#thank god i could borrow a laptop from someone to work on school (and post this shit ahah)

[maria-scribbles]

loyalty’s all i got | part two

three years ago, you had it all: great friends, good grades, and an almost perfect relationship with your boyfriend, jj. it all came crashing down when your mom relocated your family to california for work and you were forced to trade the outer banks for malibu, leaving your broken heart behind in the place you were just starting to think of as home. now you're back in town for college and to pick up the pieces, hoping to make things right again with your friends and the boy you never stopped loving.

word count: 8.6k+

ship: jj maybank x female!reader, pogue friendship

warnings n stuff: angst angst angst all around (with a happy ending tho!!), the reader being a v. sad girl, mentions of anxiety/depression, failed long distance relationship, drifting apart, self-inflicted loneliness/isolation, the classic trope of 'they broke up but they're still in love with each other' that gives me feels, swearing (it's not my writing unless someone says 'fuck' at least once), reconciliation/mended relationships, traditional cheesy rom-com rain scene 'cause i'm a Dramatic Hoe™

a/n: and here's the second and final part of this looooong two-shot! thank you all so much for reading and i hope you enjoy the finale even though i low key kind of hate it 🙃. fun fact: surfrider beach is a real place in malibu known for its great waves :) also i apologize for how long this took to post, i dropped my laptop and the screen broke so i had to wait for it to get fixed lmao. unbetaed as usual, any mistakes are my b. 

~masterlist~

part two: like a ghost that no one knew

When you said goodbye to your friends three years ago, you should've known things would never be the same again. You were sixteen, still so young and naïve and full of an almost childlike hope that kept you from seeing the obvious: life wasn't fair. Sometimes, you could be holding all the right cards and still lose the game.

It should've been easy. You had a video chat schedule already figured out, promises of daily texts and Snapchats, a boyfriend willing -enthusiastically willing, in fact- to go long distance and make it work no matter what 'cause you both agreed that what you had was something worth fighting for. You and your friends had weathered many storms together, what was one more? It could've been easy but you underestimated just how cruel California would be.

You traded one coast for the other and watched the sun set over the Pacific alone when you would've given anything to watch it rise over the Atlantic with your friends. It hurt to surf solo but you did it anyway, even though it felt like a damn sucker punch each time you caught yourself scanning the sand for JJ and his proud smile when you successfully caught bigger and bigger waves at Surfrider Beach. 

Long distance was hard. You had days where all you wanted to do was lay on your bed for hours, safely curled up in his arms as he ran his fingers through your hair but you had to settle for his voice over the phone and one of his shirts from your closet instead. You missed everything about him: his pretty eyes that looked like the clearest ocean, the cheeky grin he'd send your way after making a stupid joke that had you affectionately rolling your eyes in exasperation, that adorable flush that spread across his face without fail each and every time you said you loved him. You longed for his constant affection; the way he always wanted to keep you close somehow, his arm around your shoulders, hand in your back pocket, or fingers entwined with yours; how he could never go a day without kissing you. Being apart was nothing short of torture.

"I fucking miss you." He said late one night during a rare FaceTime session -his phone was a piece of shit so he had to 'borrow' John B's whenever he could- and you smiled despite the knife twisting itself deeper and deeper into your heart as you played with the fraying sleeve of his old sweatshirt you wore. 

"I fucking miss you more, J." You whispered back, giggling quietly when he scrunched up his nose in playful skepticism. 

"Yeah, I don't think so, babe. There's no way." 

"Yes, way!"

Although it hurt like hell, you imagined being tangled up with him in the hammock hanging in the Chateau's yard under the North Carolina sky -the light from the moon would turn his blond hair a pale silver as he grinned down at you and cupped your cheek in his hand, closing that final distance between you for a kiss that'd fuel the fire racing through your veins- and you let that fleeting happiness carry you through the night, long after you said goodbye. You fell asleep with your phone in your hand, unaware that your mother had been listening from the other side of your closed door.

You'd been distant from her and your dad in the months since the move, obviously going out of your way to avoid them both by spending all your spare time surfing at the beach, coming home well past sunset and heading straight to your room without a word. They'd taught you forgiveness wasn't something to be given willingly -it had to be earned- and since neither of them had done anything worthy to deserve an absolution, you simply pretended they didn't exist and let yourself stew in your justified anger.

Until the morning after your video date with JJ, they'd wisely given you your space so you were pretty blind sighted to find them both waiting for you at the dining room table, one of your dad's famous cinnamon rolls on a plate set in front of your usual chair. You paused in the middle of tying one of your boyfriend's worn bandanas in your hair before abruptly continuing toward the front door, acting like you didn't see the hopeful looks on their faces that made guilt slowly start to burrow its way into your chest. 

"Y/N, wait," Your dad sprung from his seat and reached his hand out toward your elbow, his face falling when you instantly pulled back and crossed your arms. "Please, let's just talk for a second."

"I'm gonna be late for the bus," You lied and tried for the door again, sighing in frustration when he blocked your path and ushered you toward the table where your mom was sitting, biting her thumbnail. The guilt burrowed deeper: you thought she kicked that habit years ago but there she was, chewing her nail to shreds and it was all because of you (the empty satisfaction you felt knowing you were the cause of her stress made you hate yourself just a little more.).

"Jellybean, don't worry about that. I'll drive you." 

You bristled at the old nickname but sat in the chair your dad pulled out for you anyway. The smell of the cinnamon roll he pushed your way made your mouth water but you refused to eat and kept your eyes down as you played with the stack of bracelets adorning your wrist. "You wanted to talk?" You asked, deciding to just rip the band-aid off all at once 'cause knowing your mom when she was anxious and your dad being allergic to any type of confrontation, you'd have sat there all day until one of them worked up the courage to speak.

"Talk, right." Bill said with a nervous chuckle, shaking his head as he took a seat and swiped his own cinnamon roll from the pan in the middle of the table. "Uh, how are you?"

"Are you serious right now?" You asked incredulously, looking up from your lap with a raised eyebrow. "All this for 'how are you?'" 

"How would we know?" Your mom finally spoke up as she pulled her ruined nail from her mouth, only to start instantly drumming her fingers on the table. "You're always holed up in your room or at the beach, Y/N. You never talk to us anymore."

You rolled your eyes before fixing her with a deadpan stare. "Hmm, I wonder why."

"Honey, you know I'm sorry-"

"Don't, okay? Just don't." You swallowed thickly and dumped the cinnamon roll back into the pan, blinking away the awful burning pressure building behind your eyes. "I can't listen to some half-assed apology that you don't mean!"

"Y/N, we are sorry. Everything's gonna get better, just give it time." Your dad's reply was muffled by a mouthful of pastry and any other time, you'd usually be laughing at his chipmunk cheeks but instead you just stared back down at your hands again, lip quivering as you tried and failed to hold yourself together. You would not cry. You would not cry. You would not-

"Please, honey." Your mom tentatively reached out one hand like she was approaching a wounded animal, her voice so soft you could barely hear it above the rush of blood in your ears. "It hurts us to see you like this-"

Oh, fuck this shit.

"You're hurt?! Are you kidding me?" Your chair scraped along the tile as you rocketed to your feet, vision blurring when the dam finally broke. "You promised we wouldn't move again until after I graduated and you broke that promise. I let myself make friends for once in my goddamn life -I fucking fell in love, Mom! I fell in love with the most amazing boy who, by some miracle loves me, too despite me being a...a complete loser!" You were rambling now but you couldn't find it in yourself to care about or stop the words flying from your mouth. 

"God, I was happy -so, so disgustingly happy it kind of scared me, okay?" You laughed bitterly and roughly wiped the tears from your cheeks, only to have more immediately take their place. "And you didn't even stop to think before you took it all away from me! So don't even talk to me about being hurt 'cause you have no fucking idea!"

Your dad was frozen, eyes the same color as your own blown impossibly wide in the middle of another bite of cinnamon roll while your mom, two tears streaking perfect twin tracks down her cheeks, looked at you like you'd just told her the world was ending -to her, it just might've been but to you, it already had. Neither of them said another word as you snatched your backpack off the couch and stormed from the house, slamming the door behind you.

Halfway to the bus stop, you decided school just wasn't in the cards that day and doubled back, hiding behind the shed in your backyard until your tears had run dry and both of your parents left -Rebekah to the hospital, Bill to wherever he went while you were in class- before heading inside to change into your rash vest and grab your board. Despite it being early Friday morning, Surfrider Beach was full of life and you welcomed the hustle and bustle as you turned off your phone and buried it at the bottom of your bag, leaving your problems behind on the sand. 

You spent the whole day at the beach, blissfully alone and free to do what you wanted, until the sun dipped low in the sky and you were too exhausted to even think about anything but dragging yourself home so you could pass the fuck out. You caught one final wave before heading back to shore, waving goodbye to the group of other kids you'd surfed with all day (the one thing you loved about California: everyone was so chill) and trudged through the sand toward your things where, just as you expected, your sister sat on your towel, clad in a baggy UCLA long-sleeve with her phone in hand. 

