#that man had no idea what he was getting into when jack was beamed aboard

[curator-on-ao3]

⭐ Director's Cut on the First Impressions ficlets, please!

Bahaha! Thank you for asking about those, @fiadorable! ❤️😂

Okay, so the trio of ficlets that form First Impressions are all … first impressions … in the context of two first officers — Jack Ransom and Una Chin-Riley. I originally posted the first and second ficlets to Tumblr (sort of glorified shitpost fics) and people asked me to put them on AO3, which was really nice. I put all three stories on AO3 a few days before the Lower Decks/Strange New Worlds crossover was announced and I thought, “Whoa. Of all my crackships, is Chansom actually going to go canon?!” So, yep, the joke in the crossover made me happy because how can you have first officer actors married to each other and not make a joke about it? The show did good.

Anyway, for the first ficlet, Jack Ransom falling for an Una Chin-Riley hologram (and Mariner teasing him about pulling a Geordi LaForge/Leah Brahms) was fun, and Jack meeting — and respecting — the actual Una as an aged and wise ambassador, all in the service of Jack’s emotional journey for his own self-confidence, was nice to explore. I see Jack as having a really beautiful and needy heart that he hides to protect himself (per Deanna Troi’s analysis). Letting Jack be vulnerable with Una made my own heart happy.

For the second ficlet, I was amused by the number of Trek characters played by married Trek actors and I wanted to get them all into one place. Hence, the nightclub that in my mind is officially named “Okudas,” but I couldn’t get that in there. Having Kira and Bashir (married actors!) comment on Jack and Una (married actors!) while reflecting on Tilly and Ryn (married actors!) and so, so many more had me smiling. (B’Elanna and Damar! Spock and Admiral Rollman! Jean-Luc Picard and the lounge singer from a dive bar in 21st century Los Angeles!) I like to believe that once Una and Jack figured out why they were at the nightclub (“Okay, so we’re fictional characters played by actors who are married to each other. That’s ummm …” “Not even the strangest thing to ever happen to me.” “Yeah, same.”) that they sort of warily circled each other, then Jack made a joke about testing out the ol’ rod and berries (yeah, a Roddenberry dirty joke — I truly believe Jack would go there) and Jack got nervous when Una seemed annoyed at first by his humor … but then he saw the amusement in her eyes and they both absolutely cracked up laughing.

The third ficlet was the only one of the trio that I wrote directly for AO3 (didn’t begin life as a Tumblr fic shitpost). And I have to say, I have a special place in my heart for it. The way Christopher Pike initially dismisses Jack Ransom as an idiot and, sure, it’s fine if Una has history with this guy from the future because it’s obviously just physical attraction and … what’s that? Jack is actually intelligent? Well, shit. Writing Chris becoming more and more insecure while Jack and Una have no idea that Chris is freaking out … and Chief Kyle just wants everyone out of the transporter room … had me laughing (lovingly) as I wrote and every time I edited.

Thank you so much, @fiadorable, for asking about that trio of firsts for two of my favorite first officers. ❤️

Want more information about a fic I wrote? Send me an ask.

[pitch-pearl-void]

Soulmate AU where you see you color after meeting the eyes of your soulmate

"Okay," Jack said, pleased to see the fearful look in the ghost punk's eyes as he directed Danny's hand onto the Specter Speeder's weapon joystick, "now you're gonna want to aim right between the eyes..."

"Uh, Dad?" Danny asked, his voice shaking. 

Jack's eager grin grew. "Now WA--"

"Dad!" Danny yelled, his voice breaking. "His eyes! Is--is that color?!"

"--STE HIM--what?"

Jack jerked his head around, finally looking away from the ghost boy. Danny's eyes were large and they were darting from the ghost to the sky to the ghost to the ground to the ghost to Jack's jumpsuit and back to the ghost. They were no longer lazily half closed, Jack could see the full expanse of Danny's blue irises, but most damning of all was the dilation of Danny's pupils. 

A pit opened up in Jack's stomach. "Oh no," he whispered. 

Danny threw himself against Jack. It jerked the weapons out of alignment, but worse, Danny disturbed the controls in Jack's hands. The Specter Speeder pitched to the side. Danny yelped and slid toward the open doors. He clawed at Jack's arm, but the jumpsuit was smooth and skintight--it offered little traction. 

He fell out of the open doorway.

He could have kicked himself. 

"Danny!" Jack shouted. He reached for his son, but he was far too late. Danny was already in freefall, rapidly falling from thirty feet in the air. Jack's words from two days ago shouted in his head, "Safety features are for punks!" 

Frantically, he tipped the Specter Speeder into a dive and chased after Danny. He could see Danny through the windshield, his boy's limbs flailing from the wind. His head and shoulders were falling first; the landing would break his neck long before Jack reached him.

"Danny!" Jack shouted again, anguished. 

A white blur shot between them seconds before Danny impacted the ground. Newspapers flew into the air where Danny had been. Jack pulled sharply on the Specter Speeder's controls. Once he was parallel with the ground, he saw Danny again through the windshield, held in the arms of the ghost boy. 

The ghost boy landed. He set Danny on the ground and stepped back. They stared at each other, seemingly oblivious to everything around them, and Jack--

Jack's hand wrapped around the weapon joystick. The ghost was too close to Danny for Jack's peace of mind, a new threat to his son, but...but...

Danny was supposed to be colorblind. Everyone was born unable to see color until they met the eyes of their soulmate or felt their touch for the first time. 

Danny had met the ghost's eyes through the windshield of the Specter Speeder.

Danny's pupils had dilated to absorb as many details as possible, as if witnessing something for the first time. 

Danny had spoken of seeing colors.

Danny had moved recklessly to...to save the ghost from Jack.

...and the ghost had saved Danny from certain death. 

Slowly, reluctantly, Jack removed his hand from the joystick. It was probably nothing. Ghosts couldn't have souls, they were only the remnants of dead people, and Danny couldn't have a ghost for a soulmate.

...But just in case...

"Danny!" Jack shouted as he sped toward them. Both boys looked up at him. "Oh, they're both named Danny," Jack realized. "Now that's gotta be confusing...Hold on, son!"

The two looked at each other again. The ghost Danny stepped back again. 

"Wait!" Jack shouted again. "Ghost boy, wait a minute!"

The ghost's head jerked around, his eyes wide as he looked at Jack. Perhaps shocked Jack wasn't just shooting at him. Danny touched the ghost's arm. 

If the ghost reacted to the touch of his soulmate, however, Jack didn't see it. A blast slammed into the Specter Speeder. Metal screeched, Jack yelled, and the Speeder soared through the air before crashing against--something. Jack's head cracked against the controls, and his vision blacked out. Dazed and disoriented, he heard his boy cry out for him. He fumbled with his controls, but without sight, he couldn't find the ghost that must have attacked him. He gave up as his head spun and allowed his head to fall back against the seat. He just needed a moment. To catch his breath. Just a moment, and then he could protect his son and...his son's soulmate?

