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lallemcnt · 5 years ago

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go ahead and watch my heart burn (part three)

TRIGGER WARNINGS! disclaimer (sensitive topics): this part includes mentions of and flashbacks of verbal and physical abuse towards a child. thoughts of wanting to hurt the self.

“What cannot be said 

will be wept.”

— Sappho

Kissing Eliott has become one of Lucas Lallemant’s favourite pastimes in the

last couple of weeks. He is still coming to terms with the idea that there is someone in this godforsaken world that likes him enough to share saliva with him. To share his breath and his taste. He hasn’t felt this content in a long time which has him on edge in the belief that something will go terribly wrong sooner rather than later, because that’s how the world liked to play with him. Eliott’s company seemed to quieten the anxiety, not entirely, of course, it simmered there, occasionally peeking up its head and waving a hand in Lucas’ face to remind him that all good things come to end. But being in Eliott’s presence made him think less about his constant worries, he felt a peace that was all about how he wanted to be around Eliott all the time, he wanted to touch him: hold his hand and kiss his fingers, hear him speak about the latest film he watched and loved, the pieces he’s working on for the exhibition; he insists on inviting Lucas to seem them, but Lucas wants to be surprised. Kissing Eliott has really addled his brain.

They are sitting on grass that has seen better days, in shorts and t-shirts, in a flower garden, with their tongues dancing in each other’s mouths, and ice cream that is dangerously close to falling out of their cones. Lucas draws back and when Eliott leans in for another soul-searing kiss, Lucas places his palm across Eliott’s mouth, pushing him away with a giggle. Instead, Lucas presses his lips to the smooth skin of his neck and is gifted with a shiver from Eliott. Lucas smiles, pleased, before licking his ice cream and then licking Eliott’s neck. When Eliott jerks back, raising a hand to touch his neck with a frown on his face and a confused yell of “what the hell”, Lucas is laughing and clutching his stomach, his ice cream slipping out of his hand and staining the grass a raspberry-pink.

Eliott glances at his own ice-cream covered hand and lunges towards Lucas smearing his hand across his forehead. Lucas tries in vain to avoid Eliott’s touch, shoving at his arms and chest, but Eliott is deceptively strong and he’s leaning over Lucas, pining his hands on the grass and shaking his own in amusement. “How are you so gorgeous and so nasty at the same time?”

Lucas’ cheeks are flushed and he is grinning widely. “If I’m so nasty I bet you won’t want to kiss me again,” he attempts to sit up again but Eliott’s hands are firmly holding him down. “Oh, well, I’ll just have to find another boy to fill that job.”

Eliott narrows his eyes playfully. “Oh, really?”

Lucas lets out a long sigh and stares Eliott dead in the eye. “I mean, it won’t be hard,” he gestures with his hand to the grass beside him. “since I have such a long line of boys wanting to date me.”

In a move out of Lucas’ book, Eliott roll his eyes and rolls over to lie down beside Lucas, releasing his wrists in the process. Their heads are turned towards each other and Eliott rests his palm against Lucas’ cheek, a bit sticky from ice cream. He brushes their noses together and sighs, contentedly. “You.” Is all he says.

Lucas reaches up to touch Eliott’s hair, it’s incredibly soft and fluffy, like a pillow of clouds. “How does your hair grow like that? All up and down and you know.” He flaps his hand around in way of speech.

Eliott imitates the action, letting out a confused laugh. “I don’t know.” He pecks Lucas on the lips.

“It looks like how a marshmallow feels.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” Lucas responds, entirely serious. He scoots closer to Eliott, resting his head in his neck as he wraps an arm around his back until there is no space between them. “How are you this comfy. I could legit lie here forever.” Sighing once more, closing his eyes against the sun, he suddenly feels the urge to cry because this is all he’s ever wanted: to feel safe and secure.

The tears must fall because Eliott says, “Hey?” And attempts to draw Lucas back so he can check he’s okay, but Lucas won’t budge. He’s clinging desperately to Eliott because he’s embarrassed at how emotional he has gotten all of a sudden. He doesn’t want to spoil the lovely day they have had.

“Hey.” Eliott repeats, stroking the back of Lucas’ head and clutching him in his arms in a solid embrace. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Lucas wants to wipe his cheeks but this embrace he is caught up in overpowers that desire tenfold. Eliott’s words play like a song on repeat in his head, and in the hold of his arms, Lucas begins to breath without tears, his arms loosen their hold slightly, and he’s suddenly exhausted. Eliott, feeling this, draws back and cups Lucas’ face in his hands, searching his face and making note of the tears. He uses his thumbs to wipe them away. He kisses Lucas on the tip of his nose and whispers once more, just to make certain it sinks in: “I’ve got you.”

Lucas closes his eyes for a second, letting the remainder of the tears fall, before blinking his big blues open to a face full of worry and love- he closes them once more, and when they open again Eliott is still there, but he does not look as worried anymore, just a bit concerned. Lucas wipes his nose against his sweater meanwhile Eliott is sitting up and asking: “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it.”

Lucas begins to shake his head as he mirrors Eliott’s position, becoming all too aware that they are in public, but the thought is there and then gone: insignificant. Lucas begins to shake his head, then stops. Looking down at his black vans, he answers, in a quiet voice. “I- I was feeling. Overwhelmed.”

There’s a few seconds of silence while Eliott muddles over his response. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you to do anything-” he starts.

“No!” Lucas interjects, shaking his head emphatically. “Seriously. I’ve just-” He pauses, almost choking on the words, because the thought of expressing how he’s feeling leaves him feeling raw. “I’ve never liked anyone like I do you. And I do, like you, that is. I know you’ve said it to me multiple times over the past couple of weeks and I want you to know it. That, I like you. Sorry, I kind of cry a lot? I’ve always been told that I’m too emotional, and just you holding me and letting me hug you like a monkey,” he laughs, nervously, wanting to stop because it’s too much, opening up like this, but he believes Eliott deserves to know that he is liked too. “I don’t know; it made me feel cared for.”

He wipes his nose again and picks up a wilting daisy from the dying grass.

“Lucas…” Eliott’s voice is quiet. “Lucas, come here.”

Lucas shakes his head slightly. He feels exposed. Ridiculously so.

Then Eliott is there, tilting Lucas’ face up to his, cupping his hands around his neck and there is wonder in his grey-green eyes.

“Fuck,” he chuckles as his own eyes take on a red sheen. “You are an absolute dream. And if you’re too emotional then so am I. I like you so fucking much.” He rests their foreheads together and they breathe. Just breathe in the intimacy of their own making.

“Please never apologise for expressing your emotions,” Eliott’s voice has turned gruff and it remains the most beautiful sound Lucas has ever heard. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We should probably get out of this flower garden; I think we’ve scandalised that old couple and their grandchildren.” As Eliott stands up and reaches out his hand for Lucas to glasp, which he does, Lucas looks over his shoulder at the aforementioned family and sees an old man shaking his head and an old woman, seated beside him holding her hand over the eyes of her two little grandchildren who are squirming to get out of her hold.

“Think we were being too gay for them?” Lucas asks, laughing once more, hand tucked safely in Eliott’s.

“That or us rolling around and kissing made them uncomfortable.”

When Lucas looks up at Eliott he has a pleased smile on his face, like he does not give a fuck if they were being too touchy-feely or being too gay, like he would do it all over again just to rub it in the old couple’s faces. Lucas decides it is definitely a good time to leave, determinedly leading the way to the exit while saying: “Simmer down, kitten. We don’t actually want to get kicked out.”

The park is manicured green lawns embellished with blooming flower beds of fuchsia and clementine. A colonial-style building stands at attention before a fountain where people lounge around with their feet dunked in water that is not the most clean but ultimately refreshing on a warm day such as this where everyone’s foreheads are touched by a slight finish of sweat. Lucas leads Eliott towards the fountain and looks at his phone to see it is almost at the next hour, right in time for the fountain to begin its fourth presentation of the day.

When it starts people yelp and dash out of the fountain — tourists, Lucas concludes. More daring individuals remain seated and get pelted with smooth streams of water in rapid succession, Lucas drop his arm from around Eliott’s waist, walking backwards towards the water display. He raises his eyebrows in challenge and licks his dry lips. Eliott, following Lucas tongue with his eyes raises his eyebrows in return and saunters towards Lucas. Putting himself in the line of fire, Lucas manages to duck behind Eliott just in time for him to act as a shield to the water. He looks at Eliott with innocent eyes as if to say oops and takes one step back, then another. Eliott pushes his wet hair back off his forward and stalks forwards, slowly. It’s like a game of chess, and Lucas has never been very good at it; walking backwards is not helping his case either as he has to keep looking over his shoulder to make sure there are no obstacles destined to trip him up.

It is during one of these glances over the shoulder that Eliott manages to cover the distance between them in a few strides and grab Lucas around the waist at the perfect moment to push him forward into a surge of fountain water. As Lucas splutters, yelling you dick! While pushing at Eliott’s hands, he manoeuvres himself just so Eliott is clinging onto his t-shirt and he shoves out of it as Eliott gets a face-full of water, and releases his grip. Lucas with his shirt around his neck runs, although it is not really freedom that he wants. He wants Eliott to catch him, grab him by the waist and kiss him. Kiss him until he cannot feel his toes, until fire is tearing through his body.

Removing his t-shirt, Lucas scans his eyes for Eliott, and they look eyes. He feels a heat pricking his stomach, the look Eliott is giving him. Fuck. He continues the game, walking backwards with a deliberately slow pace, and Eliott is there, right in front of him, reaching around Lucas with his long arms, and Lucas is shoving his scrunched up t-shirt at Eliott’s chest, smiling widely. Eliott’s arm draw him closer and Lucas places his hands on this beautiful boy’s biceps, looking up into his face. The anticipation is killing Lucas, his stomach is all a mess now and he’s nervous as hell, his mind is on a loop of kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me. Eliott’s eyes are roaming from blue eyes to pink, parted lips, making no move to initiate contact so Lucas does. He starts on his tip toes, brushing their mouths together, causing Eliott’s breath to hitch and Lucas consumes that breath as their lips slide together. It’s a wet kiss from all that water, but it provokes the fire in Lucas stomach ten degrees hotter. Eliott’s hands shift and roam the bare skin of Lucas’ back, stopping to trace his shoulder blades and the few raised moles that decorate his back like constellations.

They pull apart to catch their breath and then fall back into each other because they can’t get enough. This pull between them intensifies to infinity when they touch, and if they don’t stop, Lucas thinks, they’ll keep on going forever, and having sex in public is not something he’s keen on doing at the moment. When the kiss breaks again, Lucas runs both hands through Eliott’s hair until he’s cupping the back of his head. “We need to stop.” His heart skips eight beats at once, and he’s trying to catch his breath.

“I know.” Eliott’s hands flutter around to Lucas’ chest, delicately tracing his fingers across collarbones, down the centre of Lucas’ chest until he’s holding him by the waist. A heavy breath and a disappointed sigh later, Eliott and Lucas are holding hands, soaking wet and walking back to Eliott’s.

Despite certain situations causing it more than others, and so, one could assume there is a predictable nature to it, anxiety is anything but that. Lucas read a quote somewhere, it spoke about love, but resonated with him on another level, his anxiety attacks in rolling waves: “like the tide, but there is no schedule for it, no great silver moon to pull it in regular courses��. He knows what situations will most likely exacerbate it, but sometimes he has to plow ahead anyway, otherwise he’d never leave the house to see his friends or go to uni classes. Ever since he felt the first prickle of anxiety in his head at the age of fifteen, he’s been wondering where it comes from, and it was only when his dad left that he realised it could not be unconnected from his childhood.

Trauma is a big, scary word. For years Lucas was adamant that that word was too intense and serious for what he and his mother went through. Trauma was what people experience post-war whether they were the perpetrators or the victims of it. Being hit, and punched, and shouted at every day, being scared to come home, and walking on eggshells around his father, trying to say the right thing, that wasn’t like war. But as his conception of trauma expanded as he grew, he realised that while it was definitely serious and intense and big, trauma wasn’t something a person contracted, it wasn’t isolated to war. You could experience trauma from being in hospital, or watching a friend die, from being in a car crash, et cetera. Childhood abuse was an example of trauma, but Lucas was still unsure how this connected to him because he was never triggered by anything. Sure, some situations such as a parent shouting at their child on the bus or a child abuse storyline on a tv show brought up memories of his father, and he would cry about it sometimes, and laugh about it other times, because it was painful and sometimes the only way to get through a spell of flashbacks is to laugh.

This is why when Lucas is home alone one evening after a day spent having out with Eliott and le gang, he is scared shitless. He spirals. He’s alone and he wishes he weren’t. He has never been triggered before, so when he’s watching a thriller and the mother slaps her daughter across the face calling her every derogatory name under the sun, then proceeds to kick her, he is not expecting the feelings that overcome him. He is not expecting the need to pause the film, to turn the screen off. But he does it and then he’s there, back when he was seven.

Desperate for the toilet, he’s been holding it for the past twenty minutes and he’s ready to burst. His father, dark brown hair cut short, is in the front seat driving and telling him he has to wait, that they will be there soon, but Lucas is desperate, his stomach ballooning, and he knows that if the car wheels hit one more bump he will wet himself. He is more scared about how his father will yell at him, most likely hit him several times, than he is about wetting himself. They are on their way to Yann’s football birthday party and he’s nervous about going because he doesn’t know everyone who will be there and he can’t possibly go in after having wet himself. So he prays, even though he’s not religious and none of his family are, he prays to not wet himself, to hold it in for just another few minutes. But their car hits something on the road and it’s over for him. He’s weeing on his chair, and it’s dripping to the floor and his father is cursing him out saying: “What the fuck! What have you done, you disgusting boy. You’re seven years old, not a goddamn baby” and his face is turning red and he’s slamming his hands on the horn and because once he starts he can’t stop, he’s yelling: “How did I end up with the most stupid son, he can’t even hold his own piss in. You are disgusting, do you hear me?” And then they are there, at the shopping centre where Yann’s party is being held and his father is slamming his car door shout, stalking around the front of the car, yanking Lucas’ belt off, grabbing him roughly my the arms — hard enough that there will be bruises later — and pulling him out of the car. He’s grunting and wrinkling his nose, it smells, Lucas knows, he hates himself, he wants to punch himself in the face, because his father is right, he is disgusting. He’s an embarrassment, a piece of shit like his father has called him so much times he cannot count. His father is making him change in the parking lot, out of his clothes, so he’s standing there in the cold, naked and shivering, with wee dripping down his leg, it has filled up his shoes and his father is shoving Lucas’ face into his piss-soaked shoes, and he’s crying and crying and crying.

Lucas would often receive ten hits on the hand if he left a piece of school uniform at school, if he got a tiny bit of paint on his shirt in art class, if he left his spelling book at school. He remembers getting hit across the face at sixteen for loosing his watch at school, being called the c word and boxed about the ears for forgetting to wash up the dishes before his father got home from work. Shoved up against a wall, face pinched in his father’s hand because he talked back to him. Anything could set his temper off; it was almost like he thrived off of being angry because he would always find something to blame Lucas for.

Now he is curled up in his bed, mind consumed by that one memory, thinking what he did to deserve it, all of it. How a parent can treat their child that way. He believes that there are people who should never have children and his father was one of them. What he hates most is that he still loves him. Despite all the utter shit and pain he put Lucas through, he would knock on his door in the evening, come in and hug Lucas, stroke his hair and say: “I love you, you know that, right? I only say it because I care about you. I know I get angry, too angry, sometimes and I’m sorry. I only get this angry because I love you so much.” And Lucas was fooled every single fucking time.

He lays there, frustrated and angry and ashamed. The truth is, he never even thought of telling anyone about it when he was younger. It never even crossed his mind. Subconsciously he knows it was because he loved his dad and he didn’t want him to be taken away or for himself to be sent to live with strangers. Parents equal security. They are the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, no matter what. That was how it was supposed to be. Simple really. It wasn’t until his dad left, was forced to leave, that he considered telling people: Yann being one of them. Every time he tried to bring it up, his throat would close up, they couldn’t get past those channels in his throat. He couldn’t force them out no matter how hard he tried. He imagined a weight being lifted off his shoulders, walking around feeling lighter, but apparently that was no incentive because the words refused to be spoken aloud. It wasn’t for a while until he realised that he was ashamed of what had happened to him, ashamed to still love the man who could be so cruel. Ashamed that he had let this happen to himself.

Lucas screams into his pillow until his throat is raw, he scratches at his face in frustration. Then he shoves his pillow over his head and burrows until his duvet, blocking all the light from entering, a black hole of his own making. It’s been years, how can he still be so sad about this. He wishes his mum would come home right then and curl up around him, kiss his forehead and tell him she loved him. He was to scream so loud that everyone in the city will hear him and come running. But his throat is raw and he is exhausted and he wants to sleep forever. He’s crying, loud sobs wrack his dog-tired body.