"Bitch, you killed it out there!" She looked up as you dropped your board to the ground and sat down heavily beside her, slipping an old Kildare County High School sweatshirt -the first one you ever 'borrowed' from your boyfriend, much to his delight- over your head. "I mean, look at you go!"

You leaned closer to watch the video she took, the barest hint of a smile on your face when you watched yourself perform a near perfect cutback on the screen. "That's 'cause I had the best teacher." 

Daisy tagged you and posted it to Instagram before you could protest, then tossed the phone back into her bag and turned to you with a forced cheerfulness that kind of made you want to smack her. "So..."

"Mom and Dad sent you to clean up their mess." You finished quietly, tucking your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them as your sister sighed dramatically and offered a sympathetic wince. 

"As always." She copied your position and you both stared out at the sun sinking over the water, its fading rays turning the sky brilliant shades of orange and pink. It was typical of your parents to send Daisy after you when you were upset -after all, you'd both been each other's only friend for over half your lives- and normally, you'd be glad to see your sister's friendly face instead of your mom's or dad's. That evening, though? All you felt was...disappointment.

"Guess they really don't give a shit about me." You mumbled under your breath, half-hoping Daisy didn't hear you but from the way she snapped her head in your direction, you didn't get your wish.

"Y/N, that's not it. They're just..."

"Just what? Pretending that they didn't stab me in the back? Acting like everything's all hunky-dory and they actually cared about my feelings?" 

You hastily wiped at your face when your sister silently looped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you against her side, her fingers running soothingly through the ends of your damp hair as you vented all of your frustrations -everything you'd kept locked deep inside your heart- until your voice was hoarse and the sun had long disappeared from the horizon and you had no tears left to cry.

"You have no idea what it's like, being so lonely it hurts to breathe. It hurts knowing Mom and Dad have each other and you have Daniel and I'm alone all the time." You lifted your head from her shoulder and rubbed your red eyes with your sleeve. "Worst part is, they just keep acting like I'll wake up one day and magically be okay and everything'll be all sunshine and rainbows again." 

"First off, I wanna say that I'm sorry for not making more time for you. I knew you were struggling and I'm a terrible big sister for not being here for you like I should have," You squeezed Daisy's other hand in thanks as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, her voice soft and steady like the waves crashing against the shore. "Second, I definitely don't think Mom and Dad are handling this the way they should, but I think they're trying in the only way they know how. That should count for something, right?"

You sighed and tugged the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands. "I guess, but they haven't even tried to see where I'm coming from and they don't get that I'm not the only one they hurt. If I have to hear one more half-assed apology, I'm gonna lose my shit. Again."

"I'm not saying you have to forgive them right away 'cause I sure as hell wouldn't until they say they're sorry and mean it. But..." She said, pulling you to your feet and shaking the sand from the towel you were sitting on, "you shouldn't keep shutting them out, okay? It's not healthy."

You tucked your board under your arm as Daisy grabbed your bag and swung it onto her shoulder before you both started walking toward the parking lot. "What if I'm never ready to forgive them?"

"That's a question I don't have the answer to." She said with a shrug. "You've gotta figure that one out for yourself."

So you followed your sister's advice. You were civil and gradually, your relationship with your parents improved until you could stand to be in the same room as them and even carry on a short conversation, even though you knew you'd probably never be able to fully trust them again. You caught them exchanging glances you could only describe as wounded when you often turned down their invitations to go to the movies or get ice cream or other things you used to love doing when you were younger but for the most part, they took it in stride and you were grateful for their little efforts. Forgiveness wasn't in the cards quite yet but with each passing day, you felt the icy wall around your heart slowly start to melt away.

But every time you thought you were taking one step forward, life pushed you two steps back. Just when you were getting things back on track with your family, the train went flying off the rails when it came to your friends and it was all your fault.

It wasn't like you didn't try -God, did you try- to keep yourself from falling back into old habits but Malibu just had a way of bringing out the absolute worst in you. Your old self, the girl who kept to herself and pushed everyone away, someone you thought you buried in the deepest grave, slowly came back from the dead with a vengeance little by little, so subtly you didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. 

One missed phone call turned into two, texts went unanswered for days or not at all, FaceTime sessions happened less and less. The last video chat had been with Kiara and it ended terribly, after you blew up at her for mending her friendship with Sarah Cameron in the near two years since you'd been gone, spitting words you couldn't quite remember -something along the lines of 'didn't take you too long to replace me, huh' and calling the blonde girl a 'heinous bitch'- but knew you regretted with everything you had and hanging up before she had a chance to explain. You couldn't even recall the last time you talked to Pope or John B aside from the occasional Snapchat and your daily calls with JJ had turned to once a week, if you were lucky.

He was trying, you could tell, and so were you but the deck was stacked against you and you were never very good at cards, anyway. It hurt to try, it hurt not to try, everything just hurt. Nearly two years apart had done their damage and coupled with your debilitating fear of being forgotten that clawed at your chest like a rabid dog, your relationship was on unstable ground and for the first time in almost four years, you were thinking about the end. It wasn't like you didn't love him anymore (holy shit, were you still completely head over heels in love). In fact, you loved him so much you realized that he could do so, so much better than you and the thought rested heavy and bittersweet on your mind, lurking in the shadows until you were ready to bring it to light.

It happened on New Year's Eve. Alone in your room, your hands shook as you answered JJ's call at midnight, his voice tired and a little hoarse from celebrating the new year three hours earlier on the opposite coast and you nearly started crying right then and there when you replied with a shaky "I think we need to talk."

"Babe, what's wrong?"

You took a deep breath and said quietly, "Everything."

"Talk to me." The pure concern in those three words nearly convinced you to call it off, to tell him to forget you said anything and that you were fine, everything was just fine but deep down, you knew you couldn't.

"I've been thinking about us and I...I just think that you deserve better than me. Someone who can actually be there for you when you need her and hold you when your dad's an asshole and see you every day. Someone who can laugh at your silly jokes and share a joint with you and clean you up when you get into fights defending your friends-"

"Babe, what are you talking about? That girl is you."

"Maybe I was but I'm not anymore and I don't think I have been since I left. I just can't be the girl you want, I can't be the girl you deserve, J -I'm a total fucking mess and you can do so, so much better than me."

"Y/N."

You didn't know you were crying until you heard the broken way he breathed your name and salt water dripped from your chin onto the bracelet around your wrist. 

"...are you breaking up with me?" His voice was impossibly small, the quietest you'd ever heard it and the exact moment your battered heart shattered into pieces was when you realized he didn't even put up a fight. 

"I think so." The words tore through you like a gunshot as you cried, curling into yourself on the bed in an effort to ward off the worst pain you'd ever felt in your life and you wondered if it was possible to die from a wound that wasn't even physical. 

He was quiet for a long time, so long you thought he hung up without you noticing through your tears, until he sniffed on the other end of the line.

"Guess we had a pretty good run, huh?" He asked with a watery chuckle and you found yourself giving a tiny, shuddering giggle in response -God, even when you were breaking his heart he still managed to make you laugh.

"The best, baby." The pet name slipped out like second nature and you winced, hastily trying to cover your mistake with an awkward cough but from the sharp breath you heard him take, he'd heard it anyway.

("I'm sorry," you said, and it stood as an apology for more than just your slip-up.)

"I love you, Y/N. Probably always will."

"I'll never stop loving you, JJ. That's a promise."

You let yourself believe him as you laid there bleeding from a gash you couldn't see, a wound you knew would never heal, and you hoped he let himself believe you, too, even when you ended the call without another word and threw your phone away from you, not bothering to see where it landed. The sound of your heavy, broken sobs filled the room and you didn't even mind when your mom, who you knew had been listening from the other side of your closed door like always, barged in and took you into her arms, stroking your hair as you cried into her lap.

If you were supposed to avoid getting hurt by leaving first, why did it feel like everything in you was broken? If you were making the right choice, why did it feel so wrong? You didn't have the answers and no matter how hard you searched, you knew you'd ever find them.  

So you tried to stay busy. You joined the surf club at school, got a part-time job at the local aquarium, did anything you could to distract yourself from the hurt and the guilt and the way getting out of bed every morning was the hardest thing to do. Surf club introduced you to Mackenzie, the one girl who was more ostracized at school -an even richer version of the kook academy you hated -than you, her for being freakishly tall and you for your East Coast attitude, and the two of you became fast, if reluctant friends. Mack didn't try to stitch the gaping hole in your heart caused by your absent friends but she numbed the pain just enough to make it bearable and you were grateful for her calm, steady presence at your side, even as you both tried to keep each other at arm's length.  

Later, you found out she was just like you, friendless and awkward with no self-esteem and a tendency to push people away, and that just cemented your friendship through the summer and your final year of high school.

Mack told you all about her life, growing up with no siblings, having height that she never learned to deal with, and a debilitating social anxiety that made making friends near impossible, and in turn you told her about how you hopped from town to town on your mother's whims, the wonderful friends you let slip away, and the beautiful boyfriend you loved enough to let go, and you both cried together for the lives you could've led.

