also because it didn’t make sense to him. He was guilty. There was no question about that. He had made a promise and…

“I really wanted…” he croaked, his voice rough.

“I know.” Peeta cut him off, a bit too quickly and with a hint of something that sounded like resentment. Haymitch nodded, aware that while he might not want to be angry with him, there still was some of that in there. And it was natural, he figured. There was a beat of silence during which Haymitch forced himself to finish the sandwich even if it settled like lead at the bottom of his stomach. The boy was staring at the piece of charcoal as if not really seeing it. “I asked Effie to get me back to Twelve… My train leaves tonight… We didn’t… We didn’t send her… I wanted to be there when…” Peeta didn’t seem to be able to finish and it dawned on Haymitch what he was trying to say. They hadn’t shipped the coffin back, the funerals hadn’t taken place yet. The boy clenched his jaw and squeezed the charcoal so hard Haymitch waited for it to break. “I thought maybe you would…”

“No.” he objected quickly but firmly enough not to leave any doubt. “I told you. I’m not going back.”

Hurt flashed in Peeta’s eyes and he supposed he was opening new wounds that wouldn’t be so easily repaired. Katniss’ death had created a chiasm between them and it wasn’t one he was willing to cross. Not like that. He loved the boy. He wanted to help him but…

The fact was he was convinced only looking at him made Peeta remember that Katniss was dead when he lived because the reverse was just as true. And he didn’t want to impose that on Peeta just like he didn’t want to impose that on himself. He would have borne it if he had thought it would be of any comfort to the kid but he knew better. Even if Peeta didn’t realize that yet.

“I’m not saying you have to stay.” Peeta snapped. “I get what… Look, you have Effie here and she explained about Twelve being too much like the arena and… I get that. I’m not saying you have to stay but… We’re burying Katniss.”

He kept his eyes averted, looking at the skyscrapers through the bay window rather than at him. He shouldn’t have come in. He should have followed his instinct and avoided the difficult conversation. He closed his shaking fingers into a fist.

There was a reason why you sent the dead tributes back while you were still in the city, he wanted to tell the kid, because attending the funerals would be selfish, something to attenuate a mentor’s guilt but that added to the strain of the family’s grief. The families never wanted to see you. Never.

And the fact that he knew Aster and Prim, that he had considered them not only close friends but, yes, family, didn’t help at all. It made it worse.

“I’m not coming.” he repeated, forcing himself to remain calm.

For their sake if not for his.

The weight of Peeta’s gaze though, it was more than he could bear.

He stood up and walked to the liquor cart by reflex, only remembering too late there would be nothing there to take the edge off. He almost knocked it over in annoyance but ended up pouring himself some apple juice instead. Just to have a glass to hold. It was more of a comfort than was probably sane.

“Why?” the boy asked and it was clear Peeta was making a real effort to keep his voice even.

He thought about lying and then dismissed that option, thinking maybe the truth would be more effective this time around.

“Cause they’re gonna hate me and I don’t wanna see that.” he shrugged, crossing the short distance to the bay window, leaning against the cold glass to watch the bright blue sky outside. He wondered how long it would take him to miss cloudy skies, thunderstorms, rain and blizzards… He wondered how long it would take him to get used to a controlled weather.

“They’re not going to blame you any more than I do.” Peeta objected. “You’re…”

“I’ve seen it before, boy. I remember.” he spat. He remembered coming off a train a victor, with mixed feelings about what he had done and a lot of nightmares but over the moon at the thought of seeing his loved ones again, only to be faced with the District’s fear and resentment. A good portion of the Seam gone in flames. His family dead amongst a few other victims. His girl executed for a feeble reason. The message clear. Everyone had understood it. And he had seen the hatred in their eyes, the apprehension, the rejection… “I’m not going back to Twelve.”

Not until he could help it.

For the Tour. He would have to go back for the Tour.

God, the Tour…

It wasn’t something he wanted to think about and, since there would be months before he had to, he chased it from his mind.

“Haymitch…” Peeta sighed.