He yearns to call Eliott, to unload all his problems, to describe and explain his anxiety, to talk about his father. He wants to confide in him, but they’re not even officially dating, they haven’t defined their situation, and Eliott doesn’t deserve to see this side of Lucas and all the trouble it comes with, he deserves more than Lucas will ever be able to give him. The last thing he wants to be is a burden, a problem, a leech on Eliott’s happiness.

Lucas clicks on their chat anyway and suddenly he’s calling Eliott, needing to hear his voice. There’s rustling on the other end, the sound of music, and a door closing before Eliott’s voice says, “Lucas?”

Lucas doesn’t respond.

“Lucas?” Concern creeps into Eliott’s voice, Lucas feels guilty. He should just hang up, he will hang up…in a few seconds.

“I- Sorry, I misdialled.” He lies, wincing at the sound of his voice, hoarse, and wrong.

“What’s going on?”

“Um.” His voice croaks and he grits his teeth in annoyance.

“Are you home? I’m coming over.”

Lucas rushes to reassure him, he can’t see him like this, all pathetic and feeling sorry for himself. “No, really. I meant to call someone else. I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t sound okay. Please. Let me come over. We don’t have to talk or anything, let me know you’re okay. Let me see you. Please.”

The sincerity in Eliott’s voice cuts at Lucas. He’s weak, he’s feeling sorry for himself, and he wants to feel loved, so he complies. He remains huddled up in his duvet-made cave and is thankful he didn’t lock the door when he came in because he doesn’t think he has the energy to move an inch.

That’s how Eliott finds him thirty minutes later, and only the sound of his door creaking open alerts Lucas to his presence. Only now is he fully regretting calling Eliott, he clenches his fists in anger, and squeezes his eyes tight shut. All noise is muted to Lucas under his duvet but he recognises the tell-tell noise of a zip and feels when Eliott sinks onto the bed next to him. At first he just lies there next to Lucas as if unsure of what to do exactly, if he should be giving Lucas space, if that’s enough to comfort him. Five minutes later he draws back the duvet just until Lucas’ head emerges and moves so it is tucked under his own chin, one arm under his own head and the other wrapped around Lucas.

The silence begins to grate at Lucas, he can feel himself becoming irritated so he asks in his raw voice, “Music?”

A lift of an arm, a shuffle and then a faint piano melody fills the room. Lucas wants to leave forward and rest his head on Eliott’s chest, but he’s not in an affectionate-giving mood so he lets Eliott fill that role. Allows him to be cradled in his duvet burrito like a child. Allows Eliott to play with his hair and to pick the music when the song ends. Eliott doesn’t ask about the red marks on Lucas’ face, he doesn’t ask why Lucas was in bed at five p.m. He doesn’t ask.

After an hour of this Lucas speaks once more, voice less hoarse, annoyed with himself because when did he ever stop feeling sorry for himself. “You don’t have to be here. I’m seriously fine, I’m just tired and I overreacted.”

They are facing each other at eye level, not touching. Eliott looks unconvinced, a frown pulling his mouth into a downward tilt, lines appearing across his forehead. “I want to be here.”

“I mean it. I am okay.”

Ignoring this, Eliott asks. “What happened?”

Am I seriously going to cry again? I’m a fucking basket-case.

“You can talk to me. No judgement, I mean it. If you just want me to listen and not say anything I can do that too. You don’t need to carry whatever it is alone. No matter what it is.” He’s staring into Lucas’ eyes the entire time. There’s no trace of a smile, no trace of the Eliott he has come to know. This boy is new and serious.

“I know we’ve only been together for a short period of time; I know everything feels like it’s going fast, but it also feels just…right? It feels like, and this is going to sound cheesy,” his voice is anything but cheesy, it has retained its serious tone, but it’s calm. “The atoms that make up our bodies were born from the same star. I’m not going anywhere, unless you want me to leave, I will stay here with you. I promise.”

It takes him seconds or minutes or hours to speak and it’s like he’s vomiting these words out because he can’t stop once he’s started. He feels the pure rage in his voice, the pain and the shame, and Eliott is there through it all,.Lucas can’t really look him in the eye so he can’t tell how he’s taking it, except for when Lucas is describing the particularly gruelling times he met his father’s belt or the corner of a dresser and he feels Eliott’s hands flex. He isn’t quite sure why he has been able to express this to Eliott who he’s known for less than month and not his best friend of ten years, it feels almost wrong, his loyalty to Yann yanking at him, but that’s ridiculous. He knows it is ridiculous. Who knows why he was able to confess, because that’s how it feels, to Eliott, like a confession. There is a lightness that comes with unveiling well-kept secrets. Though, it is a double-edged sword because he has given Eliott numerous reasons to bolt, and he hasn’t even told him about his anxiety yet, but he’s on a roll now and the need to tell outweighs any fear in this moment.

“It’s hard to explain, especially for people who don’t have the disorder, because, yes, everyone gets anxious at times, it’s normal, but not everyone has anxiety. And it’s different for everyone who has it. I’ve had it be dismissed and seen as insignificant by so many people. I’ve been to just stop worrying and to relax as if I enjoy conjuring stupid fucking scenarios in my head, like I enjoy thought spirals that always end up in me being financially unstable and homeless by the time I’m thirty. Or people have it worse than you, because I know. I know my life is bliss compared to others but I don’t decide to be like this. And being told to be rational is the most frustrating thing because it’s not rational and I know that…I fucking know that.”

It is not until he has finished speaking that he feels the sting in his palms, his fingers having dug into his palms as he spoke. As he brings them up to cover his face, Eliott intercedes, drawing them to his own mouth and kissing the back of Lucas’ hands then he turns them over and presses quick kisses to each palm — communicating through touch instead of words. I see you, I hear you.

Lucas sighs, tucking his head into his chin. Eliott moves, as if pulled by cosmic forces, as if the atoms of his body are really connected to the atoms of Lucas’, he tucks his own chin around Lucas’ head and they lie there, still, but breathing, but alive with soft brass instrumental music playing in the background. A tune dedicated to this moment of revelations and secrets and revelations.

What no one tells you, and what Lucas has learned, is that as you grow older the pain stays with you, it may not be there every day but that is because you learn how to manage it, you learn to suffer in a graceful manner constantly moving, never stopping to indulge it, because coming face to face with it would mean letting it tear you apart, piece by piece. That is what Lucas has learned, and he doesn’t know it yet but one day he will starting to wonder if he got it all wrong, if there is another way. He will wonder how he always saw the abuse of others as the fault of the abuser not the abused and why he never applied that same philosophy to himself, that he didn’t let it all happen to him. He will learn that he isn’t to blame.

“You’re not alone.” Eliott whispers.

#elu fic #elu #skam france #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #mine #go ahead and watch my heart burn

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artificialqueens · 6 years ago

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Just the Game We’re In - Chapter 12 (Ortega

a/n: I have honestly no idea how to start this off, and I’m aware I’m not accepting a fucking Oscar, so I’ll try to keep this as short as possible. Back in the summer of 2016, there was a crossover fic challenge posted to this blog. I was in the process of finishing MasP and, as someone who fucking loved The Thick Of It and knew how well Bianca would fit as Malcolm Tucker, I posted chapter 1 of what started as a lighthearted, funny Politics AU, Just the Game We’re In. Fast forward nearly three fucking years, me graduating from uni and getting a job, countless long-ass fuckin update gaps and 179,065 words later, this is the final chapter, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do with my life now!! I know I’m not the first person to ever finish a fic in this blog’s history, i ain’t special sis, but I really do want to say thank you thank you thank you to anyone who has ever given any chapter of this a note, reblogged it with something lovely, made fucking fanart or a moodboard (still in awe at that), has read any part of it, or has simply been a friend I’ve made through the writing process. It would be criminal not to specially mention @purecamp- she has without a doubt been Game’s biggest cheerleader throughout it all and legit I may not have even finished this if it wasn’t for her. She is a fantastic person and an amazing friend. I’ll sound like a wet wipe, but Game has legit changed my life. When I was little my dream was to be an author and I loved writing stories. I had never expected my writing to get much of a response when I joined AQ but I can safely say that this blog has been so so amazing and has really allowed me to live my childhood dream of writing a story that people actually wanted to read (this is the definition of cheesy). I’ll shut up now, but here she is everyone. As always lmk what u think over at artificialortega, I tried so hard to make it the most absolutely perfect ending. Chapter 12 of Game, the final chapter. It has been some fuckin wild ride. Xxxxxxxxx

(p.s. phi phi ur a babe im sorry i made u the opposition in this fic and i know u don’t have shitty opinions like game phi phi)

The street was silent. Time had seemed to freeze completely, and even the sound of the car speeding away seemed to be on mute. Perhaps it was just the overwhelming ringing in Willam’s ears that drowned everything else out, which sounded eerily akin to a flatline.

Willam could only blink and feel her heartbeat through her chest, cruelly taunting her and reminding her that Sharon, lying on the concrete, might not have had that privilege. Was she moving? Was she bleeding? Was she alive?

It felt as if Willam stood there frozen for minutes but it was probably only seconds, as all at once she felt herself walking forward, two slow steps and then breaking out into a sprint where she skidded to a halt beside Sharon’s body.

Fuck, no, not her body, Willam thought. Beside Sharon. Sharon, the living human being.

“Sharon,” Willam felt her voice come out as nothing more than a hoarse, panic-induced whisper. She looked at the woman in front of her. Willam was relieved to find that there weren’t any horrific, horror-movie style streams of blood pissing out of her. Suddenly she remembered the phrase she’d gleaned from many hours of her Mum watching Casualty, “internal bleeding”, and her heart grew cold. There were some huge scratches on her head which were already taking on the greenish hue of a bruise underneath, and the friction of her body on the tarmac had ripped open the light Summer jacket Sharon had been wearing and opened a deep gash on the arm which sat ugly and unmoving, a stagnant red against her pale skin.

Her leg was bent at a gruesomely impossible angle.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Willam hissed, shock pulsing through her like a thousand volts as she grabbed her phone from her jacket pocket and grew frustrated as it clung to the material and wouldn’t seem to budge. After some fierce tugs it finally emerged. Willam fumbled with her passcode two times then succeeded in opening her phone, and with shaky fingers she dialled 4 9s, deleted one, and hit the call button.

It rang once, then twice, then again. The ringing continued. Willam’s panic increased tenfold. How often do you need to phone 999 in your life, and when you finally do they don’t fucking pick up the phone?

Finally, the voice of the operator came down the line.

“999, which service do you require?”

“Ambulance, please,” Willam breathed out, the scared tone in her voice and the small, polite plea at the end making her feel as if she was about 5 years old.

“And the address please?”

Willam looked around, panic consuming her every movement and rendering her unable to see clearly. “We’re outside the Crown and Anchor in Chiswick, I don’t know the road name, um-”

“Can you see any road signs at all?”

Willam found her gaze focussing on a street sign a little further along the road. “Um. Belmont Road, I think? I’m sorry, I can’t-”

“Don’t worry, love, we’ve got it,” the voice replied soothingly, making Willam feel more like a child than ever. “And can you describe what’s happened at all?”

“My friend,” Willam began, then was suddenly cut off by a sob that unexpectedly welled up and burst in her throat, causing two tears to spring from her eyes. “She’s been hit by a car, it just came along from nowhere and it didn’t stop, she rolled right over it.”

“Your friend’s been hit by a car? Okay, my love. And you’re saying the car didn’t brake?”

“No,” Willam gasped, her breathing becoming more and more erratic as she sobbed. Fuck, where had all this crying come from?

“Was the car moving quickly?”

Willam frowned. It had been so long since she’d driven it was hard to give an estimate. “It seemed to be going pretty fast but I couldn’t say how much, sorry.”

There was a short pause. Willam looked at Sharon lying below her, then in panic around her as she realised she was still on the road. “I’m not being rude but is the ambulance coming?”

“Don’t worry, love, I know it can be hard when you’re waiting for someone to arrive. The ambulance has been dispatched, don’t panic. Keep talking to me. Is your friend conscious?”

Willam instantly turned to Sharon. “Sharon?” she shook her shoulder, lifted up an eyelid. “Sharon? Fuck, I don’t think so.”

“Don’t think so. Okay. Is she breathing?”

Willam knelt close to her chest and rested her hand on her heart. She felt the gentle rise and fall of her chest and wanted to cry with relief. “Yes.”

“Still breathing, okay. And you said the patient’s name was Sharon?”

“Yeah, Sharon Needles,” Willam stuttered, momentarily worried about the headlines then cursing herself for the priorities she automatically had.

“Is she bleeding?” the call carrier continued, seemingly not the least bit fazed by the famous invalid.

“She’s got a massive big cut on her arm, but nothing else major. Um…some scratches here and there? I don’t know what’ll need stitches or not…fuck, fuck,” Willam breathed, the seriousness and reality of the situation hitting her all over again. “We’re still on the road, should I move her?”

“No, don’t move her, love. There could be broken bones which might be made worse if you do.”

Willam sighed, taking Sharon’s hand absent-mindedly. The small gesture almost broke her heart and reminded her of how things used to be. Maybe everything would be different if she’d never accepted Sharon’s offer of drinks, this may never have happened. She sighed in exasperation as she suppressed another sob. “Is the ambulance nearby?”

“I’m sorry love, it’s on its way. I know the questions can be annoying but everything we get we pass on to the paramedics-”

“She’s my friend,” Willam said softly, bringing her other hand up to stroke Sharon’s cheek.

“I know, love, we’re doing all we can at this end. Can you describe your friend for me? Age, gender, nationailty?”

The questions seemed to go round in a circle. They were endless, and Willam could feel herself growing more and more irate as the minutes seemed to tick by. Finally, after what seemed like hours, an ambulance slowly drew to a halt on the opposite side of the road to Willam. She immediately hung up on the operator and sprinted to the paramedics who were on their way over to Sharon.

“Hello there!” one greeted her, as natural and cheerful as if she’d just asked him about the weather. “Right, so this is our patient over here. What’s her name?“

Everything passed on to the paramedics my ass, Willam cursed under her breath, then spoke. “It’s Sharon. She was hit by a car.”

“Hello, Sharon, love!” the other paramedic greeted her, lifting her eyelids and shining a small torch into them. “Can you hear us, Sharon?”

Willam wanted to hiss at them that they’d get more conversation out of Helen Keller but she remembered that she wasn’t in Dosac any more, she wasn’t at work, she was lying on a road with her friend crumpled in a heap and no matter how incompetent these people seemed, they were there to help her.

“No response. Okay, grab the gurney.”

What followed this may as well have been another language as the two paramedics spoke in terrifying terminology about IV drips, lacerations and bone fractures. The man brought out a huge metal trolley that Sharon was lifted up onto after some form of yellow styrofoam-looking cast was placed around her mangled leg and another one was placed around her head. As she was carried into the ambulance, Willam, who had been silent for some time save for answering the paramedic’s questions, spoke up.

“Can I, um. Can I come with you in the ambulance?”

‘Of course you can, darling,” the female paramedic smiled at her. Willam momentarily wondered why NHS staff seemed to speak solely in pet names. “What’s your name, love?”

“Willam.”

“Willam, okay. And you are Sharon’s…?”

Willam paused for a beat. “I’m her best friend.”

“Bestie, aw that’s nice. So you were out for some drinks when this happened then, yeah? Girls night out?”

“Something like that,” Willam sighed, climbing the steps up to the back of the ambulance then sitting in the small chair at the end of the vehicle and putting her seatbelt on. Sharon sat in the silver trolley opposite her already hooked up to various machines. Symbols and numbers flashed on a small screen, none of which Willam could tell was good or bad.

“Okay, seatbelt on,” the woman instructed her, sitting down in her own seat herself. “We’ll be at the hospital in no time. Once we’re there, we’ll-”

Willam barely heard her as her mind began to drift away, and all she could focus on were the sirens attached to the ambulance that seemed so far away. That all-too-familiar sound that she recognised from streets and junctions was her and Sharon, the pair of them racing through central London in an ambulance.

Soon enough they arrived at the hospital, and Sharon was being wheeled out of the ambulance, down a ramp and straight into the building. Willam followed awkwardly behind, past people in wheelchairs and others in beds hooked up to various beeping machines and parked, or perhaps abandoned, in corridors. The male paramedic turned to her suddenly as Sharon was wheeled behind a curtain.

“I’m sorry- she can’t have anyone with her at the moment.”