"You two looked so happy," She said during the first sleepover you hosted as she held one of the many picture frames littering your dresser, her lips turned upwards in a small smile.

You gently took the frame from her hands and ran your fingers over the grinning face of your ex-boyfriend, his arms wrapped around your shoulders as your painted lips planted a deep red kiss on his cheek, and the wave of longing washing over you was almost strong enough to bring you to your knees. "It was the happiest I've ever been."

"Do you miss him?"

"So much it hurts."

i miss you.

i'm so sorry.

i still love you.

You'd typed and erased those texts every day but never mustered the courage to hit send and you couldn't decide if that was a blessing in disguise or the worst possible curse. Of course you still loved JJ: you promised you would and even if you didn't, you couldn't stop if you tried. He was your first love, the boy you so willingly gave your whole heart and then some; you still kept his ring on your thumb -the one he gave you at the airport the day you left- and his bracelet around your wrist, his bandanas in your hair and his face in your dreams and you knew you always would.

Before you could blink, your eighteenth birthday flew by and graduation was upon you.

You thought the second you were done with high school you'd be gone, heading straight back to the Outer Banks and the life you left behind but you found yourself stalling on sending in an application to UNC -Chapel Hill until you missed the deadline for the fall semester. On the outside, you made up a semi-legit excuse about getting your basic courses done at a community college to save money but deep down you really knew why you procrastinated: you were terrified to go back. Ever since your break up with JJ, you hadn't spoken to him or any of your old friends other than the obligatory birthday wishes on Facebook and you wondered if the damage you'd done over the years was too much to come back from, even as you tried to work up the courage to find out for sure.

Another year passed: in between earning college credits, you and Daisy took a sister's trip to Disneyland, Mack asked you to tag along on a jaunt up the coast to San Francisco to see Alcatraz, your parents celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary (your gift was long-overdue forgiveness and they said it was the greatest thing you possibly could've given them). When the time came, you and Mack both sent out your applications to UNC -you for biology, her for chemistry- and the myriad of emotions you felt when you got in was nothing short of dizzying. The old you was terrified, screaming at you to rip up the letter and join your sister at UCLA instead of opening old wounds but the hopeful you, the girl who lived without fear, the girl who fell in love and let herself be loved, screamed louder.

And so you killed the old you once again, burying her even deeper than the last time in a locked chest and throwing the key as far as you could out into the Pacific where you knew you'd never find it. You clutched your acceptance letter close to your chest and took a step east, away from California and toward the place where your broken heart still rested, scattered in pieces across the sand.

Settling in at UNC was surprisingly easy. You and Mack already clicked pretty well as friends so making the transition to roommates was natural and, dare you say it, even a little fun and the two of you quickly fell into a comfortable routine in your tiny apartment off campus in Chapel Hill. Comfortable and yet...that happiness you once felt all those years ago was missing from your life and you found yourself just as restless as you were in Malibu. While you knew exactly what you needed to do, that fear kept rearing its ugly head in the back of your mind, poisoning your thoughts: what if they wouldn't be happy to see you, what if they forgot about you, what if they hated you? What if he hated you?

It was terrifying, picturing yourself turning up at the Chateau with a hopeful smile only to have the door slammed right in your face. Deep down, you knew they'd never do that to you no matter how badly you'd hurt them but when you'd spent your whole life expecting the worst, taking a leap of faith wasn't an easy feat -something Mack just couldn't wrap her head around.

"I don't get it."

You glanced up from where you were lounging on your bed, flipping through your biology notes in preparation for your lab exam the next morning and shot your roommate a confused look. "Get what?”

Mack sat at your desk, her own notebooks lying ignored as she spun the chair around to face you, arms crossed. "Why you haven't hopped on that ferry to go get your man yet!"

You froze for a moment too long before offering a half-hearted shrug as you fiddled with the beads at the end of your bracelet. "It's not that easy. He probably wants nothing to do with me and I don't blame him."

"How do you know? You haven't talked to JJ in over a year, right?" At your tight nod, she continued, "What if he's just like you-"

"Depressed?"

Mack fixed you with a flat, unamused look. "Still in love, dumbass."

You scoffed and propped your chin in your hand as you glanced back down at your study guide, trying not to latch onto that little thought -hope and pain all rolled into one- that sparked to life at her words. He'd said he would probably always love you that New Year's Eve and back then you'd let yourself believe him but now, you weren't so sure. "Yeah, right. No way he's still...still in love with me after I broke his heart."

"Maybe he is, maybe he isn't," Your roommate said with a shrug, spinning around on the chair to grab her things. "You'll never know if you don't get over there, track his fine ass down, and talk to him."

You stared down at your notes without actually seeing anything, the slanted letters of your handwriting blurring before your eyes as the other girl flipped her chemistry book closed and stood, shooting you an warm smile that you didn't see. 

"Listen, Y/N, you're my best friend and I want to see you happy more than anything but I can't take that jump for you. Yeah, it's scary and nerve wracking and you might end up hurt worse than before, so what? That's just...life."

Mack left after that, crossing the apartment to her room so she could get ready for a date with a girl from her psych class, leaving you alone with tears on your face and a million thoughts in your head, all of them terrifying and exciting and oh so loud.

She was right, of course -Mack always knew the right thing to say- and as you stared down at the bracelets on your wrists and the ring on your thumb, the pictures on your phone and the too-big shirt hanging off one shoulder, you realized sitting around moping wasn't gonna solve anything; if you wanted your happiness, your friends, the love of your life back, you needed to step up and fight for them with everything you had. And so you wiped the tears from your cheeks and walked to the cliff's edge with your head held high, ready for the fall and whatever came with it. You were ready to fix your mistakes, no matter how badly it might hurt.

Still, you couldn't do it all on your own. You needed some help to make things right again and while you knew just who to ask, you weren't quite sure if they'd be willing to lend a hand. Desperate times called for desperate measures though and you penned a good old-fashioned letter, feeling like a heroine in a Jane Austen novel as you poured all your thoughts -your dreams, wishes, hopes- onto a piece of paper in bold blue ink and sent it off to its destination on Figure 8, your Hail Mary for a happy ending sealed up neatly in a single envelope.

Mack, bless her heart, did her best to keep your spirits up as you waited on a response but even her ever reassuring presence couldn't keep you from worrying as one week passed by, then two. Halfway through the third you'd almost given up, already wracking your brain for another way to make your plan work when your phone chimed with a text from an unknown number.

i'll help you

And just like that, the moment you'd been waiting for was finally within your reach; you told your parents not to expect you for Thanksgiving break, called your sister for a much needed pep talk, and started counting down the days until you'd see your friends again, for better or worse.

When you left the Outer Banks three years ago, it was sunny. You were sixteen, young and in love and scared about the future.

When you returned, it was in the middle of a storm. You were nineteen, a little bit older but no less in love and definitely still scared about what was waiting for you at the end of the road.

Rain pounded against the roof of Sarah Cameron's SUV as she drove away from the docks and toward the Chateau, her fingers tapping along to the music playing quietly through the radio. You sat in the passenger seat, soaked to the bone from your ferry ride from the mainland and shaking like a leaf despite the towel wrapped around your shoulders and the warm air flowing from the car's vents.

"Thanks for coming to get me," You said, wincing at the awkward lilt of your voice echoing in the small space as you spun JJ's ring around your thumb and stared out the windshield at the familiar sights streaking by in blurred shades of green and brown. Being back opened a Pandora's box of emotions in your head, both good and bad, and instead of trying to sort them out, you let them bounce around in your brain like a pinball machine and concentrated on methodically twirling the warm metal ring in circles on your finger.

Sarah briefly glanced away from the road to shoot you a small smile, her kind eyes softening at your visible nervousness. "Not gonna lie, I was pretty sure you hated me so when I got your letter it kinda...threw me for a loop. Sorry it took me so long to reply."

You wished the heated leather seat would swallow you whole as you winced again and wrapped the towel tighter around your shoulders. "For the longest time, I thought I did hate you but I realized I was just...scared of losing my friends and I took it out on you. You didn't deserve to be labeled the villain in my story when I was the one, um, sabotaging myself, I guess." You took a deep breath and picked at a loose thread tickling your arm. "And I'm really, really grateful for your help."

It was more than you wanted to admit out loud -nearly the same words were written in the letter peeking out from the center console of the car- but at the same time, you knew it was what needed to be said and from the way the blonde girl's fingers stopped tapping against the steering wheel, she knew she needed to hear it. At a red light, she quickly tapped out a text on her phone before tossing in back into her bag with another tiny grin in your direction.

"Happy to help. For what it's worth, I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you were being replaced, I never intended to hurt you or steal your friends or...or, I don't know, usurp-" 

"Sarah, stop. Please," You held up a hand to cut off her apology and offered her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm the one who's sorry. I let my...jealousy get the best of me and I feel so bad about all the shit I said 'cause that wasn't fair to you at all and I hope you can forgive me-"

"Y/N, there's nothing to forgive! We all say stupid shit when we're mad -trust me, I know." She interrupted with a bubbly, contagious giggle that seemed to scare away the gloomy storm clouds gathered over your head for a moment in time. "But I was never pissed at you, ever. I just want you to know that."