“I’m sorry.” he said and the words were unfamiliar on his lips. He didn’t apologize often. That wasn’t who he was. Who he used to be. Who even knew anymore? “I’m sorry I can’t be… better for you. I just… Right now it’s all I can do to…”

His sentence trailed off because he wasn’t sure what it was he could do. Stay alive? He had almost spectacularly failed at it just the previous night.

“I understand.” the boy offered quietly. A lie but a kind one. “I will tell them the Gamemakers wouldn’t let you come back yet. They will ask after you.”

“No, they won’t.” he snorted without any amusement. He didn’t want to think about Prim or Aster. It broke his heart to imagine them in front of their TV when… “Where’s Effie?”

“Oh, she had to go on a show or something this morning…” Peeta frowned, focusing back on his drawing. “And then she had a lunch with one of our sponsors planned, I think.” There was a small moment of hesitation and then… “About sponsors… Effie wouldn’t tell me but…”

He closed his eyes. “If she doesn’t want you to know, pretend you haven’t figured it out.”

Shocked silence was the only answer he got to that for a few minutes.

“You know.” Peeta hissed. “I wasn’t sure it was really… But you know and you still…”

“You’re very young and very new to this.” he cut him off quietly. “Give it a few years and you might find yourself in my shoes.” He hoped for the boy’s sake, he wouldn’t be but… Odds weren’t likely. He shook his head, trying not to think about Finnick’s face right after Mags had explained… “You don’t want to open that can of worms until you have to, kid. Trust me.”

Peeta had never really known how to leave well enough alone.

“After… After.” the boy insisted and the definite tone of that word unmistakably referred to Katniss so Haymitch didn’t even try to ask what he was talking about. “I was… I wasn’t really helpful. She called her sister, she asked Lyssandra for as much money as she could give… I think her husband wasn’t really happy about supporting us but… Lyssa came through. We still had some. We made a lot over Katniss asking for chocolate…” Peeta paused but Haymitch didn’t press him, familiar with the difficulty of finding the right words for some things that couldn’t quite be properly expressed. “Effie kept saying it wasn’t enough, that we needed more, that you would need more advanced medical stuff than we could pay for…”

He wasn’t sure he had really needed as much stuff as they had sent. Effie had freaked out and she had snapped.

“Peeta…” he tried.

“She asked me for the sponsor files with a golden star on them.” the kid continued and Haymitch clenched his jaw. He knew her system even if that particular mark had never really been mentioned between them. “She wouldn’t tell me what it meant. She just went out and when she came back, she had pledges for me to sign and we had enough money to send everything to Chaff. I asked but she didn’t want to explain and… Katniss… It was just too fresh. I asked her again when it was all over but…”

“Kid.” he snapped. “You’re judging her?”

“Of course not.” Peeta retorted. “I just want to understand what…”

“You understood.” he cut him off. “I ain’t gonna spell it out for you. She doesn’t want you to know cause she doesn’t want you to look at her differently. She’s done it before. I’ve done it before if that’s your next question. Just shut up about that already.” The anger was hard to control and difficult to suppress. He wasn’t sure he could keep it under wrap, not with the knowledge of what she had been forced to do for him, of what she might have been doing right at that moment to pay back a pledge or another. “I’m gonna go take a nap.”

He placed his untouched glass on the table and snatched a couple of sandwiches before retreating to Effie’s bedroom. He left crumbs on the bedsheets and he was sure there would be hell to pay about that later, not that he really cared. He tried not to pace around like a caged lion waiting for her to come back but it was a close thing. He eventually settled on the bed with a book he couldn’t focus on and made an effort not to let his mind wander.

When she did show up, it was mid-afternoon and she didn’t seem totally happy to find him in her room. He wasn’t fooled by the bubbly escort mask on her face – and he knew she knew. For a second, they were frozen in their respective spot. Him on the bed, her on the threshold of her own room.

“You were out long.” he commented, turning a page of his book and forcing his eyes to follow the words if only to give the pretence of reading.

“I was on a talk-show and then I had some appointments… Didn’t Peeta tell you?” she hummed casually, taking off her shoes. “There was some paperwork to do. He is going back to Twelve tonight.”

“Yeah. He said.” He made a face. “He wanted me to go with him.”