Willam frowned, helpless. “But-”

“She’s in good hands, I promise,” he smiled at her, his gentle eyes reminding her of a long-dead Grandpa she had loved dearly and making her want to cry all over again. His face turned conspiratorial as his eyes shifted around. “Look you shouldn’t really, but if you go to that desk over there you’ll get taken to a relative’s room. It’s not much but it’ll be a quiet room with a kettle and a sofa and a phone and it’ll be a hell of a lot better than sitting stressed in the waiting room.”

Willam gazed over at the desk in question, opposite which were hordes of people waiting to be seen- some looked fine, some had huge wads of kitchen roll wrapped around cuts, there were a couple of drunk men singing football chants and a child with a toy stuck to their foot. Definitely not ideal company.

“Thanks,” Willam summoned up a smile to return to the man.

“That’s alright. I know you must have had a stressful evening,” he said sincerely, frowning.

Willam nodded to him. “It’s appreciated, um…”

“Mattheiu,” the paramedic smiled, holding out a hand for her to shake. She took it gently, thanked him for perhaps the third time, and made her way to the desk where she answered a few questions in a daze and then got shown to a small room, just as Matthieu had described- small, windowless, with dim lights and a single sofa and a little tray with a kettle, teabags, coffee and a pot of milk. There was a landline phone too, and Willam wanted to laugh at it before she checked her phone and realised she had no signal.

She sat on the sofa and took one deep, shuddery breath. What would happen now? Should she have phoned the police too? Willam hadn’t known what to do, but at least Sharon was being taken care of now. She hoped to God she would be okay. Willam thought hard. What had the car looked like? Silver. Or was it black? Fuck, she couldn’t remember. Number plate? Willam was fucked if she knew. This was terrible. If the police did arrive she would be about as much use as a bottle of Becks at an AA meeting. Something inside Willam questioned whether the whole thing had been an accident. It was easily enough explained- or what if it had been planned? Anyone who ran someone over would have stopped and got out and checked to see if the person was okay, surely? Maybe it was someone who felt too guilty to stop, who was too terrified in case they got convicted- or maybe it was somebody who was satisfied they’d completed what they’d set out to do. What if they’d charged the wrong person for the death threats? What if they had still been at large the whole time?

Willam sighed. Her head was too full, and it was killing her not being able to talk the situation out with anybody. Suddenly, it struck her that people would need to know what had happened. Two people in particular, Willam thought- one in particular that probably hated her but who would come into the hospital to sit with her, and to be with her. After all, she still cared about Willam, she had said so herself. The second was worse, but she still needed to be here. Willam knew she would immediately come in, no matter how bad things had been between her and the woman currently lying on a hospital trolley. She needed to know before it got into the press, and Willam had horrific visions of one of them finding out from a BBC News 24 notification.

Her professional brain urged her to phone Bianca first, and Willam growled at it angrily as she picked up the landline, looked in her contacts, and dialled the number of the first woman in question. She could have been apprehensive or afraid, but not right now. Right now she was afraid of something much worse, and it wasn’t on the other end of the phone.

Courtney picked up after four rings. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me,” Willam began, her stomach sinking at having to do this over the phone.

“Willam…it’s two in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you’d still be awake.”

Courtney’s voice wasn’t harsh or reprimanding as Willam had expected. It was as if she knew that something was up. Sure enough, the Australian accent came down the line again. “Willam, what’s happened?”

Willam felt her blood run cold. She didn’t want to have to bear the news. “Sharon’s in hospital.”

“Oh fuck.”

“She was run over by a car,” Willam said, completely unsure of where the conversation went from here.

“Oh Jesus. Is she okay? Fuck, sorry, what a stupid question,” Courtney’s voice was apologetic, and Willam could hear commotion on the other end of the line, and snuffling.

“Courtney, don’t be upset. It’s okay, it’ll be alright,” Willam found herself comforting the girl on the end of the phone, annoyed that there wasn’t much else she could do.

“Are you at the hospital now? Can I come in?” Willam could hear Courtney struggling with something down the line, perhaps a coat or a pair of shoes.

“Yeah, please. We’re at Charing Cross Hospital. Phone me when you’re outside- no, shit, I’ve got no reception. Just tell me how long you’ll be and I’ll go and wait at the main entrance for you.”

Courtney gave a small, helpless sigh. “Fuck, I don’t know, I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait for a taxi at this time of night.”

“Courtney, you live in London,” Willam said, unable to help herself as she snorted a small giggle.

“Fuck. Right,” Courtney matched her laughter, which quickly turned into a sob. “Fuck. Um, half an hour?”

“Okay. See you then,” Willam sighed, her heart hurting at Courtney’s panic. “Courtney, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry. She’s safe now.”

“Right,” Courtney replied with a sniff, which didn’t inspire any confidence in Willam. “See you then.”

With that, Courtney was gone. Willam deflated on the sofa, letting out what seemed to be all the air in her lungs.

That had been hard enough. Now for the phone call she really didn’t want to have to make.

***

Willam had decided to wait at the entrance a little earlier than she said she’d be, just in case Courtney was early too. Part of her was anxious about leaving the relatives room, in case somebody arrived with news about Sharon, but she’d said she would meet Courtney at the door. As she stood in the chilly night air, she watched as cars and taxis pulled up and people came and went, the hospital just as busy as it probably was during the daytime. Health didn’t sleep or take a rest, thought Willam, and she supposed anything could happen to anyone at any time. Life was scary, she pondered, and mortality was so fragile.

As she was wondering, she was suddenly distracted by a sudden, harsh pounding of footsteps on the pavement, and somebody sobbing. Willam looked up and saw Alaska running from a taxi and straight towards her. If it had been any other situation, Willam would have laughed- Alaska was wearing trainers on her feet paired with huge fluffy bedsocks, her outfit consisted of Winnie The Pooh pyjama bottoms and a huge, baggy hoodie, probably pulled on over her pyjama top. A huge parka topped off the look, and Alaska’s face was red and blotchy with puffy eyes which had tears streaming from them.

As Alaska finally reached Willam, she flung her arms around her in a hug and the girl’s body was racked with sobs. Willam sighed, muttering soft, calming words and rubbing Alaska’s back in circles. It had been a horrendous phone call even though it hadn’t lasted long- Alaska, just like Courtney, sensed something had been up, even to the extent that she’d known something had happened to Sharon. She had immediately broken down in tears, but Willam had hardly had time to say anything comforting to her before she was gone, presumably to phone a taxi.

“Is she okay?” Alaska squeaked out in between shudders and sobs. Willam gave her a squeeze.

“She’s in good hands. They’ve not given me an update but I think she’ll be okay. She was still breathing when I was with her so that’s a good sign.”

Alaska broke away from the hug slightly, horror on her face. “Oh my God, you were there? What happened?”

Willam sighed, not wanting to relive it all. “We had been for a drink and we were literally just saying goodbye. Sharon was crossing the road and we were mucking about, she was sort of walking across it really slowly. She stopped and paused in the middle of it and then the car just came at her.”

“She stopped in the road?” Alaska whispered. Willam could see her mind was going at around a thousand miles an hour.

“Alaska, it was 1am. The streets were dead.”

“But surely you could hear the car coming? Fuck, Willam, why didn’t you stop her or push her out of the way or something?” Alaska said, growing frustrated. Then, seeing Willam’s hackles immediately raising at the accusation, she stopped. “Sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, Willam, it wasn’t your fault, none of it was your fault. Fuck, it’s such a mess.”

Alaska began to cry again and Willam pulled her back into a hug. As she started to calm down, Willam took her hand and squeezed it.

“I’ve been put in a relative’s room- nobody’s updated me about Sharon yet but then I’ve only been here for 20 minutes. Why don’t we go inside and see if there’s been any progress?” she summoned a smile for her friend, not yet letting go of her hand. She led Alaska back into the hospital, past the initial shopping-centre facade of coffee shops and WH Smiths that lined the entrance hall and staved off the horrors of the fact that they were in an actual fucking hospital- a place where people bled and suffered and died, and Willam hated it.

She had only just managed to find her way back to the relative’s room and get a snuffling Alaska sat on the couch when a doctor who seemed entirely too young in an all-too-stereotypical white coat entered. Willam could have laughed at how much of a parody everything seemed, until the doctor spoke.

“Hello, ladies. I’m Dr Hall, I’ve been put in charge of Sharon for the time being,” he stuck out his hand, Willam following suit and shaking it while Alaska was unable to rise from the couch.

“I’m Willam, that’s Alaska. She’s Sharon’s girlfriend,” she responded as she shook. Semantics could get fucked for now- Alaska cared like a girlfriend, cried like a girlfriend and worried like a girlfriend so for the moment, that was who she was to Sharon.

“Good to meet you both. I’ve just been in triage with Sharon and I’ve done an initial assessment with the head nurse. It’s hard to say until we run some more thorough tests, but for the moment we believe Sharon has sustained a number of injuries and she’ll be in the ICU for her time here.”

There, the doctor paused as if to take in the reactions of the girls in front of him. Willam had been aware of a cry from Alaska, but she was motionless and felt completely sick. “Injuries like what?”

“Well, we’re certain she’s broken her leg. That’s straightforward enough and we’ll be able to fix that. She also has a laceration on her right arm that will need stitched up, but everything else seems to be internal. Her breathing is very laboured so we think there could be some sort of fracture to her ribs or alternatively a traumatic pneumothorax, what you and I would refer to as a punctured lung.”

Alaska gave a gasp as Willam took all of the information in. She knew Sharon was hurt, but she didn’t realise just how bad it was, as silly as it sounded.

“Apart from that, we’ll need to get her a CT scan to assess whether or not there’s any internal bleeding or any other fractures or breakages,” he continued, his face softening as his eyes settled on Alaska. “I’m very sorry, I know how hard this must be for you both.”

“Can we see her?” Alaska asked softly, her eyes filled with tears. Willam let a small breath go.

“Alaska, you heard him. Sharon will be waiting to go for scans just now, she’s not in a fit state for us,” Willam sat down next to her friend and pulled her close. Exhaustion seemed to overcome Alaska and her sobs fell quiet, choosing to look intently at the floor instead. Willam turned to address the doctor. “When can we see her, though?”

“It’s hard to say. Once she’s had her scans she might need to go into theatre and if so, she’ll be waiting for that. When she’s done, we’ll give her a room and you can go and see her. Until then you’re welcome to use this room as your base, and if you need me at all then please feel free to ask at reception for me,” Dr Hall smiled gently, nodding to the two women as he left the room and closed the door silently.

Once he was gone, silence filled the small room. Willam stood up slowly.

“Lask, I’m going to need to head back outside. I said I’d pick up Courtney. Are you going to be okay here?”

The other woman wordlessly nodded. Despite the uneasy feeling in her chest, Willam knew she had to go outside to see if Courtney was there.

As she walked back to the same spot where she’d met Alaska, thoughts swirled around her mind and poured over the top of each other like a whirlpool. A punctured lung, internal bleeding. All of it was so horrible. Willam couldn’t help but imagine the worst, and her stomach felt so tight and sick.

She didn’t have to walk all the way back outside, as she found Courtney as she turned into the small shopping area. She was leaving the little M&S food (capitalism at its worst, Willam thought, putting arguably the most expensive supermarket in a hospital so people have no other choice but to buy from them) with a small shopping bag and her face, similar to Alaska’s, was red and tear-stained. She was dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans and trainers but her hair was still curled neatly, indicative of her date just hours before.

She’d probably been having such a good night, Willam thought, and I’ve ruined it.

“Courtney,” Willam called her over, the other girl’s head turning at the mention of her name. Selfishly, Willam’s heart lifted at the brief light that shone in Courtney’s eyes when she saw her. As if everything that had happened between them had been forgotten, Courtney hurried forward and wrapped her arms around Willam in a hug. Willam could feel her breathing deeply as she sighed and her mind cruelly taunted her, the image of a rib piercing through Sharon’s lung springing to mind involuntarily even though she knew that wasn’t how a punctured lung worked. For a moment they both stood still in each other’s arms, the two women simply needing held, one anchoring the other.

Courtney pulled away first, like Willam knew she would. She fixed her red eyes on Willam’s and her face was full of concern. “How is she, Willam?”

“Doctor was just in, they’re doing a scan on her now but they think she’s got a punctured lung and maybe internal bleeding. She’s broken her leg and the road sliced her arm open too. She could have fractured or broken more bones but they don’t know yet,” Willam sighed, unable to break Courtney’s gaze. The other woman looked sick as she glanced down the corridor. Willam could see she was looking at all the different horrifying hospital signs, each as cryptic and foreboding as the last.

“Oh God, it’s horrible. Absolutely fucking horrible,” she said softly, shakily breathing in.

“She’ll be in the ICU once they’ve finished with her, but we don’t know how long that’ll be. Alaska’s here, and they’ve given us a room to wait in,” Willam explained, as she began to walk slowly forward, gently encouraging Courtney to follow.

Courtney walked a couple of steps silently, then gave a panicked laugh. “I’m an idiot. I just went and panic-bought a ton of hospital shit for Sharon. I doubt it’ll be much use to her.”

Willam looked down at the bag. “What did you get?”

Courtney gave a humourless bark of a laugh. “Grapes, Lucosade and Heat magazine.”

“The holy trinity of intensive care unit accessories,” Willam quipped equally humourlessly.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Willam having to fight the urge to reach down and intertwine her fingers with Courtney’s as they walked down each corridor. She couldn’t believe she was having these horrible, selfish thoughts while Sharon was lying on a hospital trolley somewhere in the building but the whole experience had shocked and scared her, reminded her of how unforgiving and cruel fate could be, and that was enough to make anyone cling to the people they cared for.

The rest of the time in the relatives’ room passed in a blur. Courtney and Alaska were reunited and tears were shed as soon as they saw each other, Courtney clinging to Alaska and muttering how sorry she was over and over again whilst Alaska silently stood and let herself be held, tears alternating between streaming down her cheeks and dropping directly from her eyes onto Courtney’s hoodie. They sat and they waited. Willam made the three of them cups of tea, none of which were drank. They tried to talk about things, mundane things, anything that wasn’t Sharon. They sat still and isolated from each other, save for Courtney holding Alaska’s hand tightly, her knuckles white and curled around Alaska’s fingers.

It had been roughly an hour and twenty minutes when the doctor from before re-appeared in the room, and just before he spoke there was silence like Willam had never heard before, as if the whole world held its breath.

***

The beeping was monotonous and creepy and clinical, but to Willam it was the best sound she’d heard in her life because as long as the beeping continued, it meant Sharon was alive.

She didn’t look very Sharon-like, though, she supposed, as Willam watched in slight horror as her chest rose laboriously up and down. Tubes snaked in and out of various limbs and an oxygen mask was strapped to her swollen face, upon which had developed several green and blue bruises. She looked awful, but she was breathing.

The hours had both dragged and flown by. 03.40, Doctor Hall had explained that Sharon was in theatre as the CAT scan had uncovered internal bleeding near her liver. Their worst fear. Alaska had cried and Courtney had been shaken and Willam sat and stared at nothing, paralysed with fear. 04.15, another visit from the doctor after a tense and sickening half hour in the relatives’ room, which had begun to feel like a prison. The surgeons had stopped the bleeding and Sharon would be okay, although on top of the punctured lung she did have a broken collarbone, two fractured ribs and a fractured pelvis. Willam hadn’t known if she was supposed to be happy that Sharon wasn’t in immediate life-threatening danger or full of dread at all the horrible breaks and fractures she’d sustained. 04.50, another visit from Dr Hall, and just as tensions were running at their highest the three girls had finally been told they could see Sharon.

That had been the last update before they’d followed Dr Hall up to the intensive care unit and into a small, mercifully private room which housed a bed, two chairs, a bedside cabinet, a TV, and Sharon with all her tubes and machines. Willam hadn’t been able to stop staring at the woman on the bed since she’d seen her, and neither had the other two girls. Willam had given both of them the chairs and she’d chosen to stand near the door, which meant she could see both of their expressions. Courtney looked pale and blank-faced, Alaska looked mournful.

It was Alaska who spoke first in an entirely emotionless voice. “She doesn’t look like Sharon.”

There was a silence which Willam filled. “He did tell us that she’d look different. I know it’s freaky but all the stuff she’s hooked up to is all stuff that’s going to help her, Lask.”

Alaska nodded silently. She looked at one of Sharon’s hands, the one closest to the bed, which had an IV line attached to the back of it. Her mouth turned downwards. “I’m scared to even hold her hand in case something else goes wrong.”

Courtney rested a hand on Alaska’s arm. “Nothing’s going to go wrong. It’ll be fine.”

Alaska leaned forward, reached a hand out and awkwardly rested it over Sharon’s, lacing the tips of her fingers through Sharon’s own. Willam let out a breath she was unaware she’d been holding, akin to a sigh of relief.

“When will she wake up, do you think?” Alaska asked, her voice small.

Courtney sighed. “She’ll be resting for a while yet, I think. The pain meds will knock her out quite a bit.”