Stunned, you settled deeper into the seat and started playing with your ring again as she kept driving on, unbothered by your lack of response. You felt like you were thirteen again, back when Sarah and Kiara were your only friends, before the birthday disaster and the whole pogue versus kook feud that got completely out of hand; it felt...nice and you found yourself hoping that the blonde girl would still want to be your friend again, no matter what the others thought about your sudden return. 

"Thank you."

Sarah gave no indication she heard your quiet confession of gratitude but from the way you watched her smile grow out of the corner of your eye, you knew she did. The rest of the drive passed in companionable silence as you retreated into your own thoughts, your nerves getting worse and worse the closer you got to your destination.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly through your nose, feeling like your heart was trying to beat its way through your rib cage. You hadn't been this anxious in a long, long time, so long you almost forgot how much you hated the tightness in your chest, how your palms would start to sweat, the way you'd chew the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood on your tongue. By the time Sarah pulled into an open spot beside the achingly familiar Volkswagen parked in front of the Chateau, you were surprised you were still able to breathe.

The sight of the tiny house, one you spent so many carefree days and beautiful nights in alongside your friends, standing virtually unchanged in front of you was like a shot to the heart and your hands, curled into fists on your lap, began to shake without warning. Shit, you were a godforsaken mess; how the hell were you supposed to do this without having a mental breakdown?

"I'm so scared."

The whispered words, barely audible over the torrential rain against the roof, slipped from your mouth before you could stop them and Sarah slowly reached one hand over to give your trembling wrist a reassuring squeeze, the corners of her mouth curled upward in a slight smile.

"Don't be. They're gonna be so happy to see you!"

You turned to look at her, eyebrows knit together in disbelief. "How are you so sure they still care about me?"

"I'm sure 'cause I've seen it. My God, if only you could've heard all the times they talked about you -'I wish Y/N was here,' 'remember that time with Y/N,' hell, just straight 'I miss Y/N so fucking much,'" She said bluntly and shifted in the driver's seat to face you head on, smiling wider at the thunderstruck look on your face. "Pretty sure I haven't gone a week without JJ saying that last one at least once." 

"I thought..." You paused, tongue darting out to run over your dry lips as you tried to put your jumbled feelings into words, "I thought he'd hate me -I mean, after all I've done, you think he still..."

"Loves you? Are you kidding?" Her reply was so enthusiastic it was hard not to believe her as she went on, her words like sunshine brightening the darkest corners of your mind. "He's still head over heels, I've never seen him even look at another girl in three damn years. You know he still wears your necklace, the one with the silver star? Kie told me all about it."

"I-I didn't." You remembered giving it to him the day you left, managing a shaky smile through your tears as you carefully clasped it around his neck, your fingers running over his skin as you settled the charm perfectly alongside that little shark tooth you'd grown to love.

('Be careful with this, baby. It's my favorite.' You had said, crying harder when he'd taken off one of his rings and slipped it onto your thumb.

'Well, this one's my favorite so take good care of it, okay?' His voice had been light but his eyes were heavy with unspoken words that you'd heard loud and clear because you knew your gaze said the exact same things.

don't let me go

don't break my heart

don't stop loving me)

You coughed to disguise the fat tears that started rolling down your face, quickly wiping them away with your sleeve but the blonde girl wasn't fooled as she gave your hand another friendly squeeze.

"Come on, they're probably wondering what's taking me so long," She sent a conspiratorial wink your way and grabbed her bag from the center console. "I told them I was picking up some pizzas but I have a funny feeling they won't be too pissed that I lied."

With a desperate grip on the strap of your backpack and your heart racing, you trailed behind Sarah through the rain to the front porch. 

"Ready?" She glanced back where you lingered at the top of the stairs, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot, and shot you a smile that did little to calm your nerves. "Just wait here!"

She knocked on the door before you could reply and yelled loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain, "Hey, it's me! Can somebody get the door? My hands are kinda full."

"Got it!"

Your bag slipped from your fingers and fell onto the porch with a loud thump at the sound of the voice floating through the open windows, a voice you heard nearly every night as you slept, in your dreams of a future you wanted with everything you had. You knew it better than your knew your own, knew every pitch and tone and lilt; quiet and raspy in the mornings when you woke up in each other's arms, loud and carefree during long days spent under the golden sun with the rest of your friends, soft and warm and laid bare at night when he showed how much he loved you with more than just words.

Sarah gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up before stepping to the side just as the door opened and you suddenly found yourself struggling to breathe as you stared into the wide blue eyes of your ex-boyfriend. JJ stared right back, one of the hands you used to hold clenched so tight around the doorknob his knuckles were white, the lips you used to kiss parted in surprise, the blond hair you used to run your fingers through falling onto his forehead like always and the familiar, beautiful sight of him standing close enough to touch made your knees weak.

"You're not pizza."

It was such a JJ thing to say and you didn't know whether to laugh or cry as you swallowed thickly and shook your head. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'm not."

"Oh."

Hope flared white hot in your chest at his words but it quickly started to fade, replaced by fear when he made no move toward you, his fingers still gripping tight to the door, and you felt your face start to heat in embarrassment as Sarah looked back and forth between the two of you like she was watching a tennis match. 

God, you were so stupid. What did you expect would happen, showing up out of the blue after over a year of no contact? Everything would fall into place again with just one long, heavy look? Believing it could be that easy turned you into a complete and total fool, tongue-tied and insecure and weak.

"Yo, what's the hold up?" John B's voice asked from inside the house and Sarah leaned down to call through the open window, "Come out here and find out!"

A wave of dizziness hit you like a truck and you took a sudden step back toward the stairs, arms wrapping around your stomach as it twisted itself into knots. "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have come. This was a mistake." You didn't notice the stricken look that crossed JJ's face or the three familiar, stunned expressions that appeared behind him in the darkened doorway before turning away and stumbling off the porch toward the road, leaving your bag behind and you definitely didn't notice how you barely made it off the bottom stair before a set of footsteps hastily gave chase. 

"It wasn't a mistake, Y/N!" JJ's desperate voice stopped you in your tracks, halfway across the yard with more than just rain running down your face. "Not to me, never to me."

His soft touch on your wrist sent shockwaves through your body and you instantly became putty in his hands, letting him turn you around without a fight to face him, watching in fascination as the downpour started to darken his gray shirt and flatten his hair against his forehead. Three years hadn't changed much about him -he was a little taller, hair a little longer, the muscles in his arms a little more defined- and when you met his wide-eyed gaze, beads of rain dripping from his long eyelashes like diamonds, you wondered if he was thinking about the differences time created between the younger you of the past and the you of the right now, too.

"Oh." You repeated dumbly, struggling for something, anything to say that didn't make you sound like an illiterate fool. Even at nineteen, words still weren't your strong suit so you let your actions speak for you as your hand reached out on its own accord to caress the silver star still clasped around his neck, the thumb still wearing his ring brushing slowly against the dip between his collarbones; he shivered, and you weren't really sure if it was from your touch or the cold. 

"Y/N." JJ said your name like a prayer, like he couldn't believe you were there in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when both of his hands slowly, carefully moved to cup your face, his calloused thumbs habitually wiping the tears from your cheeks over and over, even as more instantly replaced the ones he swept away. "I fucking missed you."

You stood there, looking like a damned drowned rat with your hair dripping into your eyes, shivering in your soaked jeans and Kildare County High School sweatshirt, the love of your life cradling your face so gently in his hands, and so many things you wanted to say flooding your brain but only the one that mattered the most managed to get by your trembling lips.  

"I'm still in love with you." 

You noticed a lot when you put your heart on the line: the steady, soothing sound of water falling through the trees, the bright, clean taste of rain on your tongue, how the sun was just barely starting to peek out from behind the stormy clouds, but they all paled in comparison to the little things you noticed about the boy in front of you; blue irises made even brighter by the red rimming his eyes, how he stepped closer on the wet grass until the tips of his scuffed boots touched your worn gray high tops, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly against your flushed face. 

"Well, it's your lucky day 'cause I'm still in love with you, too."

All of the breath left your lungs in one big rush when JJ smiled hopefully -oh, how you loved everything about that smile: his slightly crooked teeth, that dimple in his cheek, the endearing pink blush swept across his nose- and you felt yourself return it without a second thought, your own hope once again burning bright in your chest.

"Even after...everything?" Your voice shook like the fingers you slid into the hair at his nape and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, close enough you could feel his breath on your lips when he spoke.

"I told you I'd always love you, didn't I?"

You nodded, a delicious shiver running down your spine when he tilted his head just so and gently bumped your nose with his. You remembered all the times he did that through the years, a dizzying slideshow of memories that flashed through your mind like lightning, and your fingers wove themselves deeper in his hair. 

"I have so many things to apologize for," You said with a tiny, quiet shake of your head, tearing your eyes away from his in shame and staring over his shoulder toward where the rest of your friends watched from the porch, all crowded together at the top of the stairs with identical enthralled expressions on their faces. "There are so many mistakes I've made and people I've hurt and I have no idea how to even start saying sorry for it all." 