Jack heard the slap of hands landing on glass and pried his eyes open. His vision had returned, if a little blurry around the edges. There was shouting, somebody's nasal voice irritating his brain, but Jack could only focus on Danny's face and the ghost boy standing beside him. They looked worried. Both of them. Even the ghost. Why?

More spectacular than a ghost fearing for Jack was watching the two Dannys look at each other. Ghost and human. They didn't say anything vocally, but it was like they understood with just a glance everything that needed to be said. 

Danny turned away from Jack and ran down the road. The ghost flew after him, and when Danny lifted his arms, the ghost picked him up and flew in the direction of the voice. They weren't even speaking but they moved with the grace of soulmates who had known each other for years. 

"Danny," Jack protested weakly. He couldn't let them race off to fight a ghost. Not for his sake, not when they were only kids. 

Still dizzy, Jack fought his body's desire for rest after receiving a concussion--perhaps air bags weren't such a bad idea--and scrambled out of his broken machine. An abandoned motorcycle he found was too small for a man as large as Jack, but for a short distance he could make it work. He climbed aboard and raced after the kids, the machine's roar in his ears aggravating his headache. 

He arrived before Danny and the ghost boy tipped the RV into the lake. Jack wasn't sure why they chose the lake as a capture device, but he could tell from the RV's unnatural state that a ghost was involved somehow. Ghosts were always involved when it came to weird, spooky things like innocent Family Assault Vehicles gaining a bulbous top half.

Danny turned to the ghost boy and opened his mouth, but Jack arrived before the first conversation between soulmates could take place. 

"Danny!" He leapt off his tiny motorcycle and reached for Danny, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Son! Are you hurt? What was that thing? I know your mother and I encourage you and your sister to take part in our profession, but that does not mean unsupervised ghost hunting, young man!"

Danny's wide eyes crumbled into a sullen pout. "Ugh, Dad..."

"And you--" Jack rounded on the ghost boy. The ghost stiffened, stepped back, but Jack threw out a hand and grabbed a bony shoulder before he could go far. "--what color are my son's eyes?"

The ghost's jaw dropped. His eyes darted to Danny. 

Danny wrinkled his nose at him. "Ugh, what? Gees, he was there when it happened." He shrugged, his own bony shoulder rising and falling underneath Jack's hand. "The whole explosion of color thing is kinda hard not to freak out about, y'know?"

"There was no explosion of color!" the ghost objected. "We're not soulmates!"

"Sure we're not, bright-eyes."

A pale green blush came over the ghost's cheeks. "What?"

"Your eyes, like, glow with this, like..." Danny moved his hand around as he squinted at the ghost's face, trying to find a word to describe a color he could never see before. "--pretty color. I don't know. I haven't seen anything like it yet. It's really bright, though. And your blush too. Like, wow, dude, take deep breaths."

"I don't need to breathe, I'm a ghost." The ghost looked at Jack. "And ghosts don't even have soulmates, right?"

Jack stared at the two of them, too unsure to answer that. An hour ago, he would have agreed whole-heartedly, but...

If Danny was telling the truth (and Jack would believe him over a ghost any day), then that meant the ghost was rejecting Danny as his soulmate. More than Jack's profession, more than preserving a belief already proven to be flawed, Jack couldn't allow Danny to go through that pain.

"You two do know soulmates don't have to mean a romantic relationship?" Jack asked cautiously, and then added quickly, "Not that there is anything wrong with...uh two boys--a human and a--a ghost--uh..." This wasn't really a conversation he ever thought he would need to give Danny, but...

Danny groaned, tipping back his head. 

"I'm aware," the ghost muttered, the blush Danny had admired getting worse. 

"Right! Because Vladdy and I--" Danny choked "--are soulmates, and we never got married!!" Jack finished by beaming at the two of them. 

"You and Vlad...?" Danny asked, still sounding a little choked. "Soulmates?"

"Yup!" Jack chuckled. "Man, you should have seen his face when our eyes met and the world filled with color..."

The ghost hummed and raised an eyebrow at Danny. Danny caught the look and stuck his tongue out at the ghost. 

More banter without a single word spoken...

Slightly uncomfortable, Jack cleared his throat. "So! You see! Whether you two choose to pursue a romantic relationship or one more brotherly like me and Vladdy--" Danny blew air between his lips, "--the important thing is that..." Jack's voice faltered. He cleared his throat again and gave the ghost's shoulder a brief squeeze. "The important thing...Phantom, is that...if...if you're my son's soulmate then...then you're part of the family."

The ghost stared at him, the unnatural light of his green eyes searing into Jack's as if searching for a falsehood. "I'm a ghost," he said, as if Jack had missed that fact.

"Yes," Jack said slowly. "We'll have to break the news to Maddie gently." He winked at the ghost and tried to force a smile. "Maybe start with you saving Danny's life."

A tiny smile touched the corners of the ghost's lips in response. 

"Ugh, do we have to tell Mom?" Danny whined. "She's going to make it so embarrassing..."

"This isn't like keeping what happened to the Fenton Family Assault Vehicle a secret!" Jack objected, making the two boys wince. "This is your soulmate! This is your colorfest, Danny! This is one of the most important days of your life! The day you met your soulmate and saw the world come alive with color! If we don't tell Maddie as soon as possible..." He shuddered.

Danny's friends shouted Danny's name as they ran down the pier, not quite within hearing distance, but close. 

Danny made a face. "Okay, we can tell mom. And Jazz, I guess. But that's it." 

"The sky," the ghost suddenly blurted. Danny frowned at him and Jack raised his eyebrows. The ghost's hands fiddled with the cloth (was that a bedsheet?) tied around his throat. "His--Fenton's eyes. They're the same color as the sky."

Danny's expression brightened. "They are?"

"HA!" Jack crowed. Feeling suddenly overcome by joy, so blinded by excitement for his boy, Jack forgot the ghost boy's species entirely as he slid an arm around each of their shoulders and drew them into a crushing bear hug. "Yes!" he shouted. "They are! They are!" He laughed and half stood, lifting the two boys partially into the air. "My son has found his soulmate!"

"Dad!" Danny wailed. "Dad! Shh! Shhhhh!"

"Release me!" the ghost shouted. 

Jack laughed, the sound joyous and--for the moment--carefree. 

Of course his son would have a ghost for a soulmate!

What other outcome could there be for a Fenton who claimed not to care about hunting ghosts?

[imaginestargatesg1]

Swept Away, Part Four

So, this one is a crossover between Stargate SG-1 and 9-1-1. It’s gonna be a multipart/chapter imagine/story, and the first part doesn’t actually have any Stargate characters other than the reader who is a member of SG-1. I’m also shifting the Stargate timeline so that season 8 happens around the same time as the beginning of season 3 for 9-1-1.