“Do you think when she wakes up she’d be able to get me some?” Willam deadpanned, without being able to help it. She watched as Alaska turned to look at her, then bit her lip as she stifled a laugh. Courtney first looked to Alaska, then at Willam before she let out a small giggle. Willam smiled. It wasn’t much, an unfunny joke about drugs, but it had lifted some of the tension from the room.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed once, then twice, then three times. A call. She took her phone out of her pocket, and she could see the other girls looking at her forebodingly.

Caller ID- Bianca.

Willam had known that the phone call would come, she just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. She looked at the other two girls, stepped out of the room, and took it.

“Hi, Bianca.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, which never ever happened in a Bianca Del Rio phone call. When Bianca phoned you she had shit to say immediately and she never wasted time. Now, though, Willam felt the seconds tick by. Her voice finally came. “Willam. What’s happened to Sharon.”

Willam cast her eyes through the glass to the three women in the small room, and her heart sank.

“Willam.”

Willam took a breath. “We were out together. She was in a hit and run. She’s in intensive care.”

There was some form of sound from Bianca that sounded both angry and anguished. Willam held her breath. “I’m sorry, Bianca, I should have phoned you earlier. I should have phoned the police-”

“Willam, you listen to me,” Bianca’s voice came down the line, hoarse and harsh. “Do not dare apologise. You weren’t to know. You got her to the hospital, which was the most important thing.”

There was a silence. Willam turned and looked at the pale, beige paint of the corridor walls. “It’s reached the press, hasn’t it.”

“Obviously.”

She hissed and let the silence linger. “Jesus Christ, Bianca, this is all a fucking hellscape.”

“I know. I know. And I can’t hold it from the front pages, Willam, they’re all fucking animals and they need to be fed. The Guardian have got a testimonial from a trainee nurse that knows all her fucking injuries and has leaked them all,” Bianca sighed. Willam had never heard her sound so hopeless. She was silent again. “You’ve been my first port of call. I’m going to phone the detective looking after Sharon’s case, because I don’t believe for a minute that this was a coincidence. Then I’m coming in to see her.”

“Bianca, don’t…” Willam began. How do you comfort a woman like Bianca? “Don’t worry about the press. There’s still a couple of hours before shit goes to print, we can figure something out.”

“I’m not worried about the press. I’m worried about Sharon.”

Silence.

Bianca’s voice came again. “I’ll see you in a bit. Take care, Willam.”

She was gone.

Willam walked back into Sharon’s room. Alaska and Courtney immediately looked up at her.

“The press have got it,” she said blankly. Courtney shook her head.

“Well, we knew it would only be a matter of time,” Alaska said softly, her face frowning.

“Bianca’s coming in. She’ll probably have police with her,” Willam said, then sighed as realisation dawned on her. “Which means I’ll get questioned. Can’t wait for that.”

Courtney caught her eye. She looked genuinely concerned for Willam and despite everything, Willam’s heart skipped a beat. Courtney rose slowly. “Well, we’ll all need coffee if we’re going to be awake much longer. I’ll get us some.”

“I’ll come with you,” Willam suddenly decided, Courtney’s eyes giving nothing away as she nodded her permission. Alaska simply looked up at them and then back down at Sharon. It was an unspoken fact that she wasn’t going to leave her side anytime soon.

Willam followed Courtney out into the corridor and then into the lift where they were both silent. Willam looked at the floor, then spoke.

“At least she’s alright.”

Courtney nodded. “True. I think we just need her to come to and then we’ll all breathe a sigh of relief.”

There was another silence as they walked into the small Costa. Courtney ordered three espressos with milk from a barista with purple hair and huge winged eyeliner, and they sat at a table and waited. Willam looked at Courtney’s face- the worried frown lines on her forehead, her glassy, tired eyes, her lips which were sore and bitten. She missed her so much.

“So,” Willam began, deciding to break the silence. “How was your date?”

“My date- oh!” Courtney looked confused, then enlightened. She gave a laugh. “Yeah…it was nice. Andrew’s a lovely guy and he’s a good old-fashioned gentleman.”

Willam wanted to laugh. What had she expected, Courtney to fall back into her arms? “Oh. Well, at least that’s-”

“But I think we’re probably going to stay as friends,” Courtney finished, interrupting her. Willam couldn’t help but feel her heart lifting.

“That’s a shame,” Willam frowned. Courtney looked at her for a beat, then spluttered a laugh.

“You don’t give a shit, do you?” she asked softly as she laughed. Willam snorted.

“No, I guess I don’t,” she smiled affectionately. Fuck, she’d missed laughing with her, seeing her eyes crinkle up and the way she’d tip her head back and let her hair cascade down her shoulders. “So what was the problem, then?”

Courtney raised her eyebrows. “He wasn’t really vegan. He just eats quorn sometimes. I took him to a vegan restaurant and he looked so horrified at the lack of meat.”

The both of them laughed quietly. Courtney looked awkward, as if she was about to say something else. Willam felt her heartbeat through her chest. She knew that Courtney was holding back on something and so she was almost afraid to say anything in case she backed off.

“Besides,” Courtney mentioned, her gaze firmly fixed on the floor. “He could tell…that I wasn’t over somebody.”

“Oh,” Willam said. It was as if her body couldn’t keep up with everything. One minute she was worried sick about Sharon, the next she was almost going into cardiac arrest because Courtney had basically dropped a massive hint.

Courtney had raised her gaze and fixed it on Willam. “Somebody being you.”

“Right.”

Courtney laughed. “I thought I’d spell that out for you, because you’re a massive fucking moron.”

Willam coughed out a laugh. “I am.”

Courtney smiled a little, looked at Willam expectantly for a beat, then looked again to the floor. Willam panicked. She couldn’t risk losing Courtney again.

“Well…I’m not over you either,” she said quietly, watching as Courtney’s eyes snapped up to face her. Maybe Courtney had been missing her as much as she’d been missing Courtney.

Courtney gave a little smile. “I know.”

Willam obviously looked taken-aback because Courtney burst out laughing, which made Willam start laughing too. As the laughter died down, all that was left was the pair of them looking into each other’s eyes. Just as Willam was about to speak and just as it looked as if Courtney was about to too, the barista yelled Courtney’s order. Courtney jumped up and grabbed the little cardboard tray of three coffees with one hand, then turned to Willam, smiled and gave a little shrug. Just then, her phone vibrated again.

“Bianca’s upstairs with Sharon and Alaska. There’s someone from Scotland Yard with her,” Willam explained as she looked at her phone. Courtney nodded.

“That’s the fun over then,” she quipped, moving towards the exit. Willam’s silence prompted Courtney to look towards her, her expression concerned. “Willam. It’ll be fine.”

Willam mustered a small smile as she walked towards the lifts. She was so lost in thought and worry that she almost didn’t notice Courtney transfer the tray of drinks to her right hand and silently curl her left hand around Willam’s own.

***

It was six o’clock in the morning, and Willam was exhausted. She’d never been questioned by the police before, and she never wanted to be again. They were sympathetic but relentless, and with each question Willam felt more and more useless. How much had Sharon had to drink? What was the precise time that it had happened? Whereabouts in the road was she standing? How fast was the car going? What was its number plate? What was the make of car? What was the colour? What did the driver look like? What did the driver do after they hit Sharon? Which way did they continue driving? Every question was one that Willam felt she couldn’t properly answer. They asked her some questions about the previous death threats, and who she felt might have been behind them- did Sharon have any enemies, and suchlike. Apart from blaming most of the UK’s far right population, Willam had said she wasn’t sure.

She and Bianca had been taken to a station nearby to the hospital, and she emerged from the small questioning room tired and simply wanting to go to bed, but knowing that she would return to the hospital to stay with Alaska and Courtney. She wasn’t really in the mood to speak much to Bianca, and for once Bianca didn’t seem as if she wanted to chat much to her.

“How were they with you?” Bianca asked, rising from the chair she’d been sitting on in the police waiting room as she saw Willam emerge.

“Fine. Didn’t feel very helpful, though,” Willam said, sighing as she walked with Bianca. “I should have written the number plate down, or looked harder at the car, or tried to get a look at the driver.”

Bianca frowned deeply. “Willam, you can’t blame yourself.”

They walked out of the station and down the small, quiet road which was starting to become bathed with morning sunlight. Willam turned to look at Bianca. In all her time working with her, she’d never seen her look so troubled.

Seeing Willam’s concerned look, Bianca exhaled. “I couldn’t keep it from going to the papers. There’s articles online now, and it’ll be on the front pages. We stuck the TV on in Sharon’s room and it was all over News 24. I’m sorry, Willam, I couldn’t protect her.”

“It’s alright, Bianca,” Willam sighed, stopping as she got to the junction. A big black car was waiting at a stop sign, presumably Bianca’s. The spin doctor looked troubled as she gazed to the car.

“It’s getting dragged into politics already.”

Willam cursed under her breath. This was all they needed, Sharon’s accident getting turned into a points-scoring exercise by different parties. “What are people saying?”

“Some of it’s nice. Most of the party have rallied round without me even having to give them a line. Latrice has given a statement, as has Trinity. Shea has tweeted support, so’s Sasha, Peppermint and Maxine. Ironically Sharon getting run over by a car is the most uniting thing she’s done for the party. If I’d known I would have hired her a hitman ages ago,” Bianca laughed bitterly. Her face turned grave. “It’s Mrs fucking Blind Man’s Crumpet herself.”

“Fucking Phi Phi,” Willam hissed, surprising herself with how much venom was in her voice.

“She’s spoken with ITV and she’s given the whole wobbly top lip expressing condolences thing, but she’s trying to turn it into an attack on immigrants.”

“Fuck, did she stretch before she reached? What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Willam complained, deeply irritated.

Bianca frowned. “Because The Sun, the paper we all love to line our cat litter trays with, is alleging that the hit and run was a terrorist incident carried out by an Asian man.”

Willam tore her hands through her hair. “But that’s bullshit, surely? Nobody knows who did it, the police don’t even know who did it!”

“They have a source,” Bianca said. “Which means that either it’s a bullshit source, their usual currency, or that the suspect has leaked it themself.”

“God, Bianca, this is fucking madness.”

Bianca looked at the pavement awkwardly, then at Willam. “Look, I wasn’t going to mention it to you today given the massive amount of stress you’ve already been put through, but we need something on Phi Phi’s party to distract from this mess. If you have anything…well, we’d all appreciate it. Especially Number 10, if you get me.”

Willam momentarily wished she was lying sleeping on a hospital bed instead of Sharon.

“Okay,” she simply nodded once, her mind too full of words to say anything else. Bianca nodded back in goodbye and walked towards her car. Willam watched her climb in and drive off before beginning her own walk back to the hospital. On the way she saw people walking to work, some of whom gave her funny looks. She wondered if they all knew what had happened, until she realised she was still in her clothes from last night- green fur jacket, black lace crop top, tight black skirt without tights and platform trainers on her feet.

Before long she was back at the hospital and in the lift up to the ICU. As she found Sharon’s room, it was almost as if the past hour or so hadn’t happened as the girls were still in the same position- Sharon unmoving on the bed, Alaska staring at her and holding her hand, and Courtney with her phone in her hand texting furiously. Alaska and Courtney looked up as Willam entered the room.

“Hey,” Courtney said, her eyes slightly wide in anticipation. “How was it?”

“It was okay. They asked me a bunch of things I couldn’t answer and then a couple of things I could. I just felt like a fucking failure, like I was no help at all.”

“Stop it,” Courtney frowned, chastising her. “You’re not a failure at all. I bet you were really helpful. Here, come sit. You must be shattered.”

With that, Courtney rose from her chair and beckoned Willam to sit. Too exhausted to protest, Willam slid into it. She looked at Sharon, then Alaska.

“Anything?”

Alaska sighed deeply. “Nothing. She hasn’t even moved.”

Worry churned in Willam’s stomach. Courtney piped up. “The doctor was in though, and he said that sometimes it can help to talk to them even if they’re not responding.”

“Did you try it?”

Alaska chuckled. “We read her some of Heat magazine.”

“Oh, good, she’d have loved that,” Willam said dryly, causing Courtney to snort. Willam thought for a moment, then turned back to Alaska. “Well, when she wakes up, you’ll be sitting there. She’s not properly seen you for ages. Why don’t you talk to her? Explain your side of everything that’s happened.”

Willam looked to Courtney for approval, who shrugged. “Worth a try, Lask.”

Alaska took a deep breath, laughed a little self-consciously, then turned to Sharon.

“Hey babe,” she began, looking at Willam and Courtney in embarrassment, then back to Sharon. “God, this is just…literal torture seeing you like this. Somehow I just feel like all of this is my fault, maybe if I’d stayed with you then you wouldn’t have gone out with Willam and none of this would have happened. I’m an absolute dick, really, because I’ve been ignoring you and every single attempt you’ve made at trying to contact me and then Willam phoned me and told me about what happened and all I could think about was getting here and being with you. It was the worst fucking moment of my life, Sharon. I kept torturing myself and wondering what if she never wakes up, that the last contact I had with you was over some fucking stupid USB stick that I didn’t even want to give to you in the first place? And I couldn’t even tell you-”

Willam looked up as Alaska sniffed. Tears were running down her face and welling in her eyes, and Alaska used the hand that wasn’t holding Sharon’s to wipe at her nose.

“I couldn’t even tell you want I wanted to tell you- that I wanted to just put everything aside and make up with you, to stop our stupid fucking fight, to tell you that I never wanted to end things with you and that the whole thing was a horrible, stupid mistake,” Alaska sobbed, snuffling and taking a deep breath in. “And I couldn’t even tell you that I loved you- that I love you- and when I got that call I was so fucking terrified of never being able to say it to you again. Do you remember when we first said it to each other, Sharon? It was the night we went out for dinner at that Italian restaurant at like, eleven o’clock after I’d gone with you to Newsnight, and you walked me back home and we watched a film- The Other Woman- and you hated it, and you were making all these jokes about it and I was joining in and we laughed so much that when it died down and we just looked at each other I couldn’t help but say it. And you said it back right after? Why can’t we go back to the way things were? Fuck, I would have kept our relationship secret for a lifetime if it meant we could have just stayed together. In fact fuck, if it means so much Sharon, I won’t pursue the whole MP thing. You’re more important to me than my job, you’re more important to me than life. I love you more than anything or anyone I’ve ever loved in my life so please…”

Alaska took a big gulp of air. “…please, fuck, get better.”

Willam and Courtney stood in a horrible, cold silence as they watched Alaska cry quietly to herself. Suddenly, Willam gave a slight jump as Sharon’s free hand came up to her face and slowly lifted the oxygen mask to one side.

“You are becoming an MP, bitch,” she croaked hoarsely, causing Alaska’s gaze to shoot up to look at her girlfriend. “There’s no way you’re giving up on that just because I’m in a hospital bed.”

Willam choked a laugh as she looked at Alaska, her face at once shocked and relieved. She looked slightly as if she didn’t know what to do for a moment, then elected to burst out crying, bringing Sharon’s hand up to her face to kiss it over and over again. Sharon laughed- tiredly, weakly, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

“Jesus Christ, you took your time there,” Willam smiled, part of her wanting to cry in relief too.

“How long have I been out for?” Sharon asked, coughing as she sat up.

“Since about 1. It’s like, 6.15 now.”

“Shit,” she said, her voice weak.

“How are you feeling?” Courtney asked, visibly relieved too.

“Like someone’s kicked me half to death. Pain meds do shit all, I feel like shit but also incredibly high,” Sharon wheezed, then turned to Alaska. Her face softened and judging by Alaska’s reaction, she had squeezed her hand. “Hey, stranger.”

Alaska laughed through her tears. “Hey.”

Sharon smiled affectionately. “Is this all I had to do to get you back, then? Get run over?”

“Don’t,” Alaska half-laughed, half-cried, then kissed Sharon’s fingers. “Sharon, I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I was so fucking worried.”

“Yeah, I know. I heard it all. I could have said something halfway through, I just wanted you to keep saying more nice things about me,” Sharon joked, still her old self despite the tubes and drips and machines. Her expression grew dark as she turned to Courtney. “Oh, by the way. Never read me fucking any women’s magazine ever again. Hearing about Natalie Cassidy’s fucking colonoscopy was more painful than getting struck down.”

All four of the girls laughed, happy to be together with everyone conscious and cheerful all over again.

“Bianca’s been round. And people have said nice things. Trinity, Peppermint, Latrice, Max, Shea, Sasha,” Willam mentioned, thinking it would cheer Sharon up. Sharon smiled in a lazy, drugged-up-on-pain-meds way.

“God. All that in five hours? Did Bianca leave flowers?”

“No, of course not,” Alaska sighed. Then she laughed. “She stuck News 24 on.”