"Babe."

The sound of your old pet name caused your gaze to snap right back to his and your heart felt like it was about to beat right out of your chest when one of his hands trailed down the sensitive skin of your neck and then lower until it traced along the curve of your hip and left a line of fire in its wake.

"We'll figure that out later, okay?" JJ said as his fingers tucked a loose strand of wet hair behind your ear, a coy, ardent grin on his face. "'Cause I've been waiting three years to kiss you again and if I don't get to do it soon, I'm gonna lose my fucking mind."

You smiled -a wide, joyful, elated smile- and rose up on your tiptoes in anticipation. "Then kiss me." 

You didn't have to tell him twice. His lips pressed against yours desperately, like he needed you to breathe, like you were the very air in his lungs, religiously, like your mouth was the altar and he was there to worship as he pulled you close, the fingers of one hand tangling in your hair while the others dug into your hip. You kissed him back just as hard and the familiar taste of him on your tongue -mint, smoke, salt- sent that dearly missed spark racing through your veins like wildfire.

It was a little cliché, having your long-awaited reunion kiss in the rain but it was honest and candid and real and so much better than anything you could've dreamed. You lost yourself in his touch like you used to, clinging to him like a lifeline and pouring your whole heart into every fierce brush of your lips against his, both of you pulling away for a moment only to dive right back in each time. It was addictive, intoxicating, and you could've spent the rest of your life standing there in the middle of the yard and kissing like there was no tomorrow if a loud, ear-piercing wolf whistle hadn't come from the direction of the porch.

The two of you broke apart just barely, with foreheads still pressed together and swollen lips, and you couldn't stop yourself from giggling when JJ blindly flipped the bird over his shoulder before pulling you back in for another eager kiss that filled your whole body with an exhilarating, heavenly heat that never faded, even after four enthusiastic voices suddenly surrounded you like an excited swarm of nosy, buzzing bees.

"You aren't the only one who missed her, J." Kiara said, smiling widely as you reached out to grab her hand and pull her into a powerful one-armed hug, her chin resting on your shoulder.

"Yeah, stop hogging all the love!" John B added, throwing himself into the pile along with Pope, who slung an arm around your shoulders as he said, "Great to have you back, Y/N."

Sarah was the last to join and she quietly tucked herself under John B's arm with a pleased grin on her face, nodding when you mouthed 'thank you' in her direction. The six of you stood there in the rain, smiling like fools, and as the sun started to scare away the dark clouds overhead and in your heart, a weight you didn't even realize had been crushing your chest slowly began to lift away with each freeing breath. 

You still had a lot of work to do: wrongs to be righted, apologies to be made, explanations -not excuses- to be given for every shitty thing you did in your past. But as happy tears started streaming down your face once again and you felt the arms of the friends you’d thought were lost to you forever tighten around you at the sight, you knew in your bones all would be forgiven. You knew that after three long years, you'd finally come home.

-

let me know what you think! i read each and every one of your comments and cry because they mean so much to me! ❤

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[jamest-kirk]

Can you imagine an au where bones is a therapy dog trainer and jim needs a therapy dog and that's how they meet and become friends?

Jim’s always lived on the edge. Car chases, gun fights, catching bad guys and spending earnings in Vegas on gambling and sex. He’s enjoyed it knowing it’s temporary, because surely he was going to get himself killed in the field. There’s just no way he survives until he’s old and gray.

So when a mission does go haywire, he gracefully accepts death - but he makes sure to drag the bad guy down with him. Death is quiet, for a while. Then it’s pain, and a whole lot of black nothing.

“Your eyes are severely damaged,” his doctor explains when Jim wakes up. Not only does he find out he’s not dead; he’s blind and he’s never going to work the special forces again. If there was ever a hell, this would be it. Because Jim isn’t made for being helpless, stumbling around his hospital room to try and find the bathroom. He doesn’t have the patience for rehabilitation training, after being bedridden for months. Jim is clearly miserable, even when he’s finally released to go back to his apartment. It’s big and it feels empty, and Jim feels lost, tripping over furniture, running into walls, and misjudging where doors are.

The brightest thing about this is when he qualifies for a service dog. He’d never given dogs much thought; being away from home as much as he used to be, a dog wouldn’t have been a good option. But now that he has time for a dog, and is actually dependent on one, Jim doesn’t reject the option when Uhura offers to drive him to the nearest trainer.

Somehow, Jim thinks the overwhelming sounds of a dog farm can’t possibly be the right place for an actual therapist dog trainer. They’re an hour’s drive from the city, and it smells significantly different. Like trees and grass and wet dog, the latter not all too pleasant. “Mr. McCoy?” Uhura calls out, and Jim focuses on heavy boots on gravel as a man approaches them. “This has gotta be wrong, right?” Jim asks Uhura quietly, “it sounds like a dog farm.” “They’re all trained, or at least getting there, to be good service dogs,” McCoy says, and Jim winces because clearly he wasn’t quiet enough. Story of his life. “C'mon,” the other continues, and Jim feels Leonard take a hold of his hand, guiding him through a garden until they're in a barn. “I’ve been told you need a service dog as well as a therapy one,” Leonard says, and Jim raises an eyebrow. “I think two dogs is a bit much,” he says, and Leonard laughs. It’s a lovely laugh and though Jim has no idea what the other looks like, he instantly finds the other more attractive. “No, I mean a dog trained to do both.” “I don’t need therapy,” Jim says to that.

He’s unsure what to do, but Leonard makes him sit down on the ground, and before Jim realises what’s going on, there’s at least three dogs on him to investigate the stranger. Though as soon as Leonard tells them to move back, they do. Trained dogs, ready to do their job. Well, except maybe one. Despite Leonard’s warning, one still pushes himself into Jim’s personal space. “Captain,” Leonard repeats, but the large dog just refuses. “Can I have this one?” Jim asks, ruffling the dog’s fur gently. “Captain’s not a fully trained service dog yet,” Leonard says, “that is, he knows the commands but seems to only perform them when he feels like it.” “Sounds perfect to me,” Jim says. “No, Jim, if you’re going to be dependent on a dog, it should be one who won’t mess around. Captain still needs further training.” “Let me help with that, then,” Jim suggests, “he’ll get to know me. I get more familiar with dogs in general, and how to treat a service dog.” Leonard hesitates, but judging by his sigh, Jim knows the other has given in. “Fine.“

So Jim starts spending more time with Leonard and the many dogs he has. Uhura initially drives him there, the first few times, but Jim doesn’t want to take up too much of her time and instead figures out the bus schedules. It’s a long bus ride, but Jim feels instantly better when he’s out there. Leonard makes him walk with Captain on a short leash. It’s awkward at first, but somehow Captain seems to sense when it’s okay to mess around, and when he needs to be serious. Around Jim, that is. Because while Jim enjoys an iced tea on Leonard’s porch, he listens to the other chase the dog around for a couple minutes. Jim also helps feeding all of them, and he quickly grows fond of all these large dogs - and even the chihuahua. Jim doesn’t understand the purpose of such a tiny dog as a service dog, but Leonard tells him they’re actually very alert to things like seizures and such.

Jim spends most time with Captain, but he feels a little emotional when someone drives up Leonard’s porch to pick up little Archie. “You be a good girl to Mrs. Smith now, alright?” He hears Leonard tell the dog, and though the man and woman he’s handing over Archie’s care to don’t seem to notice, Jim can tell in Leonard’s voice he’s at least kind of emotional over it.

“How do you do it?” Jim asks. They’re inside, Captain’s sitting on the floor right next to Jim, his head resting on Jim’s lap. Leonard sits next to him, enjoying the silence til Jim starts talking. How they’ve evolved from trainer and client to dinners in the house and shared iced teas on the porch, Jim doesn’t even know. He does know, though, that he much rather spends time here than in his own apartment downtown. “How do i do what?” Leonard asks. “Give up your dogs like that.” “They go to someone who needs them more than I do,” Leonard replies, “I build up strong bonds with these dogs - though most of them i never see again - but knowing they are out there taking care of people in need, that’s pretty good.” “I’d cling on to all of them for dear life,” Jim says. Leonard reaches out to pet Captain’s head, and he’s so close Jim can hear him breathe. He can smell that subtle cologne, and he’s definitely too close right now. Jim thinks about kissing him, and when Captain trails off to drink from his bowl, Leonard remains so close. Jim leans in just a little closer, but when he does, Leonard finally leans away. Jim isn’t used to rejection, even something as silent as this, and it sucks.