Y/N means your name, Y/L/N mean your last name.

Summary: The reader, a member of SG-1, is taking their first vacation in almost 9 years. So of course, they get caught up in a Tsunami! While trying not to be swept away the reader comes across a small boy all alone, clinging to a pole, and shouting for someone named Buck.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Daedalus

Right after SG-1 and the Station 118 team where beamed aboard

“Holy shit! We’re in space! We’re standing on a space ship!” Chimney muttered, eyes not leaving the sight of the Earth.

The rest of the 118 team stood beside him, eyes wide, and to shocked to say anything. SG-1 was standing beside them, each one wearing various expressions of amusement. It never got old seeing someone experience this for the first time. Jack let them stare out at the Earth for a few moments before getting down to business.

“You’ll get an explanation later, right now we have two people to look for,” Jack turned from the fire fighters to face the man sitting in one of the chairs at the center of the bridge.

“Scan for Y/N’s subcutaneous tracker,” Jack ordered the technician.

The 118 team turned towards the man in charge of the Daedalus, their shock fading as they remembered that Christopher and Y/N where still missing.

“Scanning now!”

There was a moment of silence where the fire fighting team was worried that somehow they wouldn’t be able to find the signal from Y/N subcutaneous tracker.

“Found it. The signal appears to be coming from an underground parking garage in the flood zone. My scans are also picking up another life sign within the parking garage.”

“That has to be Christopher,” Eddie stated, hope filling his chest.

“Beam them aboard now!” Jack ordered.

“Right away sir.”

The technician typed away at his control console. The room filled with a bright light, and when it dissipated two people where sitting on the floor just behind the firefighting team. SG-1 and the firefighting team turned towards the two people who’d just been beamed aboard. Christopher was sitting on the floor not to far from Y/N, arms wrapped around his knees crying. And Y/N was lying motionless on the floor, rebar sticking out of their right shoulder. Their face was pale, and from the lack of movement of their chest it appeared they weren’t breathing.

“We need a med team!” Jack shouted, racing over to Y/N.

He dropped to the floor next to them, checking for a pulse. It took a moment but he found one, though it was fading fast.

“I’ve got a pulse but it’s fading, and they’re not breathing,” Jack exclaimed.

Chimney and Hen raced over to them, shoving Jack out of the way so they could get to work. The rest of the firefighting team raced over to Christopher, with Eddie pulling his son into his arms. Buck dropped to his knees next to the two of them, his eyes fixated on Christopher. Christopher frantically started telling them what had happened after him and Y/N had fallen off the fire truck. By the time he was finished explaining he was practically hysterical. Eddie tucked Christopher’s head into his chest, and softly whispered to him in Spanish, trying to calm him down.

“I don’t want Y/N to die,” Christopher sobbed.

“Chim and Hen are working to save them right now mijo,” Eddie stated.

Chimney and Hen worked back and forth, trying to get Y/N breathing again, doing their best to ignore Christopher’s heartbreaking sobs. Just as the med team arrived on the bridge Y/N began coughing, water spewing from their mouth. Hen carefully turned them onto their left side as they spit out water and began gasping for air. The med team worked quickly, loading Y/N up onto a gurney and rushing them out of the room.

“We should probably have our doctors take a look at Christopher and Buck. They were both caught up in that Tsunami as well,” Sam suggested, moving to stand next to the firefighting team.

“That’s a good idea. Come on Eddie, let’s get Christopher and Buck checked out,” Bobby stated, patting Eddie on the shoulder.

Eddie gathered Christopher in his arms and stood up. The boy clung to his dad as the two teams moved as one down the hallway to the infirmary…

~(^.^)~

Several hours later

The doctor’s aboard the Daedalus had looked both Buck and Christopher over once they’d arrived in the med bay. Buck had several scrapes and bruises, not to mention some fatigue and dehydration from running around all day trying to find Christopher and Y/N. The doctors had set him up with an IV and put him in a bed in one corner of the room to rest. Christopher also had a few bumps and bruises, and was also dehydrated and fatigued, but also had a mild case of shock. The doctors had placed him in the bed next to Buck’s.

The 118 team and SG-1 had all taken up various seats around the two’s bed’s while they waited to hear news on Y/N who been taken into surgery. As they waited SG-1 had explained the Stargate program to them. Just as SG-1 was finishing explaining the Stargate program to the firefighting team, the doctors had wheeled in an unconscious Y/N and placed them on the bed next to Christopher. The doctor’s had explained that the rebar had gone straight through their shoulder, but hadn’t hit anything important, so they were able to remove the rebar and stitch the wound closed, and thanks to the water they’d inhaled Y/N had developed a mild case of pneumonia.

But the doctors were confident that Y/N would make a full recovery, they would just need to spend some time recovering in the infirmary. Something that SG-1 knew they would hate. Y/N despised being injured and having to spend any time cooped up in the infirmary. They never did well when they were forced to sit around and do nothing. Y/N was always up and moving around, doing one thing or another around the SGC. So being stuck in the infirmary was like torture to them.

The doctors left the two teams, tossing an order for Buck and Christopher to get some sleep over their shoulders as they went off to work on other patients. Secure in the fact that Y/N was going to make it, Christopher and Buck both laid back in their beds and allowed themselves to drift off to sleep…

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels: Lock n’ Load

This one’s for all you people who are really into sci-fi gadgets like I do.  It’s a little on the short side, so sorry for that.  I’ll try and make the next one longer.  Please note that, as always, only the Tongues of Fire characters belong to me.  All others belong to their respective writers and owners.  Now, sit back, relax, enjoy, and try not to die!

Tongues of Fire Galaxy, In the far reaches of system XBH-9974

The starships of the Magnificent Scoundrels arrived perfectly on time to the coordinates Thomas Drake had sent them.  It was a dreary system in the middle of nowhere, with four barren rocks of planets orbiting a small star, and one that looked to be more mud than anything else.  Drake had invited all of the Scoundrels and any of their retinues on board the Apocalypse for the mission briefing.  They met him in the massive cargo bay of the ship; stainless steel walls and massive stacks of rectangular cargo pallets greeted the new arrivals.  Drake himself was nowhere to be seen, and so they mingled, talking, gauging exactly what type of people they would be working with.  Master Chief slid over to Cooper.

“How was the voyage?” he asked.  Copper gave a long sigh.

“It was...long.  And hard.”

“Thaaaaaattttt’s whaaaaat sheeee said!” came Drake’s much too over enthusiastic voice from one of the doorways leading into the cargo bay.  Several snickers came at his words.

“I don’t get it...oh,” muttered someone.  Copper just sighed and looked at Master Chief.

“That’s the type of shit I’ve had to deal with the entire voyage.”  Drake grinned and held out his arms in greeting.  