The girls all laughed again, this time quieter. Courtney took a deep breath and stretched. Sharon narrowed her swollen eyes at her.

“Are we boring you, Act?”

Courtney gave a smile. “Listen, I’ve been up a long time. It’s hard to squeeze a date, a trauma and a relief into one night. Slash…morning.”

“Oh yeah, how did that go?” Alaska asked pleasantly. She’d still not let go of Sharon’s hand, Willam noted with a smile.

“It was nice. We’re going to stay friends, though.”

Sharon looked at Willam meaningfully. Willam gave her a look that simply said, behave.

“Fair enough. I think me and Alaska are going to stay friends too,” Sharon smiled lazily, laughing as Alaska’s face grew bashful.

“Stop it. I’ve suffered enough,” she leaned her head over to nuzzle it into the crook of Sharon’s neck, one of the few parts of her that didn’t have wires or tubes coming in or out of it.

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

Alaska frowned and lifted her head off of Sharon’s shoulder momentarily. “This isn’t the broken collarbone, is it?”

Sharon laughed. “I broke a collarbone? Oh, well, fucked if I know. Everything hurts.”

Willam laughed. She stretched and yawned. Life and normal routine seemed so far away. “I think I should go home and sleep, now that I know you’re alright.”

“Me too,” Courtney said, giving a yawn that Willam could tell was fake. Why was that?

“You guys go ahead. I’m going to stay here for a while,” Alaska smiled at Sharon, the other woman returning her smile and shrugging.

“You can go home if you want, babe. I might have another snooze.”

“Well, I’ll snooze with you,” Alaska said matter-of-factly, shuffling her chair forward and resting her head on Sharon’s side. Sharon smiled and used her other hand to stroke Alaska’s hair.

Willam looked at Courtney, taking her cue to leave. She cast her gaze back to the couple. “I’ll be back when I’ve had a sleep and something to eat. Bianca might be back, just to warn you.” She wondered if she should mention the shit with Phi Phi. She decided not to.

“Oh, goody,” Sharon sighed, re-adjusting her oxygen mask so that it was over her face as a goodbye. Alaska waved sleepily to her friends and then Willam left the room, followed by Courtney. They walked down the corridor silently for a minute, neither one of them sure of what to say. Courtney’s words from earlier swirled around in Willam’s mind, and the fact that the two of them were alone together again, with so much possibility and opportunity of things that could be said, made Willam’s skin prickle in excitement and optimism.

As if she could read Willam’s mind, Courtney gave a small sigh as they both walked into the open air. She turned to face Willam and looked her in the eyes. “I know it sounds stupid, but I could really murder a glass of wine.”

“Same.”

Courtney was still looking at her. “Well, I’ve got wine at my place, if you want to come.”

Willam didn’t hesitate. “Okay. Sounds good.”

They talked about trivial things on the walk to the tube, and on the tube itself. The elephant in the room (or train carriage) was enormous and almost suffocating, and the sound of the train against the electric charges almost mirrored the electricity that seemed to run through Willam’s veins - Courtney isn’t over me, and I’m not over her.

It was almost seven o’clock in the morning by the time they got to Courtney’s flat, but the sheer adrenaline that was pumping through her heart was keeping Willam awake. As Courtney opened her front door for Willam and slipped off her shoes, Willam looked around at the small hallway. It had been around four months since she’d last been here, but nothing had changed. It was somehow reassuring to Willam. She followed Courtney into the kitchen where the other girl had pulled out two bottles of wine- an unopened red with a somewhat dusty bottle, and a half-full white with that fresh-from-the-fridge wet glaze.

“I like either, so it’s your pick,” Courtney smiled easily, making Willam wonder whether or not she was feeling the same mix of apprehension and excitement.

“Well, white’s going to make us feel less guilty about the fact we’re drinking wine when we’re normally getting ready for work,” Willam shrugged, Courtney snorting a laugh and fetching two glasses from a cupboard below her breakfast bar. She picked up the glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other and made her way through to the living room, Willam following behind her. As they slumped down on the sofas and Courtney poured the wine out, Willam sighed.

“I’m so fucking relieved she’s okay.”

Courtney looked at her, an expression on her face that Willam couldn’t make out. “I just can’t believe it all actually happened. It’s like a horrendous nightmare,” she lifted up her glass. “To Sharon being alive.”

Willam smiled lazily and echoed the sentiment. “To Sharon being alive.”

There was silence for a moment as they both took a sip, Willam watching the early morning sun bathe the skyline out of Courtney’s French doors.

“Do you think…it was deliberate?” Courtney spoke quietly, Willam looking at her only to find Courtney was looking at the view as well.

“Fuck, I don’t know. The police think so. Could be, or it could be a jittery driver with a guilty conscience who didn’t want to stop.”

Courtney nodded, then narrowed her eyes. “Didn’t the doctor say she was lucky to be alive? Ten miles an hour more and she wouldn’t have made it. If it was a main road and the car wasn’t going that fast, it kind of sounds like someone was parked waiting for her. Do you not think?”

Willam rolled her eyes. “Or it was just someone that wasn’t driving very fast.”

“On a main road like that at 1am? Willam, come on.”

Willam couldn’t help but laugh. “What is this, CSI: Sydney?”

Courtney walloped Willam on the arm, then laughed with her. She sighed. “I’ve just been sitting waiting with Alaska for so long that I’ve had all of these thoughts running around my head, but of course I couldn’t share them with her. I’m glad you came back with me.”

Willam’s heart gave a jump. She wanted to say something in response, something flirty that didn’t come on too strong, but her mind couldn’t conjure anything up.

Courtney spoke again, and Willam noticed she had that same look on her face as before. “So how come you were,” she paused the tiniest amount. “…out with Sharon anyway?”

“She suggested it. Probably thought it’d cheer us both up,” Willam shrugged, taking another sip. She noticed Courtney still hadn’t taken that look off her face. What did she want from her?

Honesty?

“Court, you should probably know. And I probably should’ve told you sooner. Me and Sharon had this whole thing when we were at uni,” Willam felt herself just coming out with it and it was like jumping out of a moving vehicle. Courtney’s expression finally relaxed.

“Okay.”

Willam picked at a stray thread on a sofa cushion. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Because I’m not,” Courtney said plainly, taking a small sip. She paused, then added, “You always had this weird tension between you when you started. Like you really weren’t keen on her and I couldn’t see why. She always seemed as if she was walking on eggshells slightly around you. It only really seemed to go away…gosh, I don’t know when. But I always wondered why you were like that with her.”

Willam looked out at the view again. “I tried to reset my own view of the whole situation. I told anyone who asked that I knew her from uni, and that wasn’t a lie, but just not the full truth either.”

There was a small silence. Courtney leant over to top up their glasses. As she was pouring, she spoke again. Willam noticed how level and nonchalant her voice was, as if she was making a particular effort not to sound too interested. “So what was it that went on between you?”

Willam exhaled. Even after she’d talked through it all with Sharon, she still didn’t know what they’d been. “A miscommunication. She thought we were just friends that fucked, which we were. I saw it as more than that. I was a young, naive little bitch and I just got too deep in my feelings. It’s fucked, though, because the whole thing just made me so scared of relationships. Like what if it ever happened again to me and I was into it but the other person wasn’t?”

Courtney nodded understandingly. Her eyes were soft. It was scary to Willam to be telling Courtney all of this, but she didn’t seem to be scared off by it.

“Wonder how that feels, to be really, really into someone only to find out that they weren’t on your wavelength about it at all.”

“It was-” Willam started, then stopped as realisation dawned on her. She looked at Courtney, who was trying to conceal a smile. Willam laughed apologetically. “Fuck.”

Courtney gave a soft laugh, reaching out and taking Willam’s free hand. She held it gently. The gesture almost broke Willam’s heart. All at once it hit her just how badly she’d fucked up with Courtney. Only now was she realising that she had put Courtney in the exact same position that she had been in with Sharon all those years ago. Looking at Courtney’s hand, she squeezed it tightly. “Courtney, I’m sorry. I mean it.”

Courtney gave a peaceful smile. “I know you are.”

Willam smiled back. A small weight on her heart noted that she’d not been forgiven, only acknowledged, but after the past fortnight or so, acknowledgement was better than nothing.

“What was Bianca saying anyway?” Courtney continued, sipping her wine again. Willam sighed deeply.

“Well, you know that Phi Phi’s trying to politicise everything already. Bianca wants something on her party to take the heat off Sharon.”

Courtney grimaced and shook her head. She still hadn’t let go of Willam’s hand. “Jesus Christ, it’s all so messy and gross and tasteless.”

“I know, Court, but it’s our career. It was bound to happen. Politician gets hit by car, it turns political. Politician does anything, it turns political,” Willam shrugged, taking a drink. The sun was higher in the sky now and it was illuminating Courtney’s hair so beautifully.

“What are we supposed to get for her? This situation’s already stressful enough as it is.”

Willam felt herself tense up. She allowed herself to confront what she’d been pushing to the back of her mind all this time. She still had those photos on her phone of Roxxxy and Detox from all those months ago at Alyssa’s ball, and Phi Phi had recently voted against an LGBT-inclusive curriculum in secondary schools. How would the media react if she’d unknowingly voted against a policy which showed disapproval towards her own two advisors?

“I have something,” Willam stated simply, causing Courtney to sigh in relaxation.

“Thank Christ. Just give it to Bianca now and she can get out of our hair and let Sharon recover. What is it, anyway? Oil dumping in the Pacific? Foxhunting?” she laughed gently, stopping as she saw Willam’s grave face.

“Roxxxy and Detox,” she said. Courtney’s face dropped, her wine glass tipping over a little and threatening to spill. “I got photos of them at Alyssa’s ball, together. It would make Phi Phi look like a massive idiot and would take her down more than a few pegs…” Willam let all the air out of her body and looked into her glass. “…but it also outs both of her advisors.”

Courtney looked sick. “Oh God. Willam, you can’t do that.”

“I know,” she shook her head and wondered if she could voice the other horrible thought in her head. Communication could be good right now, she supposed. “Although part of me thinks why not? Fuck them, you know? They were both absolute cunts to Alaska, they work for a fucking sycophant. And I just…ugh…I really want that Number 10 job, and Bianca heavily implied that any info on this could get me it.”

She looked hesitantly for Courtney’s reaction. It turned out there were a lot of them. First, she wrinkled her nose and scrunched up her face in a brief display of disgust. Then, her expression completely dropped as if she was considering something. Finally she put her glass down, reached out to take Willam’s hand in her own, and gazed at her kindly.

“Willam,” she began. “Why do you want this job so much?”

Willam gave a choked laugh. “I mean it’s…it’s my fucking dream, Courtney. It’s all I’ve ever wanted out of life, to get to Number 10, to actually say I work there. I’ll have finally made it…and not many people can say that.”

“Okay,” Courtney nodded. Willam could tell she was listening intently. “So…you get the job at Number 10, let’s say. And what then?”

Willam blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What then? What do you aim for, what do you aspire to be after that? If that’s your life’s dream and it’s already achieved? Bill, you’re not even 30 yet,” Courtney smiled gently, tucking a piece of Willam’s layers behind her ear. “If you complete your life’s goal and you’re not even at the halfway point…what happens then?”

Willam felt completely blank. “Well, I…”

Courtney continued. “I know you don’t want to be PM, because you’re happy in the background. I know you don’t have any designs on leadership for the same reason. So what else is there?”

Willam paused and thought, trying to summon up something. “Bianca’s going to have to retire at some point.”

Courtney barked a laugh. “And what, you take her job? You take the job that consumed Bianca’s life so much she ended up getting divorced and she now lives on her own with no family? You want that life?”

Willam felt as if she’d heard Courtney’s voice catch in her throat. She was looking at her almost pleadingly, hopefully, desperate for what she deigned the right answer. Her intensity unsettled Willam. Or perhaps it was the truth in all that Courtney was saying? She’d never once reconsidered her determination to get to Number 10, never once wavered in her decision-making, because if she changed her mind about the job she’d wanted for so long, what was left?

“What do you have at Dosac? You’ve got me, you’ve got Sharon, you’ve got Alaska and the other girls. You’ve got a considerable amount of influence, you’re a big fish in a small pond. Other departments know your name, you’ve got so many opportunities. And if you change now…all that will be gone.”

Willam looked out of the windows again. The sun was now directly at her eye level. She turned back to Courtney and frowned at her. “Why are you saying all this, Court?”

Courtney looked away as if Willam’s gaze had burnt her. “I’m not trying to stop you from going after what you want, Willam. That would make me a horrific friend and an even worse person. I’m just trying to get you to be sure that it really is what you want.”

Willam’s voice caught in her throat. She looked away from Courtney, drained her glass, then placed it gently on the coffee table in front of them both.

“I should probably go home-” Willam began, making to slide off the couch, but Courtney gripped tighter to her hand. Turning, Willam saw a need in Courtney’s eyes that she’d never once experienced before.

“Stay,” she said simply. It was so quiet but so strong, and the blood in Willam’s veins was freezing and icy but pumping so rapidly like an ice cold waterfall, and she could feel her heart plummeting with it.

“Why?” Willam asked, and as soon as it left her mouth she cursed herself for it, but a part of her wanted to hear Courtney say what was on her mind. Frowning and sighing a tiny, needy sigh, Courtney gently tugged at Willam’s hand.

“I just need to be…close to you just now. Because I’ve fucking missed you.”

Willam looked at her hand in Courtney’s, then met her eyes.

Now or never.

And in one fluid movement Willam was back on the sofa, both her hands fisted and tangled in Courtney’s blonde hair, melting and moaning into a kiss full of fire that Willam wanted never to end.

***

Willam woke up in the same bed she’d woken up in in December, with the same girl she’d woken up with in December. Except the circumstances weren’t quite the same. Instead of grey skies and pouring rain, the sun that poked through the blinds was golden and warm, lighting up the room. Courtney was still in the bed, her eyes shut with her dark lashes fanned out and framing them as she slept. Probably the biggest difference, though, was that both of them were completely naked.

Sex with Courtney was every bit as amazing as Willam had imagined it would be, and she was already sorry that she couldn’t remember every single second of the entire thing in detail. She could swear that nobody else, not even Sharon, could make her feel the way Courtney had made her feel last night. She had expected it to be good and for Courtney to know what she was doing, but what she didn’t expect was for Courtney to have a mouth like a phone sex chat line girl and she had actually almost laughed in awe of the stuff she was coming out with. She didn’t know if it was the intensity of the situation that fed into it- there were so many emotions that Willam had been put through last night (or this morning, she supposed) that she had almost cried once everything was over and Courtney was holding her in her arms, but she hadn’t. She’d been calm, and happy, like her life was finally at peace. Sharon was going to be alright, and Courtney had…what? Courtney had forgiven her? Courtney liked her again? Courtney wanted to be more than her friend? She didn’t know, but she got the feeling that whatever it was was positive.

Willam wondered whether or not to wake her up but Courtney quickly solved that problem as her arm reached out to grab Willam by the waist and pull her closer, Courtney nuzzling into her side sleepily.

“Hey,” she murmured through a yawn, kissing Willam’s skin and making her feel as if she was 19 years old with a melting, gooey heart all over again.

“G’morning,” Willam smiled, rubbing her eyes then remembering she hadn’t taken off any of her makeup from the night before. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mm. Always sleep like a baby after sex, I think it’s some weird nympho-narcoleptic thing I need to see a doctor about.”

Willam’s heart hammered in her chest and instantly woke her up more. “So we’re just coming out and addressing that that happened immediately?”

Courtney hurriedly sat up in bed and looked her in the eye, exasperation on her face. She’d foregone pulling the duvet up to cover herself and her boobs were fully out. “Uh, we’re both stark bollock naked, dipshit. How much more addressing of the situation could there be?”

“Yeah I know, fuckhead!” Willam snapped, a laugh bubbling in her throat. “I just don’t…I don’t know what this means now? Like what are we?”

Courtney half-laughed, half-sighed then pulled a pillow over her face and yelled into it. “Fuck! I don’t know, Willam, okay?”

Willam was smiling, but she simultaneously felt as if she was hanging by a thread. She watched as Courtney pulled the pillow off her face then rolled over and pulled her close.

“Cards on the table, I really fucking like you. I’ve never stopped liking you. I care about you, and I want to see you do well, and I like us when we’re together. We just work, we fit. We squabble at times, but it’s never malicious. But this job…it’s a bitch, and I don’t want us ending up having to hide away or have our lives ruined by it like Sharon and Alaska. So I don’t…” Courtney sighed. Willam could see her pulse thudding rapidly under her skin by her wrist. “I don’t want to label us just now. I’m scared to. But can we just…can we at least be exclusive? Because I don’t want to share you with anyone else.”