Effie froze again, her hands taking pins out of her pink wig. “Ah. Yes. I did not really have a good opportunity to mention…”

“It’s fine.” he dismissed in a tone that very much implied it wasn’t. It wasn’t really fair to her because Peeta had had the final say and he wasn’t really angry with her anyway. “You’re okay?”

It was an innocent enough question, tossed out there in a casual tone that she would be free to interpret as she wished.

She wasn’t fooled and she must have figured out that he knew where she had been. She studied him for  a second and then went back to getting rid of her wig. “Absolutely. I am just going to take a bath, relax a little… I was on Talia’s show, you know the one?” He wasn’t sure so he shrugged and she waved a hand in the air to indicate it didn’t matter. “She had a lot of questions about us, our dance last night...” The Victory Banquet seemed like it had happened days earlier instead of the previous night and Haymitch struggled to remember what she was talking about. “I didn’t confirm anything but I refused to deny. I was not sure how you wanted to do this… Should we simply issue a statement or make it clear when we attend the next event together that we are there… together?”

Issuing a statement would seem cold and not genuine enough for Snow probably. Districts might doubt it.

“Sounds good.” he mumbled, watching her undress. His eyes trail on her skin, trying to find a proof of… Of what? The thought of anyone else’s hands on her made him seething mad with jealousy but… It wasn’t like she had been asking for it. He hated that it was their lives but it was business. He had pimped himself out the year before and she had been good enough not to comment then, when she could have just as well have made a scene. “You need anything?”

Her hands uncharacteristically fumbled with the clasp of her lacy bra. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Haymitch…”

“Tea or something?” he suggested before she could say anything more. “I’d ask if you want wine but nobody’s gonna let me have that so… I’m gonna get myself some tea. So? Yeah or no?”

She looked uncertain for a moment, a small smile eventually stretched her lips. “Tea would be nice.”

It wasn’t that much of a hardship to fetch two mugs from the kitchen. He heard Peeta in the girl’s room on his way back – what used to be the girl’s room. He guessed the boy was packing.

He had been gone long enough that Effie was already soaking in the huge bathtub, her hair pinned in a ridiculous bun on the top of her head. He couldn’t resist squeezing it with a smirk once he had placed the mug of tea on the edge closest to the wall, where it wouldn’t be in any danger of accidentally falling in the tub. She looked like one of those poodles whose fur the Capitols groomed in different puffy styles.

She narrowed her eyes at him in warning and he lifted his hand in a defensive gesture, bringing his own mug to his lips with his other one. “Didn’t say a word.”

“It would be unwise.” she huffed but her face softened. “There is enough room for two in here.”

“Oh, I know.” He lifted his eyebrows, letting himself remember just what had happened the last time he had climbed in a bath with her. She flushed, her own mind probably wandering on a similar path. He perched himself on the edge with a small shrug. “I’m good.”

“How are you feeling today?” she asked, not quite meeting his eyes.

He doubted she would directly address what had happened last night, mainly because she knew he would more than likely bolt. And it was his first instinct, really.

He forced himself to remain still, to take another sip of his tea. He snorted with self-deprecation. “Stupid?”

Her hand shot out to cover the fingers nervously drumming on his knee.

“I stand by what I said last night.” she whispered. “I love you. And I cannot live without you.” She stared at their joined hands before gently tugging on the battered golden bangle. “I know I might not be reason enough for you to…”

“You’re more than enough.” he muttered, embarrassed. “Told you. I was stupid.” She looked hopeful but wary and he let out a deep sigh, placing the mug of tea on the floor to cup her cheek. “Sweetheart…” He hesitated, wishing not for the first time that he could be a bit better at expressing feelings. “It won’t happen again. I promise.” He leaned in to kiss her, letting go of her cheek to grab the opposite edge - the last thing he wanted was an unexpected bath. Her lips were pliant under his, a touch too unresponsive for his taste. He drew back just enough to bump his forehead against hers. “If there’s only one good thing to come out of this whole hell… I want us, Effie. I…” He sighed again. He still felt like being happy with her would be a betrayal but… It wasn’t enough to stop him from wanting it. “I want a life with you.”

Even if it was in her world.