“Welcome aboard the Apocalypse everyone!  You’re all looking fabulous today.”  He swaggered towards them.  “I’m assuming you’re all wondering why exactly we’re all here in the ass end of nowhere.”  A handful of nods greeted his words.  “Well I’m not a man to make extensive, complicated and loquacious speeches unless I need to, so I’ll put it simply.  On the mudball planet is a group of thieves, pirates, mercenaries, whatever you want to call them.  Point is, they stole something from a client of mine.  We’re here to get it back, and I am here to see just exactly how good you are.”  He grinned.  “SO.  We shall decide the details later.  Right now, time to ah, get equipped.”  He sauntered through the massive space, the rest of the Scoundrels following him, and touched several buttons on a wrist mounted computer.  Massive panels on the walls slid open, and racks upon racks of weaponry and equipment was displayed for all to see.  Drake grinned again.  “While I was finding information about all of your galaxies, I took the liberty of...acquiring, yes, we’ll stick with that, acquiring quite a lot of things.  Guns and gadgets and weapons and cool stuff!  It’s gonna be glorious!”  Most of the Scoundrels stared, open mouthed, at the truly staggering amount of stuff that Drake had just revealed.  The tough-looking man with the purple masked figure in their retinue, who had been identified by Drake’s report as John Shepard, moved over to one of the weapon racks.  

“Is that...a black hole gun?” he asked Drake.

“Yes,” replied Drake with a typical smirk.  Ciaphas Cain looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his sockets.  He touched a long barreled gun with a long sniper scope on it.

“Please tell me this isn’t an Exitus Rifle,” he half aske, half pleaded to Drake.  

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

“How did you get that?” asked Cain, a note of fear in his voice.

“It's probably best if you didn’t know.”  

“Yeah.  It is most definitely probably better if I didn’t know.”  Adam Vir walked over to a glass case displaying a lithe grey suit on a manikin.

“This...this is Iron Eye armor,” he said with wonder.  He frowned.  “I’m not even going to ask where you got this.”  Drake nodded.

“At least there’s someone with sense in this room.”  Han Solo, ever the pragmatist, spoke up.

“Where did you get all of this?”  Drake beamed.

“You of all people ought to be able to figure it out.”  

“You stole it.”  It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Oh no my dear man,” said Drake with a laugh, “I acquired it.”  Jack Cooper sighed.

“I’m surprised you haven’t stolen a Titan yet.”  Drake whirled around to face him.

“What a wonderful idea!  I think I will.  I’ll add it to the list.”  He turned around and gestured to the various gear.  “Now, I know how some of you like your stuff.”  He spun to face Solo.  “You.  Jacket, boots, holster of unknown material but probably some sort of leather, DL-44 blaster.”  He spun around to Vir.  “You.  Spear, Drev metal.  Iron Eye armor, when necessary, but not a lot.  Have an odd tendency to not wear armor and gasmask when out exploring planets and that has led to problems.”  He wheeled away from Vir and slid up to Cooper.  “You.  Pilot’s suit with cloak, good with anything but like the Flatline.  Prefer the new heavier x-shaped Militia visor as opposed to the old IMC one.”  Drake spun on his heel and pointed at Starlord.  “You.  A rather odd sort of helmet that expands from the ear.  Don’t know how it works, but I’ll find out.  Jet boots, Quad blasters, had a Walkman but now a Zune.”  The Scoundrels stared at Drake, mouths gaping like landed fish.  “You.”  Drake pointed at Master Chief  “MJOLNIR armor, MA5D assault rifle, you’re a soldier so you bring grenades...and so on and so on.  Point is, if you use it, if you want it, I've got it.  Take your pick.”  Shepard made some sort of gagging noise.

“Exactly how much do you know about us?”  Drake gave a grin that was more like a predator baring its teeth than an actual smile.

“Everything.  Including that one thing all of you seem to have that you’d rather me not know.” 

Well shit.  

“Really?  You could just be bluffing.  Prove it,” said Kirk.  Drake held out his hand and a nearby Apocalypse crew member held out a data pad.  Drake tapped several buttons, scanned his fingerprint, then, carefully hiding the surface so as no one else could see it, showed Kirk the contents.  Kirk blanched and tugged at his collar.

“Uh, yeah...he’s not bluffing.”  Drake smiled, this time genuinely.  

“Don’t worry though.  I won’t tell anyone your secrets unless you want me to.”  He rubbed his hands together.  “So.  Let’s get to it, shall we?”  He gestured at a large holographic projector in the corner of the room.  Everyone walked over, Drake tapped his wrist mounted computer, and a glowing green projection of what looked like a military base appeared.  Drake gestured at it.  

“This is their base, if you haven’t guessed already.  It was originally an observation outpost for the Federal Military, which is why it’s as formidable as it is, but it was abandoned, well, because it’s smack-dab in the middle of nowhere.  Why they built it in the first place is a mystery.  Anyway, they have about oh, say, 200 to 300 people there.  All of them are armed, and while they don’t have anything too heavy, like, say, anti-aircraft or -tank weapons, they have quite the compilation of small arms.  Nothing we shouldn’t be able to handle.  We can also probably disable their long range sensors, allowing us to land on the planet without detection.  The question is: what do you want to do from there?”  He looked around at the group.  “Oh come now.  Any suggestions?”  

“This is your party, your home galaxy; what do you suggest?” asked Shepard pointedly.  Drake laughed.

“Well, there are usually two ways of retrieving an object of importance from a hostile group: either no bodies for the guards to notice or no guards left to notice the bodies.”  Several of the team looked horrified at this, and Drake gave a bloodthirsty grin.  “Option two is easier as there aren’t any local law enforcement.  In fact, there isn’t anyone of significant authority to apprehend us within anywhere near here.  Hell, we don’t even need to hide our presence.  We have enough firepower to blow them into molten slag; we can retrieve the object afterwards.”  He paused and considered it for a moment.  “Although, if we go with an orbital bombardment we run the risk of destroying the object.”  Vir stared at him in horror.

“An orbital bombardment?  You can’t be serious.”  Shepard and Kirk nodded at this.  Drake scoffed.

“They’re a group of 200 pirates on an uninhabited mudball of a planet.  No one’s gonna care.”  Was Drake testing them?  They looked at each other, and Shepard spoke.  

“No.  We’re going to go in stealthily.  No need to get anyone hurt unnecessarily.  We land undetected, we,” he gestured at himself, Vir and Master Chief, “go in, steal the thing, get out.  You guys are our support.”  He pointed at Drake and Cooper, “You two stay on that side,” he gestured at Cian and Quill, “you two on that side, and you two,” he looked at Solo and Kirk, “are ready to get us out if anything goes wrong.  Any objections?”  Most of the team nodded.  Drake gave them an odd look.