Leonard comes to visit Jim in the city, together with Captain, so they can see how he reacts to all the different people and scents around him. “He knows traffic lights and such already,” Leonard explains to him while they’re both walking around the crowded streets, “we’ve been practising in our town center. This is a lot busier, or course.” “Quite,” Jim agrees. He holds on to Captain tightly, who walks next to Jim just as he’s supposed to. Until they get to the park. He tugs and barks and generally gets so excited about the other dogs, Jim decides to just let him run around for a while. Leonard guides Jim through the park and they quietly talk, occasionally Captain returns to check up on Jim. “He seems to really like you,” Leonard says, and Jim smiles. “I didn’t even know i liked dogs until Captain, so i guess that feeling is mutual.” “I think maybe he should stay with you for a couple days,” Leonard says, “a week or so. To see if it works out.” Reasonable as that sounds, Jim frowns at that. “What about you?” He asks. “What about me?” “Are you saying I won’t see you for a week, then?” Jim continues. “Well, I mean, what do you think would happen after you take over Captain completely?” Leonard counters, and Jim sighs. “No, you’re right. I guess I just got used to having you around. But I shouldn’t, because you have your job and such-” “I’m not a therapy dog myself, Jim,” Leonard says, “I realised you might have subconsciously used me as such, but I’m not. If you want to keep hanging out, you can just call. It’s not hard. Been told there’s phones for blind people.” Jim smiles lightly at that, and nods. “Maybe I will.” “Maybe I’ll wait for your call, then,” Leonard replies.

Having Captain live in his apartment is actually wonderful. He’s more than a service dog; he knows when Jim feels down or powerless and he just stays with him until he feels better. In the morning, they go on a jog through the park, and Captain learns to listen to Jim very quickly. Afterwards, Jim treats both of them to ice cream. On Saturday, a trip to Leonard’s house, where they have dinner and Leonard accompanies them on a long walk through the woods.

“This place is so much better than the city,” Jim says, and Leonard huffs. They were knee deep in mud just a few minutes ago, but Jim much prefers it over the city right now. Company has a lot to do with that, though. “You say that, but our town is small. You’d get bored,” Leonard says, but Jim simply shrugs. “I got bored in the city, too, and found movies and bars as places to pick people up. Here you’ve kept me occupied all the time.” “Are you saying I’m the reason you’re not bored? I’m not sure that’s a great compliment. Did you ever even succeed in picking people up? Because those compliments of yours are lousy.” Jim laughs. “I’ll have you know, before i lost my sight I was quite a catch.” “You still are,” Leonard replies, and that catches Jim off guard. “What?” “You heard me,” Leonard says, “just because you lost your sight doesn’t mean you’re not worth it anymore. I don’t know who you were prior to this, but I’ve known you for quite a while now, and you’re still worth as much-” Jim leans in to kiss him, and luckily Leonard does, too, else he might have misjudged where the other’s lips are. Jim only pulls away when he becomes aware of rain trickling down the trees, and he’s pretty sure he can sense Leonard smiling. “How bout we go get you home safe?” Leonard suggests, and Jim reaches out for the other man’s hand. “with you and Captain here, I feel like I’m already there.”

[pebblysand]

On Children.

Last night, when I posted this - the last 15,000 of a 103,087 words journey - I promised myself I’d talk about it - write about it - later. After I’d slept, after I’d been to work, after I’d processed the thoughts in my head.

I barely slept. Shut the lights out at midnight, woke up at two, then at five and stayed awake after that. I’m usually a heavy sleeper. I think it was the adrenaline.

Today, I spent more time on tumblr and my personal email, anxiously refreshing pages for reviews and comments, than on actual work. I’ll admit it’s insecure and weak on my part, but I guess I am of a generation that is in constant need of validation.

I haven’t felt this happy and excited in a long time but let’s be real, I still haven’t processed shit. Who was I kidding? Maybe, it will help to write this out. I guess I am a writer, after all.

I write that (I’m a writer), and think that’s a weird word, all things considered. It refers to a profession but I’m not a professional, and it is still what I do - like to do - with the spare time that I have. You see, sometimes, I have ideas about things that could happen to people who aren’t real and when that happens, I type them out on a laptop and share them with strangers on the internet. It’s a bit of weird hobby, admittedly, but I like it. I’m okay at it. Sometimes, the thought even crosses my mind that I might be good. It mostly happens when I write things like this:

When she thinks about him, she thinks about them and all she sees is children. A boy and a girl and her pale skin against his cheek, pulling at each other’s hair, laughing, loud, like Nick and Niamh on court benches, school benches, and the autumn leaves scattered around their feet.

Or this:

It’s not homesickness, she thinks, it’s just moving on.

I look at those three sentences and I think (because yeah, let’s dive in, shall we? that’s enough of an introduction) that ultimately, this is what all this was about. Those 103,087 words. This fanfiction, as it is refered to, is called Children not because Martha gets pregnant at the end, but because it’s a coming of age story. A coming of age story that involves a couple of forty-somethings who have spent so much time over the last fifteen years working and helping other people grow that they’ve forgot to do it themselves. This fic is as much about the concept of home and career choices and Sean, than it is about Martha and Clive. And sure, it’s about me, too. Because let’s be real, maybe I was going through a bit of a similar thing, at the time I started writing this, and maybe I did Mary-Sue the heck out of it. Who knows?

What I do know, though, is that I love this story. So much. It feels important, and cool, and smart, and funny and the kind of tale that I like to tell. I also know that although I won’t bore you with the details, I wasn’t in great place, this time last year, when I started writing it. Thankfully, I am in a much, much better place now. I frankly thank Peter Moffat, Silk, and Martha and Clive for that. I think this story gave me room to grow, and focus, and believe in myself more than I ever had before. When I started writing it, it was a 10,000 words one-shot that involved Clive breaking into Martha’s flat through the window and a very early version of that last scene in chapter vii. It was cool, too, but not the story I needed to tell.

Then, chapter i came. Chapter i is crap, I know that. I made it a bit less crap by editing it sometime after I posted chapter ii but really, not by much. In its defense, it was written at a time when a) I hadn’t written a word in three years and b) I had no idea what this would all become. I think that when I first published it, I still thought the fic was going to be fifteen to twenty thousand words, two or three chapters at most.

For a very long time, I was terrified of not finishing this fic, actually. I had a lot of comments about that - understandable considering the sad amount of abandoned works on the Silk fandom - and it just made me more anxious very time. That fear did start to go away over time, but surprisingly late, probably around when I was writing chapter ix. Still, I think I still had remnants of that panic up until I actually wrote the words the end at 3 a.m. last Friday. It felt almost surprising that I had, indeed, finished. All the long projects that I’d started before, I’d abandoned, or gotten tired of. At the time, I held it against myself, but coming back to my earlier point, I’ve now realised that they just weren’t my story to tell.

Then, chapter ii came. I like chapter ii. It’s not perfect and would need to be worked on in a future edit, but I like its plot. I like what it says about the show, about Martha as a character and how she breaks down, how we all do, sometimes. It also says something about what often happens to women, sadly, when they do. 

I think this show is important and matters because to me, it talks about something that happens all the time in the legal world and that no show ever touches on. We show the courtrooms and the decorums and the ships, but not happens behind the scenes. Not what I’ve seen. The truth is that when you spend all your waking hours fighting other people’s fights, sometimes, you lose yourself. You breakdown. You burn-out. It’s sort of a premonition but Clive warns Martha about it in the first series, jokingly, sure, but he turns out to be right. That’s what I see in the last episode of series three. As much as I hated the whole courtroom and Micky Joy debacle there, I loved that storyline. I love that she just fucks off. That my ultimate head canon is that she moves to a beach somewhere and opens a café on the coast, pours expressos and chats up tourists all day. Maybe, there, she meets someone. Maybe, she even has a family. But in my head, Children is and always will be a very long AU.

In that AU, of course, she has to stay. And that’s what chapter ii is about, ultimately, about staying when you don’t want to, breaking down and dealing with the consequences. When you’re a woman and you fuck up a bit, the price to pay is sometimes, sadly, very high. So, I tried to show that to the best of my ability. I hope I did a decent job of it. Frankly, I’m not quite sure about how I dealt with the aftermath. I think if I went back and edited, I would probably allow the assault to be more of a recurrent theme in the following chapters. I sometimes wonder if I didn’t deal with it a bit too quickly. But then again, I guess every survivor is different, and there was also a lot to talk about in those next chapters, with Billy and Clive, and Chambers, so I’ll cut myself some slack.

Chapter iii is to me the moment when this fic found its tone and its voice. When Martha and Clive found their voices in my head, too. It was a very difficult chapter to write, I remember, but I think that’s when the fic went from being an extended one-shot to a full blown story, with a plot and character development, and thousands of words, and eleven chapters. That scene at Billy’s grave is one of my favourites.

The one that follows, chapter iv, wrote itself. I barely touched it. I love chapter iv. It’s funny and quirky, and everything I loved about writing those characters I was lucky enough to be able to borrow. I was very insecure about the explicit sex scene in it, but then I felt like that scene was necessary. Again, I didn’t want the only sex in this to be non-consensual. Most often, sex is pleasurable and fun, thank God.