Ideally, he would have preferred for it to happen in his, preferably after the Capitol had fallen.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers and it was more than he already could have hoped for.

She licked her lips and then leaned forward to brush her mouth against his but quickly retreated, her fingers digging hard into his arm. “Today…”

“I know.” he said, sparing her the need to say where she had actually been that day and what she had been doing - or who. Debts had to be paid, he understood. It made him furious but he understood. “That’s not something we can always promise to each other.” Being faithful was a luxury in their line of work. He was grateful she would soon be out of the Games business but he wasn’t fooling himself about his own chances. “It’s no different than before.”

They had never really talked about becoming exclusive, it was something that had happened. And yet… And yet there had been other men and women over the years. Never by choice. Not always as a mean to an end. They never talked about it. They didn’t matter.

“I want a life with you too.” she declared. This time there was nothing hesitant at all to her kiss.

He felt something settle between them at that moment, the tranquil certainty this wasn’t something they were entering out of a lack of options or because they were forced into it but because… Because they really, truly wanted a shot at it. It didn’t scare him as much as it used to. They would use her as a pressure point either way, there was no use keeping her at arm length anymore… So he might as well embrace it, embrace her, embrace the life they could have… No more pretenses. No more hiding. At least on that front.

When they escorted Peeta to the train station, she was holding his arm as usual.

Haymitch couldn’t help but stare at that train, the knowledge that Katniss’ body was somewhere in one of the cars a sharp tinge in his heart. Peeta hugged Effie goodbye, promised to keep in touch, and then turned to him. He was uneasy when the boy hugged him and almost begged him not to be a stranger but Haymitch gave a slow nod all the same. He wasn’t sure he would be able to follow through.

When he and Effie walked out of the train station, they were holding hands.

If the frantic clicking of numerous cameras was any indication: fans noticed.

[jawllines]

oKAY LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ME TO PURSUE THIS FIC OKAY

Harry fucked up.

Now was it a tremendous fuck up? No, nothing life altering and terrible would come from it other than hard hitting embarrassment and shame if anyone were to find out he were lying. It was something he could probably weasel his way out of too, since he'd perfected the art of weaseling his way out of things in the past few weeks, but the fucked part is, is that he can't truly weasel the way out of his weasel, if that makes sense. Harry's dug himself into a pit that he's stuck in either way he goes about it -- damned if he does, damned if he doesn't.

See, Harry has been going through a period of time this year where he just liked being alone. Just liked staying at his flat and chilling out, after an outrageous Sophomore year in UNI where he had just exhausted himself of partying and balancing his academics on top of that. It seemed like a good idea to just cool down for a while this summer -- to just take a breather, recollect himself and his thoughts, maybe pick up knitting, or finally finish that Bukowski book he'd started midwinter and set down on his nightstand to not be touched since.

Though he had a group of friends who really didn't take that as an excuse to quit partying. It was their vacation after all, they're supposed to be living it up and having a blast while they can -- Harry included -- so if he wanted to get out of something he needed an excuse. A good excuse too, "I'm tired" didn't cut it with them.

So Harry had fabricated a girlfriend. And he knows, god he knows it's dumb, and childish, and he shouldn't be lying about something like this but it was the easiest way out! Ducking out of plans with the ol' "Ah m'sorry Mate, the missus' wan's to visit this Tapas restaurant," or "I would but m'staying in for a cuddle and as much as I love you lot, m'getting head tonight," always worked out smoothest. They never asked much about her, or at least Harry didn't really give them a chance to before he was off the phone. Sure he'd made up bits and pieces here and there that would make it seem like he really won it with this one and had them (especially Niall) thinking he's got the  perfect girlfriend. One who he rarely argues with (unless its playful), is just a freak in the bedroom, likes to pig out with him, smart as hell, gives great back massages, is funny as all get out, and smells sweet too.

Which was good for a while -- it was a safe, clean fib that he was getting away with. Or at least it had been, until he's put in a group chat with the lot of them talking about a cabin they've rented out an hour or two away for a small summer getaway. He gives it his best, he does, tries to wiggle out of it, but they beg and they plead with him.