Willam smiled and rolled her eyes. “As if I’d fucking want anyone else.”

Courtney nuzzled her head into Willam’s side, and Willam cast her eyes to the sun coming in through the blinds. She blinked quickly three times. “No, that sounds good. Exclusive but with no labels. I can do that. Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“For what?” Courtney kissed Willam’s temple.

“For being a cunt to you.”

“You were a cunt to me?” Courtney pulled away, frowning. “Now that doesn’t sound like Willam Belli at all.”

Willam took that as a yes.

“No more games,” Courtney said quietly, gently stroking the palm of Willam’s hand with her finger.

“No more games,” Willam agreed.

It was 2 o’clock by the time they got back to the hospital to see Sharon, after they’d showered, dressed (Willam borrowing Courtney’s clothes again), had some breakfast and got the two tubes over. It was an unspoken plan- they hadn’t talked about whether they should stay at the flat, or go visit Sharon, or even go into work. There was only one place they really needed to be today. They’d talked and chatted and laughed just as they used to, but without any awkward tension and with extra added hand holding and light knuckle and cheek kisses. They’d wondered out loud whether it had been in poor taste to fuck within the 24 hours that they’d found out Sharon had been hit by a car, before deciding that it was probably what Sharon would have wanted and endorsed anyway.

When they arrived at Sharon’s ward, it was as if nothing had changed at all- Alaska seemingly hadn’t moved from her seat and was still sitting in it facing Sharon in her Winnie the Pooh pyjamas, while the other woman was still in bed but was propped up with pillows and had her oxygen mask on. She had a loving, dreamy look on her face and seemed to be listening to Alaska talk when Courtney and Willam arrived. Alaska turned around excitedly when they came in.

“Morning,” Willam smiled, moving to hug Alaska tightly and then Sharon markedly less so, in case Willam accidentally pulled a wire out. “Or afternoon, or whatever the fuck time it is.”

“Hey,” Sharon took her mask off and smiled gently.

“How are you feeling, Sharon?” Courtney asked as she took her turn to hug her.

“I’m holding up okay. I had a big sleep when you two left, woke up at like 9. Then me and Alaska had a massive chat which took about an hour and exhausted me, so I had a nap again. Woke up about an hour ago and Alaska had stuck on the news. It’s weird seeing myself on the news in a capacity which isn’t politics. I’m not in the mood for a lot of talking so Alaska’s just been telling me about her leadership campaign,” Sharon gestured to Alaska’s happy, excited face and smiled fondly. “Christ, she looks like she’s about to explode. I fucking love this girl so much.”

Willam made a vomiting sound as she pulled up a chair beside Alaska. “Gross. So your big chat. Did you both grow up and say sorry to each other?”

Willam saw Alaska squeeze Sharon’s hand. “Of course we fucking did. That was the first thing we said. Then we basically just cried and talked about how much we loved each other for the next 59 minutes.”

Courtney laughed, and Alaska gave a small giggle then shook her head as she looked at Sharon. “No, joking. Well, we did do that. But we also spoke about career stuff- what we wanted in the next five years, what we need to do to get there.”

“It’s doable for what we both want. We just need to support each other, make it two sided and communicate. I know that now,” Sharon piped up, smiling at Alaska as if it was for her benefit and not Courtney and Willam’s.

“Well, I’m glad you two have made up,” Courtney smiled softly, moving to perch on Willam’s knee in the absence of a chair. Willam pulled her close. She didn’t miss the look that passed between Alaska and Sharon.

“Um, on the topic of making up…” Alaska raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at them both. “…what is this?”

“Courtney sitting on my lap?” Willam said sarcastically, resting her head on Courtney’s back.

“Yes…” Sharon said, waving a tubed-up hand to prompt more. “So…?”

“So…what?” Courtney asked, just as deadpan as Willam had been, and she loved her for it.

“Oh fuck, put a dying woman out of her misery!” Sharon coughed out in exasperation, earning her a furious look and a gentle smack from Alaska.

“DON’T joke about that!” she glared at her for all of two seconds, before she took her hand and turned back to Courtney and Willam. “But seriously guys, Sharon’s only got one properly working lung, can you just give us the information that we both already know but want to scream like babies at when it comes from you?”

Courtney turned and looked at Willam, suddenly embarrassed. Willam gave her a squeeze and spoke for her. “Well, we’re going to disappoint you, because we’re not girlfriends. We can’t all fall in love with our work friends and go balls-deep into a relationship. But no, we’re just…”

“We like each other, and we’re exclusive, and we’re going to take it a day at a time,” Courtney finished, Alaska giving a small, excited squeal. Sharon smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Bo-ring! I want to know if you’ve banged yet.”

“Yeah, we did,” Courtney shrugged, Willam completely shocked at her blasé display of honesty but also too tired to care much. Sharon let out a loud cheer, then immediately started coughing violently in a sobering display that reminded the girls why they were all together in the first place. Seeing Alaska’s concerned face, Sharon frowned.

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” she wheezed, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry. Just coughing up pieces of old lung, they say the new one should grow back within 3-5 working days.”

Alaska snorted. Willam laughed and shook her head. “You’re so fucking unfunny it hurts.”

Sharon shrugged. “Blame the pain meds, I’ve been popping them like Smints.”

They chatted quietly after that, the four of them just enjoying each other’s’ company without having to talk about work or politics or anything like that. Often Alaska would talk for Sharon, the other woman wearing her oxygen mask and resting. Alaska had phoned Jinkx and texted the comms girls to fill them in on what had happened, after they all basically woke up, saw the headlines and immediately fired off about fifty texts to Alaska, Courtney and Willam (none of which Willam saw, her phone having long since died.). Sharon was annoyed that Jinkx wouldn’t honour her request to bring in her work laptop so she could work from her hospital bed, a request which all three advisors were glad she’d shut down. They were all going to pop in at some point in the evening to visit, Adore and Katya promising to bring what they’d termed as “huge, inconvenient, inflatable balloons”. Willam had told Sharon about the Phi Phi incident, Sharon rolling her eyes almost to the back of her head but refusing to allow herself to get worked up over it.

“That’s a point, actually,” she said, sitting up in bed and wincing slightly at some unseen pain. “Didn’t you say Bianca would be visiting me soon? She’s not been in.”

“Well, she still has to oversee all the other departments. Maybe something’s happened with them?” Courtney offered, Sharon shrugging and conceding.

Around ten minutes later, they had their answer. Bianca came in to Sharon’s room dressed in her usual work attire, ironically all in black. Her face was serious but she had a small, kind smile, and was holding a box of Guiylan pralines.

“Christ, Bianca, I’ve not died,” Sharon laughed by way of a greeting, as Bianca cracked a rare, genuine smile and handed her the chocolates.

“Shut it. Some of us still have to go to work. How are you?”

“Sore.”

“That’s crap, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t swing by earlier. I’ve been at Number 10, I’ve been with the police, I’ve been into Dosac. This might be a bit of good news for you,” she said, addressing the room this time. “The police have apprehended a guy. Old woman who lives in the area had CCTV outside her flat. She came forward with footage of a car going well beyond the speed limit. Matches the time that the whole thing happened. They were able to get a number plate from it and traced it back to the fucker.”

Willam was in shock. She had no idea it would all happen so quickly. Looking at Bianca closely, she could see how puffy her eyes were and how her dark circles had been concealed with foundation, and how much her hands were shaking. It hit her how hard Bianca must have been working to help the police catch whoever had done this to Sharon.

“Thank you, Bianca,” she said, her voice coming out way more emotional than she’d meant it to. Bianca turned to her in surprise, as if she was taken aback slightly.

“Well, I mean, don’t thank me. The police did all the work. They’ll be in to question you, Sharon, but once you’re feeling a bit better. Maybe this evening, or tomorrow.”

“Oh, great. Reliving the moment a car hit me in all its horrifying detail, with the greatest hits of poison pen letters as a follow-up. All my fucky stars have come at once,” Sharon said. Her breathing was becoming laboured, so she put her oxygen mask back on.

“Just keep the damn thing on, you’ve had it off and on like a fucking lightswitch the entire time you’ve been awake,” Alaska chastised her, tucking the hospital blanket in around Sharon. “I’ll maybe see if there’s some way Jinkx can bring in your duvet.”

“You could always go get it for her,” Courtney suggested, Alaska laughing at the ridiculous suggestion.

“Yeah, good one Court, like I’m going to leave her side until she’s discharged.”

Bianca watched the whole exchange carefully, then opened her mouth. “So I take it…that you’re back together.”

Alaska looked at Sharon and nodded.

“You understand that I’m absolutely livid at the pair of you for ever beginning this in the first place and that if it had even got into the media you would have been out of a job?” Bianca said, pointing to Alaska. Alaska blinked and gave a small shrug.

“She would have been worth it,” she said, Willam noticing how Sharon squeezed Alaska’s hand. Bianca fake-gagged.

“Yes, well, in any case, I’m hearing you’ve got plans to stand in the by-election? Is that still happening?” Bianca asked. “Because if it is, then it would make my life a lot easier. There’s not nearly as many implications. In fact you could probably put you two into the public eye. Might be good for the party.”

Sharon wheezed a laugh and Alaska suppressed a smile. “God. Our relationship is literally politically correct. But yeah, I am standing. It’d be good to get some tips from you about that, actually.”

Bianca checked her phone as she spoke. “You don’t need tips. I’ll get you the support you need. Might as well start considering yourself an MP.”

Alaska smiled happily, bringing Sharon’s hand up to her face and kissing it in excitement.

“Although that does mean a position opening up at Dosac. Got anyone in mind, Sharon?”

Sharon sighed exasperatedly, ripping off her mask and gesturing to all her tubes and wires. “Funnily enough, no, I’ve been too busy being a human fucking colander!”

Willam smiled at Sharon knowingly. “I’ve got someone in mind. She’s young, and a bit fucking useless at the moment, but we could train her up. She’s got potential.”

“Well, that seems sorted,” Bianca shrugged. “Right, I’m going to have to make tracks. Flying visit. One of Trinity Taylor’s one night stands has gone to Closer magazine and we can’t risk that getting into the press. But take care, okay?”

Sharon waved a hand. “Thank you, Bianca.”

“No problem. See you later. Willam, can I borrow you for a second?”

Willam’s heart sank as she followed Bianca out of the room. She knew that Bianca was going to ask her if she had anything on Phi Phi. She knew that the photos were still in her phone, burning a hole in her pocket. She knew that Courtney didn’t want her to take the job at Number 10. She knew that her and Courtney weren’t at all official yet.

What she didn’t know was what she was going to do.

They stood at the side of the corridor beside the glass outside Sharon’s room, doctors and nurses hurrying past and completely oblivious to Willam about to make one of the biggest decisions of her life.

“So,” Bianca opened. “If you’ve got anything for me, now is the time to say, because the right-wing media are starting to lap up Phi Phi’s bullshit pretty fucking quickly. It would take a lot of the heat off Sharon if we could just…bury her.”

Willam felt pained. She had completely forgotten about the implications this would have for Sharon.

“So anything at all would be a saving grace,” Bianca finished, looking Willam in the eye and almost triggering a fight or flight response in her.

What would Courtney want her to do? What would Bianca want her to do?

What would Sharon want her to do?

“Um,” Willam swallowed. Her throat was completely dry. “You know, it’s been a rough 24 hours…I haven’t really managed to find anything.” Bianca looked visibly disappointed. “Sorry, Bianca.”

The other woman nodded understandingly. “That’s okay. It has been a rough time. Thank you for looking after her, Willam.”

Willam gave a small smile and without knowing what possessed her, she was speaking again. “Also, Bianca…take me out of the running for the Number 10 job.”

This was the first time Willam had ever seen Bianca look legitimately shocked in her life. Bianca always knew what was going on, she was always so plugged in and in the loop, there was so rarely anything that she didn’t know. So this information was clearly a bombshell. “I mean. I can, but I would also be asking why in the fuck would you want me to do that?”

Willam sighed. “I’m still young. There’ll be other chances to work there and besides, there’s other stuff I want to focus on right now. There’s more to life than politics, I guess.”

Bianca gave a harsh laugh. “Life is politics, Willam.”

“Your life, maybe.”

“Yeah, well,” Bianca exhaled. She had a faraway look in her eyes. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

Willam suddenly heard Courtney laugh through the glass and she involuntarily smiled. She looked back at Bianca, who was looking through the glass.

“Is this because of her?”

Willam looked back at the glass, then cocked her head. “Sort of. It’s for me first, and her second. People spend so much of their lives wishing for better, focusing so much on the future or on the past. Like…what’s wrong with what we have now? You know? Appreciate what you’ve got. Change is good. Except if it’s not. I don’t know, fuck, I’m so tired.”

Bianca nodded slowly, a tiny frown still present on her face. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“Honestly, no,” Willam laughed. “But I’m sure I want things to stay as they are, for now. There’s going to be so much change in Dosac. It would be nice for me to stay a constant.”

Bianca gave a small sigh. “Well, I won’t say I’m not disappointed. But good for you, Willam.”

Willam shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll see you, Bianca.”

“See you, Willam.”

As Bianca walked away, Willam thought it was the first time she’d ever seen her look genuinely gutted. It made her feel slightly proud of herself, though she had no idea why. Watching her until she was out of sight, Willam turned back and went back into Sharon’s room.

“Back,” she said. Sharon looked up at her, puzzled.

“What was that all about?” she frowned.

“Wanted to know if I had anything we could use on Phi Phi.”

“And did you?”

Willam looked at Courtney, who seemed frozen. She paused. “No. No, of course I didn’t. Been too busy making sure your dumb fucking roadkill ass is okay, haven’t I?”

As Sharon and Alaska laughed, Willam watched as Courtney’s face lit up. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Willam in a hug. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

“Willam, I’ve been meaning to say. Thank you. For phoning the ambulance,” Sharon said, suddenly serious. Her voice was quiet and her face grave.

Willam reached out and touched her leg lightly. “That’s what best friends do.”

Sharon smiled in gratitude, then gave a yawn. “Sorry to be boring, but I think I need to sleep again.”

“Well, we’ll leave,” Courtney smiled, her voice gentle. “I kind of want to go for a walk round the park. It’s such a nice day. You fancy joining us, Lask?”

Willam barely had time to bask in the use of “us” before Alaska rolled her eyes.

“What part of I’m-not-leaving-Sharon’s-side do you not understand? Go,” she smirked, looking at Willam and Courtney hand in hand. “Be cute and gross.”

Willam smiled at Courtney sheepishly, and Courtney smiled back. She turned back to the other couple in the room. “We’ll be back around dinnertime. Want us to bring you anything?”

“Ugh, a Wasabi please. Lunch was mush, with mashed mush, on a bed of mush. It’s enough to turn me vegetarian,” Sharon shook her head before laying down on her pillow and closing her eyes. “Thanks for coming in. See you later, guys.”

“See you both,” Courtney smied, waving at Alaska as she opened the door and Willam following behind her. Once they were out the room, they had taken a few steps down the corridor before Courtney spoke again. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Willam said as she pressed the button for the lift. She wondered if she should say any more, but thanks was enough, and she decided to leave it. “So. Park then home, then back to see Sharon?”

“Home,” Courtney gave a little smile as she looked at Willam. “Home sounds nice.”

And as the lift doors closed leaving them both sealed up together going down towards the bright Spring day outside, Willam had to agree.

***

Willam woke up in the same bed she’d woken up in in December, and in April, with the same girl she’d woken up with in December and April. Except the circumstances weren’t quite the same. Firstly, Courtney was out of bed before her, and Willam could hear her battering and clanging around in their kitchen together (their kitchen, Willam thought fondly to herself, it would never get old to say their like that). Second, Willam didn’t have any inner turmoil or panicked thoughts or insecurities running around her mind. She was peaceful and calm, and life was good. Sure, Sharon had a fucker of a TV debate coming up the next day, and Willam was afraid that her ribs might re-break at the sheer force with which she was going to shout at Phi Phi O’Hara, but apart from that everything was all just fine. She hadn’t felt this calm in forever. In fact, no, that was a lie. She’d woken up feeling this calm every single day for the past two months since the day she and Courtney walked out of that lift together. Sure, there were one or two blips- the day she’d asked Courtney to be her girlfriend she had woken up completely convinced she was having a heart attack- but that aside, she’d never felt this content.

“Bill!” came a voice from the kitchen. “Put it on!”

Willam sat up, groaned, and rubbed her eyes sleepily. “What channel?”

A frustrated sigh. “It’s Sunday fucking Politics, you know what channel!!”

Laughing, Willam fumbled for the remote on her bedside table, in danger of knocking over many half-empty cups of coffee, and switched the TV on. She hadn’t needed to find the channel as the TV immediately showed her what they were both looking for- Alaska Thunder, MP for West Central London, the first MP to take the seat from Phi Phi O’Hara’s party in 12 years, in her biggest TV interview so far.