“If that’s how you want to do it.”  This was definitely a test.  “Ok.  If we’re all agreed, then let’s get to it.  Take whatever you want, but tell me or the quartermaster first so I know what you’re taking.  Other than that, I bid you good luck.”  Now then, what to do?  What to choose?  Celeric, the Apocalypse's morose quartermaster, was demonstrating to some of the Scoundrels’ crewmembers the horrifying effects of some glowing green weapons.  Cain and the officers of the Valhallan 597th were all buckling on bulky armored plates and picking up strange rectangular-looking rifles attached to heavy backpacks.  Apparently they knew what they wanted.  Master Chief wore full combat armor all the time, so he didn’t need anything. Solo had already disappeared, and Shepard and Cooper were browsing through gear from their home galaxy.  That left two.  Adam Vir and Peter Quill stared at each other awkwardly, then seemingly decided at the same time to walk over to where Drake was.  

Drake was sitting next to a large rack of ornate black armor.  While not exceptionally detailed, it looked extremely advanced and very expensive.  Drake himself was humming along to some song playing from his wrist computer while fiddling with a sleek triple barreled weapon.  A blueish-purple glow emitted from the center where a magazine would be on a normal weapon, and Drake seemed to be inspecting it for any flaws.  He turned and stopped what he was doing when Vir and Quill approached.  

“Ah!  Can I help you?” he asked politely.  

“What are you doing?” replied Vir in lieu of a response.  Drake chuckled.

“Well, these are mine.  Can’t be going into combat un-prepared, now, can I?”  He indicated the armor and gun.  

“What are they?” bath asked at the same time, then looked at each other, surprised.  

“Modified armor and a modified triple-barreled supercooled assault plasma rifle.  Cost me quite a lot, but worth every penny.  And, of course, this.”  He tapped the portable computer.  “The best in the market, modified, of course, by yours truly.  It can slice into almost any security system and can pull up anything from the Apocalypse's main computer.  And it plays music.”  This got their attention.  

“What kind?”  Drake shrugged.

“Oh, you know, the classics.”

“What do you consider ‘the classics’?” asked Vir.

“You know, the classics.  Uh, Country Roads, 1812 Overture, I’m Sexy and I Know It…”

“One of those does not belong with the others,” muttered Quill.  

“Eh, doesn’t matter.  I know the both of you have quite good taste in music.  Should be interesting.  Talk to Celeric if you have any questions about the stuff.”  Quill wandered off, and Drake took out some sort of screwdriver-like tool and fussed over a panel on the suit of armor.  “Look at this.  Best of the best.  It’s got all the gadgets on it: enhanced strength and support, slot for the wrist computer, thermal vision, the works.  But now...now the possibilities are endless!  Built in flamethrowers, omnitools, cybernetic implants, personal shielding, digital weapons...oh it’s going to be glorious when I’m done with it.”  He turned to Vir, who hadn’t moved.  “Can I help you?”  

“Er...yes, you can, actually.”  Vir fidgeted with his collar and turned a slight shade of red.  “What do you know about me?”  

“You?  Everything.  I already told you that,” replied Drake as he turned back to his work.

“I mean...specifically.”  Drake sighed and turned back towards him.  

“Specifically?  I know of your war record, which is painful, but not that deep of a secret.”  He pursed his lips.  “How shall I phrase this...does the acronym LFIL mean anything to you?”  Vir turned a deeper shade of red.  

“Uh...yes.  Yes, it does.”  Drake nodded.

“Good.  Just so we’re on the same page.  I won’t tell anyone, though.  You can trust me with that.  In fact,” he began to laugh, “In fact...well, I can’t tell you.  But I shall ask.  Worry not, for I shall ask.”  Drake paused and seemed to consider something for a moment, then stood up and put a hand on Vir’s shoulder.  His voice changed from light and breezy to serious and almost fatherly.  “Let me give you a bit of advice.  Do not ever let a servant of the Imperium of Man know.  They will kill you for it.”  He looked past Vir at something in the background and sighed.  “Speaking of bloody which,” he turned and walked towards the Imperials, who were lugging crates emblazoned with the double headed Imperial eagle towards the exit.  “Oi!  You guys are just going to walk away with all my hellguns without telling me?”  And while Drake was arguing with Cain, Adam Vir stood and pondered Drake’s words.

Due to the overwhelming technological superiority of the Scoundrels, the bases’ long and close range scanners were taken down with relative ease, and the assault was to commence.  Drake had placed his own soldiers on board the various ships that would be landing outside the base, as a rather obvious attempt to see how good the rest of the Scoundrels really were.  Shepherd stared in distaste at the sleazy looking man who accompanied them aboard his ship, the Normandy.  Vir and the Chief were in the hold, ready and waiting, and Shepard was to bring them just outside the base.  The rest were to be dropped off or teleported by the Millennium Falcon or the Enterprise.  Shepard turned towards Drake’s armsman, named Nathaniel if he remembered correctly.  

“So, Nathaniel.  Drake seems a bit...off.  Is he really, well, on top of things?”  Nathaniel gave a sleazy smile.

“Here’s the thing.  People don’t follow others because they’re popular or high born.  People follow others because they’re good at what they do.  Don’t matter if they’re nice, or rich, or sane, it matters if they’re competent.  And the Captain?  Well, he’s a little off.  Whether he’s actually nuts or just likes acting like it doesn’t matter.  He’s the best of the best at what he does and I’d follow him into hell.”  Shepard didn’t have time to reply.  

“Commander.  We’ve arrived.”  

Well, that’s it.  Hope you liked it.  If you have any questions, comments, concerns, reviews, advice or criticisms, feel free to ask.  Hope you have a nice day!   

[ruffiorocks]

Lena deserves better than being the only one to suffer for her faults

You know, I hope they don't make Lena go bad, even if she temporarily loses her way.

It would be such a waste of 3 seasons of character development and soooo cliche.

Plus I know Kara is the main character and the main hero, but this show has actually done a pretty good job of showing us that Kara is in no way perfect, she makes rash decisions, f**ks up, lies, has a lot of emotional issues, has been xenophobic (Mon El) makes poor choices sometimes, can be manipulative (using James against Lena), uses Lena quite a lot, has serious Jekell and Hyde issues, scoffs at authority even if those in authority are arseholes etc. She's even killed people/aliens, she killed Rudy/Parasite and she killed Reign, even if she did go back in time and reverse that.

Lena is in no way perfect either, but then she was never supposed to be a squeaky clean hero like we're supposed to see Kara as, although as I've mentioned she isn't squeaky clean at all! Lena has done dodgy stuff but because of her last name and the fact the show likes to 'tease' her going bad, she is the ONLY one that anyone is concerned about when it comes to being questionable, because that's how the show presents it. Even in the teasers or promos about her, they leave whatever she's doing as a question mark.