I think when I look back, chapter v is the most personal of them all. Chapter v is what I meant when I said that this fic was about me. Jokes aside, I remember being very nervous about it, wondering if I wasn’t turning a wonderful fic into a horrible, Mary-Sue-d attempt at a diary of my own problems. But then, well, it’s also fiction. My fiction. Because in chapter v, aside from Martha and Bethany’s very short stint, all of the characters are OCs. There’s Martha’s mum (Maureen), and Jo, and Evershed, and Roy. Boy, do I love Roy. Roy is the amalgamation of every man every sixty-something woman in my life has remarried to. He’s not a bad person, he’s just very, very out of tune with current times. Evershed, I don’t have many feelings about. Martha just needed a sounding board. Martha’s mum was probably the hardest to write. She loves her, I think, but I also think they’re very different people. I think they’re linked by what happened to her dad and that sometimes, that gets a bit heavy. And Jo. God, I love Jo. She makes me laugh and sometimes, I wish she was my friend, too.

Again, I was nervous about chapter v and my characters, wondering if people would like them, would like what they said about Martha, about the concept of home, until someone said: "It's like you're writing my life and all the feelings I've had about home and the bar and superimposed Martha Costello on top". I think that’s one of the best comments I’ve ever had on anything I’ve ever written. So, I’m not naming you, you know who you are, and thank you.

Chapter vi was originally very, very long and was then split into vi and vii for readability purposes (I will split xi too, one day, I promise). Yet, in my head, they will always be paired up. 

As I’ve mentioned before, the contents of chapter vii, and especially that last scene with Clive when they decide to “try again”, had been in my head ever since I’d started writing this fic. It was always where this story was going to go and when I published it, it felt good to finally release that, to have it out in the world that yeah, this was going to be that kind of fic, with an argumentative, blond, blue-eyed baby being born the end. Although these two are probably the most important chapters in this fic, I oddly don’t have much to say about them. I guess everything is pretty spelled out in there. Clive and Martha are in love. And they’re going to try for a baby. When I split both chapters, I took the opportunity to put back into chapter vii a bit that I’d taken out in the original editing phase. It’s a scene in which Clive and Martha talk about her father’s disease and she mentions that she took a test, once upon a time (i.e. when she got pregnant), to know if she had it, but never read the results. It’s a letter in her handbag that she doesn’t want to open, but that he wants to read. I think more than the topic itself, it shows how much they love each other, and yet how different they are. Martha got to know about Billy’s health when, in fairness, I don’t think she ever wanted to know. I think she’s the kind of person who only likes to know about things she can deal with or solve. If not, she wants to know late enough so that she won’t have to think about it too much. She’s the kind of person who wouldn’t want to know if she had cancer. Clive does, though. He would have liked to know about Billy; I think it hurt him not to. He would have liked to be prepared.

In my canon, Clive reads that letter and never tells her what was in it. He vouches to keep it to himself, and he does. He likes that he knows, respects her decision not to. He would tell her, if she asked, but she never does. As the writer of this story, I personally don’t know what was on that letter, either. I’ve gone back and forth on it a few times and I really don’t know if she has it. She definitely thinks she does. I think that’s kind of where the smoking comes from. I think she sort of hopes it will kill her before she forgets that it will.

I kind of wish I had found a way to use all of that in later chapters but somehow, after that one, it just didn’t fit within the plot. Maybe it will upon further edits. I don’t know.

Now, chapter viii is cute. Like iv. Still, I wanted it to be mostly about her career and going back to work, rather than about her getting pregnant. I hope that it was. Chapter viii is also where the character of Charlotte makes her entrance and I really like her, I like that she both fits in (through her education, her parents) and doesn’t (through how odd and quirky she is). I think if Martha were to ever go back to work after everything that happened, it would be for someone like that. I like that she’s not Billy, too.

And of course, then, Martha gets pregnant, when she leasts expects it. Because, she had to. As a side note, I love the scene where she "tells" Billy. It feels like a full circle to me.

Circles are not necessarily good, though, are they? ix, oh ix. That, also, unfortunately had to happen. I think Martha and Clive had been very nicely playing house for a while but it just couldn’t go on forever. Mostly, I had to deal with Sean, though. Because Sean, oh, Sean, do I love Sean. Again, this fic, frankly, is almost as much about him and about what he represents (young love, home) than it is about Clive and what he represents. When I wrote chapter iii, I thought I was done with him but then again, when I wrote chapter iii, I didn’t know there would be nine chapters, did I? So, Martha, she couldn’t let go, could she? She had to close that door in order to open another one.  

ix was so hard to write. Mostly because I’m terrible at writing arguments. I had turn it all around for it to make more sense but I feel that somehow, it more or less worked. I guess, you tell me, though.

(As a side note, I kind of like CW’s role in it. She’s not a friend, but she’s not a stranger either. I think that ultimately, she kind of cares about Martha, for some reason. And I love that conversation between Martha and her mum at the end, almost teared up when I wrote it. Again, part of moving on and growing up.)

And then, comes x. It’s a bit of a filler, I’ll admit. A 10,000 words filler. I couldn’t see Clive and her get back together that easily, so things needed to happen in between. I decided those things were court scenes. I was so nervous about those. I’ll be honest and say I have no fucking clue about the UK’s appeals process and probably got it all wrong. I guess that’s the difference between me back when I was still in law school and me now. At the time, I would have done the research. Now, I just don’t care, as long as the drama’s good. If you’re from the UK and thought it was all wrong, my most sincere apologies.

Finally. xi. As I said in my A/N yesterday, there was supposed to be a xii, until two evenings ago, when I realized that there wasn’t. In fairness, I think I’d suspected it for a while. In my head, I’d always thought of xii as some sort of epilogue, with a mix of cute pregnant-Martha scenes and a bunch of more serious ones (the baby’s name, Clive’s priorities shifting). Then, at 3 a.m. on Friday, I understood that a bunch of scenes stuck together do not necessarily make for a coherent chapter. And that I hate epilogues anyway. Finish your bloody story and stick with it, I say. So, the important stuff made it into xi (Clive’s priorities shifting, the baby’s name) and the rest just went to trash. I’m happy with that. In an earlier draft of an outline for xii, I also had a scene about CW prosecuting Brown Hair in an assault case on someone else, but that felt a bit cheap and would have kind of taken away the point I wanted to make with ii, the fact that most of the time, sadly, there is no resolution to these things. So, yeah, I’m happy I didn’t write that in.

I guess I don’t know what I thought would happen when I wrote the words the end after of all this. I think I thought fireworks would be in order, and champagne. Instead, I was alone in my flat on a Friday night, drinking beer and thinking holy shit. I didn’t cry - still haven’t - but I’m not sure all of this has really sunk in, yet, so.

So, what does this all mean? Well, it means that I’ve written a story and finished it. Not a novel, sure, but a story nonetheless, with some characters that were mine and some that I borrowed and it had a beginning, a middle and an end. That feels great. Amazing, in fact, like the top of the world. And yes, in a few years, months maybe, even, I’ll probably look back at this post and think I was full of shit and full of myself. Right now, though, it feels good. I’ve motherfucking done this, you know?

And I acknowledge the fact that there’s still a lot of work to do. Because everything I’ve mentioned I want to make better, want to rewrite (like chapter i, ugh), I’ll do. I’ll let the fic sit, for a while, but I’ve planned to go back to it in a few months (August or September, give or take) and edit. Because frankly, although I love this story to bits, I also know it has flaws. For better or for worse, I’m a perfectionist at heart, so I want to make it the best it can be. That being said, I am very proud of this, nonetheless.

So, yeah, if you’re interested, maybe click again and go back to reading Children this time next year, it’ll probably have changed a bit. If not, that’s alright, please, just don’t hold chapter i against me.

Lastly, again, I’d like to repeat my thanks. To @missmarthacostello for early-fic chats. To @asummerevening for later-fic chats. To everyone who’s read, commented and PM-ed me over the last months and to everyone who will hopefully read and comment and message me in the future. I owe you many. Again, if you have prompts, requests, feel free to PM me, I’m happy to try my best. And lastly, again, thanks to the wonderful @cursedandcharmed without whom, honestly, this would not have seen the light of day. As I said in my A/N, you listened to me rant for a year about something you were not reading and that took place within the universe of a show you were not watching. I can’t thank you enough for that.

So, there. I hope this was somewhat coherent. I honestly tried, to the best of my ability. This fic has taken up so many weekends and hours of my life these past few months that I am unsure as to what comes next, and what one does with so much time on their hands. Again, though, I’ll probably look back at this in a bit and think I was full of shit, so, there’s that.

Thanks again and whoever you are, if you’ve stuck around this long, you have all my love and admiration.

Best,

pebblysand.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

hunger - chapter 6

Hunger master post

The animal clinic is closed when Stiles sidles up to the door the next night. He knocks, and shoves his hands in his pockets while he waits. Scott opens the door a few minutes later, a grin splitting his face.

“Stiles! I’m really glad you came back, dude!” His expression falls. “I’m sorry about last time, with my mom.”

“S’okay.”

Scott lets him and the dog in, and locks the door behind them. That’s when Stiles realizes they aren’t Scott’s only visitors. Allison appears from behind the counter.

“Stiles!”

“Hey,” he says, and raises his eyebrows. “Am I interrupting something?”

They both go interesting shades of red.

“Uh, no,” Scott says at last. “Allison and I are working on a project, and we figured we could throw some ideas around while I cleaned up and fed the animals.”