“Court, it’s started!” Willam shouted through, hearing a thunder of footsteps in response. Soon enough her girlfriend, her beautiful, tiny, blonde koala girlfriend, emerged from the hallway in her huge flannel Snoopy pyjamas holding two cups of coffee.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she was saying, reaching over and almost spilling half the coffee on the bright white bedsheets as she half-handed, half-threw it to Willam. “I said to you it bloody started at 5 past 10, and you took the piss out of me!”

“No I fucking didn’t!” Willam cried incredulously, laughing.

“Yes you so did! Meh Courtney, why would a programme start at five past ten that’s such an awkward time, meh meh meh why do you think it’s going to start then, is it because of the time delay? Is it because you��re Australian? Mehhh,” Courtney imitated Willam. Willam went to retort but was immediately shushed by her girlfriend.

“Shut up! I don’t want to miss any more.”

Raja Gemini was asking Alaska a question, and she had her don’t-fuck-with-me face on. “Alaska Thunder, what I’d most like to know is- why were you so strongly in favour of the incarceration of young offenders until last week, when your fiancé Sharon Needles came out in support of rehabilitation? Is this what we can expect from you as an MP, to simply agree with everything your fiancé says?”

“That bitch.”

“Shut up!”

Alaska’s face was calm and amused. “No not at all, Raja, see my change of heart was based on a consultation I had with the Minister for Justice Sasha Coulee-Velour, where she actually presented me with lots of facts and figures as to why rehabilitation produces better results and contributes to a reduction of repeat offenders in society. I then conducted a focus group who pretty much agreed with the Minister, so I have decided to back what is clearly the more well-researched opinion.”

“But isn’t it true that Sharon Needles has held no such focus groups and has point-blank refused to listen to any opposing opinion on the other side? How must that translate to the public?”

Alaska smirked and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know, Raja. If you wanted to ask that question you should have invited her onto your show. You asked for me, you’ve got me, and now you’re asking me about my fiancé? Is this Hello magazine or Sunday Politics?”

Courtney threw her hands up in the air and cheered. “Finish her, Lask!”

Just then, Willam’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Sharon. Willam knew she had taken the morning off to go into the studio and watch Alaska do the interview and was probably hiding behind the cameramen as Alaska and Raja spoke.

S: i say, that’s my baby and i’m really proud

Willam snorted, holding her phone up to show Courtney who laughed in response.

“Fucking hell, who keeps introducing her to memes?” she sighed, pouting as she looked to the TV and saw the interview was coming to a close. “Oh fuck, we missed pretty much the whole thing!”

Willam pulled her into a hug. “Doesn’t matter. We saw the best bit. There’ll be more interviews where that came from. I think Alaska’s making quite the splash.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Courtney smiled, sipping her coffee then sliding off the bed. “What’s our plan for today? We’re meeting Katya and Trixie for lunch, then Adore’s joining for drinks. She said she might bring her girlfriend along!”

“Oh, Aja?” Willam asked, scrolling her phone lazily. “That’s good, she seems nice.”

“Well, I’m going to shower if you need in before me?” Courtney offered, unhooking her towel from the back of their bedroom door.

“Nah, no need. I always just piss in your charcoal water. You’d never taste the difference,” Willam deadpanned, smiling as she watched Courtney laugh and throw a makeup sponge at her from the door.

Courtney was so beautiful, even in her old pyjamas and with her hair hanging messily over her shoulders. Her smile did something to Willam, something she’d never felt before and never wanted to stop feeling ever again. What was the something? Suddenly, it was as if Willam had been struck by a lightning bolt. She knew, but she couldn’t possibly tell her. Not today and not now. It was far too soon, surely?

Then a little voice in her head whispered to her. No more games.

Willam’s voice stopped her just as she was about to leave the room.

“Hey, Courtney?”

#just the game we're in #ortega #australia #crossover #witney #shalaska #twmentionsofinjury #willam belli #courtney act #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #bianca del rio #rpdr fanfiction #jtgwi

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neoculturetechxgot7 · 6 years ago

Text

♤ // Six of Spades // ♤

part 1

Summary - Mark Lee offers you to join his semi-legal club, where he and his friends count cards and win money playing blackjack every Saturday night.

Pairing: Mark Lee x Reader

Au: College!Au, Gambling!Au

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: Gambling references, mild language

All the dull golden rays coming from the streetlights lining the pavement do little to provide illumination, as you hastily walk across a deserted neighbourhood, hand clutching onto the soft material of your coat. It's silent, too silent to be comfortable but you keek going, feet slightly shaking, both from the cold breeze pickling its way through your clothing and the eerie atmosphere around you, as if every soul has vanished.

A sudden roaring has you jumping in terror, as a car speeds past you, leaving a trail of thick black fume on and your heart banging erratically inside your chest. "Focus" you mutter to yourself in an attempt to calm your nerves and reminisce his words.

"Left turn on the central road, then right after the cathedral and left again. Look for the neon sign." Mark's raspy voice echoes in your head like a ghost and your gaze lands on a small gated church ahead of you, newfound hope blooming inside your chest. You're in the right route.

Picking up your pace with a faint grin, following the orders that black haired boy had given you, your feet stroll on the grey concrete quicker, anticipation growing inside of you. His image unconsciously flows in your mind, with his glassy eyes that possess the sweetest shade of chestnut and his sharp edges and high cheekbones and that damn smile that's so boldly carved in your brain, as if his pearly teeth can brighten away every shadow.

Another turn and you find yourself in a narrow alley, the complete lack of lighting pulling you out of your thoughts to look up the hugh buildings caging you inbetween paint-chipped walls, a smell of gasoline and trash in the air. Beaming neon letters catch your attention, brushing purple strokes of light on the ground. "Three Of Diamonds" the sign reads, decorating the wall above a rusty door, old enough for you to wonder whether it will collapse upon knocking on it. After convincing yourself that this is indeed the right place and taking a few hesitant steps through the shadows, your knuckles bang on the cool metal twice. You can her shuffling from the other side and then the screeching sound of hinges, before a familiar face appears before you, strands hair messily pocking out of a green beanie and a large hoodie hugging his figure.

His eyes light up at the sight of you shyly greeting him with and airy wave of your hand, the corner of his mouth forming a smirk. "I was starting to think you wouldn't show up after all." He says before gesturing you inside, voice smooth as silk.

"Well, I was seriously debating whether to come or not." You reply with a raised eyebrow and step inside the small residence. Or better say, warehouse. The floor is dusty, weird stains evident of its rough surface and a discreet smell of mold makes you noticeably cringe. You begin scanning your surroundings to notice a red leather couch on the side of the room and a tv hanged on the wall across you.

"I'm glad you came." Mark captures your attention, geaturing towards the large table in the center of the room, covered in thick green felt and single deck of cards laying on top. "Have a seat."

You mentally count the chairs around it, adding up to a total of 6. "Who else are we waiting for?" You ask watching him grab one and turn one around and sit with his elbows propped on its back, fingers already shuffling the cards in an instinctive way.

"Renjun, Jeno, Heachan and Jeamin." Every name rings in your ears like a bell to trigger hour memory. You recognize them, but have yet to officially meet anyone . Jeno and Renjun are in the same major as you and you share a couple of classes with Heachan and Jeamin, but other than that -and some quick glances in the hallways- you have no other interaction with them.

Your coat slides off your shoulders and you settle down next to him. His presence stirs up something inside you, emotions mixing up in an mysterious combination.

"You're smart, I guess you've already figured out why I called you here, right?" Mark asked, his dark chocolate eyes not leaving yours.

You really wished you had. "It's something that involves gambling." You said pointing at the deck in his hands and he nodded. "And I think it's kinda illegal..." You continued, earning a chuckle from him, his head shaking in agreement. "Other than that, I really dont know."

Mark leaned back in his seat. "So, you got a good idea of the whole concept." That smirk lingered on his lips again. "But you're missing some basic details. Allow me to explain. Remember what I told you yesterday in the library?" You hummed in agreement and brought your weird encounter back.

Mark Lee was the hot senior that got involved in almost everything, his name well known among students and professors around campus. You had met through common friends in a party last year and he was polite enough to greet you every time he passed by you at the hallway, but you didn't talk that much to consider him anything more than an acquaintance. So it was out of nowhere when he sat across from you, while you were sank in your physics text book, and sparked a conversation. "Hey, I've heard you're really great at linear algebra" You were startled and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his awkward compliment. "Uh...thanks." Mark leaned loser, his fingers tangled together on the wooden table. "Do you, by any chance, happen to know how to play blackjack?" You were taken aback by that. What? Why was he even asking such a thing? You set the book down and tilted you head to the side. "Yeah...But I've never been to a casino before." Your voice came out low and hesitant.

"Great. Now one last question. Would you like to earn fast cash?" That caught you off guard. You didn't respond and kept staring at him, trying to pinpoint signs that would prove he was just messing with you. Maybe this was a prank, he was a senior after all. But he didn't even flutter an eyelash as he waited for your answer, eyes trying to read your expression, and you had to admit, his question had picked at your interest. You ducked forward, your eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?" Mark scanned the room, moving form rows and rows of books to students that were walking by. "I can't really tell you here. But we can meet up somewhere close by." His voice was only a hoarse whisper as he started giving you directions to the location. "Tomorrow, 11. And don't tell anyone." He swiftly got up with a grin plastered on his face and made his way out, leaving you with a confused grimace, trying to make sense of the last 2 minutes with him.

And now you were sitting across Mark, as he proceeded to explain the reason he had invited you over. "So basically we play this game, blackjack" his fingers were quick to start dealing the cards he was holding around the table. "And we place bets. I guess it is gambling yes, but we're not really gamblers." He spared you a single knowing glance before placing another card on your pile. "A gambler plays based solely on their luck. They take risks, bet on chance. We, on the other hand, bet on an insured win."

You crossed your arms over you chest, biting your lip while trying to understand where he was going with that. Once done dealing the cards, he sat down, facing you. "See, we've found this way, this method, to predict our chances of winning."

"How?" you cut him off. He smirked at the curiosity written across your face. "It's simple, we count cards and play accordingly. We bet, we win and we gain money. And practically, 'counting' isn't illegal, only the gambling club we play in is." You laughed at his remark.

A few long moments of silence followed, where Mark fidgeted with the sleeve of his hoodie, waiting for you to respond. "So, you go to your nice little gambling club or whatever, you do this 'counting' thing and win money. Sounds nice. But why am I here?"

"So" He paused to wipe his palm on his tighs, with a sigh before he continued, shrugging. "This club we play in is only for college students and we usually win a fair amount of cash but we wanted something more. Try to catch the big fish."

You nodded at his words, seeing where that would end.

"So we have decided to try our 'luck' in an actual..." Your voice cut him off mid-sentence "Casino." Mark grinned, he liked that you were following him that well. "But we need one more person. Someone that has the skills." "And that's where I come in." "Yeah." You got up and began pacing around, his eyes following you.

Once more, silence fell over the room as you took your time, processing every bit of information Mark had given you the last 5 minutes. For a few seconds you wondered if this whole offer was legit, or Mark was simply pranking you, just as you had thought in the library. He and four other guys were going to this gambling club where they counted cards and made themselves richer and richer every time, but apparently that wasn't enough for them and they needed you, a complete stranger that was good in algebra, to help them do the same in an actual casino. As in, cheat in an actual casino....as in practically rob an actual casino. Yeah, ain't happening.

"No way." You spat out standing in front of him. Mark tensed up, his face morphing into a frown. "What? Why?"

"I don't know...maybe because I don't want to go to jail for illegal gambling?" Sarcasm dripped from your tongue as you pronounced every word, shoulders shrugging. He jolted up from his chair, lightly grasping your arm, sending shivers down your spine. A reassuring look settled on his face as he leaned closer. "That's not happening. I already told you counting isn't illegal, no one can arrest you for counting cards. And it's only for one night..."

A loud banging on the door interrupted your conversation, causing you both to turn to that direction. Mark sighed and reached for the door, to let four boys, whose faces you instantly recognized, inside. One of them, Jeno, had black hair and a tall, muscular frame just as his blonde friend Jaemin, the one that run to pull Mark into a tight embrace upon entering. The other two, Heachan and Renjun walked in afterwards, patting their friend on the back, before coming to stand around the table, eyes focusing on you. Mark pushed the door closed and came to stand by you, hand lingering on the small of your back as he gestured you to the others.

"So guys, y/n, decided to join us for today's session." Mark announced and Jeno stepped forward extending his arm to shake your hand. "Hey, I'm Jeno." His smile made his eyes crinkle. "We're together in linear algebra."

"Yeah, but I didn't know you had noticed me before." You replied, arching your eyebrow.

"Actually, Jeno was the one that took an interest in your skills." Mark commented and you watched the other chuckle and run a hand through his locks. "Yeah, I was really impressed with your answers in lectures. I think you'd be really good at counting." He winked at the last sentence.

You mumbled a brief 'thank you' as Jeno took a seat around the table, beside yours. Next to him was Jaemin who instantly waved when your eyes landed on him. He introduced himself to you and you did the same, then moved on to the next one, Renjun, who leaned over the table to shake your hand. His voice was soft but a steady tone tangled throughout his words. Lastly, came Heachan, who had picked up the pile of cards in front of him, already fanning them out in his fingers. He didn't even bother to raise his glance at you when you asked for his name -even though you were well aware of it and the popular, rebellious status that came with it-. "Haechan." His tone was cold, almost spiteful, as he kept chewing his gum and eyeing the numbers on his cards, uninterested in you.

Mark didn't seem to notice his friend's behaviour as he continued. "So I was just telling her about our plan"

"And I think I'm gonna have to pass on your generous offer. What you got going on seems fun, I guess, but I'd prefer not to risk it." You cut him off once more, hand reaching for you coat on the chair, before Mark swiftly placed his own over it. "Wait." He just can't take 'no' for an answer, can he?

"Mark, I think I've made up my mind." You said breathlessly, your eyes rolling before you pressed your lips together in slight annoyance.

He didn't back down. "I think you haven't. Because you knew something was going on here yet you came. That must mean something." His voice was low but soft, words hitting a spot inside you. "Maybe it was just my curiosity." You replied, shrugging.

Mark's eyes glimmered under the dim yellow light inside the warehouse. "Aren't you curious about how we do this then? Wouldn't you want to play one round to find out?" A sigh left your lips as you rolled your eyes. "Mark..."

"Y/n please, just one round." Mark insisted, his fingers squeezing yours. You looked over at the table, where the others were fanning out their cards and Jeno selecting the top card from the deck. As much as you wanted to walk out that door and forget about Mark Lee's stupid offer, you couldn't hide the desire burning in your chest. There was something luring you to that green-felt covered table, the pile of cards in front of your seat calling for you and the looks of the men around you, as if pleading you to stay. Even Haechan's attention was withdrawn from his cards and focused on you. And you needed money too, it wasn't like you were gonna land a good paying job the minute you graduate college either way. But above all, you needed, a little of what seemed like an adventure. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

You took a deep breath, blinking a couple of times. With a groan you pulled your chair back and sat down, gathering the cards in your palm, as you watched Mark Lee's smile making an appearance on his face again and Jeno, the dealer for tonight, sliding a single card to the center of the table. The ace of spades to start the game.

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linzerj · 6 years ago

Text

Golden Gate’s Heroes

(Hey ya’ll it’s that Venom/Ant-Man crossover fic I promised. It’ll have a few more chapters and maybe I’ll even figure out a real plot for it eventually. The AO3 link will be in the notes.)

---

Scott has got to learn to pay attention to schedules. Or maybe he just needs better friends. Actually, no, it’s probably a combination of those two factors that has led him to his current situation.

“Aw, are you sure you can’t come to babysit Cassie? No, I know it’s last minute, but – well, no, I’m sure I’ll figure something else out. Thanks anyway, Mrs. C.” Scott hung up the phone, then put his head in his hands with a groan.

“Are you sure I can’t just come with you, Daddy?” Cassie asked, bringing him out of his funk. “I can just sit in the lobby and play games on my phone. Or I can even sit in the car!”

“No, Peanut, that’s not fair to you,” Scott said, sinking off the couch to sit next to his daughter on the floor. “It’s my fault that I forgot about this big meeting we’re having. But your mom and Paxton are out of town for the week so I can’t just drop you back off, all the usual babysitters and even the emergency babysitters are all busy, and obviously Luis can’t watch you because he’ll be with me, and then Hope and Hank and Janet are out in NYC trying to not kill Tony Stark as they hash out new Accords amendments now that Jan is back, and….” Scott trailed off with a groan.