But Kara on the show, and even in promos is presented as the hero in the right no matter what. The only way we really get to see Kara as having done something wrong is if Lena or Kara herself points it out. People say this is the show Constantly making Kara apologize to Lena but I think it's great! Having Kara apologize for some of the nonsense she pulls, especially to Lena humanizes her and acknowledges that she isn't as perfect as she's usually presented to be.

The show does a horrible job of ignoring how dodgy the other Superfriends can be, because they are the 'heroes' and Lena is forever the question mark, even though without her they can't always save the day. They get round this by sometimes making Lena indirectly responsible for what goes on. But Lena isn't always the ONLY one involved in the issues that happen.

E.g. Rhea and the Daxamite invasion:

When Rhea first arrived with Mon Els dad and the Daxamite fleet, she had no interest whatsoever in Earth. ALL she wanted was for Mon El to go back with them. She threatened Earth because she thought they were holding Mon El hostage.

Mon El who had talked a big game about not being OK with slavery or anything else Daxam did and wanted to be a hero, took less than an hour to decide he had no interest in taking the colossal opportunity handed to him where he could make a difference. He thought his culture was dead, no way to make up for his past faults. But lo and behold he got a second chance to write Daxams wrongs. Yes his mum threatened to lock him in a cell until the reached Daxam but is 3 years in a cell really that big of a price to pay for the ability to make changes? He would have been king, he probably couldn't change things Immediately, but he could have built a support base, staged a coup, led a rebellion or at least tried!! But nope, he decided to leave the remaining Daxam Slaves and any future ones to their fates so he could have his girl. Don't forget as well that Mon El left it until he was beamed aboard his parents ship to let Kara know who he was. He let Kara think he was possibly going to his death when he knew it was just mum and dad and he was way past currew! Kara in tears because that jack ass was crying to thought he might die and risked her own neck to join him on the Daxamite ship.

Kara in this situation wasn't any better. She talked a big game about how sh*t Daxam was and how wrong slavery was. She even went to Slavers Bay with Mon El and rescued people. But when the time came for Mon El to possibly fix or at least begin to fix Daxams slave issues she had zero interest in it, she had a go at Rhea for it but made no attempt to convince Mon El that maybe going back and helping his people was a good idea, no Kara's concern for Daxamite slaves only goes as far as her not getting her man. The stupid thing was if it had been the other way round it would have been in character for Kara to take that 3 years in a cell and do the noble thing.

So yeah, Rhea only invaded because Mon El told her to get lost and she blamed Kara for it. Lena had absolutely nothing to do with that, Rhea had already made the decision to make Earth New Daxam because of Kara and Mon El, way before she ever set eyes on Lena.

But non of that is ever acknowledged, but Lena's part in helping an alien try to get home and in the process perhaps help third world countries get the aid they needed in mere minutes was heavily highlighted. We got to see Lena hating herself for that, while Kara/Supergirl mopped about like an emo ignoring Lena and not really acknowledging the part she played in the invasion. Because we're left to see it as purely Lena's fault.

We are shown Jonn as the fatherly papa bear who struggles with violence. We saw him try the path of peace and fail at it, his father shows up and tells him that's OK and we're all like "ahhh papa bear".

BUT

Whats glossed over is Jonn's serious anger issues and homicidal tendencies. He wanted to kill the White Martian that was impersonating the Senator, he had already knocked it out and subdued it. But that wasn't enough for Jonn, he wanted it dead because it was a white Martian, he was going to kill the unarmed, unconscious alien and even brought along Kryptonite cuffs so Kara wouldn't be able to stop him from slaughtering it. Thankfully Kara gave a hope speech and he snapped out of it.

Secondly Jonn actually DOES kill Manchester Black after he disarms him. Manchester who can no longer do any harm to him is brutally stabbed it the chest, all because he made Jonn see something traumatic. If Jonn can't handle the possibly of psychic attacks he shouldn't be out there fighting. He killed a human that couldn't harm him after he was disarmed. But is this highlighted or discussed in any way whatsover? No! Manchester is just gone and Jonn gets to be all 'well that's done and dusted, off to game night".

Kara's roll in this? Kara is shocked for all or 5 seconds before she is telling Jonn every one makes mistakes amd he can still be on his path of peace.....I mean....... What?! Who wrote that dialogue? But Kara's own super hero code shouldn't she have reported Jonn or had him arrested? No of course not because Jonn is one of the designated heroes and not deemed questionable by writer's or the audience even though his actions say something different.

People that call Lena a murderer for shooting an unarmed Lex don't seem to recall Kara killing Parasite rather than locking him up and getting the DEO to try and find a cure. They don't recall Jonn INTENDING to kill the White Martian. They don't remember Jonn MURDERING an unarmed Manchester Black in same F**king season as Lena shooting Lex! Why is this not acknowledged? Because the show chooses not to highlight it! They don't even have Kara bothered by Murder or Killing enemies if it's her or the super friends doing it.

But Lena? Ooh she shot an unarmed Lex, must be dodgy as f**k and deserves to be locked up, what an evil murderer!! Oh no, Lena shot the Arrowverses version of Hitler who was about to destroy an entire planet of Kryptonians who are only still here because of Lena!! How awful she must be.

Let's not forget as well that a lot of what Lena has done has been supported by the Superfriends at one point or another. I seem to recall a certain Alex Danvers and Brainy working on that Harun El serum!

Yes Adam was a terrible tragedy that shouldn't have happened. But is that worse than Jonn actually premeditating murder? Or out right Killing someone he had already disarmed? You talk about clinical trials etc but the show isnt going to waste precious air time going through that. Lena made a gigantic mistake, at least she owns the mistake and refused Haley when she wanted to use the Serum on DEO Agents.

Kara has zero issues telling Nia a girl she has known for 5 minutes her secret because she felt some solidarity and was missing Alex. She didn't know Nia at all, Nia could have been playing her or anything, but this isn't acknowledged because Nia is the new Hero (fyi love Nia). But Lenw, her best friend of 3 years and the girl who has been in the DEO kicking add and saving lives and the world apparently isn't Worthy of this secret. Why? Kara's bulls**t excuse is to keep Lena safe, yet she apparently gives zero f**ks about Winns of Nia's safety. The real reason is because Lena is q Luthor and the show just needed her to not know and although the keeping Lena safe reason isn't a bad one, it becomes null and void when they have Kara telling people she barely knowns who she is. That goes for the "Kara doesn't owe her identity to anyone" argument as well , that only works when she isn't telling everyone she meets after 5 minutes of knowing them.

Basically after that tangent I went in, if Lena becomes bad after saving the world and Kara's ass more times than many of the super friends have done purely so we can have Kara defeat her and come out as the shining heroine that defeats the bad Luthor (not cliche at all) whilst not acknowledging some of her own faults and the homicidal tendencies of Jonn and the actual murder he committed it would be beyond hypocritical.