“I also wanted to see the kittens,” Allison says, dimples appearing when she smiles. Stiles tries to picture her holding kittens, and figures his brain would melt with how fucking adorable that would be. A part of him wants to tell her that, to make a joke of it, but he doesn’t know her or Scott. Not really. He’s not their friend. He’s a kid who lives on the street. He’s a charity case, which is probably the best he can hope for. 

“Can I use the computer?” he asks, nodding at the one on the front counter.

“You can use mine again.” Allison offers, and tugs her slim laptop out of her bag.

“Thanks.”

Stiles sets up in the waiting room, sitting on the floor and using one of the chairs as a table. The dog flops down beside him and puts his head on his knee.

Allison and Scott leave them to it. Stiles is aware of them talking and laughing in the background. It’s nice, not to have to jump at every sound. It’s nice to be around people he’s not scared of. Scott reappears once and sets down a Tupperware container. Chicken sandwiches.

“Thanks, man,” Stiles says. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Scott’s answering smile falters a little, and Stiles figures he’s not used to that phrase being as literal as it is.

Stiles goes to the Beacon Herald website. He skims the front page story about some animal attack in the Preserve where some guy has been ripped apart by a mountain lion—Stiles will not be wandering out there again—and goes to their search function. Luckily the Herald isn’t one of those newspapers where everything online is behind a paywall. He gets four hits on Kate Argent’s name. Two are related to some incidents she attended—a big traffic crash last year, and the evacuation of the Beacon Hills mall because of a smoke hazard that turned out to be a malfunctioning air conditioner unit. The third hit is one of those soft community stories, where she went to the Kindergarten and gave the kids a talk about stranger danger. The fourth hit is talking about the four new officers employed by the Sheriff’s Department, after what the paper calls the recent corruption scandal.

The article is three years old.

Kate wasn’t a deputy when Stiles’s dad was Sheriff.

Okay. So that explains why he didn’t know her voice.

It doesn’t explain how someone planted those drugs in his office.

Stiles closes his eyes and breathes deep for a moment.

There were drugs found in his dad’s office, and drugs and money found at the house. The house would have been easy enough to break into, Stiles supposes. But his office at the Sheriff’s station? It had to be an inside job. One of the men or women that his dad worked with for years did that to him.

And apparently it wasn’t Kate Argent.

Or Jordan Parrish either. Stiles recognizes him as the earnest fresh-faced deputy from the diner. According to his smiling photograph in the Herald, he was hired at the same time as Kate Argent.

He opens another page and Googles Kate Argent. The links to the Herald are the top hits, and there’s not much in the rest. There’s no listing for her under the white pages or anything. Of course there isn’t. Cops don’t publish their addresses or phone numbers online.

There is a G. Argent in Beacon Hills though, and a C. & V. Argent. Stiles gets a piece of paper from the front desk and writes down their addresses and phone numbers. There’s also a Christopher Argent, probably the same person as C. Argent, who owns something called Argent Tactical Solutions.

From the back room, a ringtone blares out. A moment later, Stiles hears Allison.

“Oh my god, Dad, no! You don’t need to come in and meet Scott! I’ll come out when you get here, okay?” She steps out into the foyer, and rolls her eyes at Stiles. “Because we’re project partners, that’s all! Fine. I’ll see you then. Fine.” She ends the call. “My dad is being a total jerk lately.”

Stiles’s smile wavers, and his heart aches. My dad, he thinks, and wishes those words could fall from his mouth without somehow tearing a gaping hole in the universe. He wants a dad who is a jerk sometimes. He wants a dad who calls him on the phone. He wants a dad who sticks his nose into his business.

He wants a dad.

The dog nips at his fingertips gently.

“He’s coming to pick me up because my mom borrowed my car today, and apparently some guy gets eaten by a mountain lion in the middle of the woods, and my dad suddenly thinks the town is overrun with them.” She sighs. “Ugh.”

Stiles closes her laptop, and climbs to his feet. “It also sounds like he thinks you and Scott aren’t just study buddies.”

Allison gives him a cheeky smile, and lowers her voice. “Right? And if he scares him off too soon, there’s no way we’ll ever be anything more than study buddies!”

Stiles smiles, but he’s out of step with this conversation. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to play the part of a friend or a confidant. Of an equal. This is what this is, right? A confidence? An overture of friendship? Stiles has been to a lot of schools in the past four years, and met a lot of kids, but he’s always been the newcomer, the outsider, the kid who’s there one week and gone the next, forgotten.

Allison’s encouraging smile falters.

Stiles is out of step with friendship. He drops his gaze. He gives Allison her laptop back, and folds his piece of paper up and slips it into his shoe for safekeeping.

 ***

 The wolf pads back and forth in the waiting room of the clinic while Stiles finishes the sandwiches. The wolf is hungry too, but there are rats in the alley that will fill his belly later. His boy should eat now, if he won’t eat the rats later. The wolf wants his boy to be strong. He doesn’t want him to be sick again.

He pads back and forth, listening to his boy talking with Allison and Scott.

Listening to his boy’s heartbeat.

His ears prick when he hears a car outside.

It has a whine in the transmission.

Hunters.

 ***

 The headlights from the car arc across the walls of the waiting room.

“It’s my dad!” Allison announces. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Scott! See you, Stiles!”

She lets herself out the front door.

Scott waves at her. He’s wearing a goofy smile, as endearing at it is awkward, and Stiles thinks it’s lucky that Allison knows what she wants, because Scott is way too awkward to actually make a move.

The dog tugs at Stiles’s sleeve, growling as it tries to tug him away from the open door.

Stiles sees a black SUV parked outside. A man gets out of the driver’s side door as Allison approaches.

He’s in his forties, maybe, but he’s in good shape. Better shape than Stiles, probably. He’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that pulls tight across his chest as he moves. He has graying hair and a stern expression.

Stiles’s heart clenches.

It’s the man from the Preserve. The one with the tactical gear and the guns. The one who saw Stiles and the dog, and stared at them, before he stepped back into the line of trees.

It’s Allison’s dad.

At the moment his focus in on Allison. He’s watching her approach with a frown, like he doesn’t know what the hell she’s been up to tonight, but he doesn’t approve on principle. 

Stiles steps back from the door before the man sees him.

 ***

 “How do I know I’m not going crazy?” his boy asks as they walk back toward the alley behind the diner. “That’s a thing. Going crazy.”

The wolf’s ears flick as he listens for the hunter’s SUV, but he can’t pick the sound of it from the rest of the distant traffic noise. He and the boy stick to the back streets. A dog barks at them from behind a fence. A cat streaks across the road in front of them. The night smells like cars and people and decay.

“Once is an incident. Twice is a coincidence.” His boy exhales heavily and scrubs his knuckles over his head. “It’s twice. Just twice. Coincidence. Synchronicity. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

The wolf whines.

Hunter.

It means hunter.

But also, I might be going crazy.” His boy chews at the strings of his hoodie. “Might be making connections that aren’t there. Like with the phone call. What if it wasn’t her voice? What if it was just that she happened to say the same thing? It’s not a smoking gun, is it?”

The wolf huffs.

“But also, I shouldn’t ignore instinct, should I?” His boy spits the strings out. “I just need some proof first. Or a confession.” His expression darkens. “But also, she’s a cop. The chances of fucking this up and getting shot are, like, higher than I’d prefer.” He laughs, but the sound is sour.

The wolf growls low in his throat.

“I wish I could call him, you know?” His tone wavers, and his throat clicks as he swallows.

The wolf looks up into the sky. The moon is a tiny sliver of light, riding high above the gray wisps of cloud that trail across the sky. Death is walking with them, silent and pale-faced. She smells of ashes. She has walked so long beside him wearing Laura’s face that the wolf thinks he would mourn her if she left.

But he sees the path that he and his boy are on.

Death will not leave them.

“I have to act,” the wolf’s boy says. “ I have to act.”

The wolf nudges into his side as they walk.

“They lied to me.” His voice belongs to a younger boy now. To a child. “They said he could call me. They said I could visit. They said if I was good, then I could see him.” His mouth twists up. “But then they said, no, you got in a fight at school. No, your counselor says it’s not the right time. No, it will be too upsetting for you. So fuck them, right? Fuck them.”

The wolf whines.

“I just want my dad,” Stiles whispers, and his voice dissolves into tears.

The wolf walks beside him, head hanging.

He and the boy are pack, but they cannot fill all the spaces that their losses have left behind. The wolf’s loss, and the boy’s, has been made by a piercing wound in his heart. It will never heal. It will always ache. Both the wolf and the boy have learned how to breathe through the pain, but it is still there. It is as present as the moon, as the whisper of the wind, as death.

The wolf isn’t sure whose injury is worse. His pack is dead. Dead is gone forever. But his boy’s father? Alive, but kept away from the boy? The wolf understands the light in the boy’s eyes now. He understands the boy’s need to rend and tear, to burn the world down. All that rage, just waiting for a target.

And, he thinks, the boy is very close to finding one.

He will need a wolf at his side then.

The moon was right to lead the wolf to his boy.

The wolf, and death.