“I’m eleven now, daddy. I’m almost twelve! Did you know that when you’re twelve, you can legally stay home alone?”

“Oh really?”

“Well, that’s what the teacher said when she was offering everyone who was already twelve to come take a babysitting course!” Cassie beamed. “I’m almost there, just another three months!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if that would fly with Agent Woo, remember him?” They both shuddered overdramatically, before Cassie sighed.

“I know, daddy. Sorry again.”

“And again, not your fault Peanut, that’s all on me.” Scott grabbed his cell phone again and began scrolling through his contacts list. “I mean, I haven’t called everyone yet,” he narrated when Cassie peered over his shoulder. “Maybe we can find someone on this list who I know that can watch you for 2, 3 hours tops.”

And that’s when Scott saw it, a name he forgot he had in his phone, certain he had deleted it or lost it when he got his new cell. They’d hit it off at an interview before he’d had to go to prison for his big heist, and hadn’t really talked at all since then. It was such a long shot, but everyone else in his contacts had either already said no or lived way too far to make it in time or were Avengers that were doing who-knows-what. There were probably other options in his phone, but, well, it never hurt to try, so.

Holding his breath, he called Eddie Brock.

Eddie’s phone rang while he was scrolling through his Facebook feed in a half-asleep daze. Venom perked up a bit at the unknown number – they loved to take over and scare any telemarketers that called, which was why Eddie rarely answered unknown numbers anymore.

But this one looked – not too familiar, but it had a legit San Francisco area code, and something about those last four digits was ringing some sort of distant bells. So with a shrug, Eddie answered.

“H’llo?” he said through a mouth of Fruit Loops.

“Uh, hey, is this uh, is this still Eddie Brock?” the caller asked. Eddie swallowed his food, ignoring Venom as he manifested a head and started munching on the rest of the cereal, and studied the number with a confused glance for a second. The voice sounded sort of familiar, but it was not immediately recognizable, and Eddie wasn’t sure who would have his number that was unsure if it was him – he’d lost most of his old contacts when he’d broken his old phone, but he’d reprogrammed in all the numbers of important people or people he talked to daily, like Anne and his boss.

“Yeeeeah, who is this?” he finally said after realizing that the guy on the other end of the line was probably wondering what the hell was taking him so long to respond.

“I don’t know if you remember me, but uh, this is Scott Lang.”

And that made everything click into place. “Oh! Yeah, the engineer who broke into that CEO’s house and stole all the money that he’d been stealing! Yeah, how you been, dude? You’re out of jail I see – probably been out a while by now, actually, huh. What, uh, what’s up?”

“Okay so, this is going to sound super weird and I know we don’t know each other very well but you seemed like a cool dude and whatever, and even after all that LIFE Foundation stuff you still seem really awesome, but uh, anyway. I’ve got a daughter, right, but I’m an idiot and forgot to get a babysitter for like three hours while I go do this interview for my new business, and all my other regulars are busy because the universe is awful, and uh, if it’s not too much trouble and you’re willing to do it, I was wondering if you could, uh… just… watch her for like, two or three hours? Please?”

Scott rushed this all out in one breath, and it took Eddie a moment to process it. Some dude he’d interviewed once nearly 6 years ago was asking him to babysit his kid? Venom offered no insight to his problem, focusing on slurping up the remnants of their cereal.

“I’ll definitely pay you, too, and when I’m done I’d be totally down to hang out too, I mean, if you wanted to, I mean, oh god what am I even saying-”

“Yeah sure.”

On the other end of the line, Scott paused. “Really?”

“Sure,” Eddie said again, pushing Venom’s annoying face away as they leaned in closer. “I’m free, got nothing better to do, and you sound super stressed out man, and kids aren’t so bad. Plus I still totally respect you for that heist and exposing that scumbag, even if it was a one-time thing or whatever, so. Yeah.”

“Oh thank you thank you! I’ll give you my address, can you get here – ohhh boy, just, whenever you can? I gotta run ASAP man.”

“Not a problem,” Eddie replied, jotting down the address and grabbing his keys. “See you in a bit.”

Eddie, Venom said as Eddie plugged the address into his phone and started down the stairs of his building, what is ‘babysitting’? Why would we sit on a baby?

“Oh, uh, that’s not – we’re not literally sitting on a baby, love. We just go and watch a child, oh gosh how old even is this kid, oh boy. Well uh, we basically make sure she doesn’t die while her parents aren’t home, and then we get paid money for it.”

Hmm. Humans are weird.

---

Eddie arrived about five minutes after getting the call. He may have sped a little bit, but he wasn’t pulled over or anything, so it was fine.

Knocking on the door revealed Scott, dressed in a suit, smoothing down his hair and obviously trying not to look too flustered. “Okay, hi, Eddie, hi, I’m Scott, I’m sure you figured that out,” he said, extending his hand. Eddie took it and shook it briefly as Scott continued on. “So Cassie is pretty chill, man, don’t worry about a thing, there’s chicken nuggets in the fridge for you guys to eat and you can also have whatever else you want, and don’t worry about feeding Charlie Ben-Ant-e – wait – Cassie where’s Charlie Ben-Ant-e?!”

“Uhhhh… I don’t see him Daddy!” Eddie heard a girl call. She appeared in the doorway, and Eddie supposed this must be Cassie. She looked between ten and twelve, which, okay, that was definitely manageable. “But I’m sure it’ll be fine, he usually doesn’t start his routine for a while anyway.”

“Okay so don’t worry about Charlie Ben-Ant-e at all then,” Scott said to Eddie. “Also this is Cassie, Cassie this is Eddie, thank you again for watching her so last minute for me like this man, I really really owe you one, but I gotta go, bye Cassie be good-” Scott kissed his daughter on the head – “thanks again Eddie, I’ll see you in a few hours!” And Scott was off, running down the road to what Eddie supposed was his car. Well, then.

Eddie turned to Cassie who was looking at him intently. “Uh,” he said. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. She was still watching him. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” she said, still studying him, before grinning up at him and asking, “So you interviewed my Daddy before?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, back when, you know, he was arrested and whatever.” Eddie mentally smacked himself. That is probably not what you should say to kids.

But Cassie surprised him. “Yeah, he’s my hero,” she told him. “I think it was good that he tried to get that money back to the people it belonged to, even if he didn’t do it the right way. But he tried! And when I got to see him again after he got out of jail, I got him this trophy to show him how much I loved him!” And she triumphantly held up a cheap trophy.

“World’s Greatest Grandma?” Eddie asked, squinting at the writing on it. Cassie looked at the trophy then giggled.

“Yeah, it was the only one they had left, but now it’s like our secret joke,” she told him.

Eddie I like this child, Venom said, and Eddie couldn’t help but agree.

---

Eddie was cool, Cassie decided, even if she heard him muttering to himself every now and then when he thought she couldn’t hear. Maybe he was like some of her friends from school, who talked to themselves to keep on track or reassure themselves. There was nothing wrong with that, and she didn’t want to make him feel bad about himself by pointing it out.

But he was pretty funny too. He told her stories about being a reporter, and made lots of jokes like her dad, and grinned when he munched down on some chocolate with her. He asked her questions too, about what she liked and wanted to do, and when she said that maybe she would be famous someday he chuckled and said that she should think of all his questions as a practice interview. She wouldn’t mind having him as a babysitter again, she decided.

But that’s when Charlie Ben-Ant-e decided to make an appearance.

Her daddy had named the ant after a drummer whose name allowed for the ant pun of all his favorite ants. This was the same ant that had fooled the FBI when her dad had to help Hope and Mr. Pym stop the Ghost and save Hope’s mom.

Cassie had been told to keep the giant pet ants a secret from her friends, because people didn’t usually like ants anyway, and the giant ants were kind of scary. Cassie thought they were cute and that those people were dummies, but whatever. Her pet ant Ant-ony Junior lived with her and her mom and Jim Paxton, and it had learned to be very good about hiding when she or the grownups had friends over.

But Charlie Ben-Ant-e had not yet learned this. It still liked to stick to its usual routine, which was why her dad only had over his friends who knew he was Ant-Man, or had other people over when Charlie was sleeping.

So, sure, when Scott had left, Charlie hadn’t been around. That wasn’t unusual – lately he’d taken to wandering the backyard, or napping under beds. But of course, he was still a creature of habit, especially when it came to his food, and the meeting seemed to be running a little longer than expected.

So when Cassie went into the kitchen to grab chocolate milk for her and Eddie, she almost jumped when she saw Charlie Ben-Ant-e. He was scuffling at the fridge door, and Cassie rushed over to grab his designated food from the cabinet instead.

“Here, Charlie,” she said, filling his food bowl more than she should have, but hoping it would distract him long enough for her dad to come home and Eddie to leave. She liked Eddie, and she didn’t want this to scare him away. That would suck.

She grabbed the chocolate milk and some cups and ran back into the living room, where Eddie was looking past her toward the kitchen with curiosity.

“I was just feeding Charlie Ben-Ant-e,” Cassie explained before Eddie could ask. “Hopefully he won’t bother us.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie said. “Is he like, your dog? Cat?”

“Uh, yep!” Eddie totally didn’t believe her, but he shrugged and let it go.

So they sat for a while, sipping their chocolate milk and watching Phineas and Ferb reruns, when Charlie Ben-Ant-e decided to scuttle on by and head toward the electronic drum set.

“Uh,” Eddie said, eyes wide as he did a double take. “Uh, what…. is that Charlie Ben-Ant-e?”

Cassie grinned guiltily, and shrugged, trying her best to look innocent. “Maaaaybe…”

Eddie was still watching as the ant put on the headset and started drumming. “Ben-Ant-e,” he repeated, “Ben-Ant-e. Well. That. That explains the name pun, I guess.”

Cassie looked up at him, slightly concerned. “Are you… going to run away? Or call the police? Please don’t,” she added as an afterthought. “He’s really harmless. We trained him to play the drums!”

“I’m more… confused,” Eddie said slowly, eyes still on the ant. “How did – what – like, how does he exist? And no,” Eddie continued, whispering to himself, “we cannot eat it, stop it Vee.”

And Cassie blurted, “I’ll tell you how we have him if you tell me who Vee is that you’re talking too.”

“Uh,” said Eddie, and then her dad decided that this was the time to come home.

“Uh,” said Scott, eyes going from Eddie to Cassie to Charlie Ben-Ant-e back to Cassie then back to Eddie. “Uh.”

“Uh,” Eddie said again. Cassie decided that sometimes grown men were idiots.

“My dad is Ant-Man,” Cassie blurted, because there was too much tension now and she couldn’t stand it.

“Cassie!” her dad hissed, and she guessed he was upset that she told his secret identity. But what else was she supposed to do? Eddie had already seen Charlie Ben-Ant-e, and he wasn’t running off screaming yet, so maybe he could be a friend.

“What? Oh, okay, that’s, okay,” Eddie said. “So, uh, you were at that airport battle during that Avengers thing, that was crazy, I did a report on that, but uh, are you like an official Avenger then?”

“You’re taking this way better than some people, but whyyyyy does that matter?” Scott shot back, recovering from Cassie’s betrayal. Cassie was curious too, but Eddie did say he was a reporter, so maybe it was his natural reporter curiosity.

“Well, uh, um, uh, I don’t know if you heard about the uh, shhh, the whole LIFE Foundation rocket and human testing thing just a few months ago?”

“Yeaaahhhhhh, what does that have to do with anything?”

“So, they, uh, they had actually brought back these alien symbiotes and were experimenting with them using people, and well, uh, oh god Vee, listen one of the aliens may or may not be a friend but you won’t arrest us for that right?”

“Dude I don’t think I have jurisdiction to arrest you anyway, but I mean, like, what is even going on.”

“Oh god,” Eddie said again, and that’s when a weird black slime tentacle thing branched out of his shoulder, which formed a head with white eyes and very sharp teeth.

“Hello,” it said, and Eddie put his head in his hands.

“What the he-e-eck,” Scott said, stumbling backwards.

The black goo thing sprouting from Eddie grinned. “We are Venom,” it – they? – explained.

Cassie thought that Venom looked kind of cute in a weird way, and so she voiced her thoughts. “You’re kinda cute, in a weird way.”

Venom swung its head toward her, a long tongue sticking out of its mouth. “Cute? Eddie, tell the child we are not cute! We strike fear into bad guys!”

“I mean you are kinda cute when you’re just a floating head, Vee,” Eddie said, seeming to have overcome the shock of everything going on. Venom turned back to Eddie with a look of betrayal, and Cassie thought that they must be inside Eddie’s head or something because Eddie rolled his eyes at an unspoken jab and muttered, “yes you are you drama queen.”

“Okay, okay, let’s back up for a minute, yeah?” Scott said, holding up his hands. “Maybe let’s try this again. Hi, I’m Scott Lang, that’s my daughter Cassie, I’m also Ant-Man though that’s usually only when Hank really needs me right now, and we may have used our grow and shrink technology to make a very big ant named Charlie Ben-Ant-e that plays the drums and acted as a decoy for me when I was on house arrest. Your turn.”

Eddie blinked. “Well, uh. I’m Eddie Brock, and this is Venom but I call them Vee, and together we are also Venom. We met after I was disgraced for trying to expose Carlton Drake after Drake’s rocket crashed and brought their race here, and then LIFE was doing all sorts of unethical experiments on symbiotes and humans, but I broke in and we accidentally bonded and then we went out and beat up Drake and another evil symbiote and maybe ate some people at one point, and now we just try and keep to ourselves except for some occasional late night runs where we, uh, well.” Eddie paused, looking at Cassie with what she thinks is concern and nervousness.

“We eat the heads of bad guys,” Venom said plainly, and yeah, Cassie could see why Eddie didn’t want to say that out loud.

“You eat people?!” Scott cried. Eddie winced.

“Only bad guys!” he emphasized. “Plus, look, Vee needs some compound from humans, one that’s especially abundant in brains, in order to live or else they’ll start eating my organs and then we’ll both die and that’s not that fun.”

“Phenethylamine,” Venom added, “is what we need. It is also found in chocolate and there are supplements but they aren’t as good as fresh stuff. It is in many animal brains as well, such as the rats and raccoons and even deer we sometimes eat, but we feel that it is not bad to eat other bad people who would be released from prison, free to hurt more people again.”

“So you’re trying to be a hero too?” Cassie asked.

“Sure, yes, we are,” Eddie and Venom said together, and Cassie found that a little creepy but also super cool.

“Well,” her dad said, “that, uh. Sure is something. What the hell are the odds that two superheroes meet because one asked the other to babysit his daughter?”

“Like zero,” Eddie replied. Then: “Seriously though you won’t tell anyone right?”

Scott opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “Well. I mean. You could always tell them yourself?”

Eddie leveled a very unimpressed stare at her dad, and Cassie couldn’t help but ask, “You want to tell Hope and her parents, daddy?”

“And maybe whatever’s left of the Avengers,” Scott admitted. “Not that I don’t believe you or trust you or anything! But like, more as a… like, you could join us? That’d be cool, right?”

Eddie blinked, and it’s Venom who answered. “We will…think about it,” they said. “For now, we would appreciate if you tell no one, or we might eat your head.”

“Please don’t eat my daddy’s head,” Cassie said at the same time Eddie shouted, “No, Vee, we aren’t eating a hero’s head!” They shared a look, and Eddie continued, “Cassie would be very sad if you ate her dad’s head.”

“Oh. That’s not good. We like Cassie,” Venom said with a bit of a purr, and Cassie giggled.

“Well,” Scott said, “thanks for, for not eating my brain I guess. And, hey, you have my number – let me know if you ever want to do that hero meet-and-greet thing, I’m serious.”

“Sure, I mean, like we said, we’ll think about it,” Eddie replied.

“Yeah, cool, cool, man. I guess, uh. I guess I’ll see you around?”

Eddie and Venom grinned. “Sure,” was the simple reply.

“Great,” Scott said. He looked back to Cassie and then back to Eddie. “And uh, if you’re okay with it – I mean – I’d be okay with you babysitting Cassie still, I mean only if you want to…”

Eddie cut Scott off with a laugh. “Sure, man, we’d love to. See you around, man; bye, Cassie!”

And Cassie watched, still fascinated, as Venom melded back into Eddie and they walked out toward their motorcycle before driving away.

“He was like, the best babysitter ever daddy,” Cassie proclaimed, grinning up at her dad. “I liked him, and Venom too!”

“He certainly was….something,” Scott replied, scratching the back of his neck. “And I’m sure we’ll see him again, sweetie. Now, should we get Charlie Ben-Ant-e some more food or what?”

#venom #ant man #scott lang #eddie brock #cassie lang #venom 2018 #venom movie #ant man and the wasp #antman #crossover #fanfiction #my writing #they're a bunch of idiots #and they're going to be great friends #check the notes for the reblog with the ao3 link

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