Fyi, had Kara told Lena who she was, a lot of issues could have been avoided, especially the Rhea one and Reign/Kryptonite one.

[icecubelotr44]

Surrender (Whumptober/Inktober Day 27)

As always, for the inktober whump prompts HERE.  Thanks @whumpreads! @killian-whump, @ladyciaramiggles, @cocohook38, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable, @xhookswenchx, @gusenitsaa, @pirate-owl All prompts: HERE Previous Days: Knees | Bag | Cell | Noose | Explosion | Bone | Guilt | Scar | Self-inflicted | Gunpoint | Sacrifice | Starvation | Sleep-deprivation | Brainwashing | Drugged | Sensory | Withdrawal | Flashback | Panic | Threats | Thrown | Fever | Grief | Drowning | Gagged | Outnumbered

Direct continuation of: Outnumbered

same universe as: Bag Over Head, Guilt, Held at Gunpoint, Drugged, Grief, Panic Attack, and The Darling Affair

Three days.

Killian Jones had holed up in a cave in the hills with little more than the supplies he’d stolen from a nomadic group of travelers and the water he’d painstakingly measured out and boiled for three days.

To be fair, he’d slept for most of the second, trying to regain some of the strength he’d need to craft an exfil plan with no resources.

But three days in a cave in the hills in a desert climate with nothing more than tattered clothes and bandages to protect him from the changing temperatures had left him miserable and feverish.

He only had one thing on his mind when he finally emerged.

Get home to Liam.

It was likely going to take a wing and a prayer.

And a new set of clothes, some money, and an identity that wouldn’t garner too many questions.

Thankfully, Killian Jones was nothing if not resourceful and could put the Boy Scouts to shame with his own level of preparedness for any situation.  

The scratch of fabric over badly-healed wounds assaulted Killian’s senses as he pulled on a clean shirt and he fought the urge to tear it off.  He was stronger than this, he had survived far worse.

Just because he couldn’t think of a time when that was true didn’t make it any less so.

Jeans next, and he nearly whimpered at the pull of the marks on his back, at the crunch of his ribs as the broken ends rubbed together while he pulled them up.

He slept an entire afternoon away in a cheap motel room after getting dressed, needing the escape as much as, if not more than, he needed to keep moving towards Liam.  Towards home.

Killian couldn’t make it home if he collapsed from exhaustion or depleted defenses first.

It was surprising what a shower with questionable water pressure and some carefully rolled down sleeves could do to make a person look trustworthy, he’d realized some time long ago.  With his ballcap pulled low to mask the score above his temple from the bullet wound that Liam still thought had claimed his life, Killian had managed to weasel his way into a local poker game and walk out with just enough to keep him afloat and not enough to convince any of the men he’d fleeced to come after him.

His ribs really didn’t need another workover any time soon.

He wasn’t healing as quickly as he should, it was in the back of his mind at all times.  He needed to get back to the States where he could safely stand down.

God, he just wanted to rest.

One last step in his plan - an identity.

Killian Jones had plenty of false identities.  Aliases that had been carefully crafted and backstopped by the analysts at JR Solutions.  He had access to any number of passports that he’d stashed before starting this godforsaken mission.

He couldn’t risk using a single one of them.

If he did, an alert would pop up back home and signal to whoever was looking - Liam, for sure, but also whomever had betrayed them to the terrorists - that he was coming.

Killian really couldn’t chance the wrong person seeing that alert.

William Smee, on the other hand, had no ties to Liam’s company and no reason to betray him.

Not with all the favors he owed Jones for not outing him, killing him, or otherwise abandoning him to the less than savory men Smee associated with on a daily basis.

An identity that would get him on a flight to the States didn’t even begin to pay Killian back for everything he’d done for the man, but he’d cash in whatever chits Smee required to get home.

To get to Liam.

James Hook.

Really?

Killian shook his head, regretting it as the world spun around him again.  His head was pounding now, the multiple concussions and the lack of nutrition over the past… how long had it been? were all starting to catch up with him.

“I can get you on a flight,” Smee cajoled as Killian opened the door.  “But you’ll owe me a favor for it.”

He thought he might regret it, but it sounded so good to just let someone else figure out the next step that he nodded before he could think too hard about it.

Smee grinned.  “Give me a couple hours to make sure she’s set and we’ll get you home, Cap.”

Killian agreed, sinking down onto a ratty old couch that had seen better days.

It smelled like cheese.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, sunk into a half-stupor that allowed him to rest while still keeping watch, hyperaware of his surroundings at all times.  But it was still light out when Smee returned, a wide grin on his face and a piece of paper clutched in his grimy paws.

“Go to this hangar and ask for Jack.  He’ll get you to New York.  I assume that will get you close enough?”

New York.  He could get to Boston from there with the money he’d won in the game.  Boston meant the T, the T got him to JR Solutions.  JR Solutions meant Liam.

Liam meant home.

“Aye, mate.  I owe you one.”

The portly little man smirked.  “Happy to help, sir,” he snarked before shooing Killian out the door.

There was no one in the goddamned hangar.

Killian was going to go back to that ratty little room and tear Smee apart piece by-

“Can I help you?” a mousey little woman peeked out from the fuselage of a half-finished plane.

Killian started.  He’d had no idea anyone was there.  He was slipping.

“I was… I was told to find Jack,” he stuttered, still trying to understand how far his senses had started to slip.

The woman beamed.  “Monterey?  Oh he’s out with the boys at the Festival.  I can help you out with whatever you need.”

What?

His vision was starting to swim, his ribs starting to scream.  He just wanted a bed.  Or a chair.  Or even just a corner where no one was going to find him and hurt him.

“Smee sent me?” he tried instead.

“Gee willikers!  You’re Mr. Hook!  Of course.  Dale said you were coming.  We’re almost fueled up over there”---she pointed to a rickety looking plane that Killian would swear had never logged a single air mile---“and I’ll get you to New York lickety split.”

Oh God.

He was going to kill Smee slowly.

If he survived the flight home.

Home.  Liam.  Home.

Could he trust her?

Killian Jones counted on two fingers the number of people in this world he counted on to watch his back.  His brother and himself.  Could he let this woman take his safety into her hands and trust her to get him home?

Killian climbed aboard the plane and collapsed into the seat afforded to him.  A spring stuck into his back and the cushions chafed against where his shirt had ridden up, aggravating the burns on his lower back.

The blackness claimed him within minutes of them getting in the air.

>>> 

“Mr. Hook?  Mr. Hook, we’re here.  Do you need an ambulance or something?”

Killian startled awake, shocked to see the young woman’s face so close to his own without him noticing.

“No, lass, I’m fine.  Are we… did we crash?”

She laughed, a light little giggle that made it seem as if what he’d asked wasn’t alarming at all.