We haven't seen you in sooooo long

right it's been like a decade !

cuz he's so whipped for his gf he's forgotten about us :(

just bring her too then, ffs, we haven't met her yet, this would be the perfect time to

Yes!! Bring the girl you've been gushing about, been wanting to meet her

u dont even have to pay for the cabin it's all squared away, it'll be so much fun H, u gotta

How was he going to say no to all of that? How could he say no and then explain that he's been lying this whole time, that there is no girl, and he's just been avoiding them all because he's tired? That'd sure start a ton of shit he doesn't want to much deal with.

So he responds without thinking it through to the full extent. Says yes, that they will go, and asks for all the details and times and whatnot, what he should bring and what he shouldn't. They're all stoked, so happy to see him and he can't say that it doesn't feel good that he's wanted -- it's a nice feeling it is, but he's got one aching problem that the love of friends just won't fix.

Harry's got to find a girlfriend that suits everything he's ever said to them in the next four days, or he's going to make a fool out of himself.

                                                                         .                        .                        .

Finding a fake girlfriend was a lot harder than he thought, more so since he'd told the boys that they wouldn't know her. So this requires a lot of digging, a lot of asking one night stands what they're doing in the upcoming week, a lot of asking old friends from Holmes Chapel to fly out so he didn't look like an idiot,  lot of panicked late night drafting, deleting, and redrafting a Craigslist ad. He was willing to offer money too, just for the sake of it and as the final selling point. He was starting to wish he hadn't said much about this fake girlfriend at all, so a fake boyfriend could've been a possibility too, but he hadn't thought that far into the lie.

Harry was just in the midst of realizing how much of a sad, dramatic Disney movie his life was turning into when he gets an alert on his phone. It makes him jump, it vibrating just towards the edge of the counter so he slaps his hand down atop of it to stop it from slipping off the granite. His heart is drumming from the adrenaline of saving his phone when he sees who it's from.

Heyyyy, I was wonderin' if I could have my pen back? I know its been a minute and I said you could have it but turns out that was my fav pen not the copy of my fav pen. I've got your cute flower sticky post-its to return to you too, so we could do a trade off.

Y/N was a girl who sat besides him during his Bio lectures this past semester. Really, she was the only thing that got him through it because he zoned out way too much and she always let him borrow her notes, partnered up with him when they had labs or projects, and always read through the final draft of some of the essays they had to put it (not just for Bio, but for some of his English courses as well). They'd bonded some, but she was one of those friends that really just stayed within the realms of school -- never ventured out of that.

During their exam they had to write a constructive response in pen and Harry hadn't brought one so Y/N let him use hers and in return he gave her his flower sticky notes so they would remember to give each thing back to each other. Neither did, however, and Harry had pretty much forgotten he had it until he came across it the other day. He'd been meaning to text her about it, but he'd left it on his coffee table and sort of just forgot about it again.

Now that Harry thinks about it, he wishes he would've kept in better contact with her. Y/N was a good laugh and nice to chat with -- made the two hour long labs seem like a breeze and the professor just adored her so they always got a damn nice grade. She was pretty amazing too, way fucking smart, and smells really nice -- like vanilla -- and sometimes she would bring in a big homemade bag of these fancy seasoned pretzel sticks that she let him dig into.

Well, now that he really thinks about it, she sounds exactly like the girlfriend he told the others about.

And well, fuck, it was a long shot, but Y/N might just be his best fucking chance at getting out of this scrape free. Y/N's pretty chill with a lot of things, goes with the flow, and is laid back when the time calls for it. Has their old Bio professor thing she was an absolute angel that the heavens bestowed onto this earth, so she was a pretty good actor as well.

He can't imagine this working out in his favor but he isn't just not going to ask. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and he's willing to give her any amount she wants for a week and a half of her time.

So he messages her back for a place and a time and when she offers the coffee shop a few blocks from his house he agrees, takes one more spoonful of the fruity pebbles he'd been cramming down his throat before closing his laptop and setting his phone down atop of it.  The goal right now is hopping in the shower and making himself smell all nice, fresh, and like a "Tropical Thunderstorm" that will hopefully aide in persuading her. All he could hope for right now is for her to agree easily -- hell, he'd even buy her coffee and one of those cute little strawberry hard shell cakes to buy her out.

Blowing a raspberry at the air, he stretches out his limbs towards the sky and the ground, before rolling his arms back. It looks like he's gearing up for a fight but he's just readying himself. This is quest he has to conquer or he's just absolutely, positively fucked.

                                                                                .                       .                      .

"Okay."

What? 

"What?"

Harry had met up with Y/N, bought her a coffee as planned and got them a booth in a comfortable little nook of the coffee shop. They served it in these huge mugs that she was both gushing over and bashing ("This is the most hipster shit I've seen in my life, but s'got such a cute little bunny on the side, I'm in love.), she slid him his sticky notes and he slid her the pen. After a suitable amount of chatter, like how their summer's have been going, and Y/N telling him a very intense story of how she had to help her friend escape from a club so her boyfriend didn't see her (they hiked her up through a bathroom window), Harry tried to bring it up cautiously and carefully. Explaining his dilemma the best he could, from the wanting some personal time to himself to cool down and relax, to the counterfeited girlfriend he'd conjured up, and ending with the fact that now he's expected to go to a cabin with said "girlfriend" to meet his buddies.

So he asked her, trying to keep himself from cringing at his own proposition.

"Would you pretend to be my girlfriend so I don't make a fool out of myself?"

And, well, she just said okay without a second thought at all.

"I said okay," her brows a furrow and a smile tugs at her mouth, "You aren't asking for a kidney, and the amenities include Wi-Fi, running water, and actual bedding as you informed me. Doesn't sound like too bad of a time either."

This went a lot smoother than Harry thought, and he's still blinking at her, wide eyed but  a grin is broadening across his cheeks, "So you'll do it? Really?" Y/N nods, and Harry just about jumps from his seat, stretching across the table to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug, "God you're a life saver! Thought you would tell me to fuck off or something." She returns the hug easily, which is good he thinks -- he hopes this means Y/N's good with being touchy feely, the way she squeezes him to her.

"S'no problem, really, what was I going to do this week anyways? All my friends took a trip to Australia and I refused because of the creatures they have living down there, so I just have loads of TV dramas queued up and candy I shouldn't be eating." She releases him as he settles back down into his seat, "So what kind of girl did you tell them I was -- like how should I act? M'I shy or outgoing, soft and sweet, or loud and brash, please don't tell me you gave them an eye color because I'm shit with contacts."

Harry is just positively giddy, wiggling in his seat as he takes a sip from his latte and tries to recall the nitty gritty details he's told them about her, "You're soft, cute, smart and really funny, so you don't need to work on anything there," he says cheekily and she rolls her eyes, tossing a crumbled up napkin at him, "We eat a lot together and ya give great back massages."

"I eat a lot on my own anyways so this is good." She chimes in and Harry makes a fist in triumph, "I dunno about the back massages, but I can work on my skills, surely. Anything else?"

"This ones the most important," he says, leaning in close, lowering his voice and she leans in as well in response to it, "We are very, very, very in love. We gotta sell this, do you think you can?"

Y/N waves at the air like she's brushing it off.

"Easy as pie."

                                                                          .                    .                     .

Harry is a jittery nervous and excited that he can't really explain. It's like -- he's pumped to see his friends again, he realizes he's missed the dolts after being a shut in for the few weeks he's had been. He's excited for them to meet Y/N, who isn't his real girlfriend but it's nice to finally have her to prove to them he's not lying (well, sort of), because this was sure to quash any doubts. Plus spending time with Y/N outside of Bio wasn't so bad either -- she's proven to be just as much of a good time as she was in there, in the outside world, so he worries none about the two hour trip driving down there nor pretending to be in love.

He's attempting to tidy his house some -- she's coming over tonight with her bags and everything packed so they can leave early-ish in the morning, and they need to go over a few more details before he forgets. They also have to practice being a couple. . .doing coupe-ly things, like cuddles, and hugs, and they can't make it look like it's been the first time they're touching each other or his friends would see through them right away. By tidying though, he's really just shoving things where they fit, stacking papers and cramming them into a book before slipping it beneath his chair, fluffing out his throw blanket and actually lying it on the back of the couch.