“Gee willikers, no!  We’re here.”

Killian looked out the window of the plane, surprised to see a large airport outside instead of trees or the ocean.

“Oh,” he remarked stupidly.

She giggled again.  “I know Mr. Smee said that you needed to get to Boston, so I brought you here instead.  Seems like you needed to be here more than I needed to get to New York.”

Boston.

Liam.

Liam!

“Thank you,” he breathed out, relieved to be so close to aid.  He was chagrined to feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but blinked them back quickly.  “I never even asked you your name, lass.”

“Oh, that’s all right.  I told you when we got in the air, but you were already sleeping.  It’s Gadget.”

Right.

“Thank you,” he breathed again, disembarking and nearly collapsing on the tarmac.

Boston.

Killian eventually stumbled down into the subway, curled up in a corner of the train, and tried to breathe away the stars in his vision.

He was going home.

>>> 

Liam Jones had been many things in his lifetime.  He was an orphan.  He had been an older brother.  He had been a Captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.  He was the commanding officer at JR Solutions.

He was completely, and utterly, alone in this world.

The men and women under his command now walked around eggshells around him, had done so ever since that goddamned video had come into Ops, obliterating his world around him and hardening him into the shell of a man he’d once been.

Some days he didn’t know why he even bothered coming into work anymore.

Alone in his office, the day’s itinerary was posted on his blotter as if he truly cared about the requisitions meeting or the budget committee that would keep his firm in the black for the next quarter.  He heard the bustle of the bullpen, the comings and goings of everyone under his command, and he felt completely removed from it.

He didn’t care.

He had a job to do, Killian would have torn a strip off him if he thought for a second that Liam was neglecting the other missions so that he could perfect the details of his funeral.  But it didn’t matter.  Details were all Liam could focus on without falling apart, so this last way to honor Killian would have to serve.

Liam kept a tight rein of control on the emotions that threatened to bubble to the surface again, images dancing in his memories of Killian at his first day of primary school, Killian on the rugby pitch, Killian sitting on the side of their bathtub with a black eye and a fierce glare as Liam reminded him - again - that fighting wouldn’t solve anything.

Killian as a gangly teenager, balancing on the balls of his feet and learning to box under Liam’s careful tutelage.  Killian in his Navy uniform, bright faced and proud to be following older brother’s lead.

Killian after Somalia.

Killian as he healed in Boston.

Killian on his knees in that hellhole in God-knew-where, bloody and-

No!

Liam clamped down on the memories, unwilling to fall back into the last moments of Killian’s life here at work.  He didn’t need the video to relive his little brother’s last moments, but he’d go home tonight and play it again, anyw-

The office outside his door was silent save for hushed whispers.  What was going on?  He had just stood up to go and see, thankful for the distraction, when his door creaked open painstakingly slowly.

Who the bloody hell dared to enter his office without knoc-

Liam’s breath caught in his chest.  He was hallucinating.  It was the only explanation.  He’d been daydreaming about the past, allowed his memories to wander down that path, and had snapped.

There was no way that his lit-

“Liam?”  Killian asked in a hesitant whisper, as if he, too, weren’t sure how real this was.

Killian.

Killian.  There.  Just there.  Alive and standing in his doorway.  Alive.

Alive!

Liam couldn’t move.  Rooted to the spot at the side of his desk, one hand clenching against the wooden top - to keep him from flying off the handle or grounded in reality, he wasn’t sure - Liam couldn’t move.

His little brother was standing in - leaning against, rather - the doorway and he was, quite literally, a bloody mess.  Liam’s eyes tracked immediately up to the badly healed gash at his hairline, the sound of the gunshot that had caused it echoing in his ears.  There were bags and dark bruises under Killian’s eyes, a hitch in his stance that Liam was well accustomed to equating with his brother hiding injuries.  His clothes were ill-fitting and rumpled, days of wear out of them.  One arm wrapped tightly around his ribs, the other still holding onto the door handle as if it were a lifeline.

None of it mattered one bloody bit, not when Killian was standing mere feet away from him.

“Liam?” his brother asked again, biting back a grunt when he finally, finally, took a few steps forward, hand outstretched as if he could summon his older brother to his side.

Liam Jones had been many things in his life, but he’d never been able to ignore his baby brother’s pleas.  He stepped forward, begging silently for this to be real, for this to be true, not some cruel trick or dream - nightmare - where his brother was going to be ripped from him as soon as he tried to touch-

Killian sank to his knees, a little cry of pain the only warning.

No.

No!

Liam raced the last few steps around the desk, skidding to his knees and catching his little brother in his arms before he could fall prostrate to the floor.

No!

But it was real.  Liam didn’t wake up, he didn’t startle himself out of the hallucination, he didn’t lose his brother to the mists of daydreams.  Killian was real and solid in his arms, his head lolling to Liam’s shoulder with a cheeky little grin of relief before his eyes rolled back into his head and he surrendered his strength.

God, Liam had never been so afraid in his- yes, he had.  All those weeks ago when he’d seen the video and realized what was going to happen as soon as Killian had over the airwaves.  But this was a damn close second.

His little brother had always been small, lanky and nearly scrawny, but he felt tiny in Liam’s arms.  Most of his muscle tone was gone, weeks of starvation and torture tearing it away from him.  He was radiating heat, every inch of skin that Liam could reach was burning with fever.

He was terrifyingly and startlingly limp, passed out in Liam’s embrace.

“Help!” he screamed, uncaring if his subordinates heard the emotion in his voice, needing them to hear the emotion in his voice.  “HELP!”

He pulled Killian further into his arms, backing them both up until he leaned back against his desk and sat there, helpless.  He had Killian.  He could fix this, now.

“Killian,” he nearly wailed when his brother didn’t respond.

Will Scarlet stuck his head around the door.  “We already called a medic when we saw him, boss.  Should be here any minute.”

Liam barely managed a nod, cuddling his little brother closer to keep him off the cold floor.

And then hands were tearing his from his brother, pulling him away from Killian, trying to get him to stand and leave Killian’s side.

He couldn’t.  Goddamn it, didn’t they see that?  He was Killian’s older brother and he needed to…

No.  He wasn’t what his brother needed right now.  That was for later, when Whale put Killian back together and sent him home for Liam to heal him.

But, right now, Liam didn’t have antibiotics and pain meds.  He didn’t have warm blankets and antiseptic.  He didn’t have the keys to the bloody ambulance so he could drive Killian to the hospital himself.

He had to leave his brother to the capable hands of the medics trying to save his life.

God, I’m bloody well going to kill him this time, he thought in exasperation, moving his brother to the floor and kneeling as far out of the way as he could while still holding Killian’s hand.

His brother would be all right now.

And then Liam was going to shackle him to the goddamned bed and then a goddamned desk until they were both old enough to retire.

(Well, maybe not.  But still.)